“You’re milking it, son,” he said gently, with a gentle smile.
“I’m ... no!” Reed protested. “There was ... muscles got ripped up and they had to put everything back together. They said it would take—”
“Hush,” Casey whispered. And squeezed. “Hush.”
When Cora returned, he wasted no time cutting away the sling and the broad bandage wrapped around Reed’s shoulder. Gently he pulled it away from the skin, grimacing once at the smear of disinfectant that made it seem as if the whole area was one huge bruise.
Then he took Reed’s hand. “Straighten your arm.”
Reed shook his head. “No, Reverend Chisholm. I can’t.”
“Sure you can. You can brain a wild torn turkey with a pissant frying pan, you can straighten your arm.” His voice deepened, and he stepped back. “Do it, Reed. Slowly. Be careful. But do it.”
Reed’s face contorted in anticipated pain, but when Casey held out his hand, shaking it impatiently to tell him to grab hold, Reed bit down on his lip, levered the arm away from his chest, an inch at a time, a hiss and a held breath, a grimace when something inside pulled and hurt. But eventually he did it—he grabbed Casey’s hand.
“All right!” Cora said, clapping. “Someone else to do the dishes.” Reed touched the scar on his upper chest, twisting neck and head so he could look at it. “I’m healed,” he said in delighted disbelief. “Wow. I’m healed.”
Casey laughed. “No kidding, son. I think you’ve been healed for a while already.”
Reed, rubbing his shoulder gingerly, look around excitedly as Casey headed for the kitchen. “No kidding, really. Look! I’m healed! Reverend Chisholm, you—”
“Stop it,” Casey ordered. Looked back, glaring. His voice, while not loud, filled the room. “Stop it, Reed. No more. I didn’t do a thing.”
* * * *
Casey, beer bottle in hand, stood at the back door, looking at the yard, seeing nothing.
From behind him: “What was that all about?”
“I don’t want him thinking something’s true that isn’t. He grabs for things, John. He’s been through a lot, but he hasn’t changed. He needs explanations and sometimes grabs the first one he finds.”
A footstep; the sound of the refrigerator opening.
“Casey, you and I, we don’t know each other very well—hell, we’ve only met twice before—but it seems to me there’s more to it than that.”
Casey brought the bottle to his lips, lowered it again slowly, without drinking. “No,” he said. “No, there isn’t.”
“Okay.”
Footsteps leaving.
Voices in the front room.
No, he thought; no, there isn’t.
* * * *
3
1
L
ate Monday morning Casey took them down to the harbor, where they stood near the slip where the Lucky Deuce had been destroyed. There wasn’t much of it left, a portion of the bow was all that remained above water. A handful of nearby boats showed signs of fire, others of the blast itself—one’s mast had been snapped in half; on a second the mainmast was gone entirely. Crime scene tape snapped and bent in a slow wind; in one place it had torn, and the ends coiled endlessly on the ground like a headless yellow snake. No one else was there but a few kids poking around, one of the deputies standing on the dock watching them but saying nothing.
In the bay were three rowboats—in one were men taking down the raft tree, in the others men still scouring the surface for clues to the previous day’s explosion.
As far as Casey could tell, none of the closest houses had been badly damaged, but a couple of trees showed charred bark. He walked around for a few minutes, but he didn’t see Rick.
“What was he?” Reed asked as they headed back for the car. “Some kind of drug dealer or something?”
Casey shook his head. “No, he’s one of the people trying to find out what Cutler’s up to. I think his girlfriend is the newspaper editor’s daughter.”
“Damn,” said Lisse, “these boys play rough.”
John took her arm. “They must think it’s worth it.”
Cora looked back, shivering. “A good thing he wasn’t on it.”
“Maybe they thought he was.”
Casey hung back. He couldn’t help thinking of Jordan, the man’s whole livelihood gone in an instant. There was probably some insurance, but he had a feeling, looking at the other, newer and larger boats, that it might not be enough to keep him in competition.
Amazing, he thought; the world’s blowing up in every corner, and there are still some men who’ll fight over one lousy piece of land on one not so very big island. Amazing.
“Lunch,” he announced when they reached the car.
“I’m not hungry,” Cora said.
“You’ll eat,” he told her with a grin. “Or just have a coffee, I don’t care. I, however, am starved, and I need to find out a few things.”
Her frown quickly became a grin of her own. “Gossip.”
“Bingo.”
“But you hardly know anyone, you said so yourself.”
“I have ears to hear. And a cook who loves to talk.”
* * * *
The lunchroom wasn’t full yet, and they took a table at the side wall in Betsy’s. Casey introduced the Nazarios as a pair of those who had looked after him after the beating— Gloria seemed embarrassed at his fulsome praise of her help; Hector just beamed and excused himself back into the kitchen.
