Who Knew the Ridpath Girl: A Mystery

They take a deep breath and reach for the clean clothes piled next to the mattress. It's been ten days since they moved in, but they haven't bothered with furnishings or decor. This is a temporary home— just another couple of weeks, and they'll go back to their real life in Portland, or whatever's left of it.

In the past ten days, Quinn's located Mom's address, done several walk- bys, rehearsed their pitch, and changed the words a hundred times. They even approached the door once and retreated, shaking. Procrastinating has been easy to rationalize because they've been working so much. Family emergency or not, they have to eat.

Today, they only have an evening shift— nearly twelve hours from now. It's time to act.

The cloudy January sky lightens through the bare window, and Quinn pulls on black cargo pants and a burgundy wool sweater, wool socks, and their lace up Doc Marten boots. One thigh pocket holds their phone, the other a Ziploc bag with a woven bracelet in it, all Quinn has left of Douggy. Too frayed and old to wear safely, but here in Meander, Quinn's been carrying it for luck.

Douggy's death had been their mother's excuse for sending Quinn and their brother away, nearly fifteen years ago, and Quinn hasn't been back until now. An untimely end of childhood, at age eleven. Maybe that's why they feel so old.

As Quinn emerges from the bedroom, the scent of coffee greets them, along with the sounds of humming and chopping. Viveca, Quinn's landlord and roommate, must be up and getting ready to leave for work. Since moving in, Quinn's seen Viveca mostly in passing, which is as it should be. Nothing against Vee, as she likes to be called, but Quinn usually avoids small talk. Today's not a day for retreat, though, and Quinn enters the kitchen with a polite, nervous nod.

"Good morning!" Viveca says with a broad smile as she dumps a handful of celery sticks into a container. With her curvaceous figure, understated makeup, and close cropped natural hair, she has more presence in purple scrubs than Quinn would have in a tux with

tails.

Quinn offers a reserved smile back. "Morning." They start the water for tea, then rummage in the cupboard where they keep their small stash of food.

Vee says, "Morning shift today?"

"Just errands."

"You look tired! There's coffee and muffins if you want."

"No, thanks." Guilt pinches at Quinn for turning down the hospitality, but caffeine is worse than small talk for making their anxiety go haywire. It's the last thing they need before facing their mother. They carry crackers, peanut butter, a banana, and a butter knife to the table, then return for their mug of tea.

Viveca doesn't seem offended. She sips from her steaming dolphin mug, one among many ocean- themed collectibles that colonize the house. "I've been meaning to ask you. What year did you move away, again?"

Quinn suppresses a sigh. When Vee first asked why Quinn wanted to rent a room in Meander, Quinn was less than truthful, leading her to believe they were moving here because they had happy memories of living here as a child. They didn't want Viveca to know they planned to leave as soon as they connected with their mother. The hotel is too expensive, but Viveca would probably prefer a renter who'd stay for months, not weeks.

Unfortunately, the story caused its own problems. Viveca, a Meanderite from birth, is perplexed about why she can't remember Quinn. Quinn hasn't felt like explaining that back then, they had a different name, a different hair color, a different gender, and a different body type. But now, looking at Viveca's open, friendly face, they realize their instinct toward privacy may be hobbling them. Douggy and Quinn were too young to be Viveca's friends, but Gracen was older, closer to her age. Maybe the two of them were in touch. While in Meander, Quinn means to confront Gracen, but he's proven a hard man to reach.

Quinn says, "It was the year Douggy Ridpath died. She was my best friend."

Viveca's eyes widen with dawning recognition. "Oh. I didn't realize. You- you're Kathy?"

Quinn's ears grow hot. "Not anymore."

Viveca nods slowly. "Got it. I remember you now. You were so shy!" She snaps her lunch box shut and shakes her head. "My god, Douggy's death— it was awful. You must have been devastated."

Quinn hides their discomfort by carefully applying peanut butter to several more crackers. They regret it immediately as they chew through dry, sticky crumbs. With a hand shielding their mouth, they ask, "Did you keep in touch with Gracen?"

Viveca raises elegant eyebrows. "He's a little high and mighty for the likes of me. And I doubt he's shown his face here since sticking his mom in the nursing home."