it in the morning.” He closed his notebook and prepared to leave. Then, just as he was about to open the door, he turned to Brad. He had one last question.
“Brad, do you have any idea what’s going on out here? What’s causing all this mess?”
Brad shook his head sorrowfully. “I wish I did. All I can tell you is that I think it has something to do with the storms.”
“The storms?” Chip repeated. “But we’ve always had storms.”
“I know,” Brad said softly. “And it seems like you’ve always had a mess too.”
Chip stared at him, then tried to laugh it off. “Maybe it’s the Indians. God knows they did terrible things out here.” Then he put on his hat and disappeared into the blackness outside.
25
The storm had not let up by morning.
As Brad and Glen drove into Clark’s Harbor the rain buffeted the car, flooding the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it away.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Glen commented. “I thought the worst storms hit during the winter.” “You never know,” Brad said as they pulled up in front of the town hall. “Sometimes I think they gave the Pacific the wrong name. This one looks as though it could blow for days.” Several people lounging in the lobby looked up as they came in, examining them with speculative expressions. Something new in Clark’s Harbor, Brad thought with some irony. Ignoring the inquisitive stares, they hurried down the hall to the police station.
Harney Whalen glared balefully at Glen as they came into his office. Before either of them could say anything, Whalen set the tone of the conversation.
“Seems like every time there’s trouble around here you’re right in the middle of it, doesn’t it, Palmer?” Glen felt the first pangs of anger form a knot in his stomach and silently reminded himself that losing his temper wouldn’t accomplish anything.
“It seems like every time there’s trouble it happens on Sod Beach,” he countered.
Harney Whalen snorted and tossed a folder toward Glen and Brad. “You want to look that over and tell me if it’s accurate?” Glen scanned the report, then handed it to Brad. When both of them had read it, Brad returned it to Whalen.
“That’s about it,” Brad said.
“You want to tell me about it?” Whalen asked Glen, ignoring Brad.
“There’s nothing to tell. We went out looking for Jeff and we found him. He died almost immediately.” “Why were you looking for him?” The curiosity in Whalen’s voice was almost lost in the hostility. “He’s a grown man—
“I think it was something else,” Whalen said coldly.
“Something else? What?”
“I think you killed him,” Whalen said. “Maybe one of you, maybe the other, maybe both. But I sure as hell don’t believe the two of you just went for a walk on the beach and found a dying man. Something makes men die and it’s usually other men.” Brad and Glen gaped at the police chief, unable to comprehend what they were hearing. Brad recovered first.
“I’d be careful what I said if I were you, Whalen.”
“Would you?” The sneer in Harney Whalen’s voice hung in the air, a challenge. But before either of them could take it up Whalen went on. “How about this? The two of you were at the library last night, right? Well, let’s suppose that while you were gone Horton wasn’t staying home taking care of your wives like a good guest. Let’s suppose he was just taking care of them. And you two walked in on it.” He eyed first Glen, then Brad, looking for a reaction.
Glen Palmer stood quivering with rage, staring out the window at the downpour, saying nothing. But Brad Randall returned Whalen’s icy look, and when he spoke it was with a calmness that Whalen hadn’t expected.
“Are you charging us?” he asked calmly.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Whalen growled.
“Then we’re leaving,” Brad said quietly. “Come on, Glen.” He turned and forced Glen to turn with him. Before they reached the door Whalen’s voice stopped them.
“I’m not through with you yet.”
Brad turned back to face the police chief. When he spoke his voice was every bit as cold as Whalen’s had been.
“Aren’t you? I think you are, Whalen. You aren’t questioning us at all. You’re accusing us. Now I’m not a lawyer, but I know damned well, and I suspect you know it too, that there’s no way you can talk to us if we don’t want to talk to you. Not without a lawyer here anyway.” Once more he started for the door with Glen behind him. This time Harney Whalen didn’t try to stop them. He simply watched them go, hating them, wishing they had never come to Clark’s Harbor, wishing they would leave him and his town in peace.
His fury and frustration mounting, Whalen put on his overcoat and rain hat and stalked out of his office. As he passed through the door of the police station, the loiterers quickly scattered, reading his ugly mood.
He started toward the wharf, unsure of where he was going or why. When he got to the wharf he turned north and began walking up the beach. The tide had peaked and was on its way out, and as he walked in the rain, the wind licking at him, his anger seemed to recede.
He walked the beach all morning and well into the afternoon.
He walked alone, silently.
As he walked, the storm swelled.
Bobby and Missy sat on the floor of their tiny bedroom, a checkerboard between them. Bobby stared sullenly at the board. No matter what he did, Missy was going to jump his last man and win the third straight game.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” he said.
“You have to move,” Missy replied.
“I don’t either. I can concede.”
“Move,” Missy insisted. “I want to jump you.”
“You win anyway,” Robby said. He stood up and went to look out the window. “Let’s go outside,” he said suddenly. From the floor Missy stared at him, her eyes wide with fear.
“We can’t do that. Mommy said we have to stay in today. It’s raining.” “I like it when it rains.”
“I don’t. Not when it rains like this. Bad things happen.” “Oh, come on,” Robby urged her. “It’s not even six o’clock. We can climb out the window, like I did last time. We’ll go down to the Randalls’ and come back with Daddy.” “I don’t think we should.”
“Scaredy-cat.”
“That’s right!” Missy exclaimed. “And you should be too!” Her mouth quivered, partly from fear but more from embarrassment at having admitted her fear.
“Well, I’m not afraid. I like it out there!” Robby pulled their raincoats out of the closet and began putting his on.
“I’m not going,” Missy insisted.
“Who cares?” Robby asked with a show of unconcern. “I’ll go by myself.” “I’m going to tell,” Missy challenged, her eyes narrowing.
“If you do I’ll beat you up,” Robby threatened.
“You won’t either.”
Robby pulled on his boots. “Are you coming or not?”
“No,” Missy said.
“All right for you then.” He opened the window and clambered out. As soon as he was gone Missy ran to the window, pulled it shut, and latched it. Then she went into the other room, where Rebecca was sitting in front of the fire, knitting.