Not long after they ordered, the other tables and the counter began to fill. Talk was of the explosion, the fires, and the inevitable tales of close calls and heroism. A propane tank theory was scuttled when a fisherman regular insisted Jordan never had one aboard, spontaneous combustion made the rounds, a spark near the fuel tank, clear-sky lightning, kids fooling around to disastrous effect.
No one mentioned Norville Cutler.
Casey never thought they would; he paid more attention to their expressions and tones than their words, and that told him Cutler was at the top of their most wanted list. What bothered him was Stump Teague—the man didn’t seem the type to have knowledge of sophisticated explosives, and even if the device turned out to be a crude one, he doubted the little man could use it without blowing himself up.
Personal attention was his style, not destruction from a distance.
By the time the second wave of diners came in, he had heard enough; and besides, the topic had changed to the winter storm that would probably make hash of New Year’s Eve. He had one more stop to make, and he didn’t want to waste any more time. While John paid at the register, he leaned into the kitchen to say good-bye to Hector and thank him again. Junior, standing at the grill, waved over his shoulder.
“I have a new sweater,” he said, pointing proudly at his chest.
“Looks good, Mr. Raybourn,” Casey said. “You watch that grease, now.”
“Yes. Yes, sir. I can do that. I can watch the grease.”
Casey winked at him and turned to go, paused when Hector held up a finger—wait a minute—and finished the platter he had been assembling. As he carried it to a small table near the door for pick-up and rang a small bell, he said, “I heard something this morning, Mr. Chisholm.”
“Something good?”
“No, not good at all.” He kept quiet until the waitress took her order. “I heard they brought in someone.”
Casey frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, they brought in someone. From the mainland. To take care of business, Mr. Chisholm. Like, maybe, what happened to Mr. Jordan.” He tapped a light finger against Casey’s chest. “And I think I saw him, too. I think he had breakfast here, him and another man, I think maybe he was his partner.” He smiled, but it was a poor effort. “I didn’t like him, Mr. Chisholm. He was ...” He smiled again, shrugged, and headed back to his cutting board.
But Casey didn’t miss the movement of the man’s hand—he had been unable to put a word to his feelings abou
t this stranger; nevertheless, he had crossed himself, kissed the tips of his fingers.
* * * *
2
They stood at the peacock tail window, Cutler and Cribbs, and watched Midway Road as if it were an experiment whose conclusion they were about to witness.
“He’s good, Norville,” Cribbs said with an admiring shake of his head. “1 got to give him that, he’s plenty damn good.”
“Gets paid enough, he damn well better be.”
“Norville, I sense you’re not happy.”
“I won’t be happy until it’s over, Jasper.”
“Then I guess you’ll be smiling tonight.”
Cutler smoothed a sideburn. “No, I’ll be happy when I’m off this damn island, that’s when I’ll be happy.”
“Shame,” Cribbs said, lowering himself into his chair, propping his heels on the low windowsill. “Going to be a lot more in it for you if you stick around.”
“Not a chance.” He patted his pockets, searching for a cigarette before he remembered that the mayor didn’t allow smoking in the office. He rubbed a finger under his nose. “You heard from our partner?”
“Not a word.”
“What? Jesus, Jasper, aren’t you worried?”
“About what? The money shows up when he says it will, what’s to worry about?”
“Tonight, you fool.”
“For heaven’s sake, Norville, you’re like to drive a saintly man to drink, you know that? I am well convinced that Mr. Stone and Mr. Lauder have matters well in hand. What’ll it take to ease your mind?”
Cutler shook his head slowly. “Tell you the truth, Jasper, I’m not exactly sure.”
Cribbs chuckled. “You getting bad vibes, son? As we used to say when we were kids?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He massaged the back of his neck, smoothed his hair down. “I’m thinking of adding Chisholm to that list.”
“Really. And the reasoning is ...”
“Dermot says he knows about the drugs.”
“And you expect him to cause trouble?” Cribbs laughed loudly. “Him and his gang?” He slapped his thigh and laughed again. “Gang? His gang? Oh, my.”
“I expect,” Cutler said as he faced the mayor, “I expect him to be royally pissed off is what I expect.” He held up a warning finger. “I don’t think he’s the kind of man who’s gonna let this go, Jasper. He’s either gonna get himself some damn fancy lawyer, or he’s gonna come after us on his own. Either way, I don’t want him around to screw things up.”
With exaggerated theatrics, Cribbs threw up his hands, sighed, spun his chair around, and folded his hands on the desk. He didn’t speak until Cutler came around to the other side, glowering at the show-
“Number one, Norville, he is not going to screw things up. He can’t. He sticks his nose in, it gets cut off—at the neck. He stands back, he doesn’t get hurt, and he ain’t stupid, he damn well knows it.
