Cry for the Strangers (26 page)

“My God,” Rebecca breathed. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Someone may have been on the boat. We don’t know for sure yet. Anyway, when I got to the wharf Glen was already there. He saw as much of what happened as anybody. So Whalen asked him to stick around for a while.” Chip saw no point in telling Rebecca that her husband had been ordered to stay at the scene, not invited.

“Thank God,” Rebecca sighed. “You don’t have any idea of how worried I was. He should have been back, and then I saw those awful explosions, and—” she stopped talking when she saw the expression on Chip’s face.

“You mean he wasn’t here when the explosions happened?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Rebecca said. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me much of anything,” Chip replied. “Where was he?”

“He’d gone down the beach to check on the old house—the one the Randalls are going to move into. Missy—our daughter—thought there was someone in the house this afternoon, so Glen went down to check on it. He must have seen the explosions from there and gone to the wharf.”

“How long was he gone? Before the explosions, I mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Rebecca began. Then she realized what Chip was getting at. “My God, you don’t think Glen had anything to do with those explosions, do you?”

“Of course not,” Chip said immediately. “But I want you to tell me exactly what happened.” He got out a notebook and a pencil, then saw the look of fear in Rebecca’s eyes, the same fear he had seen in Glen’s eyes earlier. He smiled at her reassuringly. “Mrs. Palmer, you don’t have to answer any of my questions if you don’t want to. But I hope you will. I want to put down in this notebook, right now, everything you can remember about what you and Glen talked about, why he went out, what time he went out—everything. I’m absolutely sure that everything you tell me will match up exactly with what Glen tells Harn Whalen. And then I’ll be able to back him up, because I’ll have the same story from you before you and Glen could possibly have talked to each other.”

Rebecca turned it over in her mind and tried to figure out what Glen would want her to do. She remembered Glen talking about this man, telling her he’d spent most of the day helping him—helping
them
. Now here he was, volunteering to help them again.
Or was he? She gazed into his eyes, trying to read his motives.

His eyes were clear.

“My name’s Rebecca,” she said softly. “Glen told me about what you did today. I want to thank you.”

Chip flushed and kept his eyes on the pad. “It’s okay,” he said. “I had a good time doing it.” Then he looked up at her. “What about the questions? Will you answer them?”

“Of course,” Rebecca said. “Where shall we start?”

The third beer was sitting untouched in front of Glen when Harney Whalen stepped through the door to the bar and called him.

“Palmer, you want to come in here now?”

Glen slid off his stool, and went into the lobby. Dr. Phelps had left, after concluding that Jeff Horton was suffering from a mild case of shock that would pass before morning. The doctor had assured Whalen that there was nothing about the young fisherman’s condition that would make it inadvisable for Harn to question him, and Whalen was in the final stages of doing just that. As Glen appeared in the lobby he looked up.

“I want you and Horton here to come down to the station. We might just as well fill out the official reports tonight, while everything’s still fresh in your memories.”

Glen grinned wryly, and said, “I’m not sure anything’s still fresh in my memory. I’ve been drinking beer for almost an hour.” Then he glanced around the room and his grin faded. “Where’s Connor?”

“He hasn’t come back yet,” Whalen informed him. “You ready?”

Glen shrugged, as if to imply that he had no choice, then followed Jeff Horton and Harn Whalen to Whalen’s black-and-white. Minutes later they were in the police station.

“Okay, Palmer,” Whalen said without preamble, “let’s have it.”

“Have what?” Glen asked. “I’m afraid you’ve kept me around all night for nothing. I don’t have any idea what happened.”

“Maybe you’d like to tell me about how you happened to be on the wharf?”

“I saw the explosions and ran to the harbor. Then I saw this fellow at the end of the dock. I went out to see if he needed any help. That’s all there was to it.”

Whalen studied him through narrowed eyes for a few seconds. “You sure must run fast. The wharf’s a long way from your house.”

“I wasn’t at home,” Glen said, offering no more information.

“Why don’t you tell me Just where you were?” Whalen growled.

“Actually I was in your house, at the other end of Sod Beach from mine. From there it isn’t very far to the wharf. Just around the point, across the rocky beach and the sandbar.”

