Buried in a Book

by Lucy Arlington

  Sensing my consternation, Sean put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, this is probably just a phase—something he needs to go through before he settles down into a more, ah, mainstream career.”

  I nodded, really wanting to believe him. “You’re probably right. We’re talking about a kid who breaks out in hives if he can’t check Facebook twenty times a day. And whenever I really wanted to punish him, I just took away his video game system for a week.” Laughing, I felt pretty confident that Trey would be back in front of Althea’s only television set by Monday. “No DVDs, no text messages…Wait a minute, is there any kind of cell phone reception there? What if he needs to reach me? What if I have to talk to him?”

  “It’s spotty, but they do get a bar or two,” Sean replied. “Don’t bother to call if there’s a thick cloud cover or a storm. You won’t get through.” The pressure on my shoulder increased. “It’ll be okay, Lila. The folks in the co-op will treat him well, and he’s in no danger.”

  I raised my brows. “There are rumors that those ‘folks’ grow pot as one of their staple crops.”

  Sean’s hand slid away, and he stood up, as though I’d reminded him that he had unsolved crimes waiting and that he needed to get going. “People in town have been spreading that story since Red Fox was founded, but we’ve conducted at least three surprise investigations and never found so much as an illegal seed, let alone an entire crop. And Jasper has always been cooperative, gracious even, about these searches.”

  I got to my feet as well, amazed that my mother hadn’t stirred a muscle throughout our entire exchange.

  Thanking Sean profusely, I walked him to his truck, wishing those fifteen feet could stretch into a mile. Part of me wanted nothing more but to climb into bed and process Trey’s impulsive decision, and part of me wanted to linger beneath the heavy indigo sky with Sean.

  He turned before opening the driver’s door, and for one breathless moment, I thought he might pull me to him. There was a hunger in his eyes that I knew was reflected in my own, and I desperately wanted to feel his mouth on mine, to get lost in an embrace that could make me forget about Trey and everything else outside the circle of his arms. But suddenly, my mother uttered a loud, guttural snort, and the glimmer in Sean’s eyes morphed into a silent laugh.

  “It’s the whiskey,” I whispered with a snigger.

  As if to reinforce that our romantic moment had passed us by, it began to rain again.

  Sean wiped a droplet from his forehead, promised to keep in touch, and hopped into the truck. I watched him drive off, waving until his red taillights disappeared around a bend in the road.

  “Stupid rain!” I said, raising my voice. I hadn’t even realized that I was angry. But I was.

  I was angry at Trey for how helpless his decision made me feel. How could he leave and not even bother to write me a note telling me where he’d gone? I was bent out of shape that I hadn’t worked harder on Marlette’s behalf, and I was also annoyed that I didn’t have enough gumption to lean in and kiss Sean. What was I waiting for?

  “It just wasn’t the time,” Althea spoke, answering my question.

  I swiveled, my fists in tight knots. “How long were you pretending to be asleep?”

  “Since you took Mr. Beam outta my hand,” she said, still groggy. “Some folks have teddy bears, some have sound machines, but I like to drop off holdin’ my sweet-smellin’ cup.”

  “No wonder you have to wash your sheets so much,” I grumbled.

  My mother roused herself and began to shuffle inside. “You’d best have a swig yourself. With the way your hormones are ragin’, you won’t get a second of shut-eye. G’night, darlin’.”

  I SLEPT LATER than I wanted to the next morning, but both my body and mind had really needed those extra hours of slumber. The house was quiet, and I assumed my mother had gone out for a walk, so I poured a cup of coffee and went up to Trey’s room to think about my next course of action.

  Sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, I felt like I was losing my son, like he was drifting down a fast-running stream and no matter what I did, I couldn’t catch up to him. I couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t even hear me calling his name.

  Of course he craved independence and the companionship of people his own age, but did he have to move to an isolated mountaintop to find contentment? Where had I gone wrong?

  One thing I knew for sure: Trey was still my son, and I had every right to hike up to the co-op and demand he tell me face-to-face why he wanted to stay there. I put on a pair of cropped sweatpants and a tank top and stole a few loaves of banana bread from my mother’s freezer. It was then that I spotted a note taped to the handle of the refrigerator. It read: Give him some space, Lila.

