The Language of Sand (42 page)

The lamp room.

Abigail took a step onto the spiral staircase, bypassing the bottom one because she remembered it creaked. Reason wrenched her body to a stop. The lamp room was the last place she wanted to go, because then she’d be trapped. And if she accidentally stepped on a stair that did creak, the burglar would hear her.

The lamp room or the burglar.
The rock or the hard place.

Darkness pooled in the well of the lighthouse. Her eyes were dilating, and so was her fear. Through a crack in the doorjamb, Abigail could see out into the living room. A figure rounded the stairwell. It was Sheriff Larner. He had a stack of Wesley Jasper’s ledgers in his arms. He put them on top of her CD player, readying to move the items to his car.

Ceding logic, Abigail burst through the lighthouse door. “What are you doing?”

Larner’s hand flew to his holster. Abigail froze. The events surrounding the robberies fell together for her. Larner had stopped her the evening of one break-in. He hadn’t been at his office the night of the next.

“Merle was right. He knew it was a native, someone from Chapel Isle.”

Larner bristled at the suggestion that somebody suspected him. He glanced at the telephone. A knot tightened in Abigail’s stomach. He had a gun. She had nothing to protect herself with, no weapon, only words.

“Merle thought whoever was robbing the houses needed money. Did you need the money? Is that why?”

“Does it matter?”

That answer had too many meanings, none of them positive.

“Was it for your daughter?”

Taken aback, Larner didn’t answer.

“Ruth told me she’s sick. That she can’t pay her medical bills.”

He lowered his chin for an instant, yielding a little.

“Rental properties are covered by insurance. The owners wouldn’t lose any money. You knew that. You guessed there’d be expensive antiques here after what Denny said at the Kettle. The furniture might be worth a few hundred bucks, though I doubt you’ll get much for my radio or those ledgers.”

Unflinching, he stared at Abigail, refusing to speak.

“I can’t let you take these things, Caleb. I don’t have a lot left in this world, and even though most of it isn’t mine, I can’t let you have it.”

Larner stiffened.

“So I’m going to make you a deal.”

“
You’re
going to make
me
a deal?”

Abigail gulped air to get past the threat in his voice. “I’m not
going to turn you in to the authorities on the mainland, and you’re going to let Nat Rhone go.”

He squinted at her in disbelief.

“I don’t care about what you stole or why. I’m not from here, but I want to stay. If that means I keep your secret, then you’ve got to do something for me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Ruth told you about Hank today. Did you believe her?”

Larner shrugged, loath to tip his hand.

“She has no reason to lie.”

“Nat does.”

Abigail looked at the pile Larner had amassed in the middle of the living room and said, “We all have reasons to lie.”

“You want me to trade my career to let a possible killer go free.”

“No, I want you to trade one mistake for one misunderstanding.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “If I agree, how’s this going to work?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t done this before.”

“Do we pretend tonight never happened?”

“That’s a reasonable place to start.”

“You don’t have any proof. You can’t blackmail me later on.”

“I’m not interested in blackmailing you any more than I already am, Sheriff.”

“Shake on it.”

Abigail was reticent. If Larner was going to try anything, it would be when he had her in his grip. Chancing it, she relented and shook his hand. He let go first.

“You in love with him? Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then why?”

Abigail had spent almost ten years with her husband and only four with her son—not enough, but more than some. She’d lost them sooner rather than later. Nat’s parents had been taken from him too young, far sooner than he deserved. If she could look out
for him in a way fate hadn’t, that was what Abigail was going to do. In exchange, fate might return the favor.

“Does it matter?” she replied, echoing what he’d said before.

