A Door in the River

“We’ll wait for news,” said Wingate. “You better go.”

Jordie Du

On her way down, Wingate had called to say they would tell Greene that they were still collecting information. News about Du

The mug was still full an hour later, but it was cold, and Du

It’s your old hag body, she said to herself, that no longer readily ventilates itself. The summer hasn’t changed.

But a lot of things had, actually. Driving down to the Indian reserve this week, her attention had finally been drawn to something she knew didn’t belong in the landscape, and this last time – passing it earlier – she’d really looked at it going by in her window. The town of Dublin, which you saw if you came directly into the reserve from the north, was one of the county’s prettiest little hamlets, and she hadn’t paid attention to the sign because the first time she’d passed it, she’d thought it was a billboard.

But it wasn’t. It was news. Some comfy housing corporation was about to dump a ready-made suburb here, right outside of Dublin, if not right on its edge. The sign, she had now confirmed, made the town itself sound like a selling point, it was “unspoiled country rustic.” Dublin was also going to be lucky enough to share itself with not just Tournament Acres, as this monstrosity proposed calling itself, but the golf course that would also be built here. Which, as luck would have it, would have its own hotel. On the grounds of the hotel would be the world’s biggest outdoor wave pool.

Why not an atom smasher for the old folks? It was disgusting to think of, here, off the main highway – protected, you’d have thought – from these marauding people who wanted to live in Disneylands for their money to play in. It was forty minutes from Port Dundas, and Port Dundas had a waterfall. It made her throat tighten to think of it. The cutline at the bottom of the sign had read, “It’s always your turn in Tournament Acres.”

So they were going to gobble up Dublin. The summers were getting hotter and the small towns of Westmuir County were now officially bait for cityfolk.

She was staring at Jordie Du

She got into the little, locked foyer, just as a woman was coming out of the stairway. Hazel waited for her to open the door and she simply slipped inside and went down the hall to 1F, Du

“Yes?”

“Hi, Jordie. Can I come in?”

“I was just about to –” he said, but she put her fingertips on his door and pushed it open.

“Thanks,” she said.

She stepped him backwards and he retreated into the musty apartment. Little particles of dust were catching light in the few shafts of illumination that pierced the gloom. She walked in slowly, watching Du

“How’re you doing, Jordie?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You just getting in from church?”

“From?”

“Never mind. Why don’t you pour us a couple glasses of water, Jordie, and you can tell me the price of soybeans.”

He looked behind her to the hallway, still exposed in the open door, and she closed it. His kitchen was as dark as the rest of the apartment, although the sink and the countertop were spotless, as if he never ate there. It seemed a distinct possibility: she couldn’t imagine Jordie Du

He opened a cupboard and took out a waterglass. There were three inside, and a couple of plates. The spigot coughed to life and spat out little gobs of water. He passed the glass to her and she left it on the tabletop untouched. He remained by the sink. “Not thirsty?”

“No,” he said.

He watched her sit at his kitchen table and she marked the effort it was taking him to remain still. “Jordie, why did you want to know if Henry Wiest had been murdered?”

“It was eleven o’clock at night.”

“And at the edge of a wooded area. Would that be strange?”

“Depends.”

“You’re not afraid of insect bites, are you, Mr. Du

He seemed to slip through the air to the kitchen table, where he silently pulled out a chair and sat in it. “Take me in,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I intend to.”

“Now. Take me in now.”

“What’s in those fields, Jordie? What’s in that grove of trees?”

He pushed his seat back and asked her if she was done with her glass. She handed it to him and he poured the water she hadn’t touched into the sink. There was a hurried shape to all his actions, like there was a countdown ru