  Apparently my mother didn’t find the idea of her teenage grandson living with a troupe of goat herders as disconcerting as I did. Ignoring her advice, I headed outside for the narrow trail.

  Thirty minutes later, I stopped at the co-op’s entrance to catch my breath and spotted Trey shoveling goat droppings into a wheelbarrow. I could scarcely believe my eyes. He wouldn’t even put the toilet seat down at home, and now he was voluntarily cleaning up malodorous animal poop.

  When Trey saw me coming, he set down the shovel and gave me such a warm smile that my eyes grew misty. He was happy.

  He jogged over to the edge of the enclosure and hopped the fence with the agility of a white-tailed deer. Everything about him seemed to be shining; he was completely aglow with a sense of purpose and belonging, and I had to admit that the co-op might actually be good for him.

  “Mom! I was going to come down and see you after work,” he said. Even his speech was clearer, more energized. He wasn’t mumbling, and he looked me right in the eye. Amazing. “I’m way sorry I freaked you out by not telling you my plans.” He gave me a coy grin. “But I figured it would be better for you to find out after I was already here. I guess that was kind of uncool.”

  “I’m your mother, Trey. I’ll always want to know where you are. You did scare me, but your apology is accepted.” I patted his back and glanced around. The co-op was buzzing with activity, and somewhere off in the distance I could hear the sound of a violin being played. I felt more at ease standing here with Trey than I had for many weeks. “I can understand why you find this place so appealing.”

  Trey looked surprised. “You can?”

  I laughed. “I was young once, too, you know.” I handed him the banana bread. “Share this with your friends, work hard, and know that your family is right down the hill if you need us.” I hesitated. Leaving Trey here was hard. “You’re going to visit us, right? And call me when you can? And what about college? Is this just for the summer or…?” I trailed off. It was too hard to give voice to my fear that he would one day announce his intentions to settle here permanently.

  “Right now I’m just living in the moment, Mom. I want to see what it feels like to live like this before I rush off to college where my whole life will be one big, fat schedule.” He looked pained by the idea. “But I promise to come over every few days. Take a shower, do some laundry, and have supper. How’s that?” He gave me a hug. “And I’ll do my own laundry, Mom. You’ve got your new job to focus on. It’s time I took care of myself.”

  I nearly fainted. Trey was going to wash his own clothes?

  Instead of swooning, I kissed my son on the cheek and let him get back to work. As I turned to leave, Iris appeared from a path leading into the forest. She sent Trey a dazzlingly beautiful smile and wished me a good morning.

  “This cannot be coincidence!” Iris declared in her melodious voice as she strode over to me. “Ever since I brought you to Marlette’s cabin I’ve been thinking about him, so I started wandering on the paths he liked best and visiting the places where he liked to sketch or just sit for a while. And I found something. Do you want to see it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Iris led the way, her lithe, ethereal figure barely making a sound as we moved out of the meadow and in
to the woods. This time, we headed away from Marlette’s cabin, veering northwest instead.

  “Where are we going?” I inquired in a hushed voice.

  Without turning, she said, “It’ll be more rewarding for you to experience it firsthand.”

  What an old soul. I was slightly awed by the girl’s poise, by her certainty.

  The air was refreshingly cool, and the summer foliage allowed only a dappling of light to reach the carpet of pine needles and twigs. Soon, the path disappeared, turning to the barest hint of a trail, and eventually we began to tread through a part of the forest that looked to my untrained eye as though it hadn’t been disturbed in a long time. Iris didn’t hesitate, however, and her certainty allayed my fears that we might be lost.

  As we walked in companionable silence, I began to puzzle over the details of Marlette’s daily routine. From what I’d heard, he would stop by Novel Idea, visit certain hidey-holes around Inspiration Valley, and then come back to the forest, probably to recover from being exposed to the noise and commotion of town.

  “This is the place,” Iris said, almost reverently.

