“I think I’m all perverted out,” he said, stretching. “Besides, nature hikes are definitely not my bag.” “Go fishing, then.”

He looked at her. “You never got around to telling me where.” “A quarter of a mile over the hill behind the cabin. Table Lake. Dad used to catch his limit of trout there all the time.”

“Thanks to you”-he peered at her sternly-“I’m getting a late start.” “Tough.”

“I didn’t bring any fishing gear. Your dad leave any around?” “Under the cabin, in the garage. He used to keep all his tackle down there. Keys to the door lock are on the mantel.”

The lock was stiff from nonuse. Pitt spit on it and twisted the key as hard as he dared without breaking it. At last the tumblers gave and he squeaked the old twin doors open. After waiting a minute to adjust his eyes to the darkened enclosure, he stepped inside and looked around. There was a dusty workbench with its tools all neatly hanging in place. Cans of various sizes lined several shelves, some containing paint, some containing nails and assorted hardware.

Pitt soon found a fishing-tackle box under tiie bench. The pole took a little longer to find. He barely made one out in a dim corner of the garage. What seemed to be a piece of bulky equipment shrouded under a canvas drop cloth stood in his way. He couldn’t quite reach the fishing pole, so he tried climbing over the obstruction. It shifted under his weight and he fell backward, clutching the drop cloth in a vain effort to catch his balance before both ended up on the dirt floor of the garage.

Pitt cursed, brushed himself off, and gazed at what barred him from an afternoon of fishing. A puzzled frown gripped his features. He knelt down and ran his hand over the two large objects he had accidentally uncovered. Then he rose and walked outside and called to Loren. She appeared over the balcony. “What’s your problem?” “Come down here a minute.”

Begrudgingly, she donned a soft beige trench coat and went downstairs. Pitt led her inside the garage and pointed. “Where did your father find those?”

Vixen 03 I 19

She bent forward and squinted. “What are they?”

“The round yellow one is an aircraft oxygen tank. The other is a nose gear, complete with tires and wheels. Damned old, judging by the degree of corrosion and the grime.”

“They’re news to me.”

“You must have noticed them before. Don’t you ever use the garage?”

She shook her head. “Not since I ran for office. This is the first time I’ve been to Dad’s cabin since he died in an accident three years ago.”

“You ever hear of a plane crashing around here?” Pitt probed.

“No, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. I seldom see any neighbors, so I have little opportunity to catch up on local gossip.”