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have known right if it hit him upside the head. He did terrible things, and people line up to claim they’re related.’ She turned the car into a mini-mall parking lot. There were plenty of open spaces and she took one in front of Clement’s Hardware. ‘See what I mean?’ She motioned toward the store sign and turned the engine off. ‘Here’s one of the famous descendants now.’
    Inside, they bought cleaning supplies, wood stain, and a small tool set. There was no one in the store except for the elderly man who took their money. As they left, Katherine grabbed Vivian’s arm and turned her towards the far side of the mall where there was a donut shop and a dry-cleaners. ‘The dreaded enemy,’ she whispered.
    â€˜What? Is that the other dry-cleaners?’
    The store had faded posters in the windows, photographs of models in outdated clothing. The sign read ‘Kwik Kleaners’ in cursive red letters.
    â€˜At least they’re not Clements,’ Vivian said.
    Katherine chuckled. ‘Oh, but they could be. On the Indian side somewhere, possibly migrated south and now they’ve returned for their rightful place. They’re everywhere!’ She pretended to choke herself and Vivian laughed.
    They stopped at an ice-cream parlor for double scoops and ate them at a table outside. The ice-cream melted quickly in the afternoon sun and Vivian felt like a kid sneaking a snack close to dinner, something that was never allowed when she was growing up. She felt guilty and excited, as though Nowell would care.
    â€˜So what kind of books does your husband write?’ Katherine asked. ‘Betty only said that one of her grandsons was a writer and one worked construction.’
    â€˜She passed away before Nowell’s first novel was published. He’s written one book, a mystery, and is working on the second.’
    â€˜You’re kidding! I love mysteries. I’d like to read it. Would he autograph a copy for me?’
    â€˜He’ll be flattered that you asked.’
    â€˜I’ll pick up a copy in town this week. What’s the title?’
    Vivian wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Actually, it’s in limited release. You may have some trouble finding it. Besides, I’m sure Nowell would love to give you a copy. He has some at the house.’
    â€˜Great!’ Katherine said. ‘What’s it about? Don’t tell me too much, I hate that.’
    Vivian bit her lower lip, contemplating what to say. ‘It’s a murder mystery about the deaths of two young men. Is that enough?’
    Katherine nodded. ‘If I know too much beforehand, the whole experience is ruined. That’s the whole point of a mystery, isn’t it? The not knowing. ’
    Vivian read Nowell’s book for the first time just before it was ready for printing. He had gone to visit his mother and left the manuscript on the kitchen table at their apartment. He had tucked a note under the cover: Couldn’t have done it without you. Two nights later, she finished it. She never read mysteries, although as a child, she loved hiding games and scary movies, the tight feeling of suspense and the release of discovery. Nowell’s book, Random Victim , seemed well written and it held her interest although she had guessed the ending. She couldn’t remember much about the story now.
    They finished their ice-cream and started the drive back to the house. Katherine pointed out the library, a two-story brick building near the plaza with William Clement’s statue, and the movie theater on the same street, between a clothing store and a diner. The current film was only about a month old; Vivian was encouraged by this. Maybe she wasn’t out of touch with civilization after all, she thought.
    â€˜This was the first downtown street,’ Katherine told her. ‘Most of these buildings are very old.’ She drove slowly down the street and like