  We had arrived at a secluded meadow, a wide oval of grass filled with wildflowers. Scores of butterflies and bees flitted from blossom to blossom, and birdsong filled the air. I could picture Marlette resting on the fallen elm, his diary on his lap, allowing the harmony of the scene to wash away unpleasant thoughts or memories.

  Iris sat down on the grass and closed her eyes. I, too, felt an infusion of peace, an uplifting of my worn spirits, and a line from Thoreau whispered in my ear like the hum of dragonfly wings.

  “‘You must converse much with the field and woods, if you would imbibe such health into your mind and spirit as you covet for your body.’”I whispered it softly, as though trying to tell Marlette that I understood why he’d set himself apart from the rest of the world in search of a measure of tranquility on this mountain.

  “Henry David Thoreau,” Iris said, surprising me. “From one of his journals.” She pointed at a birdhouse made from twigs and vines, so well camouflaged that I hadn’t even noticed it hanging down from a branch just over my head. “I was right to bring you here.”

  I walked over to the birdhouse and then threw her a questioning look over my shoulder.

  “It’s hinged. The roof opens like a box top,” she explained.

  The house was mounted too high up for me to peer inside, so I carefully lifted the lid and reached my hand into the interior. My fingertips brushed what felt like a piece of paper. Standing on my tiptoes, I managed to retrieve the sheaf and bring it down to eye level.

  A dried flower, one that I didn’t recognize, had been glued to a square of thick cardstock. There was a sketch of a girl in the background, and Marlette had drawn her so that her hand reached up to cup the dried flower in her palm. Below the pen-and-ink drawing, in Marlette’s unique scrawl, were the words, Looks can be deceiving. Beauty is only skin-deep. Sue Ann. Sue Ann. Sue Ann.

  Her name repeated right up to the paper’s edge, the “n” tilted, appearing as though it would fall from the page into space.

  I’d seen the girl’s face before in Marlette’s journal. Those challenging eyes and sly smile were unmistakable. Who was this Sue Ann, and why had he hidden this image of her in the forest? I had to discover her identity and her connection to Marlette.

  “Do you know her?” Iris asked, watching me closely.

  I shook my head. “No, but I’d like to take this to the Secret Garden if that’s okay. Maybe the flower is a clue. I’ll see if they can identify it.”

  Iris nodded. “I don’t think Marlette would mind. So many times, when I’d come across him in the woods, I felt like he wanted to tell me something. Something im-portant.” Her eyes held regret. “But he was afraid to. Or he didn’t trust me. I don’t know what held him back. Now I’ll never know.”

  I held up the drawing. “Don’t give up hope. If there are more of these to be found, I’ll find them. And I won’t allow him to be forgotten. I promise.”

  TREY KEPT HIS word and joined us for Sunday dinner. I made one of his favorite meals: barbecued baby back ribs, homemade mashed potatoes, and green beans cooked in bacon grease. While I worked some magic in the kitchen, Trey did his first load of laundry and tidied his room. My mother was delighted by his new show of cleanliness, but to me, his orderly room served as a reminder that he wasn’t living with us anymore. It took all of my willpower not to beg him to come back home. The truth was I missed him. We’d shared a house for so many years that being in my mother’s place without him felt lonesome.

  Still, we had a lovely supper together. Trey regaled us with stories about the goats and boasted a bit about how Jasper was seriously considering Trey’s ideas on rebranding the goat products to make them more marketable. We ate and talked until after nine o’clock, and then Trey pulled a battery-powered lantern out of his backpack and said he had to get going. I hugged him hard and then watched him give my mother a kiss.

  “See ya Tuesday!” he shouted as he made his way up the hill.

  I stared at his wide shoulders, my heart aching. Would he make the same journey at the end of the summer? Would he forgo a higher education in favor of a bohemian lifestyle? For once, I wished that Althea could peer into the future and put me at ease, but she had already told me that Trey needed to work things out up on the mountain and she didn’t know how long that would take.

  I waited until the glow from his lantern faded from view and then crawled into my bed with Marlette’s journal. As I’d done many times that day, I compared the drawings of the girl with the scheming gaze.

