The Middle of Somewhere(40)

“We’ll need to put our sleeping bags on top tonight. There’s no heat.”

“But there are sheets. And dinner.”

“Is there beer?”

“Sadly, no. But a washing machine.”

“What do we wear while we wash everything?”

“Our birthday suits?”

He smiled. “I assume there’s no dryer, so we’ll need something to wear to dinner.”

“Our rain gear, then. Kind of kinky, don’t you think? Naked under Gortex?”

“You’re a pervert.”

“Not at the moment, but perhaps later. After you’ve had a shower.” She pinched her nose and lifted her pinky.

“I understood love is blind.”

“Perhaps. But my nose works fine.”

? ? ?

The washer—a museum piece—sat on a patch of dirt outside a small building. A white-haired man, tanned only on his face and forearms, and naked except for underpants, was leaving as she arrived. He told her the wringer attached to the top of the washer was broken and pointed to the elaborate instructions written on the wall above the machine. Liz set down her laundry and began filling the tub with a hose. Once the load was going, she sat on the steps, content to watch the horses in the corral and absorb the warmth of the sun.

After a time, Linda approached with an armload of clothing and dumped it on the table next to machine. “Look at that thing! No wonder they don’t charge to use it.”

“And the wringer doesn’t work, according to the guy who was here before. Too bad you missed him. He was about seventy and wearing nothing but his tighty-whities.” Linda made a face. “So, you have to wring everything out.”

“Well, cold-water agitation is better than nothing. Will you show me how to use it?”

Liz rose and indicated the faucet shutoff. “You can’t reach it from the washer, so you need to kink the hose. And the mud’s slippery, so be careful.” She turned on the agitator. “When you’re finished, you stick this drain hose in there”—indicating a drain in the ground—“and flip this lever on the bottom. To rinse you do the same thing. Just remember to close the lever for the drain.”

“Might as well use the rocks down by the river.”

“Just about. I’m on my last rinse.” She shut off the hose, flipped on the agitator and joined the older woman on the steps.

The McCartneys, she discovered, lived only an hour from her and Dante, in a small town in the East Bay. Paul was a research physician in pharmaceuticals (the sister field to Liz’s) and Linda designed gardens. They talked about the hike—the sections they enjoyed the most, the condition of the trail and how much they were looking forward to a feast at dinner.

Liz turned the topic to celebrity gossip. “You’ve seen Matthew Brensen on the trail, right?”

“Are you sure it’s him? I thought it was, but Paul said no. It seemed so unlikely.”

“He’s training for a part.”

“He doesn’t look very happy in his work.”

Liz laughed.

Linda said, “What about those others? The huge guy and his brother, maybe?”

“Oh, them. You haven’t talked to them?”

“We’ve been steering clear. They give me the creeps.”

At last, confirmation. “Me, too. Was it something they did, or just a feeling?”

“A feeling, mostly. But last night we camped near them. Couldn’t find anywhere else and we were wiped out.”

“We saw where they were. Off the trail a ways, right on Bear Creek.”

“Yeah, there. They made a big fire, which was fine because it’s low enough. We don’t make fires because we’re too old and go straight to bed.” She chuckled. “Anyway, we could smell them cooking something. Smelled like meat.”

“Meat? Do you think they brought it from Red’s?”

“That’s what Paul said at first, but Red’s was four days earlier. So I got out my binoculars—Paul gave me these fantastic ones for backpacking—and spied on them.” She shrugged, excusing herself. “They were roasting an animal.”

“An animal? What kind of an animal?”

“Bigger than a squirrel and smaller than a deer. We figured it was a marmot.”

“A marmot? That is so gross.”

“And illegal.”