"I don't give a shit," the bear roared. He stalked toward us. If the floor had been wood instead of flagstones it would have shuddered. "By God, Dai, it's harassment. If you think you'll get me off the fucking place by..."
"Ted!" Angharad had risen at his roar, white as her dress.
He shook his head at the sound of her voice like a bear shaking off a fly. "I'm goddamned if I'll..."
Llewellyn had risen, too. He said coldly, "I have no idea what you're bellowing about, Ted, or what you've snorted, smoked, or ingested, but if you can't behave like a civilized human being to my guests, all my guests, you can get out. Now."
The bear raised its paw.
Llewellyn didn't bat an eyelash. "Now." His waxed mustachios bristled.
I had jumped up at the first roar. Now I started to move between Llewellyn and Attila the Hun. I thought Peltz was going to strike a man fifty years older and a hundred pounds lighter. I didn't stop to wonder what I could do to prevent him.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the white flash of a uniform jacket. Miguel had come up. Reinforcements.
"Señor..." He touched Peltz's blue-clad arm.
Peltz jerked away. "Get your fucking hands off me, you greasy little queer."
"Now," Llewellyn said very quietly.
There was a moment of pure stillness. Then Peltz gave an inarticulate, muted roar and rushed out a pair of French doors that led onto the veranda. They must have been ajar, because I don't think he would have stopped to unlatch them. One of them slammed against a white metal table. Glass tinkled on the flagstone porch.
"Such a...stirring young man," Denise breathed.
Llewellyn was icily outraged. "I beg your pardon, my dear."
I gave a sickly smile.
He made his way across the flagstones to Jay and D'Angelo. "And yours, Dodge. What set him off?"
Jay took a swallow of his beer.
"I happened to mention that Dodge worked for the sheriff's office," D'Angelo said in the injured tones of one who has made a social gaffe and is trying to evade responsibility. "And Ted just blew."
I looked over at Angharad. Her color had come back--in fact, she was flushed--but she made no attempt to defend her husband, or apologize for him. Beside her Janey Huff sat straight up, looking indignant.
"Please, patron..."
Llewellyn turned. "What is it, Miguel?"
"Domingo says the dinner is ready."
"Ah. Well, we can't keep Domingo waiting. Let's not allow this little contretemps to delay our meal. Domingo makes a superb gazpacho." Llewellyn began describing the menu, drawing it out like a Gourmet columnist, and, with Lydia's and Miguel's help, herding us in the direction of the dining room. The tension in the air eased but didn't disappear.
As we seated ourselves around the huge mission-style table, I noticed two things. Someone--Miguel?--had already removed Ted Peltz's place setting; there was an empty space on the host's left. And Dai Llewellyn was trembling. The trembling was very slight, but my place was at his right hand. When he had tasted and approved the wine, I saw him fumble something from an old-fashioned silver pillbox. He took the pill with a sip of wine.
Miguel served the wine, a pleasant chardonnay, with silent efficiency, Lydia chattered about the upcoming Frankfort bookfair she was about to fly to, D'Angelo responded, and Janey began telling Jay, across the table, about wind-surfing. Thank God for Miguel and the female Huffs. As the spoons clinked in the soup bowls and the conversation grew general I could almost feel Llewellyn relax beside me.
Jay was telling Denise that he'd seen her dance. When she had ransacked her memory and recalled the entire program of dances in order, she wrung him dry of flattery. Jay is not without aplomb, but I could see he was groping after synonyms for graceful. The woman was insatiably vain--or insecure.
An unhappy accident had placed Angharad Peltz at Jay's left. She turned her shoulder to him and listened to Lydia, who sat on her left in the hostess's chair, with desperate attention. I felt sorry for Angharad. A little. On the other hand, she probably agreed with her boorish husband.
Llewellyn was telling me a gently self-mocking story about word processors. As Miguel began to clear the soup, the old man interrupted himself, frowning. "Mr. Dodge."
"Sir?" Jay looked up from the roll he was crumbling.
"I hope you haven't let this unpleasantness take away your appetite."
Jay said mildly, "No, sir. I'm fine."
