Buried in a Book (11 page)

We left the grassy path and stepped into a copse of trees, instantly cooled by the forest’s canopy of summer leaves and needles. Birdcalls followed us as we strode deeper into the woods, and my cares slipped away as I inhaled the scents of tree sap, pine, and fecund soil. Trey stopped to investigate a clump of mushrooms, squatting on his heels to marvel at the size of the umbrella-shaped caps.

After another ten minutes of hiking steadily upward, the narrow path widened. It was apparent that someone had trimmed the sapling branches and stray vines from encroaching on the well-trodden trail, and we soon arrived, rather short of breath, at an arch made of willow branches secured by pieces of rope. A wooden sign hung down from the top of the arch. We passed beneath the words
Welcome to the Red Fox Mountain Co-op
and emerged into a wide and surprisingly flat clearing.

This plateau was circular shaped and had recently been mowed. Clippings still peppered the grass, and an old-fashioned push mower rested against a chain-link fence that dominated the left side of the clearing. On the other side of the fence, a herd of white goats with brown faces and floppy ears lifted their heads and bleated and then returned to the business of nibbling grain. In the distance, a large unpainted barn rose up behind the spacious goat paddock, and a cluster of small cabins were situated haphazardly to the right of the barn. A pretty woman seated on a crude stool weaving
hemp into what appeared to be a hammock raised her hand in greeting. We waved back.

“What is this place?” Trey asked in wonder.

My mother gestured around the complex. “Back when the town was Illumination, this was a meditation and retreat spot. Folks used to hike up here to commune with nature. Most of the hard-core New Agers moved out when the money dried up like a creek bed in July, but some people who truly wanted to live a simpler kind of life founded this co-op. Here comes their leader now.”

A man in his early thirties wearing a plain T-shirt, dust-covered cargo shorts, and leather sandals made his way toward us. “He looks like Jesus,” whispered Trey, and I had to agree. With a beard and hair of dark brown that fell in soft waves to his shoulder, the man issued a generous smile that reached from his mouth to his lake blue eyes.

“Jasper.” My mother held out both hands, and the young man gave them a hearty squeeze. “I brought my family to meet you.”

Jasper studied us for a moment longer than was customarily polite, but then he offered his hand in sincere welcome. “Excuse my rudeness. We haven’t had visitors for a while, and we’ve withdrawn even further from society over the last two days. An acquaintance passed away rather abruptly, and it’s reminded us that the violence and chaos of town life could taint our little paradise.”

I’d just opened my mouth to ask if the death Jasper referred to was Marlette’s when my mother pinched my forearm—a signal that I should be quiet. “I was hopin’ you’d show my grandson around. There’s nothin’ in Dunston like this slice of heaven, and I wanted him to see that folks can live a rich and fufillin’ life off the land.”

Looking extremely pleased by the request, Jasper waited for Trey to fall into step beside him as he led us toward one of the larger cabins. “This is where we dry and process our wild hemp plants that we then make into rope for bags and hammocks or twine for jewelry and key chains,” he began. “We have crops growing all over this side of the mountain. Hemp plants and every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. The soil up here is really fertile, and we get more rain than they do in the valley.”

“Did you say hemp?” Trey looked around eagerly, and then his eyes widened in astonishment. “Wait. There’s no electricity?”

Jasper shook his head, his wavy locks glistening in the waning light. “Except for the solar panels on all the roofs, we’re a human-powered community.” Smiling, he patted his flat stomach. “Keeps us fit.” He then had us follow him to the dairy barn where the goat milk was bottled or made into cheese, soap, and lotion.

I was impressed by both the cleanliness of the workspaces and the genuine friendliness of the co-op’s inhabitants. While Jasper invited Trey to sample a piece of goat cheese and my mother began to discuss our supper plans with a middle-aged man labeling the goat products with elegant calligraphy, a young woman entered the barn.

Upon seeing her gauzy white dress and flowing rivulets of golden hair, I had to blink hard to make sure that I wasn’t envisioning a fantastical forest nymph. The girl was small, with childlike limbs and fair skin, but her blue eyes were large and framed by a sweep of long lashes. She walked
en pointe
like a ballerina, with an empty metal pail swinging by her side and a dreamy expression on her lovely face.