“Number two, he can raise all the holy hell he wants about the drug thing, but who’s going to back him up? Dermot the Mouse? Like my daughter says in her more perceptive moments, get real. None of his friends are medical folks, they can’t testify on what they don’t know about. And who’s going to take the word of an ex-con anyway? No one, that’s who. So who else is there left to give him what he needs, support and evidence and such like? No one, that’s who.
“Number three, he comes after us on his own, you’ll put Stump back on him, no need to bother Mr. Stone. And make sure that this time the little toad doesn’t cut out until the job’s done.” He sat back, then, and clasped his hands across his belly, considered the ceiling for a few seconds. “Matter of fact, why don’t you go ahead and do that very thing? Put a little fear of God in him, make him remember the last time.”
Cutler nodded reluctantly. “But what about Oakman? This isn’t some simple thrashing we’re talking about here, Jasper. Where’s he gonna stand on all this?”
Cribbs smiled without mirth, pulled open a side drawer, and pulled out a large, thick manila envelope. “Funny you should mention that, Norville. Seems we’re scheduled to have a meeting this very afternoon. Talk about the man’s retirement, all the fine service he’s given us over the years.” He tapped the envelope with his forefinger. “I think it’s going to be a fine, successful meeting, I truly do.”
Cutler finally smiled. “Jasper, the next time I think you’re an idiot, I’ll remember this day.”
“Good. You do that very thing. Now why don’t you get on, talk to whoever you have to talk to. Vale will be trotting in here in a few minutes, and it wouldn’t do to have him see you with me so soon before our... discussion. The man’s got a conscience, Norville. It just needs a little massaging now and then.”
Once Cutler was gone, the mayor swiveled around to face the window, watching until the man appeared on the street and headed down toward his office.
“So I’m an idiot, huh?” he whispered.
When the intercom buzzed, he reached back without turning. “What is it, Milli?”
“Mariana’s here, Your Honor.”
“Send her in, would you? And you might as well take your lunch now, Milli. Then ... oh, hell, go on home, girl. Won’t be nothing going on around here until after the first of the year anyway. Make it half days for the rest of the week.”
“Why, thank you, sir, thank you. I’ll... if you’re sure, I’ll—”
“Git, Milli,” he said with a laugh, and broke the connection.
Shortly afterward his daughter came in, and from the sound of it, she was carrying a ton of shopping bags. “Where,” he said as she leaned down to kiss his cheek, “do you find so many things on this island to buy, child?”
“I’m a bargain hunter, Daddy,” she said, sitting on the arm of his chair. “Lots of bargains here, you know.”
“I’ll bet,” he said sourly, and she laughed and kissed him again. “So, darlin’, what’s the story? What do you think?”
“I think Mr. Deputy Freck would walk on water if I asked him.”
Cribbs grunted his satisfaction.
Investments paying off left and right, ducks all finally lined up in a row, it made him feel like singing. All he needed now was to get in touch with Mr. Stone, and by the time the sun next rose, why ... why he just might buy Mary Gwen that pink Caddy she’d been wanting.
* * * *
3
Casey stood on the sidewalk outside the Camoret Clinic, shading his eyes against the sun with a forearm as he looked up and down the street. The receptionist had been singularly unhelpful, except to say that Dr. Alloway was gone for the day, and no, she had no idea when he would be back.
“Funny way he has of checking up on his patients,” he’d said, and took little pleasure in the shock on her face, or the sputtering as she tried to insist that Dr. Alloway had never shortchanged any of his patients.
“So now what?” Reed asked.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted. “I’ve still got some of those pills, but...” He kicked at a stone. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it go, though.” He draped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him to the car. “I’ll think of something, I guess. I’ll let it stew for a while.”
“What about the sheriff?” Cora said. “Weren’t you supposed to fill out a complaint or something about those men?”
He knew he ought to, just to make good on his threat, but he had a feeling that today wasn’t the best time to do it. Not with all the fuss over Jordan’s boat. Fill out a form now and it would be conveniently lost among all the other paperwork. He’d give it a day, then see how Sheriff Oakman took care of the people in his trust.
“You know,” he said, and interrupted himself with a huge loud yawn.
“Too much,” Lisse told him. “Don’t care if you are a fast healer, all those days in bed are going to take a while to get over.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. And yawned again. “Maybe a short nap before supper would be in order.”
“Wh
at about us?” Cora asked.
Casey, in the middle in the back, looked left at Reed, then right, at her. “I am not your camp counselor, young woman. I’d certainly hope you’re old enough to find your own fun for a couple of hours.”
She made a face at him, and he puffed his cheeks in feigned insult. But damn, it was good seeing them again. The summers they had spent together, him being exactly what he now claimed he wasn’t—a counselor, spending half his days finding things for the Landing’s youngsters to do, because God forbid they should actually use their imaginations. The rest of the time he spent figuring out ways to lock them away so they wouldn’t give him an ulcer.
Riders in the Sky - [Millennium Quartet 04] Page 32
