LITMIR.BIZ

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off without them.’

      Nowell gripped her hips. ‘Because of poverty, I’ve had to reconsider my high ideals.’

      ‘We’re not in poverty.’

      ‘Okay. Without means.’

      ‘You’re right, I could have traded them for something to read.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re all wet now.’

      ‘What else have you uncovered?’ he asked.

      ‘Nothing exciting. Mostly clothes, junk. I really haven’t gotten much done yet.’

      ‘There’s no rush. You deserve a break.’

      ‘So do you, so how about that movie tomorrow?’

      He shook his head. ‘I told you. I can’t.’

      ‘It’s only one day.’ She moved back to her spot next to him on the couch.

      ‘Viv, please. I’m trying to do something here, for both of us. I have a hard enough time staying focused. Random Victim did pretty well, but I’ve got to produce something else. Besides, Dani wants me to start doing some promotion in the fall for Random Victim, getting ready for the new book.’

      Dani was Nowell’s agent. She had a husky voice and like a used car salesman, was overly and suspiciously friendly.

      The rain had let up; occasional drops splashed against the windows and the wind was calmer.

      ‘Let’s plan a day off soon,’ she said, ‘you and me. We’ll pack a picnic lunch and go for a long walk.’

      ‘Maybe next week,’ he said.

      The remaining tigers were enjoying the spring sunshine. They were leaner now, learning to hunt. In the high grass, they crouched and chased each other around.

      Maybe the girl was taking a walk when it happened, Vivian suddenly thought. Sometimes it’s nice to be alone, only your thoughts for company and no one telling you what you should be doing. Maybe someone saw the girl, someone with bad motives and a sudden opportunity. But the sheriff had said that it looked like an accident. Maybe someone was with her and the other person ran off afterwards. But people don’t normally run away from accidents, she thought, unless they’re guilty in some way. She squeezed her elbow, trying to rub away the insistent throb.

      ‘I’ll get you that ice,’ Nowell said, and he went out to the kitchen.

      7

      The storm had pushed soggy leaves against the house and left a puddle directly below the porch steps. Broken branches lay scattered about, their leaves still green and beneath the bark, clean white fiber gleamed. Vivian kicked off her shoes, the damp grass cool between her toes as she gathered the debris. In the shed next to the well, amidst rusty gardening tools and bags of old potting soil, she found a straw broom. She swept the porch and gathered everything into a black garbage bag. By mid-morning, the grass dried into scented vapors and the dirt driveway lightened, strip by strip, as the sun moved higher over the trees.

      Nowell was in his airless study, hidden behind the curtain like a sick ward. Vivian’s mind had started to believe that the divider was solid and soundproof; it gave the illusion of complete separation. Nowell’s touch on the keyboard was light. She seldom heard any sounds from the room. If she strained, sometimes she could make out a soft, steady tapping, like raindrops on a distant roof. Most of the time, she forgot he was in the house.

      She telephoned her parents but reached their answering machine, her mother’s staid, succinct recording. Then she went to the study.

      ‘Nowell? Can I come in?’

      ‘Hey, Viv,’ he called back.

      She pulled aside the curtain, an old sheet with delicate baby blue stripes, and stepped down. ‘It’s so stuffy in here,’ she said without thinking.

      This was a continual disagreement between them, at their apartment and now here, at Grandma Gardiner’s house. Nowell kept windows sealed; Vivian liked to air things out, even in the winter.

      ‘It’s cold in the morning,’ Nowell said. ‘There’s no sun back here. I wish you’d leave the windows alone.’

      ‘I opened them in the afternoon, when it was warm.’

      He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘It’s your room.’ She perched on the edge of his desk. ‘I’m going to head into town now. I’m going to the newspaper office and having lunch with Katherine. She called earlier.’

      He moved some papers to the side. ‘Are you sure you’re comfortable driving the truck?’

      ‘I think so.’

      The night before, he adjusted the seat and brought a pillow from the house for her to sit on. It seemed demeaning to her, like a booster seat for a child, but she was determined to drive the thing.

      She climbed into the cabin as effortlessly as possible given its height, started the truck, and backed it slowly down the driveway. As she turned onto the road, she glanced up at the house, looking for Nowell in the windows. She felt sure he was watching, to see how she’d do.

      Vivian had no trouble driving to town and finding the newspaper office. The Sentinel was tucked between two squat office buildings, its white-painted brick façade standing stubbornly between the modern structures. She walked through the double doors at the front and a bell tied to the doorknob jangled, reminding her of Christmas. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled. Above her, a wooden placard that said ‘Customer Service’ hung from the ceiling under two thick cables. She had a double chin that protruded underneath her first chin. Bulbous and jiggling, it extended down in a rounded curve to the opening of her shirt. ‘Hello there,’ she said.

      Vivian tried to focus instead on her eyes, which were dull green but friendly. ‘My husband and I just moved here,’ she said, ‘and we’d like to receive the newspaper.’

      ‘Surely.’ She took a sheet of paper from a plastic tray at the side of the counter. ‘Just fill out this form.’

      Vivian set her purse on the counter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but could I borrow a pen?’

      ‘Surely. Take mine and I’ll fetch another one.’ The woman made slow movements to disembark her chair, which was a high, backless stool pushed up close to the counter. She turned to the side and scooted forward a little, then straightened her torso so that her rear slid over the edge of the seat. Finally, she landed with a grunt on the floor, her neck shaking up and down.

      ‘There are three different kinds of subscriptions,’ she explained when she came back with the pen. ‘There’s every day service, which includes every day of the week except Tuesday and Thursday. We don’t print those days. So the ‘every day’ title really means every day we print. Then there’s Monday, Friday, and Sunday service. Basically that excludes Wednesday and Saturday. Then there’s Sunday only service.’

      ‘I’ll take the second one.’ As the woman checked the paperwork, Vivian looked around the office. Behind the counter, two desks sat side by side, each cluttered with papers. A doorway at the back of the reception area opened to a larger room. Two people were working in that section. A man leaned on the corner of a desk, talking to a woman and smoking.

      ‘I see you’re out on the main road,’ the woman said.

      Vivian looked back to her milky green eyes and nodded.

      She lowered her voice. ‘Did you hear about the girl they found out there?’

      Vivian answered in her normal speaking voice. ‘Yes. She was found near our house.’

      The woman’s eyes widened and as she lowered her head, her neck creased into white and pink bands. ‘Right near your place, you say?’

      ‘Practically our backyard.’

      ‘Goodness! How terrifying

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