Free Spencerville by Nelson DeMille Page A

once a week." He laughed.

Chapter Seven
    A hot, dry wind blew in from the southwest, originating within some ancient weather pattern that once swept prairie fires across the grassy plains and stampeded endless herds of buffalo, blind with panic, into the Great Black Swamp where their bones were still turned up by plows. But now the wind blew through a million rows of corn and a million acres of undulating wheat, through the small towns and lonely farmhouses, and across pastures and meadows where cattle grazed. It swept across Indiana and into Ohio, and over the Great Lakes, where it met the arctic mass moving south.
    By mid-September, when the west winds died, Keith Landry recalled, you could sometimes catch a whiff of the north, the smell of pines and lake air, and the sky was filled with Canadian geese. One September day, George Landry said to his wife, Alma, "It's time we got smart like the geese." And they left.
    The history of most human migration, however, was more complex, Keith thought. Humans had adapted to every climate on earth, and in ancient times had populated the world by their wanderings. Unlike salmon, they didn't have to return to their birthplace to spawn, though Keith thought that wouldn't be a bad idea.
    Keith was acclimating himself to the almost suffocating dryness, the fine dust, the constant desiccating wind, and, like most northern Ohioans, he was thinking about the winter long before it arrived. But acclimating to the weather was easy; acclimating to the social environment was going to be a little more difficult.
    It had been a week since his return, and Keith decided it was time to go downtown. He drove in at midday and headed directly for Baxter Motors, a Ford dealership on the eastern end of Main Street. His family had done business there for years, and Keith vaguely recalled that his father did not really care for those people. But the old man was perverse and felt that he could strike a better bargain with people he disliked, and he got a thrill from it.
    He was not unaware that Baxter Motors was owned by the family of Annie's husband, and perhaps that influenced his decision, too, though he couldn't get a handle on that reasoning.
    He got out of the Saab and looked around. The dealership was strictly Ford, with no foreign car franchise attached, as was common back east.
    A salesman beelined across the parking lot and inquired, "How're you today?"
    "Very fine. Thank you for asking."
    The salesman seemed momentarily confused, then struck out his hand. "Phil Baxter."
    "Keith Landry." He looked at Mr. Baxter, a baby-fat man in his early forties with more chins than a Chinese phone book. Phil Baxter seemed pleasant enough, but that came with the job. Keith asked, "This your place?"
    Phil laughed. "Not yet. Waitin' for Pop to retire."
    Keith tried to picture Annie married to one of these genetic fumbles, then decided he was being uncharitable and petty. He got to the point, perhaps too quickly for local tastes, and said, "I want to trade this customized Ford in for a new one."
    Phil Baxter glanced at the Saab and laughed again. "That ain't no Ford, buddy." He got serious and said, "We try not to take foreign cars. I guess you know that."
    "Why's that?"
    "Hard to move 'em. Local folk drive American." He squinted at the license plate. "Where you from?"
    "Washington."
    "Passin' through, or what?"
    "I'm from around here. Just moved back."
    "Yeah, name sounds familiar. We done business before?"
    "Sure have. You want to sell me a new car?"
    "Sure do... but... I got to talk to the boss."
    "Pop?"
    "Yup. But he ain't here now. What kind of Ford you lookin' for, Keith?"
    "Maybe a Mustang GT."
    Phil's eyes widened. "Hey, good choice. We got two, a black and a red. But I can get you any color."
    "Good. What's the book on mine? It's last year's, eight thousand miles."
    "I'll check it out for you."
    "Are you going to take the Saab?"
    "I'll get back to you on that, Keith. Meantime, here's my card. Give a call when