Odin's Murder

“A girl came by, when you were with the other one. Yellow hair. Pretty.”

“Danielle, yeah. I heard.” I stack the cups, don’t look up. “Thanks.”

“What’re you doing with a fast girl like that one outsi

de when you got a nice one asking for you?” Her hands are fisted on her hips.

The nice one doesn’t challenge me with every look, every word, every everything. And her kisses don’t hurt. “I was trying to keep her out of trouble.”

She eyes me. “I thought you were the one who liked trouble.”

“Sometimes.” I shrug. “She would’ve regretted it.”

“You like her.”

“Not like that.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I don’t.” I turn at her silence. Constance levels me a look that would make a serial killer confess. I rub the back of my neck with my pickled fingers. “Fine. Yeah, okay. But she makes me crazy. And her brother is my roommate.”

“And the blonde girl? What are you doing with her, then?” At my shrug, the kitchen manager clicks her tongue at me. “She can do better than you.”

“That’s the truth.” I plunge my hands back into the water, fish out spoons from the bottom, set them on the drain board.

She hands me a stack of plates. “What are you studying here?”

“Journalism, I guess. I do photography. But, we’re in these groups, with a theme or whatever. The girl and her brother are in my group.”

“Miriam’s daughter goes here. Do you know her?”

“Miriam?” I’ve heard that name before. Seen it. With a damp hand I touch the tiny lump of silver in my pocket.

“My friend. She’s got a daughter. Sonja.”

“She’s the one who’s supposed to be in my group but never showed. The others were pissed.”

She swats me with a towel. “Language.”

“Jeez,” I grab my arm in mock pain. “Mad. They were angry to be down one. Memory—the girl, the dark haired one—she was a little upset. I think they were friends.”

“What do you mean about Sonja never showing up?”

“She didn’t come to camp. I don’t know where she is. Something better to do, I guess.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Miriam never told me she wasn’t here.”

“Does she work here? I know she lives nearby—that’s what Memory said.” I don’t mention our B&E, yesterday.

Constance nods. “We’ve known each other since high school. My mama worked here at the college and Miriam and I worked summers. She and I had dreams of leaving town, but I was never serious. I like it here, small as it is. Miriam gets restless. She got herself an education, though. A real degree that makes a difference and a job that lets her travel. It’s good for her.” She rinses her dishcloth, wrings it out. “I had my babies early and my choices washed away like sand in the tide. We’re still close, though. Lunch every Saturday afternoon, unless she’s out of town. I need to water her plants—”

Constance’s eyes are distant, staring into the past. I wish I had my camera with me. “Miriam is different—Sonja, too. Special. Beautiful. I was the ugly duckling next to her. But I liked being friends with the most beautiful girl. Made me feel beautiful, too.” The dishes are clean and Constance begins wiping the counters dry. “She lives for that baby girl. Never lets her out of her sight. I can’t imagine her letting her go off alone and not telling me.”

“Too bad Sonja didn’t come,” I interrupt her muttering. “Memory said she’d like our group topic. It’s about crows.”

“Crows?”

“With Dr. Anders. He picked it out for us.”