“You mean the legend?”
Glind shrugged. “Who knows? But Harney Whalen believes in the legend, and he’s part Indian.”
“The police chief?” Elaine asked unbelievingly. “He certainly doesn’t look it!”
“Take another look,” Merle replied. “If you know, it shows up right away. Anyway, he thinks there’s something to the legend. That’s why he doesn’t like to rent the house out there. Fact is, I’m surprised he rented it to you.”
“Well, he didn’t seem too eager,” Brad said.
“Don’t imagine he was. And if I were you I’d have let him discourage me. That’s a bad place out there — no mistaking it.”
Elaine suddenly felt angry, and her eyes narrowed.
“Exactly what do you mean?” she demanded.
Her tone seemed to frighten the nervous little man and he retreated a step back from the counter. “N- nothing, really,” he stammered. “It’s just the stories. You must have heard the stories.”
“We’ve heard them,” Brad said levelly, “and frankly, we don’t put any stock in them.”
Glind’s eyes suddenly clouded over and he almost glared at them. “Well, that’s up to you,” he said stiffly. “For your sake I hope you’re right” But his tone told them that his hope was faint Brad and Elaine picked up their suitcases and left the Harbor Inn.
“That really burns me up,” Elaine grumbled as they carefully fit the suitcases into the car. “It’s almost as though he was trying to scare us off.”
“That’s exactly what he was trying to do,” Brad said, slamming the trunk closed. He heard something crack inside and ignored it “But it won’t work, will it?” He smiled confidently at his wife, knowing her instinctive reaction to Glind’s tactics would be to prove the odd little man wrong.
“No, it won’t,” Elaine said defiantly as she got into the car. She waited until Brad was behind the wheel before she spoke again. “The way I feel now, I wish you’d been able to talk Whalen into selling the place to us!”
“That’s my girl!” Brad said happily, reaching over to pat her on the leg. Suddenly Elaine stared suspiciously at him, her eyes narrowing and a tiny smile playing around her mouth. “Did you put him up to that? Just to bring me around?”
“Absolutely not,” Brad said sincerely, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Then he turned and grinned at her. “But if I’d thought of it I would have!”
“Bastard!” Elaine said, laughing suddenly. Then: “Hey, let’s stop and see Glen Palmer before we leave, just to say good-bye.”
“I’d already planned on it,” Brad said easily. He turned the corner and headed up Harbor Road toward the main road. A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the gallery.
Brad and Elaine were standing in front of the gallery, trying to picture what it might look like when it was finished, when Rebecca Palmer appeared at the front door.
“I was hoping you two would show up,” she said happily. “That’s why I came in this morning. A little bird told me you might stop on your way back to Seattle. Come on in — I’ve got coffee going.”
She led them into the gallery. A moment later Glen appeared from the back room.
“Rebecca’s little bird was right, I see. Well, what do you think?” The Randalls looked around as Glen led them through the room, explaining what would eventually be where, trying to build a visual image for them with his words. He was only half-successful, but Brad and Elaine admired the work anyway. Glen looked just a little crestfallen.
“You can’t see it, can you?”
“Just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” Elaine protested. “Let me see it again when it’s finished. Did you say there’s some coffee?”
“Some beer too,” Glen offered. “Come on back and see what I got this morning.”
In the back room, standing on its hind legs and whimpering plaintively, a tiny puppy peered at them from the confines of a small carton.
“Oh, he’s adorable!” Elaine cried, sweeping the puppy into her arms and cuddling it “Where did you find him?”
“I didn’t,” Glen said. “He found us. He was sitting out front this morning when we arrived.”
“But he can’t be more than eight weeks old,” Elaine protested. “What would a puppy that young be doing wandering around at night?”
“Search me,” Glen said. “I asked a couple of people about him this morning but no one seems to know where he might have come from. Bill Pruitt down at the gas station said sometimes people from Aberdeen or Hoquiam come up here and dump puppies instead of having them put to sleep. I figure if nobody comes looking for him today, he’s ours.”
Elaine carefully put the puppy back in its box. Immediately it began trying to scramble out again, its tiny tail wagging furiously.
“Was Snooker’s neck really broken?” Rebecca suddenly asked. Elaine looked at her sharply and bit her lip.
“Glen told you?”
Rebecca nodded mutely.
“Well, then there isn’t any use lying about it, is there?” She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. When I found him I had no idea he was your dog.”
“What did you do with him?”
“I left him where he was,” Elaine said gently. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Well, there isn’t anything to be done now, is there?”
“There wasn’t anything to be done when I found him, Rebecca. He’d been dead for hours, I’m sure.”
“I know,” Rebecca replied. “But it just seems too coincidental, Snooker getting his neck broken and then Mrs. Shelling—” She let the sentence hang, then pulled herself together and tried to smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “These things have just gotten to me. I’ll be so glad when you’re back, Elaine. All of a sudden I just don’t like the idea of being out at Sod Beach all by myself.”
“That’s nonsense,” Elaine said with a certainty she didn’t feel. “It’s a beautiful beach and you’ve been very happy there. It’s absolutely silly to let this get to you.”
“I know,” Rebecca said. “And if it were just one thing — even if the one thing was Miriam Shelling — I think I’d be all right But two things? It just seems spooky.”
“Another minute and you’re going to start sounding like Merle Glind,” Brad said.
“Merle?” Glen said the name sharply and Brad’s attention was drawn away from Rebecca. “What did he have to say?”
“Not much, really,” Brad answered. “Some nonsense about what a mistake we’re making moving out to the beach. Without really saying it, he managed to imply that there’s something to that legend of Whalen’s. Say, did you know that Whalen’s part Indian?”
“Not me,” Rebecca said. “But now that you mention it, I suppose he does have that look.”
Outside, a car pulled up and the group suddenly fell silent, waiting for the door to open. When it didn’t Rebecca got up and went to look out. “Well, speak of the devil,” she said. Frowning slightly, Glen joined his wife. Outside, Harney Whalen was standing next to the Randalls’ car, one foot on the bumper, writing in what appeared to be a citation book. “What the hell is he up to?” Glen muttered. He started for the front door but was stopped by Brad’s voice.
“I’ll take care of it, Glen. It’s my car he’s got his foot on.” He went to the door and stepped outside. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. The police chief didn’t respond.
“Something wrong?” Brad asked. Whalen glanced up at him, then finished writing and tore a page from the book. He handed it to Brad.
“Parking ticket,” he said evenly, his eyes boring into Brad’s.
Brad grinned crookedly. “A parking ticket?” he repeated vacantly. “What are you talking about?”
“Car’s parked illegally,” Whalen stated. Brad glanced around, looking for a sign that would tell him he had broken the law. There was none.
“It isn’t posted,” he said.