Whalen’s fingers drummed on the desk. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind.

“How did you happen to be the only one who went out on the wharf? Merle and Chip were both outside, but they didn’t go out on the dock.”

“They probably didn’t see any reason to go. From
where they were standing they wouldn’t have been able to see Jeff. I only saw him because he happened to be between me and the fire. If I hadn’t, I would have gone to the inn. But I saw him, so I went out on the wharf.”

“What the hell were you doing in my house?” Whalen said suddenly, changing the subject of the conversation so violently that for a second Glen drew a blank. Then he recovered himself.

“You might say I was doing you a favor,” he said, controlling his anger. Who the hell did Whalen think he was? “My daughter thought someone was in the house this afternoon, and I thought I ought to check up. Or don’t you care who goes in and out of your own property?”

“What I care about or don’t care about is my own damned business, mister. Understand? Next time you think someone might have been in that house you tell me about it. Don’t go snooping around on your own.”

Glen felt his fury almost choking him but he held it back. “Fine,” he said tightly. “But in case you’re interested, which apparently you’re not, someone was in that house today. And he hadn’t been gone long when I arrived. There was a fire still burning in the fireplace. It had been banked, but not for long.”

“You’re right,” Whalen said easily. “I was in the house this afternoon.” Then he jerked a thumb at Jeff Horton. “You ever see him before tonight?”

“No.”

“What about you, Horton? You ever see this guy before?”

“I already told you, Chief, I’ve never seen anybody around here before tonight. Not you, not him, not anybody.
Now, for God’s sake, aren’t you going to do anything about my brother?”

“And I’ve already told you,” Whalen mimicked him, “there’s nothing we can do about your brother. If he was on that boat he died when it blew. If he went overboard he didn’t last more than twenty minutes in the water. In ten minutes a man passes out, out there. In ten more minutes he’s dead. So you’d better hope that your brother was never on that boat. And that seems pretty unlikely, since you claim the boat was headed directly for the rocks.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Jeff cried.

“I’m saying that unless one of you two is lying, it looks to me like your brother got on that boat and deliberately piled himself up.”

“That’s a fucking lie!” Jeff yelled. “He was securing the boat for the night. Max would never do anything like that. Never!”

A slow smile came over Whalen’s face. “What are you saying then? That someone killed him? Cut the boat loose? Steered it out onto that reef?”

“Something like that,” Jeff replied. “I don’t know why, and I don’t know who, but it was something like that. But we won’t know anything about it until we go out there, will we?”

“No,” Whalen agreed, “we won’t. Meantime, Horton, I think maybe you’d better plan on sticking around to answer some more questions. You too, Palmer.”

Glen’s fury finally exploded. “Are you out of your mind?” he yelled at the police chief. “You tell me right now, Whalen, am I under arrest or not?”

“You’re not,” Whalen said mildly, almost enjoying the other man’s rage. “Not yet.”

“And I damned well won’t be,” Palmer declared. “I had no motive, I wasn’t there. Hell, I don’t even know what kind of a boat it was. Dammit, Whalen, all I did was try to help out.” He stalked out of the police station, half-expecting Whalen to stop him. But he didn’t.

Instead, when they were alone, Whalen turned to Jeff Horton.

“I don’t like what happened here tonight,” he said softly, almost menacingly. “I don’t like it at all. I intend to find out what happened though, and I intend to see to it that it never happens again. And once I’ve found out I’ll expect you to get out of Clark’s Harbor. I don’t like strangers. They bring trouble. You’ve brought trouble, and your friend Palmer’s brought trouble. So hang around only as long as I tell you to. Then get out. Understand?”

Jeff Horton, still numbed from the shock of what had happened, nodded mutely and told himself he wasn’t hearing what he thought he had just heard. As he walked slowly back to the hotel, Jeff cursed the storm that had brought him to Clark’s Harbor, cursed Clark’s Harbor, and cursed Harney Whalen.

His impulse was to leave. He had no baggage, nothing. He could simply check out of the inn, walk up to the main highway, and thumb a ride north. But he knew he couldn’t.

He had to stay in Clark’s Harbor.

He had to find Max.

As the storm slashed rain in his face, Jeff tried to
tell himself that he would find his brother, that Max would be all right.

