Leo Frankowski

vacation.”
    “What happens if Guibedo’s not in
Death Valley?”
    “Then go where
he is. Open expense account, remember? Patty, I want you to do this.
Enough said?”
    Patty took a deep
breath. “Okay. But don’t be surprised if I go looking for him in London,
Paris, and the Riviera.”
    “Whatever you
feel is best.”
    “You really
mean that?”
    “I trust you,
Patty. Just be on a plane this afternoon.”
    “This
afternoon! But my show—”
    “Mary can handle
it. Now get moving. I have work to do.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And Patty, keep
in touch!”
    When Cambridge had
left his office, Boswell unlocked his lower desk drawer, removed a dusty bottle of
Glen Livet, and poured himself a very stiff drink.
    The next morning, he
received a telegram canceling his call-up orders.
     
    Patricia drove her
rented Lincoln along I-15, heading northeast across the Mohave Desert. Going
full blast, the air conditioner was barely able to cope with the desert heat. She took
the cutoff north toward Death Valley and within an hour was driving past sand dunes
and baked
desert flats.
    Topping a rise, she found herself driving
through an immense parking lot. There were
cars, trucks, and vans of every description scattered over the plain.
There were thousands of them, maybe
hundreds of thousands. Some were
covered with canvas tarps, others with tailored dust jackets, but most were just sitting there with the wind and
sand scouring paint and glass. There were no traffic
lanes or painted lines. Each vehicle was simply left in some random spot that its owner thought was good enough. Many were obviously abandoned, with tires missing and doors ajar.
    Patricia slowed
down. Beyond the lot, she saw a solid wall of tree houses. On the front porch of one, a man sat in
shorts and sandals, a tall drink in his hand.
    Patricia stopped and lowered the passenger
window. “I’m looking for Life
Valley!”
    “This is
good,” the man said in a relaxed, friendly voice. “Because that’s exactly
what you’ve found.”
    “Well, how do I drive in there?”
    “You don’t ma’am. Would you care for
some lemon ade?”
    “Uh. Yes. Thank
you.” The dry heat hit her as she left the Lincoln and walked to the porch.
“What do you mean, I don’t? Do I need some kind of permission?”
    “No, ma’am. I
mean you don’t drive. This is as far as the roads go. Beyond here, it’s footpaths and
shank’s mare.”
He handed her a tall frosted glass. “Pardon my saying it, ma’am, but you
look a lot like that television lady, Patricia Cambridge.”
    So much for playing the supersleuth, Patricia thought. “I guess that’s because I’m her. But I’m just on vacation now.”
    “Well, I’ll be.
It’s surely a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Harold Dobrinski, but most folks
just call me
Hank.”
    Patricia smiled.
“My pleasure, Hank, and call me Patty.”
    “Thank you, Patty. My wife is a big
fan of yours and she is going to be sore
unhappy about not being here. Would you believe that this very
afternoon, the batteries in the TV went dead
in the middle of your show, and Meg,
that’s my wife, went out to buy some new ones. She’ll be back in an hour or so, if you’d care to wait. You surely do look like a cool shower would be
welcome, or maybe a dip in the pool?”
    “Thank you, but
I really have to get settled in. Is there a good hotel around here?”
    “Fraid not,
ma’am, no hotels, good, bad, or middl’n. There’s been some talk about some being
designed, but nothing’s grown up yet.”
    “There’s no
place to stay at all?”
    “Now, I didn’t say that. Most of
these tree houses have a guest room or
three. I’d lend you one of mine, but both
are full up. I think Barb Anderson has an empty. We’ll put you up there.”
    “Uh. Well, thank you. But I can’t
impose on…”
    “That’s right,
ma’am. You can’t impose, ‘cause it’s no imposition. What do you think the
guest rooms are for? It’s not like you’ll be living in the same room with another
family. Guest rooms all have a private entrance, and a kitchen and a bath. You won’t
have to see the Andersons unless you’re of a mind to pay a social call. It’s just that
you’ll be living in the same plant as them. Has to be that way, you know.”
    “Has to?”
    “A tree house
has to have somebody living in to stay healthy. Guest rooms sometimes go empty for
months, so they have to be part of a home that’s lived in, you know.”
    “Oh. I remember
Dr. Guibedo