The Vanishing Season by Jodi Lynn Anderson Page B

Tolstoy?”
    Maggie shrugged. She hadn’t read Tolstoy.
    “Thomas Mann?”
    She shook her head.
    Mr. Witte sighed as if she’d disappointed him and resumed his work as if they weren’t still in the room. Liam gave her a helpless look, as if to say, That’s about how it goes and then led her back to the front room, where they sank onto the soft rug by Pauline. “I think he likes you,” he said.
    “Ha.”
    “No, seriously,” Liam said, rubbing his jaw, embarrassed. “That’s him being friendly. Sorry. He’s grumpy and also convinced of his own superior intellect. But he’s sweet underneath it all. He’s a great dad.”
    Maggie told them about the gramophone she’d found on her porch, and about Gerald from the Emporium, and they were both equally horrified.
    “I told my mom it was you guys. I don’t want to worry her.”
    “You should tell her. You should have him arrested,” Liam said.
    “They can’t arrest a guy for leaving a gramophone on your porch.”
    “Littering,” Pauline offered hopefully.
    “I don’t even know if it was him. I called Elsa, and she said she’d have one of the guys at the Emporium talk to him. She won’t talk to him herself, because she thinks he’s the killer.”
    Pauline let out a loud groan. “Everybody thinks everybody is the killer. The lady at the 7-Eleven says it’s that guy Sam from the Gill Creek Maritime Museum, because he has sinister eyebrows. I think it’s Liam.”
    Liam stared into the fire. “I did it with s’more sticks.”
    “Anyway, the killings weren’t anywhere near here. Sturgeon Bay is all the way down the peninsula. The whole thing will die down eventually,” Pauline said.
    “Well, the people of Door County can rest easy now that we have your expert opinion,” Liam said flatly.
    Pauline rolled her sock into a doughnut and threw it at him, and he caught it with one hand and gave her a look—they both looked angry and like they were going to laugh at the same time. There seemed to be this permanent electric tension between them—like a thread stretched from one to the other, pulling tight and loosening and pulling tight again.
    “Do either of you want it?” They turned to look at her, confused. “The gramophone.”
    “I’d love it,” Liam said.
    “He’ll take it apart, and it’ll never go back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty. He disembowels everything to see how it works.” Something vibrated, and Pauline pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “You get a signal around here?” Maggie asked.
    “Hardly ever. Sometimes around Liam’s house. It’s basically just for telling time. Bleh.” She looked at the screen.
    “What is it?”
    “This guy from school, James Falk. He doesn’t notice that I don’t think he’s as amazing as he does.” Pauline tucked her phone away and turned back to the fire. She ignored Liam’s dark look and held her hands out in front of her contentedly. “The fire’s so nice and warm. Wouldn’t you love to live somewhere that’s warm all the time? I’d love to live in Austin, that’s my dream. I’d love to be one of those singer-songwriters who perform in all the bars and wear sparkly pants.”
    “Are you moving there after you graduate?” Maggie asked.
    Pauline wagged a hand in the air. “Eh. I don’t know.”
    “Pauline doesn’t believe in planning.” Liam turned to Pauline with a chastising expression.
    “But getting the things you want takes planning, if you really want them,” Maggie offered. This was her exact area of expertise.
    “Yeah, but how can you really plan anything?” Pauline took another bite of s’more and spoke through her food. “Everything turns out totally different than what you plan.”
    Liam kneaded one hand in the other, clearly frustrated with Pauline. “Well, I doubt someone’s going to come along and say, ‘Hey, come sing at my bar in Austin, and by the way here’s an apartment and a plane ticket.’”
    “Are you so eager to get me to leave?”