Penelope Lynn Garrett,” Murakawa said with only the slightest suggestion of a sigh as he pronounced her self-appointed name. To twenty-four-year-old Murakawa, the sixties was an ancient oddity, characterized by old-hat political action and slovenly dress. Anachronisms like Aura Summerlight baffled him. “She discovered the body.” Half the Rainbow Villagers who had been standing by the fence watching our activity at the water’s edge moved off when we started toward them. The remaining ten edged in protectively to Aura Summerlight. I glanced at the group. There was no one member who could be taken as representative of all. Two men in their early twenties wore cheap, shiny polyester pants and jackets, garments that would betray them after the first wash. Next to them was an older man, for whom the next wash was well overdue. A woman in a balding, black fur coat, with the lining hanging from both sleeves and the hem, stood next to a couple in jeans, denim jackets, and cowboy boots. Aura Summerlight sat slumped against the fence.