"You don't like gazpacho?" A certain sharpness indicated Llewellyn was one of those hosts whose pride is involved in their choice of menu.
Jay laid the butter knife neatly on the bread plate. "I was shot in the stomach a couple of years ago in LA. I'm supposed to avoid spicy food."
I stared at him. Ordinarily he hates to admit his little problem to strangers. In fact he mortally insulted his partner's wife his first month in Monte. Joelle Carey is a notable Creole cook--her mother runs a restaurant in Oakland that draws aficionados from San Francisco and Berkeley--and Joelle had gone all out to impress Jay. He ate rice and bread, and refused everything else politely. No explanation. When she finally found out his reason for avoiding her filé gumbo, Joelle took six months to forgive him. I didn't blame her. So what was this--had he turned over a new leaf? Now everyone was staring.
Jay took a bland sip of water, face expressionless.
Llewellyn cleared his throat. "I trust you'll be able to accommodate the poached trout."
"Sure," Jay said amiably. "As long as it's not full of peppers."
"A little beurre blanc." Llewellyn sounded depressed. He was probably going over four days' menus in his mind and editing out the jalapeños.
Jay got his comeuppance. All through the fish course Denise exclaimed and cross-examined and moralized, and he was put to some effort to avoid telling her the more gruesome details of his ordeal. I watched him while I made conversation with Llewellyn, who was off on my mother's latest book, and felt only the mildest sympathy. He could just have said he didn't like the soup.
The medallions of veal were so tender and the new potatoes and carrots so meltingly luscious, we survived the main course with no further dramatic scenes--and not much conversation. Everybody, including Jay, was too busy eating. When the whole party retired to the veranda for dessert and coffee, I dashed upstairs to use the bathroom and check out the accommodations.
The stair was dark wood, steep, highly polished. The hall was paneled in a wood that glowed liked honey in the light from half a dozen pink-shaded sconces. Jay and I had been given adjoining rooms with a communicating door. That tickled me--preserving the proprieties for Ma's sake. I hoped nobody was sleeping in a closet because of the arrangement. I laid our nightclothes on the bed with the firmer mattress, gave my hair a brush, and dashed back down. I left the communicating door open.
By then it was fully dark. We sat on lawn chairs facing the lake. When he had served sorbet and coffee, Miguel slipped down to the boat dock and set off some fireworks over the lake. A small preview, Llewellyn said, of coming attractions. The sorbet was homemade, and the coffee tasted like mocha nectar. I squished my chair closer to Jay's, and we held hands and gawked at the roman candles. Between bangs and booms I could hear the crickets chink-chinking.
Bill Huff drove up after Llewellyn had seduced us back into the lodge with an offer of brandy. We heard the car on the gravel. Lydia slipped out to greet her husband as Miguel brought us brandy or a choice of liqueurs. At Llewellyn's suggestion, I joined him in a tiny glass of chartreuse. It was okay. Jay passed, as he had on the coffee. He is not supposed to use caffeine, hard liquor, or tobacco, and doesn't, though I once saw him smoke a cigarette.
"Miss Dailey..."
I met Winton D'Angelo's dark, rather soulful eyes. "You'd better call me Lark. We're colleagues."
He blinked. "Oh, the basketball."
I waited. We were standing by the French doors, now definitely open to admit the night breeze and an occasional mosquito. I noticed that the broken p
ane had been replaced with a neat square of cardboard. The glass shards were gone. Efficient Miguel.
"I don't keep up with sports, I'm afraid. Your team did well, didn't it?"
"Second in the regional tournament."
"That's nice. I meant to compliment you on your bookstore." As far as I knew he had never crossed my threshold to bong the bonger. Perhaps he sensed my skepticism.
"The mere presence of a bookstore that stocks something besides popular paperbacks is a service to the community."
"Actually, I hope to turn a profit. And I have two racks of popular paperbacks." I sipped and watched Jay and Janey Huff. Janey had kicked off her high-heeled sandals and to demonstrate the proper stance for balancing on a sail board. Jay used to surf. I could tell he was getting interested--in wind-surfing, I hoped. Janey had honey-blonde hair and a curvy figure, and she was two inches shorter than he is. I am an inch taller.
