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rather. Or both.” Patsy Orr smiled broadly, a picture of welcome.
    She returned the smile, wondering, Why didn’t she simply tell this nice woman . . . but tell her what, exactly? Well, why didn’t she go to the police? Even if her story sounded too queer to believe, they would at least put out some kind of tracer on her. There must be parents or relatives she was gone from.
    She didn’t because something told her he would talk his way out of it. Even though she couldn’t remember what he looked like, who he was, she knew this. Look at how he’d convinced Mrs. Orr that for him to share a room with his daughter (a daughter in her teens?) was perfectly all right. Yes, she would like to know just what lies he’d told Mrs. Orr.
    â€œâ€”don’t look like him. You’re so blond, your coloring is so light.” Patsy Orr was talkative. “Well, maybe you take after your mother.”
    â€œPeople are always saying that. People think Dad”—she cleared her throat—“is sort of handsome.”
    â€œSort of? Well, I’m sure I’d grant him more than that.” Patsy Orr laughed and blushed. “Mind if I sit and have a cup of coffee with you while you’re eating?”
    â€œPlease do.” She wanted to find out whatever she could. However, she was careful to keep an eye on the clock: ten-twelve. “Did he say what his appointment was for?”
    â€œNo. Just that he’d be back before noon. Checkout time’s eleven, but don’t you worry about that.”
    â€œBreakfast really smells good.” She breathed in, appreciatively. “Did he take the car?” she asked.
    Patsy Orr was cutting the bread into squares. “No, I don’t think he did. It needed some part or other that he said he could get from one of the garages in town. I told him it was easy walking distance to the center of town. He’d got a street map.”
    Center of what town? She didn’t remember having seen an address on anything. “I’d like to eat, yes.” As Patsy Orr got out plates and uncovered pans, she said, “It’s so beautiful around here. Even though I didn’t see much. But I looked out of the window at sunrise. Those mountains—” She waited.
    â€œThe Sandias? Yes. That’s only one of the mountain ranges. The country around here is beautiful, all right. I guess it’s why it’s such a tourist draw. That’s why we—my husband and I—moved from Los Angeles. Getting old, but took a chance.” She smiled again, that broad, flat smile. She slid eggs onto the plate with the corn bread.
    She took a chance too. “It’s certainly much more beautiful than where we come from.” Please tell me.
    At this the woman looked astonished. “Do you really think so? That’s a surprise. You can’t beat Idaho—or did he say Colorado?—for natural beauty.” Mrs. Orr smiled, awaiting confirmation.
    â€œYes, they’re both beautiful, aren’t they?”
    â€œBut which one are you—? Oh, now I remember. You’re from Idaho, but you’ve just come from Colorado. That was it. You’ve been traveling around. Well, breakfast is ready. So come on.” Patsy Orr led the way into the dining room.
    She sighed as she took her place in front of spotless crystal and cut flowers. If it was Idaho, probably it was some little town. “Maybe some people like it, but it’s pretty dull for me.”
    â€œWell, but there’s all of that gorgeous skiing and beautiful rivers and mountains.” Patsy Orr shrugged. “I’d think a young person might like that.”
    Picking up her fork, she smiled a thankful, heartfelt smile. “I don’t ski.”

4
    Maybe she’d been interesting. She was trying to recollect the kind of girl she was, or had been. Yet she knew she was wasting preciousmoments by sitting on the bed in this casita,