Angels Fall

that had blown loose in the breeze. And the mountains caught her like a fist.
    "Oh Cod. Oh my Cod."
    In the trout ol the boat. Brody smiled. He heard the awe, the reverence in her voice. "A kick in the head, aren't theyr" He secured his paddle, turned to face her. then took her paddle from her still hands, secured it.
    "It's different from here. It's all different somehow. They look…" They look?"
    "Like gods. Silver and shining with thin crowns of white, dark belts of green. Bigger somehow, and more powerful."
    They rose, rose and spread, silver blue against the purer blue of the sky. The snow that clung to the higher peaks was as white as the clouds that drifted over them. And on the water, they mirrored. On the water, she felt as if she were inside them.
    An egret soared up, skimmed the lake, glided like a ghost into the marsh on its north end. There were other boats. A little Sunfish with a yellow sail fluttered in the center of the lake; a kayaker worked on his skills. She recognized Carl fishing out of a canoe, and a couple who must have been tourists streamed out of one of the braided channels and slid onto the plate of the lake. She felt weightless and small, and punch-drunk.
    "Why don't you do this every day?" she wondered.
    "I usually do it more once June hits, but I've been busy. Last summer, Mac talked me into going on a three-day trip on the river. Him, me, Carl. Rick. I went along because I figured it would be good research. Floated along the Snake, camped, fried fish Carl caught like they were eager to jump in the boat for him. Drank cowboy coffee. Told a lot of lies about women."
    "You had fun."

    "Had a hell of a time. We could do that, take a couple of days once you get the hang of paddling and try one of the easy channels."
    "Easy might have to be the key word, but I think I'd like that."
    "Good. I read your list."
    "Oh." It was like a cloud over the sun. Still, it had to be discussed, she thought, explored. She opened the bag of sandwiches. "What did you think?"
    "Pretty thorough. I added some bits. A little discreet poking around, we should be able to eliminate some. I already found out Reuben, Joe, Lynt and Dean were in a poker game in Gancy's back room. Seven to after ten for Reuben and Joe, when they knocked off to head to Joanie's. Dean, Lynt, Stan Urick, who's not on your list since he's seventy and built like a twig, and Harley—who's not due to the thicket he calls a beard— were in it until after one in the morning. Nobody left for more than the time it takes to piss. Dean lost eighty bucks."
    "Well, three down."
    '"My agent liked your cookbook proposal."
    "What?  What  ?"
    Brody took a bite of the panini. "Damn good sandwich." he said with his mouth full of it. Then swallowed. "Needs to talk to you directly though."
    "But it's not ready."
    "Then why'd you give it to me?"
    "I just… I thought, if you felt like it, had the time, you could glance over it. That's all. Give me an opinion, or I don't know. Pointers."
    "I thought it was good, so I asked my agent for her opinion. Being a bright individual, she agrees with me."
    "Because you're her client or because it's good?"
    "First, she's got bigger clients than me, a lot bigger. I'm a little fish in her pond. But ask her yourself. Anyway, she liked the way you structured it, but it needs to be formalized into a proposal. She called the intro 'fun and breezy.' Claimed she was going to try out one of the recipes tonight to see how it translates. She actually cooks, but she's also going to give one of the simpler ones to her assistant, who doesn't."
    "Like an audition."
    "She's a busy woman, and wouldn't take on a client unless she believes she can sell. You probably want to talk to her tomorrow, after the audition."
    "I'm nervous."
    "Sure. Lydia won't bullshit you." He pulled out the take-away fountain Coke she'd packed with the  sandwiches. "She copped to who you were."
    "I'm sorry?"
    "She's smart, savvy, and she keeps up with current events." Brody eschewed even the idea of a straw and simply pulled off the plastic cap and drank. "Has a memory like a herd of elephants. She asked me if you were the Reece Gilmore from Boston who survived the Maneo Massacre a couple years ago. I didn't lie to her."
    Her appetite took a steep dive. "No, of course you didn't. What difference does it make to her?"
    "It may make one to you. It you sell, it you publish, she won't be the only one to put it together. You've been flying under the radar for a