“Tell her then that while Betty Sue was among us, she regained her innocence, restored her youth,” she said. “She was happy here, she grew young again.”

“I’ve heard it’s possible,” I said, still stunned, “but I’ve never seen it happen.”

“That’s a pity, sir, since it is one of life’s delights to watch the young grow young again.”

“What happened?” I asked, wanting to know how she died.

“She blossomed like a flower here,” Selma said, misunderstanding, “she came to value herself again. If you have been searching for her for some time surely you know something about her life after she ran away from home. She came here from jail, beaten and whipped by life, fat and ugly, but once she fasted and cleansed her system of animal mucus, the compulsive eating stopped, and she grew lovely again, whole. She stayed longer than any of my charges, before or since, even though her stay was more difficult than most.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?” I said.

“This isn’t just a job to you, is it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You’re not a member of the family, are you?” “No, ma’am.”

“I sensed both those things immediately,” she said, “which made it possible to talk to you. You understand that I do not judge or criticize my charges or their life before, but when they come here, they must follow my rules or leave. No meat, no drugs, no sex. What they do when they leave is their business, and if they come back up the mountain in emotional rags, I take them in gladly, but while they are here, they must obey the rules or leave.”

“And Betty Sue had trouble?”

“The boys followed her like a bitch in heat,” she answered flatly, “as well they should. Betty Sue had a great capacity for love. She fended the boys off, but it was so hard for her. She seemed to need that sort of male affection—I suppose her father never gave her the sort of love she needed—but she fought it to a standstill.” Then Selma paused to laugh. “She also admitted to an intense longing for red meat, but she never gave in to that desire either.” The bit of light laughter seemed to bring back memories, and her gray eyes turned cloudy. “Then one afternoon in late summer,” she continued, whispering so softly that I had to lean forward to hear her, “just after she had decided to leave in the fall to return to school, she drove my pickup down into town for supplies, and as she drove back, a stray dog ran in front of the truck, and she swerved to miss it, off the pavement and into the river … ” She rose and walked to the window, the cat limp over her arm, and pointed down toward the sparkling flow. “It happened on that comer right down

there.”

I followed the finger’s direction down the ridge to a narrow bend, a sharp curve ending in a swift green pool.

“She survived the crash but drowned,” Selma said. “I am so very sorry.”

“You had no way to notify her mother?” I said.

“Her mother? No. I did what I could, placed advertisements in the San Francisco papers, but Betty Sue never talked about her childhood,” she said. “Never. Not a word the whole time she was here. In that, too, she was different from others who have stayed with me for a time.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Why do you think she wouldn’t talk about her childhood?” Selma asked, her eyes damp and serious.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe she felt like a princess stolen by peasants. I don’t know.”

“Children feel that way too often,” she said, “it’s so

sad.”

“I guess the trick is to take what you get for parents and try to live with it,” I said lightly.

“That’s very easy to say,” she said, “and often very difficult to do.” I understood that I had been rebuked for a lack of gravity. “Parents must make their children feel loved and wanted. If they do nothing else, they must do that, they owe at least that to their children,” she said with such a- brittle tone to her voice that I thought she must have been either an unwanted child or a failure as a parent. But I didn’t ask.

“You had the body cremated?” I said.

“Graves are too sad, don’t you think?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s just that her mother might not like the idea—country people are sometimes funny about cremation.”

“It’s done,” she said sharply, “and there’s little to like or dislike about it now.”

“Of course,” I said. “You wouldn’t have a snapshot of Betty Sue?” I asked, nodding toward a corkboard covered with photos. “Her mother might like a picture.

“Those are photographs of those who have found otherlives after leaving,” she said. “They send them back. We take no photographs here, no reminders of how they looked here to remind them of how they came to be here.”

“I guess I can understand that,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask why you do all this?”

“I would mind very much,” she answered. “My motives are my own.”

“Then I won’t ask,” I said, and she smiled at me. “I’m sure Mrs. Flowers would want me to thank you for your kindness and love, and I want to thank you for talking to me.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings,” she said, then shook my offered hand. “Once, years ago, I believed that after death we moved on into some universal consciousness, some far better life than this flawed world upon which we must somehow survive, but now I know, I understand that terrible knowledge that the dead do not rise again to walk the earth, and I take no false joy in the knowledge, I simply endure it, so I am immensely sad to tell you ofBetty Sue’s death.”

