Physics Can Be Fatal by Elissa D. Grodin

Author:Elissa D. Grodin [Grodin, Elissa D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-08-01T06:00:00+00:00

*

Will read Edwina’s text as he walked through the parking lot of the police station. He climbed into an old Ford pick-up truck, sat behind the wheel and texted her back.

Good work, BB. Sidebottom got a haircut at Leah’s sure enough.

He drove through downtown Old Guilford, through its quiet residential streets, and into the surrounding hills toward the neighboring town of Westover. Halfway to Westover he turned onto a rural route for a few miles, and then onto a steep, dirt road through dense woods. He parked on a remote property with his half-built house, his tipi out back, and a spring-fed pond, mostly hidden by foliage.

The plans for the house were laid out on a makeshift table––a wooden door set across two sawhorses––in the kitchen area of the house. Will poured a large container of clam chowder into a saucepan and heated it on a double-burner hot plate. He studied the plans while he ate, making notations in pencil here and there.

What would eventually be the living room area of the house was currently fashioned into a workspace. Will changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed a cedar board and ran it through the miter saw, cutting it to size for clapboarding. He repeated this until twenty new clapboards had been added to the pile.

Although plumbing lines had been run before the concrete foundation was poured, the bathtub and shower would not be installed for another few weeks, at least. When he was finished working Will trotted out to the pond and stripped down in full view of the neighboring wildlife.

The last rays of evening sun made the treetops appear incandescent He bathed quickly in the cold water, and changed into a pair of clean sweatpants and tee shirt. Before retiring to the tipi with a Louis L’Amour book, Will swept the sawdust around the miter saw into a neat pile, scooped it up with a dust pan, and dumped it into a half-filled trash bag. He used water from a plastic jug to rinse out his dinner dishes, dried them off, and trudged up the hill at the back of the house.

The tipi’s interior was surprisingly spacious. Will had studied The Indian Tipi: Its History, Construction, and Use, by Gladys and Reginald Laubin (published 1957). He had finally mastered adjusting the smoke flaps, so the smoke could get out but the rain would not get in. Seventeen twenty-seven foot poles around the perimeter held the tipi in place. Camping lanterns lit the inside, which was scattered with tools, books, and clothes. The bed, a sleeping bag on a raised cot, was perfectly sufficient for the duration.

Will lay in bed gazing up at the peak of the tipi. Listening to the owls and bullfrogs in the background, he thought about the case. Of course, there were still Department members he had yet to interview, and he could not speculate about them.

Donald Gaylord had distinguished himself by his willingness to point the finger in so many different directions without a moment’s hesitation, and by getting Will’s hackles up in record time.

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