Revolution No. 9 Read Free Page A

course. His main focus was a leisurely trip up the west coast, through Galway to Donegal, staying as close as he could to the ocean. He had no fixed schedule. In early spring, lodging should be easy to find. He would be traveling alone. Ideally, he would have a female companion along, but there was no one on the radar just now. He was starting to wonder if there ever would be again.
    Monks decided to pour one more short splash of whiskey before starting the charcoal for the salmon. He was getting to his feet when a knock came at the front door.
    This surprised him. His house was a good hundred yards off a little-traveled county road, surrounded by redwoods, all but hidden from view. He would have heard a car coming up his gravel drive. So the caller was on foot—but there were no near neighbors, and no one in the habit of dropping by.
    He stepped to a window that gave a view of the deck outside the front door. His surprise deepened. A young woman was standing there. The evening darkness was closing in, but he was quite sure she wasn’t anyone he knew. She was looking around, in a way that suggested she might be nervous at approaching a stranger’s house at dusk.
    Monks walked to the door and opened it.
    She was in her early twenties, tall and full-figured; not really pretty but attractive, with olive skin and strong Mediterranean features. Her black hair was pinned with a clasp and worn long down her back. She was dressed as if for business, in tailored slacks and a silk blouse. She smiled but that looked nervous, too.
    â€œI saw your lights,” she said, with a slight stammer. “I got a flat tire, down on the road.”
    Monks’s heart sank a little. Changing a tire, in the dark, on a vehicle he didn’t know anything about, was not an enjoyable prospect.
    â€œI’ll come take a look,” he said.
    She murmured thanks.
    He was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and well-worn Red Wing work boots—clothes that would do. He got a powerful Mag flashlight out of the front closet and put on a wool-lined Carhartt jacket. Then, seeing that she had crossed her forearms and was rubbing her upper arms with her palms, he said, “You’re welcome to stay here and warm up while I go check it out.”
    She shook her head. “That’s okay.”
    â€œYou want a coat?”
    â€œThat’s okay,” she said again. “I’ve got one down there. I didn’t think it was this cold.”
    Monks switched on the flashlight, illuminating their path down the gravel drive toward the county road. The woods were still. A few brave tree frogs emitted hopeful croaks inthe chilly damp air, trying to strike up the usual evening chorus, but apparently most of their comrades were bedded down in amphibean comfort, exercising selective deafness.
    â€œI can’t promise I can do this,” Monks warned. “Is there somebody around here who could come pick you up?”
    â€œNo.”
    She didn’t live nearby, then, and wasn’t visiting someone who did. He wondered what she was doing on a narrow, outof-the-way road that ran from noplace to noplace else. Probably she was just lost.
    â€œDo you know where the jack and spare are?” he asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you have an owner’s manual?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    His lips twisted wryly. There was nothing like traveling prepared. But he reminded himself that at her age he had been pretty feckless, too.
    â€œWe might have to call a tow truck,” he said.
    She nodded, still clasping herself.
    Monks thought about trying to keep up small talk, but it seemed clear that she wanted to get this done and get out of here. He could hardly blame her. He probably seemed harmless, but he was still a strange man that she was alone with, in a lonely place. And given the age gap, she was doubtless bored to tears, just on general principles.
    â€œBy the way, my name’s Carroll,” he