Ken Goddard - Double blind

The communications specialist gave Wintersole a puzzled look, but he simply motioned for her to follow the old man into the huge screened area, then sat down at one of the rustic tables surrounding a circular pit with a bell-like brass chimney over a blazing log fire.

"I like to eat outside," the old man explained as he sat in the chair closest to the fire and leaned his walking stick within easy reach against the table. "Gets a mite chilly sometimes, but a good fire warms my bones better than any modern heating system."

"Fine." Wintersole barely glanced at the fire as he and Azaria joined the old man at the table.

"Things are a little slow around here," the Sage advised as he picked up one of the handwritten menus and held it up to the firelight. "Just the new owner and a young feller doin' the cooking and everything else. But that's okay 'cause the hot chocolate's just as good as ever."

"So how did the search go?" Wintersole inquired openly. "Any luck?"

"Hell yes, I had some luck," the old man retorted. "Fact is, I had to sweet-talk a couple of them Indian folks something fierce to round up these beauties." He turned his backpack upside down, and seven ornately beaded and feathered necklaces dropped onto the wood slab tabletop. "Got three from one old woman who planned to save them for her grandsons, but I guess she decided the money meant more to her. Said the kids don't care about the old ways anymore. Guess that's pretty much the way everywhere." The bearded old man sighed deeply.

"But then, too, some would say that children have never cared about such things," Wintersole suggested as his eyes scanned the enclosed porch and surrounding deck.

The old man's dark glasses reflected the warm glow of the fire as he cocked his head curiously.

"What have we here?" he addressed Wintersole suspiciously. "A hunter and a philosopher?"

"From my perspective, it's difficult to be a hunter for any length of time without becoming philosophical," Wintersole replied. "At least about death. We humans lack serious teeth or claws, so we make weapons. If we didn't, we'd find ourselves at the mercy of those natural predators who come into this world much better armed."

"Such as the government?" The Sage smiled knowingly.

Wintersole blinked, then chuckled in appreciation while covertly nudging his companion's leg with his boot.

"And speaking of claws — " Wintersole's companion held up one of the necklaces to the light.

"Ah yes, young lady, the charms," the Sage responded immediately. "A very good eye you have, too. That's by far the prettiest — and, who knows, perhaps the luckiest," he added cheerfully. "Are you taking that one for yourself?"

The young woman looked over at Wintersole, who shrugged indifferently.

"Actually, I might need some extra luck on this trip." She briefly fingered the four thick, slightly curved claws before slipping the ornate necklace over her head.

"Then you couldn't have chosen better," the Sage congratulated her. "And as long as we're trying to match charms with personalities," he added as he picked up another one of the necklaces and handed it to Wintersole, "I recommend that our philosopher-hunter wear this one."

"Why so?" The team leader barely looked at the necklace he held in his hand.

"Because the claws came from a grizzly."

That comment caused Wintersole to examine the extremely thick claws that had been strung on a simple knotted leather cord more carefully.

"Really? I thought grizzly claws were a lot sharper than this." The hunter-killer recon team leader fingered the tips that were nearly as blunt as a child's finger and studied the Sage suspiciously.

The old man shook his head. "That's a common misconception. Cat claws are sharp. Bear claws are powerful. Fact is, a bear like that one" — the Sage gestured at the necklace in Wintersole's hand — "could probably rip a car door right off its hinges, if it had a mind to."

The expression on Wintersole's face changed perceptibly as he continued examining the ornament.

"Yes sir," the Sage went on, "all things considered, a grizzly's just about the most powerful animal you're ever gonna ever run across in this life. Unless, of course, you go looking for one of them polar bears. But I don't think you'll be finding many of them critters here in Jasper County." The old man chuckled.

"No, I suppose not." Wintersole reached into his pocket, drew out a band-wrapped roll of money, and tossed it onto the table.

"Eleven hundred dollars," he announced flatly. "I decided to increase our contribution to your hot chocolate fund. I've noticed it gets very cold around these mountains at night."

"And speaking of hot chocolate…" The Sage smiled in anticipation.

Wintersole turned around in his chair, then froze… as did communications specialist Azaria.

"I thought I heard somebody out here," the woman explained softly. "What can I get for you folks?"

"A large hot chocolate for me," the old man ordered quickly. "Then you can whip me up one of them soy burgers, extra onions."

"Extra onions, you got it." The woman nodded, not bothering to use the order pad in her apron pocket. "And you folks?" She turned to the other two, then quickly realized that neither of them paid her any attention.

"Don't worry, she's fine," the woman assured them, tugging slightly on the thick chain leash — that was hooked to what appeared to be a transmitter collar — to bring the large cat closer to her leg.

Wintersole stared at the dilated pupils in the center of the bright yellow eyes in absolute fascination.

"What an incredible animal," he whispered almost reverently.

"Don't let her hear you say that," the woman advised. "Sasha thinks she's just as human as I am. Or maybe it's the other way around, I'm never quite sure." She smiled. "I raised her from a kitten, and she's very attached, but surprisingly interested in people

… and pretty good company, too," she added, tugging at the leash again, which caused the large cat to yowl in annoyance, "when she's not being pigheaded."

"You don't think she'll ever hurt someone?" the communications specialist asked uneasily.

"Oh, I'm sure if anyone ever tried to give me a bad time, she'd tear them to shreds in a matter of seconds," the woman declared with certainty. "But that's one of the reasons I consider her good company. So, what will you have?"

"The same," Wintersole responded indifferently, his eyes still fixed on the glowing yellow eyes that observed him with an intensity that seemed far more predatory than curious.

"Me too," the communications specialist added uneasily.

"Okay, the hot chocolate'll be coming right up," the woman announced cheerfully, and disappeared into the main building with the cat following close at her side.

"So, what do you think?" the Sage asked. "Pretty classy dame for a US government postmaster… or postmistress, or whatever they call them nowadays. Or maybe you didn' even notice," the old man added with a chuckle.

"No," Wintersole replied, "I didn't."

While they waited for the food to come, the three conspirators sipped hot chocolate, indulged in idle conversation, and watched a few locals wander down the lighted path to the converted garage to drop off mail, check on their post-office boxes, and share a few tidbits of gossip.

However, Wintersole paid very little attention to the conversation. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the doorway to the converted mill, pensively sipping his drink until the woman finally reappeared with their orders and the cat at her side. Then his cold, gray eyes lit up with intense interest.

This time, however, he paid very careful attention to the woman as well as the cat.

As they ate, Azaria casually questioned the Sage about the origins of the necklaces, and the old man explained how nothing was ever as it seemed, but you could often make sense out of the illusions if you paid close attention.