A Superior Death

Camouflaging the beer in a moderately clean sock, A

A

A plain white envelope with “PIGEON” printed on it in block letters looked promising. A

A

“Go Frederick,” A

The following morning A

When they left, she was in such a good mood it lasted till her next visitors arrived in midafternoon.

As Student Conservation Associates, Tinker and Damien had only a six weeks’ long season. They’d come to Mi

“Nantucket,” A

“Yes. When we didn’t hear from you, we fetched Pizza Dave,” Damien told her.

“He was the largest person we could think of,” Tinker explained.

“Large,” A

For a time they sat in silence, Tinker in the chair, Damien perched on the arm, A

In an urban setting, without their uniforms, the two interpreters looked ordinary: like elves in a shopping mall or water sprites in a horse trough. The island itself was the magic; Tinker and Damien just the dwellers therein. A

“We’ve got winter jobs in Everglades National Park,” Tinker said. “There’s magic there.”

A

After due consideration, Damien declared: “Too dull.”

Another long but in no way awkward silence passed. “I’m sorry about Oscar,” A

“Yes,” Tinker returned. “He was the purest of bears.”

Another silence began. A

“He was pure,” Damien mused. “But there are compensations. Now that he’s part human he’s thinking of taking up whiskey to keep his more esoteric vices company.”

“Human?” A

“We got most of his sawdust back,” Tinker explained patiently. “Your dive suit caught almost all of it, but it was pretty well soaked with blood.”

“We dried it out in our fruit dehydrator.” Damien picked up the thread of the story. “Stuffed it back in and sewed him up. He’s got a scar on his chest, but Tinker tried to keep the stitches small.”

“Oscar’s a bit vain,” Tinker confided.

A

“He sends his regards,” Tinker apologized. “He wanted to stay at the hotel.”

“Nothing personal,” Damien put in quickly. “He thinks the world of you. It’s just that our room has a color TV.”

“Ah.” Reality was becoming less and less important to the conversation. A

“Didn’t you hear the big news?” Tinker asked cautiously.

A

“Scotty was drinking like he does and started opening beer bottles with his teeth.”

“What a jerk. Were trail crew properly impressed?”

“No. Wait.” Tinker looked pained. She had no reason to be a friend to Scotty Butkus. A

“He choked to death on a bottle cap,” Tinker said slowly. “No kidding,” she added as A

Banal, embarrassing, meaningless: an accidental death. After all the mysteries on the island, A

“Sometimes the wrong people die,” Tinker said philosophically. “But sometimes they don’t.”

“Time,” Damien broke in.

“Meeting of the Survivors of the Harmonic Convergence?” A

Tinker shook her head. “Lyle Lovett’s playing at the Guthrie.”

Another perfectly good pigeonhole evaded by the Coggins-Clarkes, A

“Oh, you’ve a message from Ralph,” Tinker remembered. “He said to tell you to get well soon. Now that Scotty is gone, you are to be stuck with organizing the Chrismoose picnic. Scotty ordered the paper plates and all the condiments, but nothing else has been done.”

A

Tinker waved goodbye as Damien swirled her away in the crook of his arm.

“Condiments!” A