The Resort Read Online Free

standing at the cliff’s edge, her back to him, looking out over the most magnificent ocean in the world. You fool, he thought, it is she and not the view that is your aphrodisiac.
    As they went around a curve on the winding road, Henry spotted the green camper up ahead followed closely by a yellow highway patrol car, its roof lights flashing.
    “The next lookout should be very soon,” Margaret said, looking up from the map to see the vehicles ahead. “What are they doing?”
    “I think he wants the camper to stop,” Henry said, tapping the brakes as he closed in on the slowing vehicles. The camper pulled into the lookout area. The police car followed. Henry stopped fifty feet behind the police car. He saw the trooper emerge, take his gun out of his holster, and approach the driver’s window of the camper.
    Henry got out of the car.
    “Stay here, Henry,” Margaret said.
    “Maybe I can help.”
    He stopped when he saw the trooper point the gun directly at the driver’s face as he lowered the window. The driver, a young man with longish hair, handed something out to the policeman. The policeman glanced at the card, keeping the gun inches from the driver’s face. Henry couldn’t hear what the driver said.
    With the gun the trooper motioned the driver out of the car. Henry could see that it was a boy of about Stanley’s age. He turned toward the camper, put his hands on the roof, as the trooper felt the sides of his pants and along the inseams. Then, motioning with the gun, he had the young man open the rear of the camper. He peered in, lifted something, dropped it back. The trooper glanced back at Henry, just for a second, as Henry instinctively stepped closer.
    The trooper had the young man open the driver’s door wide. Still pointing the gun at the kid, the trooper peered inside. Then he gave the license back to the young man, holstered his gun, and drove off, tires screaming.
    Henry went over to the young man.
    “Anything wrong?” Henry asked.
    The driver shook his head. “The usual. If I cut my hair, they wouldn’t stop me. They stop Chicanos, Blacks, longhairs, and—for different reasons—cute blondes.”
    “Why the gun?”
    “They always do that. At least he didn’t put the cuffs on me while he looked in the van.”
    “What was he looking for?”
    “Grass. Anything. Trouble.”
    “Were you speeding?”
    “Nah.” The young man looked at Henry. “Where you from?” he asked. “East?”
    “New York,” Henry said.
    “Well,” the driver said, getting back into his camper, “this is California, mister.”
    *
    “You should have stayed in the car,” Margaret said. “It could have been dangerous.”
    “I thought I might help.”
    “Who? The police or the driver?”
    *
    They arrived in the Big Sur area, content but tired, glad they had reserved a room. Within minutes they spotted the huge orange-and-blue sign off the road on the left: CLIFFHAVEN, RESERVATIONS ONLY. A double chain hung from posts blocked the dirt road leading upward. What Henry thought of as a sentry box, also in orange and blue, opened the moment they drove up, and a fair-haired young man of twenty-six or -seven with a clipboard under his arm bounded out, his hand reaching for Henry’s as he opened the door. “Welcome to Cliffhaven,” he said. “You’re Mr. and Mrs…?”
    “Brown,” Henry said. “Mr. and Dr. Brown. We reserved from San Francisco.”
    “Yes, indeed,” said the young man, checking his clipboard. “The Dr. threw me. I guess I assumed you were two men. My name is Steve Clete, and I’m your guide. How do you do, Dr. Brown,” he said, coming around to Margaret’s side of the car and shaking her hand through the open window.
    Well, they’re friendly here, aren’t they? thought Henry. Out loud he said, “I guess it’s a good thing we reserved. You don’t take people who just wander by, like a motel?”
    “Well, we’d like to, of course,” said Steve, “but we really can’t, sir. We’re pretty