Jeff had wanted to press on, but Nanci pointed out there was no point in trying to drive after dark. Not with coiling mists coming ghosting in off the Pacific close by.
IT WAS a beautiful dawn, with the sun rising away to their right and behind them.
Jeff was at the wheel. The blacktop snaked around, occasionally allowing glimpses of it a mile or so ahead, and lower down. They were both surprised to see that the plant cancer didn’t appear to have touched some of the big redwoods that they could now make out in the bright morning light.
“Too big,” commented the woman. She was sitting with her feet on the dash, holding the Port Royale across her lap. Jeff had been allowed to make love to her the night before, and there was a friendly atmosphere between them, more like a contented and long-married couple.
The Pacific was visible to their left, over the rolling gullies, and Jeff pulled over and stopped, switching off the engine. “Now, that is really beautiful,” he said.
Nanci leaned out of her window and took a deep breath. Her whole body suddenly stiffened. “What’s that? Someone’s coming, Jefferson. There! Just spotted it. Should make that plural, though. Big RV and a four-by-four towing a trailer. Now that’s the way to travel.”
“What’re we going to do?”
She was outside, all action, like a hungry panther. “Park this a quarter-mile back where the road dips. I’ll ambush whoever it is, and we’ll be driving in comfort and style.”
“Be careful.”
She grinned and patted him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Jefferson. Be like candy from a baby.”
Now he could hear the deep rumble of the large camper’s engine as it drove up the switchback hills toward them in a low gear. Nanci put a finger and thumb together and grinned at him. She ran with an athletic ease that he envied toward a bunch of dead sycamores that fronted the road.
Jeff quickly swung the four-by-four around and went to park it where she’d told him. He’d had only the barest glimpse of the lead vehicle in the distance, but he thought it was the model called a Phantasm. Some cousin of his father from up in New Hampshire had once come down to San Luis Obispo to visit in one of them. It had a microwave and freezer and cooker and all the conveniences money could buy. Including a big double bed.
Jeff liked the idea of that double bed.
He left the four-by-four, locking it carefully, and started to run along the blacktop back to rejoin Nanci, his .38 drawn and ready.
But the morning stillness was broken by the sound of the Port Royale being fired, the noise sending a flock of red-capped jays squawking into the cloudless sky.
“Shit,” he said. “Too late again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The lamb casserole was in a large lidded ovenproof dish that Miss Oliphaunt carried in to them, wearing pretty floral kitchen gloves. Her face was flushed, and steam was condensing on the thick lenses of her glasses.
She was panting a little as she rested the food on a mat at the center of the table. “There! Goodness, but I’m not getting any younger.”
“None of us are,” said Jim gallantly.
“I’ll go and bring in the apple cobbler. But you folks make a start tucking into the main course. Take care not to burn your tongues.”
She was gone before it registered on any of them just what she’d said. Kyle broke the silence. “Why’s she bringing in dessert before we start the casserole?”
“Search me.” Jim turned to look out through the door, but he couldn’t see into the kitchen. “Best get started on this, I guess.” He reached out for the lid of the casserole, then realized that it was likely to be scaldingly hot. He picked up his linen napkin to protect his fingers.
“Dad,” Heather said, her voice sharp.
“What?”
“I saw what… something really weird.”
“Tell me. Come on, quick. Before she comes back in with the apple cobbler.”
Heather reached and laid her hand flat on top of the oven dish before anyone could stop her. Leaning forward, half-out of her seat, she looked around at the others. “See. That’s it. Cold as a stone.”