Jasper shook his head, his wavy locks glistening in the waning light. “Except for the solar panels on all the roofs, we’re a human-powered community.” Smiling, he patted his flat stomach. “Keeps us fit.” He then had us follow him to the dairy barn where the goat milk was bottled or made into cheese, soap, and lotion.
I was impressed by both the cleanliness of the workspaces and the genuine friendliness of the co-op’s inhabitants. While Jasper invited Trey to sample a piece of goat cheese and my mother began to discuss our supper plans with a middle-aged man labeling the goat products with elegant calligraphy, a young woman entered the barn.
Upon seeing her gauzy white dress and flowing rivulets of golden hair, I had to blink hard to make sure that I wasn’t envisioning a fantastical forest nymph. The girl was small, with childlike limbs and fair skin, but her blue eyes were large and framed by a sweep of long lashes. She walked en pointe like a ballerina, with an empty metal pail swinging by her side and a dreamy expression on her lovely face.
“Who is that?” Trey interrupted Jasper’s discourse on goat vaccinations, gazing at the fairylike young lady with utter rapture.
Grinning indulgently, Jasper beckoned for the girl to come closer. “This is Iris, my sister.”
She gifted us with a shy smile, her gaze lingering on Trey. “Are you staying for supper?”
“Yeah,” Trey answered immediately and puffed out his chest in a show of macho self-importance. “And we brought beer.”
The evening meal was held outdoors on a grouping of picnic tables and blankets. Oil lamps and tiki torches were lit, more for atmosphere than for the light they cast since the sky had yet to darken, and a stream of men and women began carrying mismatched platters and bowls from their individual cabins to the tables. Grilled vegetable kabobs, spinach salad with strawberries and goat cheese, scalloped potatoes, fried goat cheese with sliced tomatoes and fresh pesto, and a berry medley were among the dishes on the communal buffet. As I filled my plate with the fresh, locally grown food, I began to appreciate the advantages of life in the co-op.
With its wholesomeness, proximity to nature, and close sense of community, the Red Fox Mountain Co-op was somewhat of a utopia. Thomas More’s description of virtue as “living according to Nature” might well have suited these people, who “think that we are made by God for that end.”
However idyllic life here seemed, I reminded myself that I’d come on a mission. I needed to find out where Marlette had lived. Somewhere inside his home might be a clue to his demise. Perhaps I’d find a copy of the book he’d written or an indication of why his very existence had become a threat that his murderer could not ignore.
Seeing Trey and Iris sitting alone on a picnic blanket, I decided that it would be easier to worm information out of a girl close to my son’s age than from Jasper or one of the older residents of Red Fox Mountain.
“I’m sorry to hear that your community is grieving for a lost acquaintance tonight,” I said without preamble. “Was the person a close friend?”
Iris shook her head. “He wasn’t a member of the co-op, but he shared the mountain with us. He lived in a cabin by the stream, and sometimes he’d write poems and tie them to the branches of a laurel bush for me to find. They were beautiful.”
This tender gesture caused a lump to form in my throat. “So he was a writer?”
She shrugged, uncertain how to answer. “Not professionally. He just wrote things and put them in special places. He talked to himself and didn’t take very good care of his things. Some people thought he was crazy, but I didn’t. He was just really shy, but he was sweet, too.”
“Was his name Marlette?” I asked gently.
She looked at me with unveiled distrust. “How’d you know?”
“I met him for the first time on Friday,” I assured her hastily. “And I agree with your description. He seemed harmless and kind.” I hesitated. “Listen, Iris. I know this is going to sound strange, but since I was with him at the end, I’d really like to visit his cabin.” I held out my hands, indicating a feeling of helplessness. “I don’t know how else to pay my respects, but if I could do something for him, like show some of his poetry to a literary agent on the off-chance it might get published, it would mean a great deal to me.”
“How could you do that?” Iris wasn’t easily convinced. “Do you know a literary agent?”
“My mom works for the Novel Idea agency,” Trey stated proudly, and I couldn’t help but blush in the face of his boasting even though I knew he was only mentioning my new job to impress a pretty girl.
Iris considered my request. “All right, but we should go now, before it gets dark. Jasper doesn’t like me to wander too far after sunset.”
Walking through the woods in the dusky light was a little spooky, but Iris knew where she was going and forged confidently ahead along a narrow path. Well away from the co-op, but not so far that we couldn’t hear the murmuring of voices in the still night, she stopped.