p&c.thunderhead-第12部分

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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　whether　the　nervousness　she　felt　had　to　do　with　the　events　of　the　night　before　or　with　the　impending　meeting。　Had　word　of　her　shenanigans　at　JPL　somehow　gotten　out？　No；　that　was　impossible。　But　maybe　this　was　going　to　be　a　dismissal　anyway。　Why　else　would　Ernest　Goddard　want　to　see　her？　Her　head　ached　from　lack　of　sleep。　
　All　she　knew　about　the　chairman　was　what　she　had　read；　along　with　the　rare　newspaper　photo　and　even　rarer　glimpse　of　his　striking　figure　around　campus。　Although　Dr。　Blakewood　might　have　been　prime　mover　and　chief　architect　of　the　Institute's　vision；　Nora　knew　that　Goddard　was　the　real　power　and　money　behind　Blakewood's　throne。　And　unlike　Blakewood；　Goddard　had　an　almost　supernatural　ability　to　cultivate　the　press；　managing　to　get　the　occasional　tasteful　and　laudatory　article　placed　in　just　the　right　venue。　She　had　heard　several　explanations　for　the　man's　tremendous　wealth；　from　inheriting　a　motor　oil　fortune　to　discovering　a　submarine　full　of　Nazi　gold…none　of　which　seemed　credible。　
　She　took　a　deep　breath　and　grasped　the　doorknob　firmly。　Maybe　a　dismissal　would　be　a　good　thing　at　this　point。　It　would　free　her　to　pursue　Quivira　unhindered。　The　Institute；　in　the　person　of　Dr。　Blakewood；　had　already　passed　judgment　on　her　proposed　expedition。　Holroyd　had　given　her　the　ammunition　she　needed　to　take　the　idea　somewhere　else。　If　the　Institute　wasn't　interested；　she　knew　she　would　find　a　place　that　was。　
　A　small；　nervous　secretary　ushered　her　through　the　reception　area　to　the　inner　office。　The　space　was　as　cool　and　spare　as　a　church；　with　whitewashed　adobe　walls　and　a　Mexican　tiled　floor。　Instead　of　the　imposing　power　desk　Nora　had　expected；　there　was　a　huge　wooden　worktable；　badly　scuffed　and　dented。　She　looked　around　in　surprise；　it　was　the　exact　opposite　of　Dr。　Blakewood's　office。　Except　for　a　row　of　pots　on　the　worktable；　lined　up　as　if　at　attention；　the　room　was　devoid　of　ornamentation。　
　Behind　the　worktable　stood　Ernest　Goddard；　longish　white　hair　haloing　his　gaunt　face；　a　salt…and…pepper　beard　below　lively　blue　eyes。　One　hand　held　a　pencil。　A　rumpled　cotton　handkerchief　drooped　from　his　jacket　pocket。　His　body　was　thin　and　frail；　and　his　gray　suit　hung　loosely　on　his　bony　frame。　Nora　would　have　thought　he　was　ill；　except　that　his　eyes　were　clear；　bright；　and　full　of　fire。　
　〃Dr。　Kelly；〃　he　said；　laying　down　the　pencil　and　ing　around　the　worktable　to　shake　her　hand。　〃So　good　to　meet　you　at　last。〃　His　voice　was　unusual：　low；　dry；　barely　higher　than　a　whisper。　And　yet　it　carried　enormous　authority。　
　〃Please　call　me　Nora；〃　she　replied　guardedly。　This　cordial　reception　was　the　last　thing　she　expected。　
　〃I　believe　I　will；〃　Goddard　paused　to　remove　the　handkerchief　and　cough　into　it　with　a　delicate；　almost　feminine　gesture。　〃Have　a　seat。　Oh；　but　before　you　do；　take　a　look　at　these　ceramics；　will　you？〃　He　poked　the　handkerchief　back　into　his　pocket。　
　Nora　approached　the　table。　She　counted　a　dozen　painted　bowls；　all　peerless　examples　of　ancient　pottery　from　the　Mimbres　valley　of　New　Mexico。　Three　were　pure　geometrics　with　vibrant　rhythms；　and　two　contained　abstract　insect　designs：　a　stinkbug　and　a　cricket。　The　rest　were　covered　with　anthropomorphics…splendidly　precise；　geometric　human　figures。　Each　pot　had　a　neat　hole　punched　in　the　bottom。　
　〃They're　magnificent；〃　Nora　said。　
　Goddard　seemed　about　to　speak；　then　turned　to　cough。　A　buzzer　sounded　on　the　worktable。　〃Dr。　Goddard；　Mrs。　Henigsbaugh　to　see　you。〃　
　〃Send　her　in；〃　Goddard　said。　
　Nora　threw　him　a　glance。　〃Shall　I…〃　
　〃You　stay　right　here；〃　Goddard　said；　indicating　the　chair。　〃This　will　only　take　a　minute。〃　
　The　door　opened　and　a　woman　of　perhaps　seventy　swept　into　the　room。　Immediately；　Nora　recognized　the　type：　Santa　Fe　society　matron；　rich；　thin；　tan；　almost　no　makeup；　in　fabulous　shape；　wearing　an　exquisite　but　understated　Navajo　squash　blossom　necklace　over　a　silk　blouse；　with　a　long　velveteen　skirt。　
　〃Ernest；　how　delightful；〃　she　said。　
　〃Wonderful　to　see　you；　Lily；〃　Goddard　replied。　He　waved　a　spotted　hand　at　Nora。　〃This　is　Dr。　Nora　Kelly；　an　assistant　professor　her