Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [57]
"Lost?" the mailman asked.
"Don't think so. This Senator Jellison's ranch?" Harvey asked.
The mailman shrugged. "They say so. I've never seen him. You'll close the gate?"
"Sure."
"See you." The mailman went back to his truck. Harvey drove through the gate, got out and closed it, then followed the truck up the dusty path to the top of the hill. There was a white frame house there. The drive forked, the right-hand branch leading down toward a barn and a chain of connected small lakes. Granite cliffs reared high above the lakes. There were several orange groves, and lots of empty pastureland. Pieces of the cliff, weathered boulders larger than a California suburban house, had tumbled down into the pastures.
An ample woman came out of the house. She waved to the mailman. "Coffee's hot, Harry!"
"Thanks. Happy Trash Day."
"Oh, that again? So soon? All right, you know where to put it." She advanced on the TravelAll. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Senator Jellison. Harvey Randall, NBS."
Mrs. Cox nodded. "They're expecting you, up to the big house." She pointed down the left-hand branch of the drive. "Mind where you park, and look out for the cats."
"What's Trash Day?" Harvey asked.
Mrs. Cox's face already wore a suspicious look. Now it changed to deadpan. "Nothing important," she said. She went back onto the porch. The mailman had already vanished inside the house.
Harvey shrugged and started the TravelAll. The drive ran between barbed-wire fences, orange groves to the right, more pasture to the left. He rounded a bend and saw the house. It was large, stone walls and slate roof, a rambling, massive place that didn't look very appropriate for this remote area. It was framed against more cliffs, and had a view through a canyon to the High Sierra miles beyond.
He parked near the back door. As he started around to the big front porch, the kitchen door opened. "Hi," Maureen Jellison called. "Save some walking and come in this way."
"Right. Thanks." She was as lovely as Harvey had remembered her. She wore tan slacks, not very highly tailored, and high-top shoes, not real trail shoes but good for walking. "Waffle-stompers," Mark Czescu would have called them. Her red hair looked recently brushed. It hung down just to her shoulders, in waves with slight curls at the ends. The sun glinted off in pleasing highlights.
"Did you have an easy drive?" she asked.
"Pleasant enough—"
"I always like the drive up here from L.A.," Maureen said. "But I expect you can use a drink right about now. What'll you have?"
"Scotch. And thanks."
"Sure." She led him through a service porch into a very modern kitchen. There was a cabinet full of liquor, and she took out a bottle of Old Fedcal scotch, then fought with the ice tray. "It's always all over frost when we first come up," she said. "This is a working ranch, and the Coxes don't have time to come up and fuss with the place much. Here, it will be nicer in the other room."
Again she led the way, going through a hall to the front room of the house. The wide verandah was just beyond it. A pleasant room, Harvey decided. It was paneled in light-colored wood, with ranch-style furniture, not really very appropriate for such a massive house as this. There were photographs of dogs and horses on most of the walls, and a case of ribbons and trophies. mostly for horses, but some for cattle. "Where is everybody?" Harvey asked.
"I'm the only one here just now," Maureen said.
Harvey pushed the thought firmly down into his unconscious, and tried to laugh at himself.
"The Senator got caught by a vote," Maureen was saying. "He'll catch the red-eye out of Washington tonight and get here in the morning.