A Will and a Way

overreacting and hogwash. Biff, in his usual style, had wired a short message:
    Cops and robbers? Looks like you two are playing games with each other.
    From Hank they heard nothing.
    The police lab had confirmed the private analysis of thechampagne; Randall was plodding through the investigation in his precise, quiet way. Michael and Pandora were exactly where they’d been weeks before: waiting.
    He didn’t know how she could stand it. As Michael made his way down the narrow path Pandora had shoveled, he wondered how she could remain so calm when he was ready to chew glass. It had only taken him a few days of hanging in limbo to realize it was worse when nothing happened. Waiting for someone else to make the next move was the most racking kind of torture. Until he was sure Pandora was safe, he couldn’t relax. Until he had his hands around someone’s throat, he wouldn’t be satisfied. He was caught in a trap of inactivity that was slowly driving him mad. Pausing just outside her shop, he glanced around.
    The house looked big and foolish with icicles hanging and dripping from eaves, gutters and shutters. It belonged in a book, he thought, some moody, misty gothic. A fairy tale—the grim sort. Perhaps one day he’d weave a story around it himself, but for now, it was just home.
    With his hands in his pockets he watched smoke puff out of chimneys. Foolish it might be, but he’d always loved it. The longer he lived in it, the surer he was that he was meant to. He was far from certain how Pandora would take his decision to remain after the term was over.
    His last script for the season was done. It was the only episode to be filmed before the show wrapped until fall. He could, as he often did, take a few weeks in the early spring and find a hot, noisy beach. He could fish, relax and enjoywatching women in undersize bikinis. Michael knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
    For the past few days, he’d been toying with a screenplay for a feature film. He’d given it some thought before, but somehow something had always interfered. He could write it here, he knew. He could perfect it here with Pandora wielding her art nearby, criticizing his work so that he was only more determined to make it better. But he was waiting. Waiting for something else to happen, waiting to find who it was who’d used fear and intimidation to try to drive them out. And most of all, he was waiting for Pandora. Until she gave him her complete trust, willingly, until she gave him her heart unrestrictedly, he had to go on waiting.
    His hands curled into fists and released. He wanted action.
    He tried the door and satisfied himself that she’d kept her word and locked it from the inside. “Pandora?” He knocked with the side of his fist. She opened the door with a drill in her hand. After giving her flushed face and tousled hair a quick look, Michael lifted his hands, palms out. “I’m unarmed.”
    “And I’m busy.” But her lips curved. There was a light of pleasure in her eyes. He found it easy to notice such small things.
    “I know, I’ve invaded scheduled working hours, but I have a valid excuse.”
    “You’re letting in the cold,” she complained. Once, she might have shut the door in his face without a second thought. This time she shut it behind him.
    “Not a hell of a lot warmer in here.”
    “It’s fine when I’m working. Which I am.”
    “Blame Sweeney. She’s sending me in for supplies, and she insisted I take you.” He sent Pandora a bland look. “‘That girl holes herself up in that shed too much. Needs some sun.’”
    “I get plenty of sun,” Pandora countered. Still, the idea of a drive into town appealed. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the jeweler in the little shopping center. She was beginning to think her work should spread out a bit, beyond the big cities. “I suppose we should humor her, but I want to finish up here first.”
    “I’m in no hurry.”
    “Good. Half an hour then.” She went to exchange the drill for a jeweler’s torch. Because she didn’t hear the door open or shut, she turned and saw Michael examining her rolling mill. “Michael,” she said with more than a trace of exasperation.
    “Go ahead, take your time.”
    “Don’t you have anything to do?”
    “Not a thing,” he said cheerfully.
    “Not one car chase to write?”
    “No. Besides, I’ve never seen you work.”
    “Audiences make me cranky.”
    “Broaden your horizons, love. Pretend I’m an apprentice.”
    “I’m