Page 11 of The River We Remember

Asa stood up, offering the sheriff the desk chair. Brody sat, lifted the telephone receiver from its cradle, and dialed the number of the funeral home. When Brown picked up, Brody said, “You asked Asa to have me call.”

“Doc Porter’s doing an autopsy on Quinn tomorrow morning, is that right?”

“That’s the plan,” Brody replied.

“Is Quinn’s family coming in to make funeral arrangements?”

“Marta will be there to make an official ID. She’ll probably make the arrangements then. Plan on that for around ten.”

“Hope you don’t mind, but I took a cursory look at Quinn. Those catfish did a lot of damage, but it’s still pretty easy to see what killed the man.”

Brody waited.

“That wound’s full of buckshot,” Brown said.

“He was killed by a shotgun blast?”

“That’s probably what tore him open and gave the catfish such a glorious meal. But don’t quote me. Doc Porter’ll want to give the official word.”

After he hung up, Brody sat a few moments, mulling over what he’d just been told. He finally looked up to see Asa Fielding eyeing him curiously.

“Did I hear right?” Asa asked. “Somebody shotgunned Jimmy Quinn?”

“You repeat that to anyone, I’ll rip that badge off your shirt, Asa.”

“But it’s true, right?”

“That’s what Brown thinks.”

“A murder?”

“Let’s not call it anything until we know all the facts, okay?”

The jailhouse door opened, and Garnet Dern, Brody’s sister-in-law, walked in, accompanied by her youngest child, Jack.

Garnet’s maiden name was Olson. Even as a young girl, she was a Nordic beauty—long, buttercup-yellow hair, eyes like little chips of blue sky. She came from a farming family, and although she grew up used to hard work, she possessed a softness of spirit that seemed rare and terribly ephemeral, and made you feel a little like grieving because you knew that the demands of a farming life would, over time, probably suck all of that loveliness out of her.

“Uncle Brody,” seven-year-old Jack cried out happily. “We came to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?” Brody laughed. “What for?”

“For promises unkept,” Garnet replied. That Decoration Day she wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless blouse almost exactly the same ethereal blue as her eyes. On her feet were sandals, and you could see that the color of the polish on her toenails, a joyful red, matched her fingernails. She wagged one of those fingers at Brody. “You promised to picnic with us, remember?”

“Things have been busy around here today.”

“I heard Felix Klein is your guest. Is he such hard work? Really?” She gave him a look of playful admonition.

“Jimmy Quinn’s dead,” Asa said.

Brody shot his deputy a killing look.

“Jimmy Quinn?” Garnet’s eyes bloomed huge. “How?”

“We’re still investigating that,” Brody said.

“Don’t be officious with me, Brody Dern. How did Jimmy die?”

“Honestly, we can’t say for sure. He’s at Brown’s Funeral Home right now. Doc Porter intends to do a full autopsy tomorrow, and we’ll know more. Until then, I’m really not at liberty to say anything, Garnet.”