The Price Of Silence. Kate Wilhelm

that you do. You really should have a firewall and a better utilities program. I’m going to have to uninstall just about everything down to the operating system and then reinstall things. It would be best if I do that after office hours. If you have no objection I’ll network my laptop into the system, back up everything onto it, and do a lot of the work at home and try not to disrupt things here while I’m at it.”

      He spread his hands. “Say no more. Todd, whatever it needs, do it. Blanket permission, no questions asked. Good enough?” He grinned at her. “Just don’t tell me about it.”

      She laughed and turned away from the door, paused and said, “Good enough. Is this place locked up tight after hours?”

      “I’ll get another key and drop it off at the hotel for you.”

      She shook her head. “I’m moving into the Tilden house today. I have to see to the electricity and phone, transfer them to our name, things like that. I’ll drop by here later and pick up the key.”

      Mildred, the round-faced woman who handled the classifieds, smiled broadly at Todd when she left Johnny’s doorway. “You’ve put him in the best mood he’s had in months,” Mildred said in a low voice. “Good job.”

      Toni, the accountant, nodded and mouthed the same words: “Good job.”

      Todd felt buoyed when she left the building and looked around. “Good job,” she repeated to herself, pleased with the praise, with her acceptance. “It really is going to work,” she said under her breath.

      She took her time getting to her new home, winding in and out of the streets slowly. Back here, away from the highway, it was a pretty little town, with neat houses and yards, not a lot of greenery, but not desert, either. That changed as she drove north on one of the streets, where the houses ended and the desert took over. It was about another half mile to North Crest Loop; although the street had been finished all the way to it, building had stopped, and the continuation of the street was in poor repair. Scattered pine trees had achieved mature growth, and there was a lot of sage and rank grasses. It was like that on Juniper, her street, and apparently that way on all of them, as if the planners had anticipated development to continue north. Instead, it had moved south, on the other side of Brindle Creek, and east on the other side of the highway, leaving this end of town barren. There was a park along the creek front, a block wide, several blocks long with shade trees, picnic tables, a playground. Children were playing there now, a few women were on benches chatting.

      Brindle, she had learned, had been named after the small stream that bisected the town. Joe Warden had ridden this far and stopped when his horse, a brindled mare, went lame. The stream, no more than ten feet across and shallow, flashed silver against black and brown lava, colored like his horse. He called it Brindle Creek, and years later, when the town was incorporated, the name stuck. There was a footbridge at the park, and she had heard there was another one up farther. She had not seen it yet.

      It didn’t take long to explore the town. She headed for her house, repeated it under her breath, “Her house.” She loved it—the juniper paneling, polished plank floors, bay windows, fireplaces in two rooms…. But she had to buy opaque shades for the bedroom—Barney woke up if any light hit his eyes—and dishes, a few at least until their stuff was delivered, sheets to last until they got their own, a towel or two…. Wandering through the house, she made a list, and then headed for Bend, a discount store, the utility company, telephone company….

      It was nearly five when she returned to the office, and very hot again. She was not sweating, to her surprise, and realized that the air was so arid that perspiration must evaporate as fast as it formed. She felt parched.

      Johnny was chatting with another man in the outer office when she entered. “Todd,” Johnny said, smiling, “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in the great metropolis of Bend. Come meet our doctor. Sam Rawleigh, everyone’s doctor in these parts. Todd Fielding.”

      Dr. Rawleigh was tall and very handsome, like a television personality or a movie actor. Dark wavy hair, touched with grey at the temples, regular features, even a square chin with a slight cleft. As a young man he must have been a knockout, she thought, shaking hands. Now, fifty-something, he was still one of the handsomest men she had ever met. His eyes were dark brown, eyebrows with enough of an arch to suggest flirtatiousness, and a tan that was so smooth and even it looked like a salon tan.

      “Todd, I’ve been listening to your praises,” he said. “But no one mentioned that you are also beautiful. It’s a pleasure.”

      She felt the heat rise on her cheeks. God, she thought, he must have to fight off his female patients with a baseball bat.

      “We were on our way across the street for a drink,” Dr. Rawleigh said. “Join us.”

      She started to shake her head, and he added, “What I prescribe for you is an iced double espresso. You look as if you’ve had quite a day in heat you haven’t yet become accustomed to.”

      “Good heavens!” she said. “That sounds irresistible. Just like that, you talked me into it.”

      “I’ll pick up that key for you,” Johnny said, and strolled back to his office.

      They crossed the street and sat under an awning at Carl’s Café, where Todd could smell pine trees, desert and heat. She hadn’t realized heat had its own particular odor, but she was certain that was what she sniffed in the dry air. Both men ordered beer and she had her espresso, then sighed with contentment at her first sip. Just right.

      “You didn’t like our hotel?” Dr. Rawleigh asked after taking a long drink.

      “It isn’t that,” she said. “I want to get the house in order, get settled—but I have to admit that having the air conditioner go crazy in the middle of the night was not a real inducement to try another night there.”

      “It wasn’t the air conditioner,” Johnny said. “We get a crazy inversion or something now and then and a blanket of cold air settles over the whole area, then dissipates after a time.”

      “In August?”

      “Any month. No one has really explained it, but it happens.”

      “Have you felt the water in the creek?” Dr. Rawleigh asked. “It’s like ice water year round. Up at Warm Springs it comes out hot, here it’s ice water. The inversion is sort of like that—except that it’s air, not water. The volcanoes around here are strange, not like other mountains. That frigid air mass has been happening ever since I’ve been around, off and on, unpredictable. I was here for months before I experienced one. You’re here less than a week and there it is. Go figure.”

      “Surely a meteorologist can explain it,” Todd said. “I never felt cold air like that before in my life.”

      “We’ve had a couple come in,” Johnny said, “and nothing happens. They leave again thinking we’re all balmy. We’re okay. This land is what’s crazy.”

      He laughed. “For a good look at our crazy land, some time after the weather cools a bit, you and your husband should take a day hike up to the creek head,” Dr. Rawleigh said. “Great view from up there. It’s a good hike, five or six miles up and back. Up Crest Loop to a narrow bridge, and take the left road, a dirt road. The Loop winds on around a while, past my place, and eventually back down to the highway, but the dirt road turns into a trail up a ways and eventually you’ll come to a big boulder, and gushing out from under it is where Brindle Creek begins. It isn’t a difficult hike, but watch out for rattlesnakes. They’re up there this time of year. Anyway, it’s dry as a bone above the boulder, nothing to indicate that it’s the source of pure ice water. You can fill your water bottles, perfectly safe up there. You don’t want to do that down farther, but it starts out absolutely pure. The creek comes tumbling down the terraces, through town, under the highway bridge, and on for another mile or two and then takes a dive. Gone.”

      “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

      “Underground. The Great Basin is jealous. No water that goes in