“I guess we should be glad she had some happy times here,” I said, “since she was so unhappy everywhere else. You have a lovely place here.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m a little old to give up 152

strong drink, red meat, and women all at once, but some morning you might find me curled up on your front steps,” I added. “If I can make the hill.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said as she patted my hand. “My door is always open.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I guess I should know the date of her death, too. Her mother will want to know.”

She told me without hesitation, and I left.

Down the switchbacks of the dusty path, I walked without looking to either side, and as I drove down the sweeping curves of the canyon highway, I didn’t watch the sunlight dancing on the riffles, didn’t see the towers and battlements of pink rock rising above the river. I didn’t stop or think or look until I reached the Larimer County Courthouse and checked the death certificates. It was there. I cursed myself for a suspicious bastard, cursed the emptiness of my success, the long drive to California before the long drive home. Then I thought about getting drunk, a black ceremonial wake, a sodden purge.

Thus did the good luck tum bad.

The bad luck turning worse came later when I stumbled back to my motel room more tired than drunk, tired of trying to get drunk without success. As I reached with my key for the lock, somebody sapped me just hard enough to drop me to my knees, to bring bright flashes of darkness, stunned me long enough to hustle me soundlessly into the room, pat me down, and shove me into a comer. When I could see, I saw the man who had been inside Jackson’s office sitting relaxed in the motel chair, his large ugly associate, and another hired hand with his back against the wall as he covered me with a small silenced automatic.

“No trouble,” I muttered.

“You’re in no position to cause any trouble at all,” the man in the chair said mildly.

“That’s what I meant,” I said. “Mr. Sughrue, you have to understand that I can’t allow you to treat my friends badly,” he said. “Hired help,” I said. “What?”

“Jackson’s hired help,” I said, “not your friend.”

“Whatever, I can’t have you shoving a gun down his throat and making empty threats,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll give it up for Lent.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” he said.

“Listen,” I said, “if you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be here—”

“Don’t be so sure,” he interrupted.

“—wouldn’t be within thirty miles of here, but if you’ve got some misguided sense of vengeance for whatever it was I was supposed to have done to Jackson, I’m willing to take my medicine,” I said as I eased up the wall, “and I’ll be as quiet as I can.”

“How nice,” the man in the chair said.

“Nothing personal,” Torres said softly as he eased a glove on his right hand.

“Nothing personal,” I agreed, then took it as best I could.

They didn’t seem to have their hearts in it, and I didn’t resist a bit, didn’t give them the slightest reason for any emotional involvement. Maybe it worked or maybe they didn’t plan to hurt me too badly from the beginning. Whatever, they didn’t do any permanent damage. No broken bones, no missing teeth, no ruptured spleen. I had forgotten, though, how much a professional beating hurts, and I was very glad when they stripped me, strapped me with tape, and sat me in the bathtub. I didn’t know why they did it, I was just glad the hard part was over. Maybe they knew what I had planned for Jackson in the motel room in Aurora.

Before they gagged me and turned oil the cold shower, the one in charge said, “Hey, buddy, you’ve got discipline, and I like a man with discipline. You ought to come to work for me.”

“Leave your name with the desk clerk,” I muttered.

“Your only problem is that you think you’re both tough and smart,” he said as he patted me on the cheek, “and the truth is that you’re only tough because you’re dumb.”

“What the hell,” I grunted. “I don’t take orders worth a damn, either.”

“Maybe you should take up another line of work,” he crooned, as he held up the photostat of my license.

“Is that an order?”

“You never quit, do you?” he said laughing. “I hope this was worth it, you know, hope you found the chick you were hassling Jackson about.”

“She’s dead,” I said. “She’s been dead for nearly five years. It was a waste of time.”

“Too bad,” he said, then laughed again. “Just be thankful that you didn’t hurt my friend and be thankful that I’m in a good mood.”

“I am,” I said.

Then his associates gagged me with a sock. I was thankful that it was clean, thankful that after they left I was able to shove the water control off with my foot, and thankful too that when the maid came in the next morning, she jerked the sock out of my mouth instead of screaming. I had no idea how I might begin to explain my condition to the police. I tipped the maid and told her to tell the desk that I would be staying over another day. I needed the rest.