His guts told him he was wrong. His guts told him Max was not all right; nothing would ever be all right again.

Glen Palmer was still almost shaking with rage when he left the police station. He began walking toward the harbor before he stopped to think it out. He wondered if Rebecca might drive in to pick him up, but decided she wouldn’t—she didn’t like leaving the children by themselves. Then he remembered Chip Connor. The deputy still hadn’t returned, but if Glen followed the road Chip might pass him and give him a lift. He turned around and began walking up Harbor Road. He had just reached the intersection with the main highway when a pair of headlights appeared from the north. Glen stepped out into the road and waved. The car pulled up beside him.

“Climb in,” Chip called. “I’m so late now a few more minutes won’t matter. Is Harn mad at me?”

Gratefully Glen got into the car, and as Chip made the U-turn that would take them back north, he asked the deputy for a cigarette.

“I quit a couple of years ago,” he said as he lit it. “But after what just happened, I think I’m going to start again.”

Chip glanced at him, then his eyes went back to the road.

“If you want to cuss Whalen out,” he said, “could you wait until you’re home and I’m gone?”

“What does that mean?” Glen asked.

“Ah, shit, I don’t know,” Chip said. Then he grinned
crookedly at Glen. “You know, it would have been a lot easier for you tonight if you hadn’t gone out playing good citizen.”

“Rebecca told you where I was?”

“I asked her. And don’t worry, I told her she didn’t have to answer any questions.”

“But why did you even ask any?”

“Just in case,” Chip said. He turned off the highway into the narrow drive that led to the Palmers’ cabin. He pulled up as close to the little house as he could but didn’t turn off the engine. “I’m not coming in. I’d better get back to town and see what Harn’s got.” He paused. Glen had started to get out of the car when Chip spoke again. “Glen?” Glen turned back to the deputy. “I’m not sure how to say this, but I like you and I like your wife. That’s why I didn’t want to hear you cuss Harney out I know what must have happened down there, and I have a feeling it isn’t over yet.” He paused, suddenly unsure of himself, then plunged on. “That’s why I wanted to get Rebecca’s story before you talked to her. Look, try to keep cool, okay? Harney can be hard to deal with, particularly if he doesn’t know you. But he’s fair. I know you don’t think so, but he is. Or anyway, he tries to be,” Chip added, remembering the spattered paintings that morning.

Glen took a deep breath, then let it out in an even deeper sigh. “I don’t know,” he said finally. Then he chuckled hollowly. “But I guess I have no choice.” He extended his hand to the deputy. “I’ll sit tight and we’ll see what happens. Thanks for the ride. And everything else too.”

The two men shook hands and Glen got out of the
car. The rain had let up a little, and Glen waited until Chip had disappeared into the night before he went in.

Rebecca was waiting for him. She threw her arms around him, and hugged him tightly.

“What’s happening? Dear God, Glen, what’s happening here?”

“I don’t know,” Glen whispered gently. “But whatever it is, it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Nothing at all.”

He wished he was as certain of that as he had tried to sound. But something was happening, and he could feel himself and his family getting caught up in it. Without telling Rebecca, he decided to call Brad Randall in the morning.

In the tiny bedroom adjoining the main room of the cabin, Missy and Robby lay in their bunks, neither of them asleep. Robby’s eyes were closed, but Missy was wide-eyed, staring at the bed above her. When she spoke her voice sounded hollow in the darkness.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

There was a moment’s silence, then Robby’s voice drifted back to her. “I think so. But I’ve been feeling funny for a long time.”

“I know,” Missy said. “I had a dream.” Her voice faltered, then went on. “It was scary. And I don’t think I was asleep.”

Robby crept down from the upper bunk and crouched by his sister. “What was it?”

“I’m not sure,” the little girl said shyly. “I thought you were in it, but you seemed big. Real big. And not like you.”

Robby frowned and waited for Missy to continue. When she remained silent he asked a question.

“Was I … all right? Or was I sick again?”

“You were …” Missy began, but broke off when she couldn’t find the right words. She started again. “You were making things happen. You made a boat sink and you laughed. At least I think it was you. Maybe it wasn’t,” she added hopefully.