Smart House by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page A

under the lilac bush, his head twisted to one side, his feet splayed out in what looked like a joint-breaking position.
    “We should put in air conditioning,” Charlie said in a grumbling way. It wasn’t fair, he thought aggrievedly; Constance always looked cool. She was ivory pale and never looked flushed, never tanned very dark, and always seemed to have the right sort of thing to put on for whatever weather they were having. Now she wore a loose cottony dress that touched her at the shoulders and nowhere else and was exactly the color of her eyes, light blue, cool blue. She was slender, with long legs the color of honey, just enough color to be interesting. Charlie was dark, with unruly black hair speckled with gray, and he was thickly built, heavy in the chest, thick arms and legs. He was very muscular, but he knew he could lose ten, fifteen pounds and maybe take the heat better for it. Thin people didn’t know what it was to suffer from the heat, he decided, and it wasn’t fair.
    Constance smiled and sat down in a chaise lounge. She did not say, “Yes, dear,” about the air conditioning, but her look said it almost as clearly as words. They had talked about it last summer, and the summer before that. They had talked about it years ago when they bought this place in upstate New York, while they were still living in New York City and could only make it up here on weekends and holidays. And they would talk about it next summer, she knew. Her smile was contented. They had a window unit in the bedroom, and a fan that they moved from living room to kitchen to dining room. Always before when they talked about it, when they had reached the point of actually doing something about it, a cold front had come through bringing cooling rains, or autumn had come along, or they had had to leave for something or other.
    “Those poor bastards,” Charlie sighed, and she knew he was thinking of people in the city.
    “Rather be here,” she said.
    If it had not been so hot, he would have turned to give her one of his looks, but he didn’t bother. That’s what came of living together so long, he thought. They could speak in code by now, speak by number, and have perfect understanding. Sometimes he missed the city. He had lived there all his life until retiring after twenty-five years of service, first with the fire department, later as a city police detective. Constance had taught psychology at Columbia for most of those years. On days like this they used to meet after work, both of them exhausted and wan, and plan for the time when they could chuck it all, move to the country where it was cool and fresh. Hah! But he knew what it was like in the city now. His memory of Manhattan during an August heat wave was clear in his mind—hot buildings, hot pavement, hot metal smells, hot tempers. God, those tenements! He stirred restlessly, willing the memories away. He did not miss New York in August.
    “After what’s-his-name leaves, let’s go to Spirelli’s and eat.”
    “Maybe we should talk out here,” she said. “It’s better than inside.”
    He nodded. “Probably won’t take long. Look.” He pointed. Another cat, Ashcan, had spotted Brutus playing dead and was sneaking up on him. Brutus would slaughter him, Charlie thought. But Brutus opened his yellow eyes when Ashcan got close, glared at the meeker gray cat, and closed his eyes again. Ashcan began to clean his tail.
    “Have you read through all that stuff he sent?”
    “There’s not that much. A computerized house went bananas and killed a couple of people. Case closed. Evidently the house is guilty as hell.”
    And Milton Sweetwater had asked for an appointment to discuss it, she thought, and almost felt sorry for Mr. Sweetwater, although he was a stranger.
    Where computers were concerned, Charlie was a hanging judge; sentence first, questions later, if ever. For two weeks Charlie had been doing battle with the telephone company over an error in their billing. “Let