The waitress brought their martinis. "My name is Eleanor," she said, putting them on the table. "Enjoy."

They touched glasses. Julie was smiling. "It’s nice to see a man so enthusiastic about his work."

"It’s not just the work; it’s the site itself and the fact that I’m working it alone. The cave’s in the side of a cliff right on the edge of Dungeness Bay, looking across those magnificent straits. The digging itself is mostly a kind of mindless, easy work, you know, more dental pick than spade. And so you poke away and dream, and think, and every now and then you look up and there’s that blue water and the gulls…"

Julie was looking at him over the rim of her glass, her black eyes twinkling. "I get the feeling you like being alone."

Gideon frowned slightly. Was he sounding eccentric? Reclusive? "Well, sometimes, maybe, but it’s not as remote as I’ve made it sound. I spend a few evenings a week with an old professor of mine, and the site is right below a main road. When I finish up I just climb a few feet to the top of the cliff and walk across the road to my motel. TV, fridge, all the modern conveniences. If you’ve never been up that way you ought to come on up. It can’t be more than a three-hour drive. I’ll show you around."

"Did I just get an invitation to your motel, Professor?"

Gideon laughed. "Tell me something about you. How long have you been with the Park Service?"

She told him she had been a ranger-naturalist for six years, first at Mesa Verde for a summer, then at Lassen, and now in the Olympics for the past two years. She had a master’s degree in ecology, with an anthropology minor, and a B.A. in psychology.

Gideon sipped his martini, a good one, sharp and stony and ice-cold, and looked at her as much as listened.