“I’m telling you, I’m totally innocent,” he insisted angrily. “I didn’t shoot nobody. I didn’t rape nobody. I didn’t do nothing. Go on, tell ’em, baby. You believe me, don’t you?”
Jamella sat there in silence, tears spilling from her eyes.
Tyrone let out a gasp. “My God, you don’t believe me…”
“I believe you, big man,” Rondell spoke up.
Tyrone shook his head at him. “No, you don’t. I can see it in your eyes, little brother. In all of your eyes. You all think I been forcing myself on that sweet little girl. And that I took my gun and capped those two people. You actually think I’d do those things.”
“What I think,” Yolie said, “is that we need to continue this conversation in official surroundings.”
“What, you’re charging me?” he demanded.
“No, but you are a person of interest and we need to have a talk. You have the right to have your attorney present.”
“He’s in New York.”
“I’ll call him right now,” Rondell said hurriedly. “He’ll have Yale’s best criminal defense attorney here from New Haven in thirty minutes.”
“Tell him the attorney will find us at the Troop F barracks in Westbrook,” Yolie informed Rondell.
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
There was a loud tapping now on the French doors over next to the fireplace. Des turned and spotted Mitch standing out there on the halogen-lit patio in the pouring rain. He was not alone. Winston Lash was with him.
She went to the door and let them in. Both men wore hooded rain jackets but their legs were soaking wet. “Mitch, what are you doing here?”
“We thought we’d get in out of the rain,” he replied, grinning at her in that boyish, maddening way of his. “Hey, we’re not interrupting anything, are we?”
CHAPTER 14
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Chet asked as Mitch came sprinting back inside with their rain- drenched, semi-raw slab o’ salmon.
Five more minutes. Just five more minutes on the grill and it would have been toothsome and smoky good. But, no, the torrents of rain had outraced him. This was what he got for his loyalty. This was how Jim Cantore repaid him.
Mitch peeled off his rain slicker as a bolt of lightning crackled overhead, followed by a booming clap of thunder. His lights flickered. Uh-oh… “Yeah, we get these storms all the time, Pop. The bad news is that out here on the island we almost always-”
“No, I meant Desiree dashing off at a moment’s notice.”
“Afraid so. That’s what happens when the love of your life is sworn personnel. Any minute the phone may ring and out the door she goes.” Mitch set the platter of cold, wet fish down on the kitchen counter and returned to the living room, where his folks were huddled on the love seat with Clemmie and Quirt, all four of them looking a teensy bit spooked. It was a violent storm. The wind was howling. The surf was crashing against the rocks. His valiant little cottage was shuddering. “Listen, I hate to say this but I have to take off, too.”
“Take off for where?” Chet demanded.
“I have to go see a friend.”
“Right now?”
“I’m afraid so, Pop.”
“But what about dinner?”
“We can eat when I get back. I won’t be gone long.”
Outside, there was another snap, crackle, pop of lightning-followed by a deafening cannonade of thunder. And this time the power went out, plunging the house into total darkness.
“I’m afraid this happens all the time, too.” Mitch fetched the kitchen matches from over by the fireplace and started lighting his oil lamps. “We almost always lose power out here when we have a thunderstorm. It’s nothing to be concerned about. You just won’t be able to use the water, as in flush the toilet. My well pump runs on electricity. So does the oven, for that matter.” Mitch paused, furrowing his brow. “I guess this dinner party has to rate as an epic disaster.”
“Nonsense, we’re having a terrific time, sweetheart,” Ruth said bravely. “This is fun. It’s like camping out.”
“You’re a good sport, Mom.”
“She’s always been a good sport,” Chet said. “That’s why I’ve kept her around. That, and she has one sa- weet tuchos.”
“Chester, behave yourself!”
“Like I said, I won’t be gone long. Mom, if the power comes back on you can finish the salmon in the oven. I would set the temperature at around-”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been baking salmon since the 1970s.”
“Right, right. I forgot who I was talking to. If you guys get cold you can build a fire in the fireplace. There’s plenty of seasoned wood. Kindling’s over in that crate. Flue’s open. You know how to build a fire, don’t you, Pop?”
“Of course I do. I was a Boy Scout. Remember when I was in the Scouts, Ruthie?”
“I hadn’t met you yet, dear.”
“Sure, you had.”
“No, I hadn’t.”
“But we went to the Jamboree together.”
“Chester, that wasn’t me.”
“Well, then who was it?”
“How would I know?”
“And help yourselves to more wine,” Mitch said, topping off their glasses.
“Thanks, I believe I will.” Chet took a sip. “Maybe I’ll get shnockered and make a pass at your old lady.”
“Chester!…”
“Hey, what happens on Big Sister stays on Big Sister,” Mitch said as he got back into his slicker. Then he dashed out into the pouring rain to his truck.
A crackle of lightning lit up the night sky as he piloted the Studey slowly across the rickety causeway. The angry surf was foaming up and over the wooden planking. Twice since he’d moved out to Big Sister whole sections of the causeway had been washed away by violent storms, stranding Mitch and the other residents out there for days. But he’d seen no reason to bother his parents with that worrisome little detail.
His windshield wipers could barely keep up with the rain as he slogged his way through the Nature Preserve. When he made it to Old Shore Road he was happy to see plenty of lights on. The mainland still had electricity. He headed straight for Turkey Neck, where the news crews and gawkers had all but vanished from the Grantham place. The storm had sent them running for cover. The storm and the small matter of that double homicide over on White Sand Beach.
He found Winston Lash and the Joshua girls seated at their kitchen table dining on fried chicken and potato salad. The kitchen windows were closed against the windblown rain, which was really too bad. That horrid smell still hadn’t gone away.
“Pull up a chair, Brubaker!” Winston called out cheerily as Mitch stood there dripping on their floor. “Chantal from next door brought us a ton of grub. Now there is a handful of woman. Two handfuls.”
“I’m good, thanks. I have dinner waiting for me at home.”
“What brings you out in such awful weather, Mitch?” Luanne asked, nibbling daintily on a chicken wing. “Did poor Callie phone you?”
“Why, what’s wrong with Callie?”
“She’s up in her room weeping,” Lila answered breathlessly. “Mr. June Bond has informed her that he’ll be