Abigail trusted that Larner would be true to his word, that he would release Nat. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter why she’d done it. What mattered was that it was done.

 
yare
(yâr
or
,
esp. for 1, 2
, yär),
adj.
,
yar
er, yar
est. 1.
quick; agile; lively.
2.
(of a ship) quick to the helm; easily handled or maneuvered.
3.
Archaic.
a.
ready; prepared.
b.
nimble; quick. Also,
yar
(for defs. 1, 2). [bef. 900; ME; OE
gearu, gearo
, equiv. to
ge–
Y–
+
earu
ready; c. D
gaar
, G
gar
done, dressed (as meat)]
—yare′ly
,
adv.

The rain had gone from a downpour to a deluge, battering the win-
dows and beating on the roof of the caretaker’s house like a drum. The wind was gusting hard enough to make the plywood boards quake in the casements.

“You shouldn’t stay here on your own,” Larner said.

“My car’s stuck in a ditch on the other side of the island. I can’t go anywhere. I have supplies. I can wait out the storm here.”

The second Abigail finished saying that, the lights snuffed out. The house had lost power. Larner switched on his flashlight.

“How about I take you to stay with Ruth? That way you’re not alone.”

“Sheriff, you were about to rob me. Forgive me if this sudden wave of concern seems a bit phony.”

“It wasn’t personal, Abby.”

“This island is too small for it not to be personal. Isn’t that what you told Merle?”

“You’re one of those people who remembers everything, aren’t you?”

It was true. Abigail’s memory was her finest asset. It was also the source of much of her pain. Regardless, she was thankful for it.

Wind rocked the patrol car as Larner steered a course across the slippery roads. The windshield had become a sheet of gray. The thrumming of the rain was punctuated by the cracking of tree limbs.

“This is dangerous, isn’t it?”

Larner nodded and radioed in to the station. “What’s the latest, Ted?”

“Bad news is we lost power,” the deputy radioed back. “The good news is the state police issued a report that the hurricane is gonna miss us. Radar is saying it’s already turned and heading to sea.”

There would always be good news and bad news. Probability dictated there would be equal parts of both. Of late, the odds had not been in Abigail’s favor. But math didn’t lie. She was due some good news and she’d gotten it. The hurricane would not hit Chapel Isle.

“Can I come with you to the station? I want to be there when you let Nat out.”

“Is that smart? We don’t need him suspecting you had a hand in his release. Him or anybody else.”

Abigail thought it over. “How about I say I flagged you down after my car got stuck?”

Her intentions clear, Larner acquiesced. “I still think you should go to Ruth’s. It’s going to be a rough night.”

“Maybe Nat could give me a ride there.”

“That’d be the least he could do.”

Rainwater overran the cobblestone square, and the boats tied to the pier were sloshing violently in the surf, caterwauling dolefully. A gale blew off the water, nearly knocking Abigail from her feet. Larner caught her by the arm and aided her into the station.

Ted was hunched over the radio as if he could warm himself by it. His wet hair was dripping down his neck and collar. “Happy you’re back, Caleb.”

“Ted, this is Abby Harker. She’s the new caretaker over at the lighthouse.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He wiped his hand on his trousers. “Sorry. Everything’s wet.”

“I know the feeling.” Abigail shucked off her sopping windbreaker.

“Hadn’t heard there was a new caretaker.”

The fact that her arrival hadn’t reached Ted’s ears convinced Abigail that her pact with Sheriff Larner would remain in confidence. Secrets escaped only when their keepers let them, when they personally had nothing to lose. Neither she nor Larner would allow that to happen.

“Have a seat, Abby,” he said, then Larner took Ted aside and whispered to him. Abigail heard him mention Ruth’s name and something about Hank taking his wife’s death hard.

“Oh,” the deputy responded. “Guess you’ll be wanting me to let him out, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do.”

Ted disappeared into the rear of the station. Soon Nat staggered out with him. He’d been asleep. His hair was mussed, his clothes rumpled. Abigail gave him a wan smile, and Ted handed him his personal belongings, including his hat, which Nat tugged onto his head like a disguise.

“You releasing me?”

Larner nodded, unwilling to admit aloud that he’d been wrong. “You need to sign some papers before you can be on your way.”