“Who is
that
?” Trey interrupted Jasper’s discourse on
goat vaccinations, gazing at the fairylike young lady with utter rapture.

Grinning indulgently, Jasper beckoned for the girl to come closer. “This is Iris, my sister.”

She gifted us with a shy smile, her gaze lingering on Trey. “Are you staying for supper?”

“Yeah,” Trey answered immediately and puffed out his chest in a show of macho self-importance. “And we brought beer.”

The evening meal was held outdoors on a grouping of picnic tables and blankets. Oil lamps and tiki torches were lit, more for atmosphere than for the light they cast since the sky had yet to darken, and a stream of men and women began carrying mismatched platters and bowls from their individual cabins to the tables. Grilled vegetable kabobs, spinach salad with strawberries and goat cheese, scalloped potatoes, fried goat cheese with sliced tomatoes and fresh pesto, and a berry medley were among the dishes on the communal buffet. As I filled my plate with the fresh, locally grown food, I began to appreciate the advantages of life in the co-op.

With its wholesomeness, proximity to nature, and close sense of community, the Red Fox Mountain Co-op was somewhat of a utopia. Thomas More’s description of virtue as “living according to Nature” might well have suited these people, who “think that we are made by God for that end.”

However idyllic life here seemed, I reminded myself that I’d come on a mission. I needed to find out where Marlette had lived. Somewhere inside his home might be a clue to his demise. Perhaps I’d find a copy of the book he’d written or an indication of why his very existence had become a threat that his murderer could not ignore.

Seeing Trey and Iris sitting alone on a picnic blanket, I
decided that it would be easier to worm information out of a girl close to my son’s age than from Jasper or one of the older residents of Red Fox Mountain.

“I’m sorry to hear that your community is grieving for a lost acquaintance tonight,” I said without preamble. “Was the person a close friend?”

Iris shook her head. “He wasn’t a member of the co-op, but he shared the mountain with us. He lived in a cabin by the stream, and sometimes he’d write poems and tie them to the branches of a laurel bush for me to find. They were beautiful.”

This tender gesture caused a lump to form in my throat. “So he was a writer?”

She shrugged, uncertain how to answer. “Not professionally. He just wrote things and put them in special places. He talked to himself and didn’t take very good care of his things. Some people thought he was crazy, but I didn’t. He was just really shy, but he was sweet, too.”

“Was his name Marlette?” I asked gently.

She looked at me with unveiled distrust. “How’d you know?”

“I met him for the first time on Friday,” I assured her hastily. “And I agree with your description. He seemed harmless and kind.” I hesitated. “Listen, Iris. I know this is going to sound strange, but since I was with him at the end, I’d really like to visit his cabin.” I held out my hands, indicating a feeling of helplessness. “I don’t know how else to pay my respects, but if I could do something for him, like show some of his poetry to a literary agent on the off-chance it might get published, it would mean a great deal to me.”

“How could you do that?” Iris wasn’t easily convinced. “Do you know a literary agent?”

“My mom works for the Novel Idea agency,” Trey stated
proudly, and I couldn’t help but blush in the face of his boasting even though I knew he was only mentioning my new job to impress a pretty girl.

Iris considered my request. “All right, but we should go now, before it gets dark. Jasper doesn’t like me to wander too far after sunset.”

Walking through the woods in the dusky light was a little spooky, but Iris knew where she was going and forged confidently ahead along a narrow path. Well away from the co-op, but not so far that we couldn’t hear the murmuring of voices in the still night, she stopped.

“This is the laurel bush I told you about,” she said quietly as she stroked a branch. Despondently, she added, “No more poems.” Her sadness made me want to hug her.

But Trey beat me to it. Gently touching her shoulder, he asked in a tender voice, “Are you okay?”

She nodded and pointed to the right. “Come on, it’s this way.”

Twigs cracked under our feet, and I furiously swatted at mosquitoes until we came to a small clearing, upon which stood a cabin. Actually, calling it a cabin was generous. In the shadowy light, it appeared more like an old toolshed.

“This is where he lived,” Iris said as she pulled open the canvas flap covering the doorway. “Jasper offered to have some of our members build him a real cabin, but Marlette didn’t want it. Said he only heard from his muse when he slept close to nature.”

