They had finished their meals and were eating dessert by sunset. Hardly a word had been passed between the husband and wife all the time. Finally, after several spoonfuls of gelatin instant pudding: “Who’s in the cave with Mabel and Tessa, Herbert?” No immediate answer from her husband, so April Mae ventured some guesses. “Could it be… Jethro? Bauer?”
Monsieur Gold set his spoon down rather noisily on the table with this. No, not *Jethro*… *Bauer,* he thought, but also admitted to himself that he was blocked in that direction.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
They ate in silence for a spell again. Then: “I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,” spoke April Mae. “I haven’t been in almost 3 weeks.”
“Suit yourself,” came the quick followup. “Make sure you fill the narrow boat-plane with gas before bringing it back.” He dare not request the other thing in his mind; that she *please* *please* be careful with it this time and don’t run into that God cursed dune again, which just happens to be jutting up in the middle of God awful nowhere for some reason. Away from the rest of the Omega continent peaks.
“I think I’ll take the gardener with me this time.”
“Why don’t you do that.”