The Dark Place

she'd gone into the Army and served as an MP in Germany.

'That was an interesting experience. I learned to shoot; got pretty good at judo and karate too.'

'I think I'd better withdraw that invitation to my motel,” Gideon said.

When the waitress returned for their order, he hadn't yet looked at the menu.

'They're famous for their grilled salmon here, Professor,” Julie said.

'She's sure right about that, Professor,” the waitress agreed, writing down the order with evident satisfaction when Gideon nodded his agreement.

'Julie,” Gideon said, “I'm the last person in the world to refuse a little respect, but I'd prefer ‘Gideon’ to ‘Professor,’ if that's all right with you.'

'That's fine; I just noticed that John calls you ‘Doc,’ so I thought you liked that sort of thing.'

'I told him long ago to call me by my first name, so he started calling me ‘Gid.’ ‘Doc’ is a compromise.'

Gideon noted that she didn't ask him any personal questions and knew that John had told her about Nora. That pleased him; it meant that Julie had been interested enough to ask questions.

When the salmon came, along with a bottle of Gamay Beaujolais that Gideon had ordered over Eleanor's injunction that white wine went with fish, it was placed before them worshipfully.

'Enjoy,” said Eleanor again, her voice husky with reverence.

The fish was indeed extraordinarily good, with pink, firm flesh that tasted like fine veal.

'It's called blueback salmon,” Julie said. “The Quinault Indians have rearing pens on the lake, and they're the only ones who can get them. The lodge has a special contract with them.'

'It's superb.'

'They catch them with bone-tipped spears,” said Julie, blandly chewing.

Gideon put down his fork. “They what?'

Julie laughed. “Joke. They use only the most modern methods, I assure you.'

'I'm glad to hear it,” Gideon said, returning to the fish, but his thoughts had gone back to that triangular point on the workroom table. He sipped the beaujolais abstractedly.

'Uh-oh,” Julie said, “I've started him thinking serious things.” She drained her glass and held it out to him to be refilled. “Let's go back to us.'

Gideon slowly shook his head. “There's something that bothers me...'

'What?'

'I don't know, but something's wrong. Or not wrong, just not right.” He refilled her glass and his own. “The hell with it. Intuition is a sidewise kind of thing, and you can't push it; at least not mine.'

They clicked glasses again and made small talk through the rest of the main course. When Gideon asked for the bill, Eleanor told them they couldn't think of leaving without ordering the house specialty, a creamy chocolate cheesecake, with their coffee.

'If she says ‘enjoy’ when she brings it, I'll scream,” Julie said.

'So help me, I'll kill her myself.'

'Enjoy,” Eleanor said heartily when she placed the cake before them and was greeted by a burst of laughter that sent her away baffled but beaming.

In the final ruddy afterglow of the day they walked down the deserted, cool lawn to the shore and listened to the gentle, steady lapping of the tiny waves against the gravel.

'You're going to throw a stone in the water,” Julie said.

'Why would I want to do that?” It had been just what he was going to do.

'Inborn male trait. Genetic. Haven't you noticed? From the age of three on, no boy or man can pass a body of water without tossing in a stone. That's why our lakes are silting up.'

'Ah, but I'm no ordinary tosser. I'm a world-class skimmer, silver medal, ought-four Olympics. Give me some room, now.'

He sidearmed a pebble out into the darkening lake. Together they counted the soft splashes as it hopped over the water, leaving spreading circles on the smooth surface. “Two, three, four...five.'

'A new world's record,” Gideon said, “and you were there.'

'Let me try,” Julie said. “Here goes.'

'You're holding it too high. You have to do it underhand.'

'Oh, yeah?” She threw the stone. There was a heavy plunk.

'One,” they said.

'See?'

Julie shook her head. “Nope. I think it's something men can do and women can't, that's all.'

'You might be right, actually. Women do throw differently than men; they have different shoulder girdles. In a male, the top of the sternum is on a level with the third thoracic vertebra—” He stopped when Julie laughed. “John's right, you see,” he said, smiling. “I do tend to give lectures.'