  Tomorrow would mean the start of another busy week, and I had lofty goals for the next five days. Not only did I plan to fulfill my quota of queries, but I was going to try to find all of Marlette’s hidden niches and figure out once and for all which of my coworkers had a secret that could have led to murder.

  And the first name on my list was Franklin Stafford.

  I BIDED MY time at the office the next morning, efficiently reading and responding to queries and all the while keeping one eye on the hallway to see when Franklin left for lunch so I could follow him. I found myself yawning several times and tried not to dwell on the tediousness of my job. Sifting through a myriad of story proposals in the hopes of coming upon a gem brought to mind the work of a prospector who seeks the twinkling of gold in a mess of sand. Still, I accorded each query the attention it deserved, trying to put myself in the place of the hopeful writer who penned it. Thankfully, there were none that found their way into the Agents Beware file this time, but there were no shining jewels, either. Only one gave me pause, and I considered it for several minutes before setting it aside to read again at the end of the day. The query was for a novel about a woman who changes careers by leaving the corporate world to open a cupcake shop and becomes entangled in a murder investigation. I wasn’t sure if it appealed to me because of the succulent recipes, because it was a good, well-written story, or both, so I decided to distance myself and revisit it later.

  Stretching my back, I looked up at the ceiling. As if they’d been hovering above me like a cloud, thoughts about Marlette drifted into my mind. I considered what little I knew of the man. Someone out there must be more familiar with his history. He couldn’t always have been the strange, unkempt individual who died in our office. And who was Sue Ann?

  Completely distracted from my work, I proceeded to search the Internet, Googling Marlette, Sue Ann, homeless vagrants, anything I could conjure up that might lead to the smallest nugget of useful information. I discovered nothing. Staring into the hallway, I was trying to think of other search terms when Franklin suddenly walked past my door on the way to the exit. Remembering that his secretive lunchtime excursions made him one of my prime suspects, I slammed the laptop shut, grabbed my bag, and rushed out after him.

  When he left the building, he started walking up High Street and through the park. Makayla was right. His movements were furtive and s
uspicious. He walked quickly, constantly looking around the streets and over his shoulder. He definitely acted like a man with something to hide. Maybe his secret bore a connection to Marlette.

  I stayed in the shadows when I could, ducking in doorways and pretending to look at interesting things in the shop windows.

  Franklin finally turned onto Walden Woods Circle, the street where my little dream house stood. Perfect. If he caught sight of me, I could just say I was looking at a house I was interested in buying.

  We walked past the charming yellow house, and Franklin hustled up the walk of a tidy pink one with blue shutters. A piano-shaped sign was posted on the lawn. Music Lessons, it read, and it included a phone number. Could Franklin be taking piano lessons during his lunch hour? But why would he be secretive about that? I hid behind a wide tree trunk and stared at the house.

  He did not go up to the front door but walked along the wraparound porch to an entrance near the back and let himself in. When he closed the door, I rushed over to the house and peered very discreetly in a side window, hoping I wasn’t too visible from the street.

  I found myself looking into a kitchen, all done up with lacy curtains in the windows and a vase of flowers on the blue granite countertop. The table was set for two, with wineglasses and bright green cloth napkins folded under the forks. A plate of sandwiches sat in the center.

  Repositioning myself so that I could just peer above the window frame, I saw Franklin, caught in the embrace of another man. They exchanged a tender kiss, smiled lovingly at each other, and then sat down at the table and proceeded to eat lunch.

  That explained his furtive behavior! Franklin—prim, solemn, conservative Franklin—was gay. His suspicious behavior had nothing to do with Marlette’s murder. He just didn’t want anyone to see this side of his private life.

  And I had just wasted part of my lunch hour on a wild-goose chase. I could have been looking for one of Marlette’s hidey-holes. Instead, I was behaving like a Peeping Tom.

  I strode off the property in exasperation. Sighing deeply, I stopped for just a minute in front of the cozy yellow house I coveted. If my home in Dunston ever sold, maybe I could scrape together enough money to buy this perfect place.