Ill Wind Read Online Free

while. “Hills blew his overtime money on an all-terrain vehicle. I’m kind of glad he did—he’s so cute at budget meetings when he begs.”
    “Take care,” Anna said, setting her Smokey Bear hat squarely on her head and taking a last look around quarters she hoped soon would be hers.
    “I’ll keep anything else... personal... Tom sends and give it to you,” Patsy promised as she held open the door.
    “I can’t wait.”
    Summer was off and running.

TWO
    NO REST FOR THE WEARY—OR WAS IT THE WICKED? Anna couldn’t remember. There was definitely no rest for those fated to share dormitory quarters.
    Her briefcase, used for carrying citation notices, maps, and brochures, banged against the screen door, jarring her elbow. Simultaneously her ears and nose were assaulted. The first by the Grateful Dead and the second by a kitchen that would daunt even the most hardened health inspector.
    Early on in this allegedly temporary housing arrangement Anna realized she had two choices: bite the bullet or play Mom. As she had neither the taste nor the inclination for the latter, she had spent the four and a half weeks since the seasonals entered on duty knee-deep in unwashed dishes and empty beer cans. The mess wasn’t as hard to take as the noise. After some sparks had flown she’d been given a room of her own but the walls of the flimsy, prefab structure were so thin, at times she swore they served better to conduct than deflect sound waves.
    Clad in a homemade ankle-length sarong of double knit, Jamie Burke was draped across one sofa. Jennifer Short, the other woman with whom she shared the two-bedroom house, was sprawled in a pajama-party attitude. They were intelligent, funny, interesting women. Left ignorant of their domestic habits, Anna would undoubtedly have found them delightful.
    As she tried to slip unnoticed into her bedroom the imperious call of “Stop there!” arrested her progress.
    The order came from Jamie, one of the army of seasonal interpreters hired on each summer to lead tours of the cliff dwellings and, for a short time—or so Hills repeatedly promised—Anna’s housemate at Far View.
    Dutifully, Anna waited, briefcase in hand.
    In her late twenties, Jamie had the look of someone who has been athletic all her life. Muscular hips and legs gave her a stocky silhouette that was accentuated by the flat-brimmed hat and cloddy shoes of the NPS uniform she wore on duty.
    In contrast to her juggernaut physique, her face was a perfect oval, the skin flawless, setting off pale blue eyes and a sensuous mouth. Jamie’s hair, fine and smooth and blue-black, fell to her knees in a single braid thickened by red yarn woven through and bound around, Apache style, at the tail.
    Jamie boasted that she inherited the black tresses from a half-blood Cherokee mother but Anna strongly suspected that she dyed it. In a women’s dorm there were few secrets. All of Jamie’s body hair was not of the same raven hue.
    “What’s up?” Anna asked, trying to keep the weariness from her voice.
    “Stacy had to walk an old lady out of Cliff this morning. Where were you?”
    Anna ignored the accusatory tone. “What was the problem?”
    “Some kind of pulmonary thing. Wasn’t breathing right. There was that old guy last week.”
    “Yup.” Again Anna waited.
    “They’re pissed. I’m not surprised, either.”
    Now Anna was lost. The previous week’s carry-out had gone well. The man’s wife had even sent a glowing thank-you letter. “The man’s family is pissed?”
    “No-o.” Jamie drew out the syllable slightly, as if Anna was too obtuse for words. “The Old Ones. The Anasazi. They should close this park to everybody but native peoples. It’s not Frontierland, it’s a sacred place. We shouldn’t be here.”
    Jamie Burke leaped from one drama to the next. In the few short weeks Anna had known her she’d been through exposure to AIDS, been engaged to a nameless state senator in Florida, and been involved in an