“We’re working on it,” Chip assured him.
“Thanks for coming,” Glen said then. “I can’t really say I expected you to be here. Not after what Whalen put me through yesterday.”
“What Harney thinks is up to Harney,” Chip replied. “I asked you what happened Sunday night and you told me. I haven’t had any reason to change my mind.”
There was a sudden silence and Elaine picked Missy up, then tried to smile cheerfully. “Why don’t we all go out to our place,” she suggested. “I’m not sure what we have but I’ll scrape up something.”
Mac Riley, his ancient sensibilities serving him well, took up the suggestion immediately.
“You figure out how to make that old stove go yet?”
“I’m working on it but it still gets to me.”
“Nothing to it,” Riley quavered. He began leading Elaine away from the graveside, sure that the others would follow. “I been using one of those things all my life, and the trick’s in the wood. You got to have small pieces, and lots of different kinds. Some of ’em burn hotter than others. Once you know what’s going to burn how, it’s a lead- pipe cinch.”
Moments later they had reached the cars. The cortege drove slowly away from the graveyard, leaving Rebecca Palmer at peace under the protection of the earth. Glen Palmer glanced back once and for a split second almost envied Rebecca. For her, the horror was truly over.
He wondered if it would ever be over for him.
The gathering at the Randalls’ was a quiet one. Chip had begged off almost immediately, pleading business in town. While Elaine wrestled with the stove, encouraged only a little by Mac Riley’s advice, Glen and Brad stood nervously in the kitchen, trying to explain to the old man what they thought might be happening.
Riley listened patiently as they told him about the strange effect the beach and the storms had on Robby, and how they had come to the conclusion that Robby was not the only one to be affected by the storms. When they finished Riley scratched his head thoughtfully and turned the whole matter over in his mind.
“Well, I just don’t know,” he said at last. “Sounds to me like craziness, but then this beach has always been full of craziness. Maybe that’s what all the old legends were about.” Then he shook his head. “Afraid I can’t buy it though. I’m too old for these newfangled ideas. If you ask me it’s the sea. The sea and the past. They always catch up with you in the end. No way to get around it.”
“You think the sea is breaking people’s necks?” Brad asked incredulously. Riley peered at him sadly.
“Could be,” he said. “Or it could be the Indians. Some say they’re still here, out on the beach.”
“If they were we’d have seen them,” Glen objected.
“Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t.” Riley’s ancient voice crackled. “Only a few people can see the spirits, and even them that can, can’t always.”
Brad decided to play along with the old man. “Missy seems to think she sees things on the beach.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Riley replied calmly. “Children have better eyes for things like that.”
“And better ears for old men’s stories?”
“Think what you like. Someday you’ll know the truth.” He glanced over the window. “Rain’s starting up again. Big storm coming,” he observed.
Involuntarily, the Randalls and Glen Palmer shuddered.
Chip Connor spent the afternoon with Harney Whalen. It was a difficult time for both of them: Chip tried to pretend that all was as it had always been between them, but Whalen was not fooled. Finally, in midafternoon, he accused Chip of staring at him and demanded to know what was wrong.
“Nothing,” Chip assured him. “Nothing at all. I’m just a little worried about you.”
“About me? I should think you’d be worried about your pal Glen Palmer. He’s the one who’s gotten himself in a peck of trouble.”
Chip ignored the gibe, wanting to steer the conversation as far from Glen Palmer as possible. “I was just wondering how you’re feeling,” he said solicitously. “You look a little off color.”
“I’m fine,” Whalen growled. “Nothing wrong with me that won’t be cured by a little peace and quiet around here.” There was a pause, then Whalen went on. “Tell you what — why don’t you take off for a couple of hours, then come back around dinnertime, and spell me for a while.”
Chip couldn’t think of a good reason not to, so he left the police station — reluctantly — and went looking for Doc Phelps. He found him at the inn, sitting on the stool Chip usually occupied, a half-empty beer in front of him. He started to get up when Chip came in, but Chip waved him back onto the stool.
“Order one for me and I’ll fill yours up,” he said cheerfully, sliding onto the stool next to Phelps.
“What about me?” Merle Glind piped eagerly from the stool on the other side of Phelps.
“You could buy your own just once,” Chip teased. “But what the hell. Might as well be a big spender.”
The beers were drawn and set up in front of them when Phelps asked about Harney Whalen.
“Whalen?” Chip said carefully. “What about him?”
“Well, I ordered him to come in for some tests, but he hasn’t showed up. I guess he must be feeling better.”
“What kind of tests?” Chip asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Oh, just some things I’d like checked out,” the doctor replied cautiously. “He hasn’t been feeling too well, you know.”
“Told me it’s just indigestion.”
“Indigestion?” Dr. Phelps gave the word a sarcastic twist that riveted Chip’s attention. “Damnedest kind of indigestion I ever heard of. Most people remember indigestion.”
Chip felt his heartbeat skip and a knot of anticipation form in his stomach.
“You mean he’s having memory problems? Like blackouts?”
“That’s what he told me,” Phelps said. “Wanted me to keep it to myself, and I suppose I ought to. But if he isn’t going to obey doctor’s orders, seems to me something ought to be done.”
Chip didn’t hear what Phelps had just said — his mind was racing.
“Doc, tell me about the blackouts. It might be important. Very important.”
Phelps frowned at the young man and tugged at his lower lip. He didn’t like these kids trying to push him around.
“Well, I don’t know,” he hesitated. “Seems to me like I’ve already broken Harn’s confidence—”
“The hell with Harn’s confidence,” Chip snapped. “Dr. Phelps, I
“Well, I don’t really know much at all,” Phelps grumbled. He still resented being ordered to talk by Chip, and yet there was a note of urgency in the young deputy’s voice that struck a chord in the doctor. “He didn’t really tell me much. Mostly he was upset about something that happened the other day while he was driving out to Sod Beach. It was the day those new people moved in — the Randalls? — and I guess Ham was taking them out to their house. Anyway, he froze at the wheel, I guess, and almost ran over those two kids who live out there.”
“Robby and Missy? The Palmer kids?”
“Those’d be the ones,” the doctor agreed. “Anyway, it upset Harney enough so he came to see me. Told me he’d been having what he calls spells. His hands start twitching, and then he doesn’t remember anything for an hour
“Do you know what’s causing it?” Chip asked anxiously.
“Haven’t any idea at all,” Phelps shrugged. “I wanted him to go down to Aberdeen for some tests, but you know Harn — stubborn as a mule!”
“And you didn’t try to make him?” Chip demanded unbelievingly. “For Christ’s sake, Doc, he might have killed somebody!”
“But he didn’t, did he?” Phelps said blandly.
“Didn’t he?” Chip muttered. “I wonder.”
He slid off the barstool and headed back to the police station, intent on confronting the police chief. But when he got to the station, Harney Whalen’s office was empty.
Chip glanced around the office and saw that Whalen’s raincoat still hung from the coat tree in the corner. Wherever he had gone, and for whatever purpose, he hadn’t bothered to take his coat with him.
The storm outside, so gentle this morning, was raging.
And it was getting dark. Tonight high tide would be an hour after dusk.
