Page 111 of The Killing Plains

“His what?”

“He calls it that. It’s actually a lovely little pond behind his house.”

“Should we take a bottle of wine or something?”

“I had one, but I forgot to bring it. Niall won’t care. He’s very laid-back.”

Niall Shaw lived thirty miles northwest of town, in a sparsely populated knot of cedar-clad hills. The sun was setting as Brenda turned off the main road onto a narrow lane. It wound for half a mile through the hills before ending abruptly in a broad patch of pea gravel edged with boulders. Niall’s navy-blue Jeep was parked there, but Colly saw no sign of a house.

Brenda parked the car, and they walked to the row of boulders. Colly found herself looking down into a grassy, saucer-shaped hollow. At the bottom was a stand of dark cedars close to a reed-edged pond. She followed Brenda down a graded path that led through the trees to a small, neat house a hundred yards from the pond. It was painted dark gray and built in a retro, mid-century modern style, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the front. Through these, Colly glimpsed the warm glow of walls paneled in honey-colored oak. Despite its modern design, the place seemed like an organic part of its rustic surroundings. Colly had seen nothing like it in West Texas.

“Did we go through some wormhole and come out in California?” she asked as they climbed a short flight of steps to the door.

Brenda laughed. “Niall designed the house. He’s one of those annoying people who’s talented at almost everything.”

“I had no idea psychology paid so well.”

“I think he got some kind of inheritance from his folks. His dad made a tidy bundle in the mining industry in Montana.”

Brenda rapped on the door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer. “Hey, it’s us.”

“I’m in the kitchen—come on back,” Niall shouted.

Colly stepped inside. They were standing in an open-plan living room, cleanly furnished with a red leather Chesterfield sofa and two Eames lounge chairs. Framed textiles splashed with stylized designs of birds, lizards, and gazelles hung on one wall, while densely packed bookshelves ranged along two others. The window at the far end of the room looked out on a lawn that sloped towards the pond.

She followed Brenda through the living room and around the corner into a white-tiled kitchen with a dining area at one end. Niall, wearing a chef’s apron over jeans and a t-shirt, was at the stove, stirring something in an enameled Dutch oven.

“What’s that heavenly smell?” Brenda plopped down on one of the barstools lining the counter.

Niall adjusted the flame under the pot and turned to greet them, wiping his hands on his apron. “Coq au vin.”

Brenda clapped her hands. “You’re spoiling us.”

“I always default to French food when I’m hoping to impress a new acquaintance.” He smiled at Colly.

“I love your house. Those textile hangings in the living room are amazing.”

“They’re Korhogo mud cloths from the Ivory Coast. My father was born there. That’s how I got interested in French cuisine.”

“How’d your family end up in the States?”

Niall opened a cupboard and began taking out plates. “Dad studied hydraulic engineering in England, then moved to Montana to work for a mining company. He met my mom at a ski resort near Red Lodge while she was visiting a friend. And the rest is history, as they say.”

“The other day you said you moved here after your dad died?”

Niall nodded. “My mom wanted to be near family. She had an aunt in Falroy, about thirty miles from here. We bought a house in Crescent Bluff because it had a better school system. I hated it. Siblings would’ve helped. I was the only Black kid in my eighth-grade class. We’re thin on the ground in Montana, too,” he added with a wry smile. “But at least there you’ve got the mountains and rivers for compensation. When I moved back here after grad school, I bought this property because it doesn’t feel like West Texas, to me. It’s green, anyway. And I can escape from people when I want. It’s tough being different.”

“But everyone knows you. And you provide such a great service to the community,” Colly said.

Niall hunched his shoulders. “The South is the South. It’s true, most people are very nice, though there’s always some low-grade stupid stuff. But even with the best, I sometimes get the feeling they’re thinking of me as theirBlackfriend.” He pushed the plates across the bar to Brenda. “Make yourself useful and lay those out, will you?”

“What should I do with all that?” Brenda gestured towards the glass-topped table, which was strewn with books and papers.

“Oh, I was working earlier. Just pile everything on the bar.”

Colly moved to help. Many of the papers she gathered up were printouts of multicolored blobs. She held one up. “More art from the Ivory Coast?”

Uncorking a bottle of wine, Niall looked up and laughed. “No, PET scans. I’m writing a book with a neuroscientist friend of mineat UC Irvine on the correlation between brain architecture and violent crime. A lot’s been done on that in recent years, but we’re focusing specifically on adolescents. My co-author’s a researcher, so he’s covering statistical aspects on the neurological side, and I’m handling the clinical work.”

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