The Dead Seed by William Campbell Gault

Author:William Campbell Gault [Gault, William Campbell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784084714
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd
Published: 2012-08-19T23:51:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

I HAVE NEVER FULLY ACCEPTED Bernoulli’s principle, on which air flight is based. The two-engine prop plane that took me and eleven other passengers from San Valdesto to Los Angeles reaffirmed my lifelong belief in the dominance of gravity. I won’t name the company; the local residents refer to it as Humpty-Dumpty Airlines. It was a rocky ride, tight seat belt all the way.

The jet plane from Los Angeles to Phoenix was less scary; they had booze on board. The day was sunny. The glimmering desert far below was dotted with small settlements, peopled by nature lovers, immigrants with respiratory problems, and loners.

A mist lay over Phoenix. The naturally dry desert air was now being clouded by the lawn, garden, and agricultural watering of its more than half a million inhabitants.

Cochise Airlines from Phoenix to Prescott was a big step up from the plane I had taken from San Valdesto. Jerry Holland was waiting for me at the Prescott airport.

Jerry had been my Sigma Nu roomie at Stanford. I had introduced him to the girl who would become his wife. She had been my first true love—until she met Jerry.

“Welcome to God’s country,” he said. “You should watch your weight, Brock.”

Jerry was a health nut, one reason he lived in Prescott. “My weight,” I told him stiffly, “was never a problem until you made me quit smoking. Where’s my former sweetheart?”

“At home, preparing a gourmet dinner for you. I reminded her that your idea of gourmet was an overdone cheeseburger, but she still harbors romantic illusions about her gridiron hero.”

“Take me to the motel first,” I said, “so I can check in.”

“Don’t be silly! You’re staying with us.”

“Jerry, I’m here on business. I’ll be in and out all the time, including nights and—”

“You told me that on the phone,” he interrupted. “That’s why we prettied up the guest house for you. Let’s get your luggage.”

The clean air of mile-high Prescott was tinted with the aromatic tang of the tall ponderosa pines bordering the narrow road that led out of town to the Holland horse ranch.

“It must get cold here in winter,” I said.

“Never too cold. I call it crisp. How are things in cuckoo land?”

“They were calm until those Arizona rednecks came to town. Do you know anything about the Chittys?”

“They’re all over the county, like lice. We pronounce the name differently. The woman who married Carl Lacrosse was a Chitty. Even you must know that name.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

He laughed. “Buddy! I have never considered you dumb. Illiterate, maybe, but never dumb!” A pause. “You finally got married. You finally got over my Lydia.”

“‘That was in another country,’” I said.

“‘And besides, the wench is dead,’” he finished for me. “When did you start reading above the Sporting News level?”

“When you started to court Lydia. I’ve met Mrs. Lacrosse. What did he see in her?”

“I heard she was one beautiful, buxom lass when she was young. She lost the beauty and got overbuxom.

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