The Language of Sand

revered Hank as if he were his father. “There’s got to be some misunderstanding.”

“Scokes is gone. There’s no misunderstanding that. That man hasn’t left this island in years except to fish, so if he’s not at home, not on his boat, and I can’t raise him on his phone, something’s wrong.”

Abigail crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “What if he’s passed out somewhere? Had too much to drink and is sleeping it off?”

“I checked,” Larner assured her. “He’s not at the Wailin’ Whale either. Nobody’s seen him. Duncan Thadlow stopped by, said he’d been looking for Hank to talk over the repairs on his boat. Couldn’t find him and was worried. Which is why I went looking myself. When I did, all I found was Nat. Then he told me there’d been an accident. But if it was an accident, why didn’t he report it sooner?”

“You arrested him for not reporting an accident?” Abigail said. “Is that legal?”

“No Hank. No body. And only Nat’s word. Suspicion is all I need to hold him.”

Merle released a long breath. “What did Nat say happened?”

“Rhone claims he went over with the net.”

The men shuddered at the mere mention. Abigail didn’t understand. “Went over with the net?”

“The fishing nets on trawlers are massive,” Merle explained. “When you release them, there’s a danger of getting caught and dragged down. With the current and the weight of the net, you’d drown without a doubt. Doesn’t happen much, but it’s happened.”

Larner sniffed. “That’s a neat alibi, because conveniently there’s no evidence. I don’t buy Rhone’s story. Not for a second.”

“You think Nat killed Hank on purpose? What reason could he have?” Abigail demanded. The men were silent. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

Bert spelled it out for her. “Hank’s sons wouldn’t want the boat, so it would be auctioned here on the island. It’s customary for the crew to have first dibs. His rig was in iffy shape after he hit the dock. Even with repairs, the bids would start low.”

Merle finished the thought. “Low enough that even somebody without much money, like Nat, would have a shot.”

Abigail was stunned to see Merle entertaining the idea that Nat was responsible for Hank’s death.

“Except Nat just paid Duncan Thadlow to have the boat fixed for Hank.”

That added fuel to Larner’s fire. “Did he, now?”

She cursed herself for mentioning it. “What if Nat’s telling the truth? What if Hank did get caught in the net?”

Merle was somber. “Hank’d been sailing his whole life. He wouldn’t have made that mistake.”

“You said it could happen. What if Hank was drunk? Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been three sheets to the wind. He could have fallen if he’d been under the influence.”

“Abby,” Merle cautioned.

“I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“All we have is Nat’s word,” Bert stressed.

“Which doesn’t count for much.” Larner waved a sheet of paper. “I looked into Rhone’s priors. He’s got two aggravated assaults. He was also suspected in a couple of breaking and entering charges.”

“Breaking and entering?” Abigail exclaimed. Merle and Bert were equally surprised. “You’re assuming he killed the closest friend he had and he’s been robbing houses on the island too?”

“Wouldn’t be a stretch.”

“No, I have proof it wasn’t Nat who robbed those houses.”

“Proof?” Larner said.

“I saw him, the person, the man,” Abigail stammered. “I saw him walking in the dark on Timber Lane the night that house was robbed. Then I saw him again the night after that.”

“Why didn’t you report it?”

She glanced at Merle as she crafted an appropriate lie. “I’m new on the island. I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”

“Can you describe the man you saw?” Larner pressed. “Did you see his face?”

“It was dark. I could tell he wasn’t that tall. Not as tall as Nat. And he was heavyset. He moved slowly, how an older man would.”

Bert cleared his throat over the din of the television and radio.

“You have something you want to add?” Larner snapped.

“Um, that was me that night.”

Merle put his hand on Bert’s arm. “You broke into those houses?”

“No, no, I meant it was me who Abby saw.”

“You?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t live too far from there. Timber Lane’s a shortcut to the laundromat. I’d left a book there and wanted to get it. When I recognized your car, I was going to say hello, only you got so frightened when I said hi at Merle’s