― Shakespeare
The late May weather was beautiful and now, we’re at the beginning of June.
Ordinarily by now, I would be fully rested, having been on summer vacation a month, but this year my break began early as a result of the shooting at the students union and truthfully, it hasn't exactly been restful.
But when I saw my therapist, Martin Wallace, this morning he was delighted with my recovery. There were no lingering symptoms of trauma, I was off my meds and not experiencing disturbing flashbacks or nightmares.
"I wish all my patients had such a fast recovery," he smiled.
All's well on heaven and earth, I mused cynically, because I knew the therapy that distracted me from my trauma wasn’t plausible for the general public since it involved tracking my would-be killers.
*No panacea here," I smiled bitterly to myself.
I'm usually a glass half-full kind of guy not given to morose thoughts, but I knew the cause of my funk—all was quiet on the home front—too bloody quiet for my own good, and it was allowing me time to take counsel of my doubts.
I need Action! I shouted to the wind, punishing the shore.
Fortunately, I was alone on the beach with no one to notice my bizarre outburst, but it was cathartic and served the desired purpose—I returned to the cottage sunburnt but cleansed, purged of my anger at having nothing to do while waiting for Barr and his crew to make their next move.
I saw Wren's cottage looking quiet and forlorn—she was off pursuing her investigation into The North Stormers and their affiliations with other white supremacist groups.
I glanced across at Barr's place but nothing was happening there. I could see the cottage was occupied but he hadn't even ventured out to check his mailbox or go into town.
I sensed he was deliberately lying low and it vexed me.
There was nothing to do so I actually got around to finally working on the discarded draft of my novel and when I finally stopped bleary-eyed , later that afternoon, I was shocked to see it was past five pm and I was starving.
I pulled back the window curtain and looked outside, hoping to see Wren's car in her driveway, but she was still out and I was left on my own for supper.
I opted for fish and chips and headed into town.
But even Port Dover was quiet and there were no patrons in The Cozy Nook so I had my booth and the entire dining room to myself.
I think the solitude added to my angst because by the time I was heading home I had stopped by the bakery and bought a dozen pastries and was determined to eat them all by myself...
I know, I was childishly pouting, feeling sorry for my lot.
I drove back to the cottage, still mired in a blue funk, but as I pulled up outside my door, I sensed something was different somehow.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but something happened when I was absent—I felt it in my gut.
The cameras! the thought suddenly occurred to me. I could check the event history since they were constantly recording.
Surprisingly, I felt energized and had a bounce in my step as I headed indoors to check 'what had been did and hid' in my absence.
And I wasn't disappointed.
All three of the crew had been present at the cottage and the time stamp showed the meeting lasting an hour. The pick-up truck had been moved so the tailgate was facing Barr's front door.
I couldn't be certain, but it was reasonable to surmise he'd be moving boxes later this evening.
It was enough evidence to contact Luc and forewarn him to keep his evening schedule clear as he might be sweeping for transmitters and scanning for hidden cameras...
And if we were lucky, he'd be setting up covert spyware of our own to keep tabs on what was happening next door.