“Do you know if anyone’s been inside since he died?” I asked.

Iris shook her head. “No one ever came here that I know about. Other than Jasper or me, that is. We used to bring him food.”

I peered inside and was assaulted by a mixture of smells created by an odd blend of body odor, rotting wood, and hemp. It was not unlike Marlette’s own stench, though not as overpowering. Trey moved back from the entry.

“Do you really want to go in there, Mom?” he asked, waving his hand in front of his face. “It reeks.”

Scrunching my nose, I stepped through the opening but couldn’t see very far inside the space. “Is there any kind of light in here?”

Iris thrust a small flashlight at me. “You can use this. I’ll wait outside with Trey.”

After giving her a nod of understanding, I shone the narrow beam into the interior, illuminating a cozy-looking refuge. Despite the smell, it was a tidy space, with bedding arranged neatly in one corner, a makeshift table in another with a wooden crate in place of a chair, a basket filled with clothes, and an old cabinet with missing doors and dangling hinges. Its shelves were jammed full. One held paperbacks, and the others contained a leather-covered journal with ragged paper edges, two chipped teacups, a dented saucepan, a tin can filled with pens, a ball of twine, numerous empty chip and cookie bags, and dried bouquets of flowers.

An ancient typewriter stood on top of the cabinet. I touched its dusty keys, remembering Marlette’s pathetic questions about his query, and wondered if he had written anything significant using this decrepit machine. There was also a hand-carved walking stick resting against the table. To me, it seemed to be waiting for its owner to return, for Marlette to grasp its polished knob and set forth for the steepest, most secluded parts of the mountain.

I stood transfixed. The place was crude and simple, but
it had been special to Marlette. A sense of security and peace hovered in air filled with the dust motes. I found this sense of tranquility surprising, considering his lack of possessions and the fact that he had lived in what most people would consider a hovel.

“‘His house was perfect,’” I whispered, borrowing from
The Hobbit
, “‘whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking, best.’”What had Marlette liked best? What invisible element remained in this crude shelter, giving it a coziness that seemed incongruous with its appearance?

My musings were interrupted by Jasper’s voice calling in the night. “Iris! It’s getting dark.”

In unison, Iris and Trey stuck their heads inside the cabin and beckoned urgently.

“Ms. Wilkins?”

“Mom! We gotta go back.”

My head swiveled to the entrance and then back into the dimness. “I’m coming.” I redirected the flashlight beam to the cabinet. On impulse, I grabbed the journal and jammed it into the waistband of my jeans, untucking my shirt to conceal the bulge. I followed Iris and my son, glancing back once at Marlette’s deteriorating cabin. It seemed as though it was aware that its owner would never return and was now willing to be claimed by the encroaching forest.

My sleep that night was deep and dreamless, thanks to my being exhausted from the day’s packing and cleaning, settling into my mother’s place, and all that followed at the Red Fox Co-op. Unfortunately, I’d set the alarm for five thirty to get a head start on my work, and its buzzing woke me all too soon.

At six twenty I stood at the door to Espresso Yourself
but was dismayed to read on its sign that it wouldn’t open for another ten minutes. Through the window I could see Makayla behind the counter stocking the bakery case with muffins, so I tapped on the glass. She looked up and smiled, opening the door for me just as my mouth stretched into a big yawn.

“Girl, you look like you need a triple latte!” she exclaimed in a voice far too chipper for such an early hour. “Sit yourself down and I’ll bring you one.”

Gratefully, I lowered myself into the closest chair, dropping my bag full of unread queries onto the floor. I had intended to tackle them when we got back to my mother’s last night, but by that point I couldn’t find the energy to even take them out of the bag. Besides, I was far more interested in Marlette’s journal, which I took to bed with me. I’d been just about to delve into it when my mother quietly opened my door. Jamming it under my pillow, I pretended to be snuggling in to sleep.

“I made you an infusion of lemon balm and chamomile, honey. I reckoned you needed somethin’ to help you relax after your long and crazy day,” she said and then plunked herself down at the foot of the bed. I sat up and took the cup she offered. I sipped while she chatted. Later, I had a vague sense of her weight leaving the bed, and then, nothing. The next thing I knew, my alarm was buzzing.