Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island Read Online Free PDF

and then come back. He usually read the beginning of an article and could tell if it was worth going on. But, by page five of “Piper Blues,” Noel knew he was in for the duration. A simply shaped story, it told of Jimmy Piper, who decided to drive from Spokane to Detroit, taking only the blue highways William Least Heat-Moon had described in his wonderful book of that title—the back roads that connected rural America. Piper owned a VW van, which he’d named Henry Hamlin, vintage 1988, painted many colors, and he was a first-rate mechanic. He also picked up hitchhikers. The first, a little old lady who was ready to go anywhere; she had no fixed destination. The second, a guy in his thirties who maybe was, maybe wasn’t a bank robber. Three and four were runaways, a boy and a girl in their mid-teens. Soon the VW was carrying nine passengers of assorted ages and genders, including a man who called himself a driven transsexual. And they all adored Jimmy Piper, who would talk with them about whatever they thought ailed them. A few basic interactions among the passengers, from fighting to fucking. By the time Henry Hamlin reached Detroit, the lives of many of the passengers had been transformed, five for the better, two for the worse, the other two immutable. “Five to two ain’t a bad ratio,” said Jimmy in the last paragraph.
    Noel sat back. Moving and intelligent, “Piper Blues” showed a self-confidence not present in the essays. Noel could see Peter’s dilemma. He looked out the window. Twilight. Well, Beck’s or whoever’s writing was compelling. Noel had gotten lost in those hundred pages. Someone had turned on the overhead light. Noel stood and went to the door. Across the hall, lights on in another office. From it came Peter’s voice, “My, but you’re a slow reader.”
    Noel crossed the hall and glanced in. Peter had made himself at home behind someone else’s desk. “Your office away from your office?”
    Peter chuckled. “A colleague’s. We have each other’s keys. In case we need a place to hide. So. What’d you think?”
    â€œI think I understand your problem. It’s a terrific piece of writing. The essays are clever but they don’t match up. Either Mr. Jordan Beck’s art has matured substantially, or the novella isn’t his.”
    â€œYeah, you see what I’m dealing with.”
    â€œTell me more about Beck.”
    â€œDon’t know a lot. He came to Morsely over a year ago, we had two of those two-week sessions, over the year he sent me the essays you read plus nine others, then he decided to come to San Juan for the summer to write the novella—he’d made notes and an outline. He gave it to me two weeks ago.”
    â€œDoesn’t he expect a reaction? A grade?”
    â€œI don’t have to grade him till the end of September. I’ve told him I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”
    â€œHe’s still on San Juan?”
    â€œHe’s got a job at a restaurant, and I think he’s got a girlfriend on the island.”
    Noel nodded. “I better talk to him.”
    â€œSure. But you can’t let him know I suspect him of plagiarism.”
    â€œCourse not. Mind if I copy the essays and novella onto my memory stick?”
    â€œI don’t. But Beck might.”
    â€œYou going to tell him?”
    â€œNo. What’re you thinking?”
    â€œI had an idea.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI’ll tell you. But what about that beer you offered me?”

    Kyra had waited two hours for Fred Wisely and the woman to leave Lew’s. Three separate cop cars passed her where she had parked, nonchalantly reading the Bellingham Herald four times from banner to TV listings; she’d learned every available detail about the Targon rape case and today could’ve watched seven different episodes of Law & Order if she weren’t tied up in this bitch of