“Fleas.”
“I’ll take good care of him. He won’t have fleas.”
“Dog hairs in the sheets.”
“That won’t be a problem, Dad.”
“What–you’re going to shave him, have a bald dog?”
“I’ll just brush him every day.”
Listening to her husband and son, Heather watched the corner of the
house, increasingly certain that Paul Youngblood was never going to
return. Something terrible had happened to him. Something– He
reappeared. “All the breakers were off. We should be in business
now.” What’s wrong with me? Heather wondered. Got to shake this damn
L.A. attitude.
Standing inside the front door, Paul flipped the wall switch
repeatedly, without success. The dimly visible ceiling fixture in the
empty living room remained dark. The carriage lamp outside, next to
the door, didn’t come on, either.
“Maybe he had electric service discontinued,” Jack suggested. The
attorney shook his head. “Don’t see how that could be. This is on the
same line as the main house and the stable.”
“Bulbs might be dead, sockets corroded after all this me.” ‘- Pushing
his cowboy hat back on his head, scratching his brow, frowning, Paul
said, “Not like Ed to let things deteriorate. I’d expect him to do
routine maintenance, keep the place in good working order in case the
next owner had a need for it. That’s just how he was. Good man, Ed.
Not much of a socializer, but a good man.”
“Well,” Heather said, “we can investigate the problem in a couple of
days, once we’re settled down at the main place.” Paul retreated from
the house, pulled the door shut, and locked it. “You might want to
have an electrician out to check the wiring.”
Instead of returning the way they had come, they angled across the
sloping yard toward the stable, which stood on more level land to the
south of the main house. Toby ran ahead, arms out at his sides, making
a brrrrrrrrrrr noise with his lips, pretending to be an airplane.
Heather glanced back at the caretaker’s bungalow a couple of times, and
at the woods on both sides of it. She had a peculiar tingly feeling on
the back of her neck.
“Pretty cold for the beginning of November,” Jack said. The attorney
laughed.
“This isn’t southern California, I’m afraid. Actually, it’s been a
mild day.
Temperature’s probably going to drop well below freezing tonight.”
“You get much snow up here?”
“Does hell get many sinners?”
“When can we expect the first snow–before Christmas?”
“Way before Christmas, Jack. If we had a big storm tomorrow, nobody’d
think it was an early season.”
“That’s why we got the Explorer,” Heather said. “Four-wheel drive.
That should get us around all winter, shouldn’t it?”
“Mostly, yeah,” Paul said, pulling down on the brim of his hat, which
he had pushed up earlier to scratch his forehead.
Toby had reached the stable. Short legs pumping, he vanished around
the side before Heather could call out to him to wait. Paul said, “But
every winter there’s one or two times where you’re going to be
snowbound a day or three, drifts half over the house sometimes.”
“Snowbound? Half over the house?” Jack said, sounding a little like a
kid himself. “Really?”
“Get one of those blizzards coming down out of the Rockies, it can drop
two or three feet of snow in twenty-four hours. Winds like to peel
your skin off. County crews can’t keep the roads open all at once.
You have chains for that Explorer?”
“A couple of sets,” Jack said.
Heather walked faster toward the stable, hoping the men would pick up
their pace to accompany her, which they did. Toby was still out of
sight. “What you should also get,” Paul told them, “soon as you can,
is a good plow for the front of it.
Even if county crews get the roads open, you have half a mile of
private lane to take care of.”
If the boy was just “flying” around the stable, with his arms spread
like wings, he should have reappeared -by now. “Lex Parker’s garage,”
Paul continued, “in town, can fit your truck with the armatures, attach
the plow, hydraulic arms to raise and lower it, a real fine rig. Just