The Unbidden Truth by Kate Wilhelm

on the road receded as she approached, formed farther away, only to vanish again. Frank had admonished her more than once to carry plenty of water, Shelley had warned her to make sure she had water, and even the agent at the car rental counter had told her to load up on water. She had bought a six-pack, and began to think she should have bought two of them. Two bottles were already empty, and she intended to pull over and open a third one. The temperature was 112 degrees; her eyes burned, her lips felt cracked and she was developing an itch from dry skin.
    Here and there wind-blown sand covered the highway. She shuddered to think how it would abrade unprotected skin and flesh if one had to walk out there. She had gone fifty-eight miles, four to go before her turnoff onto a county road that apparently wound up into the mountains. It would get cooler, she consoled herself and slowed down, then pulled over and opened another bottle of water.
    The county road was narrow and did wind up and around, and there were pine trees, scant at first, but soon almost a real forest. She slowed down more, watching for the Mercer Lake community, where the Colberts now lived. It was a retirement development, Shelley had written in her notes.
    She began to pass driveways and caught glimpses of houses set back among the pine trees, then passed a large church and revised her first estimate of the size of the community, for the most part hidden on the surrounding hillsides. She came to a village with a few shops, a supermarket, a café…On the other side of it, she spotted the development sign: Mercer Lake Retirement Village.
    She had seen such developments before: six basic house plans with cosmetic differences. The Colberts’ house was ocher-colored with brick-red trim, a cactus garden out front, gravel spray-painted green in place of lawn. Low maintenance. The good life.
    When she got out of the car, she nodded. It was cooler, all the way down to ninety-five, she thought derisively, and went to the door and rang the bell.
    Adrienne Colbert admitted her. She was a tall angular woman with such a dark tan she looked scorched. The sun and aridity were taking a toll—her skin was leathery and deeply lined. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a tank top, herelbows and knees bony and sharp. Everything about her looked sharp, the bones of her face, her hands, her wrists. Her hair was dyed strawberry-blond.
    Stuart Colbert was standing in the living room behind her, and he was twenty or twenty-five pounds overweight, nearly bald with a fringe of sparse gray hair, and red-faced. But where Adrienne’s expression was one of built-in disapproval, he was smiling in a genial way.
    â€œThat’s a long hot drive. How about an iced tea? Ms. Holloway? That’s the name, isn’t it?”
    â€œBarbara Holloway,” she said. “I’d love a cold drink.”
    The house was built on an open plan with the kitchen and dining space separated from the living room by a counter. Everything in it was white, beige, or black. A ceramic black-and-white cat was stationed at a sliding glass door to a patio with a tiny swimming pool. The good life, Barbara repeated to herself, and not even cat hair to clean up.
    They sat in the living room, the Colberts on a black sofa, Barbara in a low-slung beige chair. A fluffy rug was snow-white. She was almost afraid to put her feet on it.
    She thanked Stuart Colbert for the iced tea and then said, “And thanks for letting me barge in on you this way.”
    â€œCouldn’t very well say no to anyone willing to leave Oregon for this hellhole,” Stuart said. “All those trees up there. Never saw—”
    â€œYou said you had questions about Carol,” Adrienne said. “She’s in trouble, isn’t she? I knew she would be, it was just a matter of when. What’s she done?”
    Adrienne was leaning forward watching Barbara intently. Stuart had leaned back and was