Death Qualified by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page B

with the search.
     
        The river made its last curve here and was swallowed again by the forest. In the distance before it disappeared she could see several small boats. She shivered and then waved to Frank Holloway, who had turned to look in her direction.
     
        He put down a drink, got to his feet, and took the few steps remaining for her to reach the seating area. He was in his late sixties, maybe even seventy; Nell could never judge ages. He probably was old, but she had seen her grandfather celebrate his eighty-sixth birthday, and old was not a word that could be used for both men. Frank was her lawyer, Doc's lawyer, everyone's lawyer around here, although he was semi-retired. He went to his law firm once or twice a week and even took a case now and then, but what he did most of the time was fish and work on a book he was writing.
     
        He had thrown away his ties, he liked to tell people.
     
        Now he dressed in jeans and flannel shirts and, if it got warm enough, in Bermuda shorts and tank tops. Even on the days that he went to his office in Eugene, that was how he dressed. He had earned the right, he claimed.
     
        He approached Nell with a look of commiseration.
     
        "You too. Poor Nell. What a shock." He put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a little squeeze, and then took the books from her.
     
        "Thanks," she said, rubbing her arm where the book bindings had dug in.
     
        "Hi, Jessie. How are you?"
     
        The answer was, as always, "Not too bad. What a terrible thing!" The words were appropriate enough, but her expression was one of avidity; she clearly wanted to hear all about it again.
     
        Jessie was older than Doc, five years older, eight. No one ever said; she looked twenty years older at times, although at other times she looked like a girl. It depended on how active her arthritis was at the moment. This evening it appeared to be under control. She was leaning for ward in her chair, studying Nell's face intently, one hand holding binoculars on her lap. It was hard to tell much about her physical appearance because she always wore long skirts that covered her from the waist down in gathers and folds and pleats all the way to her shoes. Her blouses were full, with long sleeves, almost always topped by a silk shawl in summer, a wool shawl in winter. Her fingers were misshapen, the knuckles grotesque and sore-looking.
     
        "How perfectly awful it must have been," she said, looking at Nell, waiting.
     
        "Least she didn't hang around," Lonnie Rowan said, suddenly appearing from the house, carrying a tray with extra glasses, wine, cheese, and crackers. She was still wearing the red pants she had worn at Turner's Point earlier A murder mystery, Nell remembered; Lonnie had put in a request for a special mystery.
     
        "Had to go home and shoot at a tree cutter," Lonnie went on, arranging the things she had brought out. She gave Nell a quick sidelong glance.
     
        "Nell never shot at anything in her life," Doc said as he came out to the deck.
     
        "She either shoots it or doesn't shoot at all."
     
        "They said she shot at them," Lonnie muttered.
     
        "What has that to do with the body in the river?" Jessie asked, turning from Nell to Frank Holloway, who shrugged.
     
        Immediately behind Doc was Clive Belloc. He was wearing jeans, a tan work shirt, and his boots as if he had not yet gone home from work. He was a cruiser for a logging company; people said he was one of the best around, that with just a little walk through the woods he could tell you exactly how much lumber you could realize to the last one-by-one. Except for the area around his eyes that was protected by sunglasses summer and winter, his skin was a rich red mahogany color, and his hair bleached out very blond.
     
        "I went to your place, empty. I figured you were over here," he said to Nell, ignoring everyone