A Curious Affair by Melanie Jackson Page B

He was a strong man. I thought he was also an interested one.
    “She says that Irv has a nephew. His first name is Gordon or Jordon and he lives in Lodi or maybe Fresno.” I smiled a little. “I was sure you’d want to know.”
    “Why, thank you. That will help a great deal.” He didn’t bother hiding the irony. It wasn’t mean-spirited, though, so I didn’t get defensive when he added: “I didn’t know you had an in with that crowd.”
    “I don’t. Irv is the only common denominator.”
    Don put my dish of ice cream and a brimming coffee cup on the counter. He seemed inclined to linger and visit with me, but Tyler’s clear gaze reminded him of some shipment that needed unpacking in the back room. I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk with one of Cal’s old buddies about how I was doing these days. Their ongoing concern with my isolation revived myfeelings of helplessness, and reminded me of the days when Cal and I had had to wrestle with our own impotence and pity. Yes, pity. Mine, for his facing a horrible death, and he for me because I would have to go on living without him. That we’d never expressed any of this aloud did not mean it was not there.
    “Will there be an autopsy?” I asked in a low voice that made allowances for thin walls. I took a tentative bite of my ice cream. It was indeed a bit freezer burned, but I was suddenly hungry enough to enjoy it anyway. When had I last eaten? I couldn’t quite recall.
    “Yes.” Tyler was looking at me straight on now. “It’s standard in cases like this. At least it is where I come from. Nolan does not agree. He actually had me on the phone before seven this morning.”
    “That’s too bad. It’s really best to be sure about things.” I added without looking up: “Makes it easier for the family.”
    “Yes, I’m sure answers will comfort Gordon. Or Jordan. And anyone else who might be concerned about being killed in their cabins if anyone shares your beliefs about the cause of death.” Tyler put his coffee down. He asked straightly: “You weren’t thinking of going hiking in the woods today, were you?”
    “I might. The sun is a rare sight and I haven’t gotten out much lately.” And the sunshine was disappearing quickly. Another hour and it could be raining like The End of Days again. I figured that it was now or never.
    Tyler looked at his watch and frowned. “I don’t suppose you’d like some company on this walk? I haven’t seen that much of the countryside.”
    That hadn’t been my plan, having a guest while I searched for Irv’s gold mine, but I thought about it while I smashed the last of the marshmallow on the roof of my mouth. On the one hand, I had the feeling that Tyler was suspicious of my intentions because of myfriendship with Irving, and maybe he just wanted to make sure that I didn’t tamper with any smokable evidence I might find. Or steal it outright. He probably thought that I would be inclined to clean out Irv’s pot field before law enforcement found it, to protect Irv’s or his friends’ not-so-good names. Or just to have some free dope. And he might be right about me, at least about my not telling anyone about what I found. I probably wouldn’t call in the law if I found a pot farm, since I’m not a hypocrite and I didn’t see anything wrong with occasional recreational drug use, and also understand that some people simply can’t endure life without some help—chemo patients being chief among them. If you have insurance or live in a city with liberal drug laws, you get your pain relief from your doctor or a cannabis club. If you don’t, then you see someone like Irv, or whoever would take over this philanthropic endeavor now that he was gone—and God bless them.
    Of course, all bets were off if I found something that made me think drugs were actually connected to Irv’s murder. Then I would report it all. But I didn’t think drugs were involved. The conviction had grown in me during the last few hours