p&c.thunderhead-第13部分

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　〃There　it　is；〃　said　Holroyd　quietly；　sitting　back　and　looking　at　her；　his　face　shining　with　triumph。　
　〃That's　my　road　to　Quivira？〃　Nora　asked；　her　voice　trembling。　
　〃No。　That's　our　road　to　Quivira。〃　
　
　
8
　
　NORA　WORKED　HER　WAY　THROUGH　THE　early　evening　traffic；　struggling　to　keep　the　highway　ahead　from　blurring　into　parallel　images。　She　was　tired；　more　tired　than　she　could　remember　being　since　her　marathon　study　sessions　of　graduate　school。　Though　Holroyd　had　offered　to　put　her　up　in　his　apartment　the　night　before；　she　had　instead　opted　to　drive　straight　back　to　Santa　Fe　and　the　Institute。　She　had　arrived　a　little　after　ten　in　the　morning。　The　day　had　dragged　as　Nora；　exhausted　and　distracted；　tried　to　wrap　up　the　end…of…term　business。　Again　and　again；　her　mind　had　turned　back　to　Quivira　and　what　her　next　step　should　be。　She　sensed　it　was　pointless　to　approach　Blakewood　again；　even　with　this　startling　discovery；　there　was　little　chance　of　him　changing　his　mind。　She　had　passed　him　in　a　hallway　shortly　after　noon；　and　his　greeting　was　decidedly　cool。　
　She　slowed；　downshifting　to　second　as　she　turned　into　Verde　Estates；　her　townhouse　development。　The　afternoon　had　ended　on　an　unexpected　note：　a　call　from　Ernest　Goddard's　office；　requesting　a　meeting　the　following　morning。　Nora　had　never　even　spoken　to　the　Institute's　chairman　of　the　board；　and　she　could　think　of　no　reason…no　good　reason；　anyway…why　he　would　want　to　see　her。　She'd　been　absent　from　the　Institute　without　notice　for　two　days；　and　had　made　no　headway　on　the　Rio　Puerco　ceramics。　Perhaps　Blakewood　had　put　a　bug　in　his　ear　about　the　troublesome　junior　professor。　
　Nora　switched　on　her　headlights　as　she　navigated　through　the　curving　lanes。　Verde　Estates　might　be　a　development；　but　it　was　older　and　it　lacked　the　ludicrous　Santa　Fe…style　pretensions　of　the　newer　condo　plexes。　There　had　been　time　for　a　good　growth　of　fruit　and　fir　trees；　softening　the　edges　of　the　buildings。　A　calm　warmth　began　to　flow　into　her　tired　limbs　as　she　maneuvered　into　her　parking　space。　She'd　take　half　an　hour　to　relax；　then　fix　a　light　meal；　take　a　shower；　and　fall　into　bed。　Her　favorite　way　to　unwind　had　always　been　to　work　on　her　oboe　reeds。　Most　people　found　reed…making　a　tiresome；　endless　nuisance；　but　she　had　always　enjoyed　the　challenge。　
　Twisting　the　key　out　of　the　ignition；　she　grabbed　her　portfolio　and　bags　and　started　across　the　blacktop　toward　her　door。　Already；　she　was　mentally　laying　out　the　tools　she'd　need：　jeweler's　loup；　a　piece　of　good　French　cane；　silk　thread；　sheets　of　fish　skin　to　plug　leaks。　Mr。　Roehm；　her　high…school　oboe　teacher；　had　said　that　making　double　reeds　was　like　fly…tying：　an　art　and　a　science　in　which　a　thousand　things　could　go　wrong；　and　in　which　the　tinkering　was　never　done。　
　She　unlocked　the　front　door　and　stepped　inside。　Dropping　her　things；　she　leaned　back　against　the　door　and　closed　her　eyes　wearily；　too　exhausted　for　the　moment　to　turn　on　the　lights。　She　heard　the　low　growl　of　the　refrigerator；　a　dog　barking　hysterically　in　the　distance。　The　place　had　a　smell　she　didn't　remember。　Odd；　she　thought；　how　things　can　grow　unfamiliar　in　just　two　days。　
　Something　was　missing：　the　familiar　click…clack　of　nails　on　the　linoleum；　the　friendly　nuzzling　of　her　ankles。　Taking　a　deep　breath；　she　pushed　herself　away　from　the　door　and　snapped　on　the　lights。　Thurber；　her　ten…year…old　basset　hound；　was　nowhere　in　sight。　
　〃Thurber？〃　she　called。　She　thought　of　going　outside　to　call　for　him；　but　changed　her　mind　immediately：　Thurber　was　the　most　domesticated　animal　on　the　planet；　for　whom　the　great　outdoors　was　something　to　be　avoided　at　all　costs。　
　〃Thurber？〃　she　called　again。　Dropping　her　purse　on　the　front　table；　her　eyes　fell　on　a　note：　Nora；　please　call。　Skip。　Reading　this；　Nora　smirked。　Must　need　money；　she　thought；　Skip　normally　never　used　〃please〃　in　a　sentence。　And　that　explained　Thurber's　absence。　She'd　asked　Skip　to　feed　Thurber　while　she　was　in　California；　and　no　doubt　he'd　taken　the　pooch　back　to　his　apartment　to　save　himself　time。　
