The Language of Sand

lie.”

“You want me to trade my career to let a possible killer go free.”

“No, I want you to trade one mistake for one misunderstanding.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “If I agree, how’s this going to work?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t done this before.”

“Do we pretend tonight never happened?”

“That’s a reasonable place to start.”

“You don’t have any proof. You can’t blackmail me later on.”

“I’m not interested in blackmailing you any more than I already am, Sheriff.”

“Shake on it.”

Abigail was reticent. If Larner was going to try anything, it would be when he had her in his grip. Chancing it, she relented and shook his hand. He let go first.

“You in love with him? Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then why?”

Abigail had spent almost ten years with her husband and only four with her son—not enough, but more than some. She’d lost them sooner rather than later. Nat’s parents had been taken from him too young, far sooner than he deserved. If she could look out for him in a way fate hadn’t, that was what Abigail was going to do. In exchange, fate might return the favor.

“Does it matter?” she replied, echoing what he’d said before.

Abigail trusted that Larner would be true to his word, that he would release Nat. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter why she’d done it. What mattered was that it was done.

 

  yare (yar or, esp. for 1, 2, yar), adj., yarer, yarest. 1. quick; agile; lively. 2. (of a ship) quick to the helm; easily handled or maneuvered. 3. Archaic. a. ready; prepared. b. nimble; quick. Also, yar (for defs. 1, 2). [bef. 900; ME; OE gearu, gearo, equiv. to ge– Y– + earu ready; c. D gaar, G gar done, dressed (as meat)] —yare?ly, adv.

The rain had gone from a downpour to a deluge, battering the win- dows and beating on the roof of the caretaker’s house like a drum. The wind was gusting hard enough to make the plywood boards quake in the casements.

“You shouldn’t stay here on your own,” Larner said.

“My car’s stuck in a ditch on the other side of the island. I can’t go anywhere. I have supplies. I can wait out the storm here.”

The second Abigail finished saying that, the lights snuffed out. The house had lost power. Larner switched on his flashlight.

“How about I take you to stay with Ruth? That way you’re not alone.”

“Sheriff, you were about to rob me. Forgive me if this sudden wave of concern seems a bit phony.”

“It wasn’t personal, Abby.”

“This island is too small for it not to be personal. Isn’t that what you told Merle?”

“You’re one of those people who remembers everything, aren’t you?”

It was true. Abigail’s memory was her finest asset. It was also the source of much of her pain. Regardless, she was thankful for it.

Wind rocked the patrol car as Larner steered a course across the slippery roads. The windshield had become a sheet of gray. The thrumming of the rain was punctuated by the cracking of tree limbs.

“This is dangerous, isn’t it?”

Larner nodded and radioed in to the station. “What’s the latest, Ted?”

“Bad news is we lost power,” the deputy radioed back. “The good news is the state police issued a report that the hurricane is gonna miss us. Radar is saying it’s already turned and heading to sea.”

There would always be good news and bad news. Probability dictated there would be equal parts of both. Of late, the odds had not been in Abigail’s favor. But math didn’t lie. She was due some good news and she’d gotten it. The hurricane would not hit Chapel Isle.

“Can I come with you to the station? I want to be there when you let Nat out.”

“Is that smart? We don’t need him suspecting you had a hand in his release. Him or anybody else.”

Abigail thought it over. “How about I say I flagged you down after my car got stuck?”