D'Angelo was telling me about students who had never seen a bookstore in their lives before they enrolled at Monte J.C. I believed him.
"Bill, you promised me..." Lydia's voice, sharp, cut through the chatter. Everyone turned toward the door to the foyer, but her voice lowered. I heard Bill Huff's basso rumble making some response. When nothing immediately awful happened everyone started talking again, but there was an edge to the muted murmuring. Llewellyn, who was sitting with Denise, kept glancing up from his conversation toward the hallway.
Lydia reentered alone. She looked, as usual, cool and very much in charge of things. She gave a general smile round the room. "Bill had a few celebratory rounds with his staff. I sent him to bed like the bad boy he is." She laughed, flipping the edge of her lace shawl over one arm, and pranced over to the silent Miguel. "My turn."
Beside me Winton D'Angelo heaved a sigh. Of relief? I glanced toward Jay and caught a glimpse of Janey Huff's face. A lock of hair had fallen across one flushed cheek, and her mouth was set in a thin line.
Jay and I took our time testing out the beds.
He was up before I woke at six. I splashed water on my face in the little bathroom tucked between our rooms and decided I didn't really have a Chartreuse hangover. I pulled on running shorts and a tee-shirt, scuffed into my sneakers, dragged a comb through my hair, and went downstairs.
Everything was very quiet. Outside, the day was at its pleasantest. One thing about high-altitude living--the air cools off at night. The morning, though sunny, had a crisp edge. I spotted Jay down by the wooden boat dock and headed toward him. He saw me coming and met me halfway.
"Want a run?" He was also dressed pour le sport.
"Sure. Where?"
He gave me a large invigorating hug. "You smell good."
"Eau de Jay. I haven't showered yet. Where, you animal?"
"Well away from Mountain Man's territory. I don't need a blast of buckshot before breakfast."
"Up the road?" I started jogging across the rolled lawn. Despite its smooth appearance, it was full of little hummocks.
We puffed up the paved highway a mile or two and trotted back down, neither of us pushing it. The thin air tested our lung capacity enough without trying for speed. We didn't meet with traffic either way--or shotgun blasts.
Afterwards we sneaked upstairs and showered. The stall was bitty. We could hear mild sounds of stirring from the other bedrooms but no serious getting-up noises. A toilet flushed somewhere. When we tiptoed back downstairs we found Miguel drifting sleepily through the lounge.
His eyes widened at the sight of us. "Señorita, señor, the coffee, it is no...not..."
Jay said something to him in rapid Spanish, and his face cleared. He gave us a big happy smile and rattled off a reply.
Outside I poked Jay in the ribs. "What was that?"
"I complimented him on his efficiency and told him we were going to take a long hike before breakfast."
"Are we?"
"Might as well. The old man set breakfast at nine."
I groaned.
"Coffee at eight."
"That's better." I can wait for breakfast, but I do like my coffee. "Which way?"
"Let's see if we can sneak up on Godzilla's cabin. I'm awake now." A path led off toward the east through the trees and brush along the lakeshore. Jay headed for it.
"Geez, awake and spoiling for a fight."
"I was hoping for a truce."
"You want to talk to the jerk?"
"No, but I don't want another scene like last night either. Not fair to Llewellyn."
"You like him, too, don't you?"
"Yeah, he's a feisty old geezer. Also, I was rude at the dinner-table."
I grinned. "I wondered what was going on. Trying to spoil everybody's appetite?"
"Something like that. I was embarrassed, and I thought I might as well spread the joy."
"It didn't work. Denise ate it up."
"The lady is a vampire."
"But graceful."
We strolled along side by side until the path narrowed at a clump of manzanitas. I took the lead.
"Walking point," Jay said wryly.
"You have a diseased imagination."
"Not entirely. Take it slow."
I did, but I thought rattlesnakes were more likely than landmines--or shotgun traps. The huge trunks of the pines and Douglas fir were dappled pink and gold in the early sun. Gold motes danced in the air. The ground was springy from layers of fallen needles. We made no noise walking along.
When I saw the gable and chimney of the cabin through the trees I came to a halt. The white curve of the satellite dish showed in the clearing, and a thin plume of smoke curled on the still air.