　Turning　away；　she　started　to　take　off　her　shoes；　then　changed　her　mind　when　she　noticed　a　scattering　of　dust　on　the　floor。　Gotta　clean　this　damn　place；　she　thought　as　she　headed　for　the　stairs。　
　In　the　bathroom　she　shrugged　off　her　blouse；　washed　her　face　and　hands；　dampened　her　hair；　and　then　pulled　on　her　favorite　reed…making　sweatshirt；　a　ragged　thing　from　the　University　of　Nevada　at　Las　Vegas。　Walking　into　her　bedroom；　she　stopped　to　look　around　a　moment。　She'd　been　so　quick　to　judge　Holroyd's　apartment；　almost　eccentric　in　its　barrenness；　its　lack　of　personality。　And　yet；　in　its　way；　her　own　place　was　not　that　different。　Somehow；　she'd　never　had　time　to　give　much　thought　to　decorating。　If　furnishings　were　a　window　into　the　soul；　what　did　this　jumble　of　rooms　say　about　her？　A　woman　who　was　too　busy　crawling　around　ruins　to　fix　up　her　own　place。　Almost　everything　she　had　belonged　to　her　parents；　Skip　had　refused　to　take　anything　except　her　dad's　book　collection　and　old　pistol。　
　With　a　smile　and　a　shake　of　her　head；　she　reached　automatically　for　the　brush　on　top　of　her　dresser。　
　And　found　it　gone。　
　She　paused；　hand　outstretched；　motionless　with　perplexity。　Her　brush　was　always　in　the　same　place：　the　archaeologist　in　her　insisted　on　keeping　her　possessions　in　situ。　Her　damp　hair　felt　cool　on　the　back　of　her　neck　as　she　mentally　went　through　the　motions　of　three　mornings　before。　She'd　washed　her　hair　as　usual；　dressed　as　usual；　bed　her　hair　as　usual。　And　replaced　the　brush　as　usual。　
　But　now　it　was　missing。　Nora　stared　at　the　strange；　inexplicable　gap　between　the　b　and　the　box　of　tissue。　Goddamn　Skip；　she　thought　suddenly；　irritation　mingling　with　relief。　His　own　bathroom　was　a　solid　mass　of　mildew；　and　he　liked　to　sneak　showers　at　her　place　when　she　was　away。　He'd　probably　dumped　it　someplace；　and　。　。　。　
　Then　she　paused　and　took　a　breath。　Something　in　her　gut　told　her　that　this　had　nothing　to　do　with　Skip。　The　strange　smell；　the　dust　in　the　hall；　the　feeling　that　things　were　not　right　。　。　。　She　whirled　around；　searching　for　anything　else　that　might　be　missing。　But　everything　seemed　to　be　in　place。　
　Then　she　heard　a　faint　scratching　sound　ing　from　outside。　She　looked　over；　but　the　black　windows　only　reflected　the　interior。　She　turned　off　the　lights　with　a　quick　brush　of　her　hand。　It　was　a　clear；　moonless　night；　the　desert　stars　spread　out　like　diamonds　across　the　velvet　blackness　beyond　her　window。　The　scratching　came　again；　louder　this　time。　
　With　a　surge　of　relief；　she　realized　it　must　be　Thurber；　waiting　at　the　back　door。　On　top　of　everything　else；　Skip　had　managed　to　leave　the　dog　outside。　Shaking　her　head；　Nora　walked　downstairs　and　through　the　kitchen。　She　twisted　the　deadbolt　on　the　door　and　yanked　it　open；　kneeling　as　she　did　so　for　the　anticipated　nuzzle。　
　Thurber　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　A　skein　of　dust　swirled　on　the　concrete　step；　flaring　into　sharp　relief　as　the　headlights　of　a　car　approached　along　the　back　alley。　The　headlights　swept　across　the　grass；　past　a　stand　of　pines；　and　silhouetted　a　large　presence；　furred　and　dark；　springing　back　into　the　protective　darkness。　As　she　stared；　Nora　realized　she　had　seen　that　movement　before…a　few　nights　before；　when　the　same　object　had　raced　alongside　her　truck　with　horrifying　unnatural　speed。　
　She　stumbled　backward　into　the　kitchen　in　a　rush　of　terror；　face　hot；　gulping　air。　Then　the　moment　of　paralysis　passed。　Filled　with　sudden　anger；　she　grabbed　a　heavy　flashlight　from　the　counter　and　dashed　for　the　door。　She　stopped　at　the　threshold；　the　flashlight　revealing　nothing　but　the　peaceful　desert　night。　
　〃Leave　me　the　hell　alone！〃　she　cried　into　the　blackness。　There　was　no　dark　figure；　no　prints　in　the　damp　earth　beyond　the　door；　only　the　lost　sigh　of　the　wind；　the　crazed　barking　of　a　distant　dog；　and　the　rattle　of　the　flashlight　in　her　shaking　hand。　
　
　
9
　
　NORA　STOPPED　OUTSIDE　A　CLOSED　OAKEN　door　labeled　CHAIRMAN　OF　THE　BOARD；　SANTA　FE　ARCHAEOLOGICAL　INSTITUTE。　Clutching　more　tightly　to　the　portfolio　that　now　never　left　her　side；　she　looked　carefully　down　the　hall　in　both　directions。　She　was　uncertain　wheth