ThreeFor all the excitement elsewhere around the river valley, there was none at Miller's Landing and nothing on the horizon. The landing supervisor had finally arrived and opened his office. Angela had expected, unfairly she admitted, a sinister banjo player with bad dental work, but couldn't have been more wrong. He was a perfectly normal, if quiet man, willing to help but not really able. He had no clue where her river taxi was. His call to the island, on her behalf, had gone unanswered. He offered to rent her a boat if she wanted but Angela, aware she was no Tippi Hedren, decided against it.
Alone on the pier, there was little to do but pace and look around. She'd given up worrying about missing her island tour. What would that accomplish? It was the fault of her hosts, if she remembe