We moved cautiously forward. As we came within sight of the front door, Angharad ambled around the side of the cabin. She was carrying a gardening fork and gloves, and when she saw us she dropped them.
We stood staring at each other for several breaths. Then she picked up her belongings and strode over to us. "What the hell...?" She kept her voice low. The bear was apparently in hibernation.
"Out for a morning stroll," I said brightly. "Nice place." It was a solid, rather large 1930's cabin made of squared, dark-stained logs. The silvery shakes on the roof looked as if they might have been hand split. Nasturtiums grew along the walkway by the side of the house. In that setting, the satellite dish looked like something from outer space.
Ms. Peltz was frowning, more at Jay than at me. She wore jeans and a print camp shirt, and her long apricot-colored hair, by far her most striking feature, was piled atop her head. "What do you want?" She directed the question at Jay.
"Peace."
She gave a short laugh. "Don't we all? Look, I'm sorry Ted blew up yesterday, but he's been under a lot of pressure from the narcs."
"That was a federal bust," Jay said mildly.
"But you knew about it."
"Public information. I'll bet Huff and D'Angelo do, too, and I'm damned sure your uncle heard about it, because he called the sheriff and asked us to start patrolling the road more often."
"Did Dai..." She bit her lip. "He didn't say anything to us about patrols." She sounded aggrieved.
"He's a big property owner, Ms. Peltz. It's his land."
"And when he says jump you jump."
Jay ignored the gibe. "I imagine he doesn't want to be hauled into court as an accessory."
Her mouth tightened. "He won't be. We're clean. The feds tore out the plants, and anyway they were on Forest Service land." She jerked her head in the direction of the National Forest. "Dai has no beef with Ted. Really."
She didn't sound sure of herself, which was not surprising. I suspected they had the cabin rent-free. Embroiling Llewellyn in a federal narcotics case might look a little like ingratitude.
"It'll be my land. Some day." Nice lady.
"So you're the designated heir." Jay sounded as if he were settling in for a cozy chat. He was trained to negotiate with hostage-takers.
Angharad Peltz was not up to his weight. She tossed her apricot curls. "Who else do
es he have to leave it to? My mother? They quarreled years ago." Dumb lady.
"He could leave it to a dog and cat hospital." Jay smiled a negotiator smile to show there was no offence meant.
Angharad gave a small snort. "Not likely. Llewellyns keep their property in the family, always have, always will."
"That must be comforting."
Abruptly her suspicions kicked in again. "You'd better go. I'll calm Ted down before we come tonight, but I don't want you hanging around here. He's apt to be grouchy when he wakes up."
And when he goes to sleep and in between, I added to myself. "See you later." I pulled Jay along the path. He didn't resist, and neither of us looked back. Let sleeping bears lie.
We were well out of ear-shot of the cabin before I stopped and stuck my face in his. "What federal bust?"
"Ted Peltz was arrested as a grower in March. He's out on bail while some very expensive lawyers dicker for him. The feds set an October trial date. It's been kept quiet. I think they're still negotiating with Peltz, trying to turn him into a witness."
"Oh. Then he's..."
"Supposed to be on his best behavior." Jay interposed, wry.
"I'd hate to see his worst."
"He's a bad actor. I don't envy the wife."
I was horrified. "You don't mean he abuses her?"
"I don't know that he does, but you saw him yesterday."
I shook my head, speechless. I would certainly not risk my body in the same cabin with that maniac.
When we got back to the grounds of the lodge it was still only half-past seven. We experimented with one of the canoes. I grew up near the Finger Lakes in upstate New York, so I'd done a lot of canoeing in summer camp. I instructed the great negotiator, and we paddled along the western shore. The water was so clear we could see bottom--rocks and little speckled fish and an occasional strand of waterweed in sharp focus. I had no idea how deep the water was.
We headed for the dock when we saw Janey Huff standing on it, waving at us.
"Hi! Miguel says the coffee's ready," she called as we slid across the last glassy yards. "You two are up early."
"Normal business hours."
She helped pull the canoe alongside the dock and tied up for us as we clambered out. "Want to go wind-surfing?"
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