She stopped by the barn and sat in the car for a minute, peering around to try to see if anyone was near, the engine idling. A minute passed before she felt secure enough that she wouldn’t be ambushed and shifted the car into park. She held the key like a weapon as she stepped out of the car.
Clearly, this is a woman who has read Problem Sleuth. Better make sure that key is loaded if you want to unlock anyone with it, though!
She didn’t hold the individual keys between her fingers, like an amateur would be inclined to do, but held it like a knife instead.
Oh.
The barn was the final destination of the route the email had outlined for her. Empty. It smelled of stale manure, rotting hay and mold. The exterior was covered in peeling red paint.
I highly doubt it’s as much of a waste of time as it seems, or we probably wouldn’t be reading about it, but it looks pretty desolate.
She checked her watch. She was eight minutes early.
Ahh, a meeting time. That would explain it.
There were no other cars on the property. That meant there were eight minutes for someone to come down that road with the cracks, potholes and puddles, pull down the long driveway and come meet her at the barn.
Yeah, seems like it.
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