The Qualities of Wood. Mary White Vensel
‘She passed away before Nowell’s first novel was published. He’s written one book, a mystery, and is working on the second.’
‘You’re kidding! I love mysteries. I’d like to read it. Would he autograph a copy for me?’
‘He’ll be flattered that you asked.’
‘I’ll pick up a copy in town this week. What’s the title?’
Vivian wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Actually, it’s in limited release. You may have some trouble finding it. Besides, I’m sure Nowell would love to give you a copy. He has some at the house.’
‘Great!’ Katherine said. ‘What’s it about? Don’t tell me too much, I hate that.’
Vivian bit her lower lip, contemplating what to say. ‘It’s a murder mystery about the deaths of two young men. Is that enough?’
Katherine nodded. ‘If I know too much beforehand, the whole experience is ruined. That’s the whole point of a mystery, isn’t it? The not knowing.’
Vivian read Nowell’s book for the first time just before it was ready for printing. He had gone to visit his mother and left the manuscript on the kitchen table at their apartment. He had tucked a note under the cover: Couldn’t have done it without you. Two nights later, she finished it. She never read mysteries, although as a child, she loved hiding games and scary movies, the tight feeling of suspense and the release of discovery. Nowell’s book, Random Victim, seemed well written and it held her interest although she had guessed the ending. She couldn’t remember much about the story now.
They finished their ice-cream and started the drive back to the house. Katherine pointed out the library, a two-story brick building near the plaza with William Clement’s statue, and the movie theater on the same street, between a clothing store and a diner. The current film was only about a month old; Vivian was encouraged by this. Maybe she wasn’t out of touch with civilization after all, she thought.
‘This was the first downtown street,’ Katherine told her. ‘Most of these buildings are very old.’ She drove slowly down the street and like a tour guide, described the various businesses: who owned them, how good they were for shopping. They went by the Sheriff Department again, and the Post Office. USPS was stenciled on the front in blue letters.
Then the cool-green car left the heated asphalt of the town’s streets. They passed first the road crew, then the countless rows of grain, then the low, grassy hills.
‘I volunteer down at the grammar school three mornings a week,’ Katherine told her. ‘Right now they’re having summer school. I read stories to the kids, help corral them outside. And I work at our store every now and then, but the rest of the time I’m pretty free.’ An upbeat number played on the stereo; she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It’ll be nice having you around for a while. Most women in town are older, or tied down with a pack of kids. And I’d be glad to help you out with the house, any time.’
Vivian shook her head. ‘Sounds like you’re pretty busy.’
‘When you’re redoing someone else’s, it’s more fun. Picking out curtains, painting – oh, remind me to give you the number of Max’s friend with the carpet business. He’ll give you a good deal.’
‘That’s probably something we’ll do last, after everything is moved out, including us.’
‘Keep it in mind, anyway.’ Katherine looked over, her eyes shaded by the huge lenses. ‘I never asked, what did you do in the city?’
After a moment, Vivian realized what she meant. Her job. ‘I just worked in an office.’ Down the road a short distance, she recognized the long driveway that led to Grandma Gardiner’s house. She reached down to get her purse.
‘What’s Sheriff Townsend doing out here?’ Katherine said.
Vivian looked up. A police car was parked in the driveway.
Katherine pulled behind the red truck, next to the cruiser. As they walked to the porch, they heard voices in the backyard. They turned and followed the sound. In the high grass behind the house, three men stood in a straight line like the trees behind them. Two wore the ill-fitting beige uniforms of law enforcement. One was taller and broader and wore a hat. He gazed at the tree line as the other one, a shorter and younger man with wispy blonde hair, spoke to Nowell.
The women waded through the tall grass. Nowell noticed them and waved, and the two policemen looked over.
‘Hello,’ Vivian said.
‘Hi, Viv.’ Nowell looked pale, even in the orange late-day sunlight, and he shielded his eyes. Vivian hadn’t seen him outside since the night she arrived.
‘Are you the welcoming committee, Sheriff Townsend?’ Katherine asked.
The taller, older man cleared his throat and said, ‘Mrs Wilton.’
Katherine turned to the younger man. ‘Don’t you two look solemn. What is it, Bud?’
Bud, the shorter and younger man, glanced at the sheriff, who was gazing into the trees again.
Nowell spoke first. ‘They found a dead girl back there.’
Katherine’s hand moved quickly to her mouth, her rings shooting yellow and orange sparks.
‘Back in the trees,’ Nowell added.
Vivian shuddered. ‘Where?’
Sheriff Townsend motioned with his hand. ‘Just ’bout a half-mile, northwest towards Stokes’s land.’
They all stood looking beyond the trees. After a moment, Katherine asked, ‘Who was it, Sheriff?’
‘Chanelle Brodie.’
She gasped loudly and closed her eyes. ‘Her poor mother,’ she said. ‘Her poor mother.’
Vivian glanced from the sheriff, who was staring at Katherine with his hard, gray eyes, to Bud, whose eyes were lowered, to Nowell, who was watching her reaction. All of them were eerily illuminated by the liquid-orange sunlight behind them. ‘What happened to her?’ she asked.
The sheriff’s forehead creased into deep lines.
Bud said, ‘Hard to say. We found her face-down on a rock with her head split open.’
Sheriff Townsend’s eyes shot him a warning and Bud quickly corrected himself. ‘Severe head trauma, looks like.’
Katherine was incredulous. ‘Someone killed her?’
‘Now, Mrs Wilton,’ the sheriff said. ‘We don’t know anything yet. We just found the girl this morning. So far, it looks like an accident.’
‘Oh my God.’ She shook her head.
‘Is that what you were looking for last week?’ Vivian asked.
The sheriff nodded.
‘Mrs Brodie reported Chanelle missing,’ Bud said, ‘so we conducted a preliminary search of the area.’ He glanced at Nowell. ‘The Brodies live on the other side of your land.’ He pointed towards town. ‘After a few days went by, we decided to give it another look-through.’
‘Probably didn’t look too hard the first time,’ Katherine said, ‘since that girl was running off every few weeks. Not the easiest child to keep track of, I would think. That poor woman!’
‘We’re just about finished here,’ Sheriff Townsend said. ‘I was asking your husband whether he’d seen or heard anything, Mrs Gardiner. He told me that you just arrived last Thursday.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you both saw lights back there that evening?’
She nodded. ‘Nowell said it was probably the sheriff, well, you, looking around.’
‘Have you seen or heard