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HawkHunter’s a lawyer.“
    “Then why doesn’t Mr. Smith add it to the deed? You just said he had a good relationship with the tribe and would respect their feelings.“
    Linda scratched Willard’s ears and made him mumble with pleasure. “You ask good questions and I’m sorry I don’t really have the answers. All I know about this is what I’ve overheard my mom and dad say. I think—but don’t quote me on this—I think Bill doesn’t believe there are graves up there. And my own guess is that he doesn’t think it’s fair to bind future owners to anything that the law doesn’t already require. That’s just based on what I know of him.“
    “The live-and-let-live, the-less-government-the-better view?“ Jane asked.
    “Exactly.“
    “What do you think of HawkHunter? What’s he like?“ Jane succumbed to the lure of gossiping about celebrities.
    “Have you met him?“ Linda asked with a grin.
    “No.“
    “Then wait until you do, and ask me again if you need to.“
    “What in the world do you mean by that?“
    “You’ll see,“ Linda said, getting up and taking their empty coffee cups to the kitchen. “Now I really do have to get back to work.“

    Wearing a good deal less bulky clothing, Jane set out again on her walk. She had a short, pleasant visit with the green-eyed white cat, who prissily picked its way over some crusted snow, arched its back for a quick pet, and meowed dismissal before moving on. Jane couldn’t imagine her slothful cats at home getting along in all this snow. She had to shovel a path for them to the back of the yard when it snowed or they wouldn’t go out at all.
    Jane discovered why the “mountain“ was called Flattop as soon as she got a little farther up the road. It looked like a little mountain ridge that some gigantic hand had leveled off. The resort’s only ski slope was on the near side. It was a learner slope with a mild, smooth incline. A mob of people, mainly children, were all over it like brightly clad, but very awkward, ants. A rope looped on a line of stakes enabled them to claw their way back up the slope to keep making practice runs. Among the learners, a trio of obvious experts busily gave advice, helped them to their feet, reattached skis, and generally taught the basics of skiing.
    Jane, who had once tried to teach a troop of Brownies, including two left-handers, to crochet, was all sympathy for the instructors.
    There were benches at the bottom of the slope, where the winded and discouraged could sit down to recoup. She joined a little clump of them and listened politely as one of the instructors gave some basic information. skiing, she discovered, sounded a lot easier than it looked. When the bench cleared, Jane waited for a bit, watching. A minute later, one of the instructors (who had, to Jane’s certain knowledge, helped the same lanky teenager to her feet five times) came over and sat down to recover his patience.
    “Wouldn’t it be easier if there were a lift?“ she asked.
    He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “A lift? Here? What for? Half the skill they need to learn is how to get around when it’s not an easy downhill slope. Besides, it would cost a fortune to put a lift on a puny little hill like this.“
    How odd , Jane thought. If a lift on this slope was such a useless idea, what were HawkHunter and his adherents carrying on about? Jane looked up at the hill, and noticed the same red-clad skier she’d seen earlier. He or she, for it was impossible to tell at this distance, was standing still at the very top of the slope, looking down at the resort through binoculars.
    “Is there an easier way to get to the top?“ Jane asked the instructor.
    “Without skis? Oh, sure. See that path leading into the woods? Just follow that.“
    Jane checked her watch. Ten-thirty. By the time she walked up there to admire the view, it would almost be time for another meal. And walking up there would burn off the calories she needed to get rid