“That’s what I’m interested in,” Brad said mysteriously. The librarian’s eyes widened, but before she could ask any questions Glen Palmer came in from the other room.
“That does it,” he said. “We’ve gone as far back as the records go.”
“That’s all right. We’ve got enough information, I think.”
As Brad and Glen left, the librarian began putting away all the old newspapers they had gone through. She was puzzled. She made a mental note to talk to Merle Glind about it. If something was happening he would surely know what it was.
The storm had closed in and rain was coming down in sheets as Glen and Brad made a dash for Brad’s car. As they started toward the main highway the wind, blowing at close to gale force, pulled at the Volvo, and Brad had trouble keeping it on the road.
“Why don’t we leave your minibus at the gallery?” he suggested as they turned onto the highway. Glen shook his head.
“Not in weather like this. If there’s anything to your theory, this is the kind of night that something could happen to it.”
Brad chuckled appreciatively, and pulled as close to the ancient Volkswagen van as he could get. “You want to stop at our place on the way? I wouldn’t be surprised if Rebecca and the kids aren’t there, keeping Elaine company.”
“Fine,” Glen replied. “See you there.”
They found Rebecca and Elaine in the living room. The two women rose to greet them with worried faces.
“It’s all right,” Brad assured them. “We’re here and we’re safe. You don’t have to look like tragedy struck.”
His grin failed to wipe the frowns from their faces and they glanced at each other nervously. It was Elaine who spoke.
“The children came in a while ago,” she said quietly. “About half an hour after the storm struck. Missy thought she saw something on the beach, but she isn’t sure what.”
“Where are they?” Brad asked.
“We put them to bed,” Rebecca explained. “They were soaked and Missy was frightened.”
“Did you find anything at the library?” Elaine asked softly, almost hesitantly.
Brad nodded. “Something’s going on all right,” he said. “We went through a lot of papers this evening. Every time something’s happened out here, there’s been a storm blowing. And it’s funny, it seems as though the worse the storm is, the worse the things that happen.” He was warming to his subject now, oblivious of the stricken look on his wife’s face. “For instance,” he went on, “did you know the Shellings weren’t the first case of a couple dying here?”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, suddenly pale.
“The people who built this house died the same way,” Glen said quietly. “Baron fell off his fishing boat and got caught in his own nets. A few days later, Mrs. Baron hanged herself. It happened during a three-day storm.”
“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Elaine said softly. “Things like that scare me.” Brad moved to put his arm around her shoulder but she pulled away suddenly as a thought struck her. “Where’s Jeff?”
Glen and Brad looked at each other blankly. “Jeff? He wasn’t with us. We haven’t seen him all day…” Glen’s voice trailed off as he realized what he had just said. Jeff must have been on the beach.
And a storm was blowing.
A bad storm.
He grabbed his coat and began putting it back on. “Let’s get going,” he said to Brad. He picked up a flashlight from the dining-room table and was gone. disappearing into the blackness. The wind-driven rain quickly blotted out even the faint glow from his light.
24
They almost stumbled over Jeff.
The young fisherman was lying in the sand, and if they hadn’t been walking at the water’s edge they would have missed him entirely.
“Oh, Jesus,” Glen whispered as Brad’s light played over Jeff’s face. The mouth was twisted in a grimace of pain. Dead, Glen thought. Oh, my God, he’s dead. But then his eyelids fluttered and Glen fell to his knees, touching Jeff’s arm. The eyes opened.
Jeff’s mouth began to work, but no sound came out. His eyes closed again, tightly this time, as he winced in pain.
Brad wanted to move him, to pull him further up the beach so the surf couldn’t get at him, but as he played the flashlight over Jeff’s body he realized something was terribly wrong.
Jeff’s head lay at a strange angle. His neck was broken.
That Jeff was alive at all was a miracle.
Then Jeff’s eyelids fluttered again and once more he tried to speak. Glen leaned down, dose to Jeff’s lips.
“What is it, Jeff? What happened?”
Jeff tried hard but no sound would come out of him. He used the last of his strength to take a deep breath, then made a desperate effort to speak. But before the words could be formed the breath turned into a soul-shaking rattle and was expelled in a long, slow sigh.
Jeff Horton, like his brother, lay dead on Sod Beach.
Elaine Randall paced between the kitchen and the living room, pausing every few seconds to stare futilely into the blackness of the night. Several times she forced herself to sit down in front of the fire, but it was useless. A moment later she was on her feet again, her nerves jangling, a knot of fear twisting her stomach.
Her eyes flicked around the room and she wondered briefly what she was looking for. Then she knew.
The float.
The glistening blue glass ball she had found on the beach — how long ago? It seemed like years, though it had been only weeks.
She picked the sphere up from its place on the mantel, and stared into its depths.
It was no longer beautiful.
What she had thought of as an omen for good now seemed evil to her. She turned it over in her hands, wondering what to do with it.
She decided to return it to the sea.
Without giving herself time to change her mind, Elaine put on her pea coat and hurried out of the house. She moved directly across the beach, and when she neared the surf line she stopped. She looked at the float once more, curiously, then raised her arm and hurled it into the pounding waves. As it left her hand Elaine felt a tingling — almost electric — in her arm. Suddenly terrified, she turned and fled back into the house.
Glen Palmer lurched unsteadily through the kitchen door, his face pale and his hands trembling.
Elaine stood at the stove stirring a pan of hot cider. As soon as she saw Glen she knew.
“You found him, didn’t you?” she whispered.
Glen nodded mutely and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, cradling his head in his hands.
“He went to town,” Glen muttered. “He went to report what we found.” Elaine, not yet wanting to hear exactly what they had found, went to the living room and gestured Rebecca to the kitchen. “I’ll check on the kids,” she whispered. Rebecca hurried toward the kitchen as Elaine stepped into the room where Missy and Robby were
