“Stop being a peeping Tom and come to dinner,” Harriet called from the kitchen, as if it were a normal day. As if he were her husband.
Darien growled to himself before answering. “She’s up to something…”
Harriet came up the stairs, her feet slapping against the polished wood steps. “You’re always saying that—‘she’s up to something’—I think the only thing she’s up to is trying to repair the damage you and your goon squad did the other day.”
“Well, that’s because it’s true,” Darien argued, his binoculars still trained on the house across the street. “She’s up to something.” He fumed in silence for a moment. “Now that the sheriff’s involved, there’s no way to take back everything we've gained. We’ll have to abandon the Westin house.”
"Well, honestly," Harriet said as she wiped her hands with a towel. "You already lost everything. Once that wretched man from the other side of the neighborhood discovered all the supplies you’d gathered, well…it’s mostly been divided up."
Darien lowered the binoculars and looked over his shoulder at her. "Just like the HOA said they were going to do, huh?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't take that tone with me—you're the one that pushed for violence. I was perfectly content to just take things nice and slow—but then you arrived and had to have everything done right now. So, we did, and things blew up in our faces."
"Sounds like you don't have much of a grudge against Lavelle anymore," Darien said as he turned away from the window and crossed his arms.
Harriet laughed, a heartless, cruel sound. "Oh, I'll get my payback, don't worry about that. I'm just not as impatient as you are." She smiled at him and sashayed out the door. "You better hurry up, before Jon Boy eats everything in the house."
Darien frowned and set the binoculars on the bed in the middle of the room as he walked out. "Jon Boy," he muttered to himself. There was another issue he had to solve. The giant of a man had the mind of a 10-year-old, was trapped in the house all day with nothing to keep him occupied and an ever-dwindling supply of food—it was a recipe for disaster. Darien had recognized it the moment they'd returned to the neighborhood after the battle, but there still wasn’t much he could do about it.
Jon Boy wanted to go out and play at the pond and gig for frogs at night. He wanted to play with toys, he wanted video games, he wanted to watch TV—the list went on and on. It was so unnatural to see such a big man whine and complain like a child that even Darien—who was more than used to having Jon Boy around—found himself at a loss for words at times.
“Do we have any of those little marshmallows like last time?" Jon Boy asked as Darien entered the kitchen.
Harriet leaned over and squeezed Jon Boy's massive shoulder. "I'm sorry Jonny, but we ran out. Remember last night?"
Jon Boy scrunched his face up and looked at the ceiling. “Uh…” His face went blank with sudden recognition. "Oh. Yeah, I wanted to eat them last night, didn't I?"
Harriet nodded. "And did you?" she asked with the patience of a teacher.
Jon Boy looked down at the table and intertwined his fingers. "Yes, ma'am…”
Harriet laughed sweetly and bent down to plant a kiss on the back of the huge man’s head. "Oh, it's okay, Jonny—I’m sure Mr. Spanner will find some more marshmallows for you. We just have to be patient." She looked up at Darien and winked. "Isn't that right, Darien?"
Despite the fact that Jon Boy had been on everyone's nerves lately, the look of sheer joy on the big man's face at the mention of his name brought a smile to Darien's face. "That's right, Jon Boy, we just need to have a little patience. You're doing a great job so far," he added.
The simpleminded man grinned broadly. "Thanks Mr. Darien. I'm gonna do whatever I can to help you guys!"
Darien walked by and clamped a hand on Jon Boy's other shoulder, then touched Harriet's arm as he passed her with a smile. "And you are, you're doing a fantastic job helping us with everything around the house. One of these days I'm gonna take you fishin’.”
"Really?" Jon Boy said with a child's unbridled enthusiasm. "Oh, boy!" He stood from the table, almost knocked it over, and rattled all the dishes and plates Harriet had painstakingly placed for dinner. "I'm gonna get my fishing pole ready right now!" Jon Boy said. He ran from the room, his heavy work boots thudding on the floor as he went.
"Oh, but…” Harriet said as she raised a hand.
Darien smiled at her. "Don't worry about it. He can eat whenever—let's you and I have a quiet meal for once. What do you think?"
Harriet smiled at him and shrugged demurely. "Sounds fine to me."
He moved to the counter and poured water for them from a big jug they'd salvaged from the Westin house. She scooped the plain stew she'd been working on over the gas range into bowls and brought them to the table.
"Looks great," Darien said. He inhaled deeply. Spices tickled his nose. “Smells even better.” Three weeks earlier that would've been an out and out lie. But after the tsunami and the collapse of the electric grid along the East Coast, fresh cooked food was a luxury very few could afford. Darien sat down, grateful for what he had.
He took a spoonful and placed it in his mouth, then caught himself before he frowned at the overwhelming spice load. Other than pepper, paprika…possibly oregano and sage, there were a few chunks of potatoes and carrots they'd found in a garden across the neighborhood and a couple small pieces of mystery meat Harriet claimed she found in the pantry at the Westin house.
"Delicious," he mumbled.
"Oh, you don't have to lie. I know it's not," Harriet said as she took a small amount on her own spoon. "But it's sweet of you to say so."
"I swear," Darien said as he leaned an elbow on the table. "I had the window open this afternoon—for the life of me, I thought I was smelling fresh bread.” He chuckled and stirred the stew. “I think I'm hallucinating.”
Harriet smiled but didn't look up from her food. “You're not. One of the women down the street has been baking bread nonstop."
Darien put his spoon down and looked at her. "Are you serious?"
She looked up and smiled as if it was common knowledge. "Well, of course. Yolinda has her own bakery. Why wouldn't she be baking bread right now? She's been giving it out to everybody who asks.”
Darien swallowed and almost choked. "And you haven't gone to ask for bread?”
“No,” Harriet said with a blank look.
“But…why?”
"Because," Harriet said carefully as placed her spoon on the table. "Since I took up with you, I think the people in this neighborhood have considered me…tainted. Every time I go out, I get the cold shoulder."
Darien clenched his hands into fists and stared down at the table. "Another thing I've screwed up."
Harriet reached across and placed one of her soft, milk white hands over his. “You needn't trouble yourself about that. They didn't like me much to begin with—and the feeling’s mutual, I assure you. They're just using this as an excuse to ostracize me. It's how inferiors naturally treat someone who's better than them. Everyone loves to see famous people stumble and fall, right?” She picked up her spoon and took another bite of stew. "But there's nothing people like more than a redemption story. I'll get back in their good graces, it's just a matter of time," she said nonchalantly.
Darien leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. "I don't know how you do that."
She looked at him with a blank, pretty expression. "Do what?" she asked innocently.
Darien shook his head and tucked into the stew. "Nevermind. Just keep doing what you're doing."
Harriet grinned at him over her spoon. "I always do."
They ate in silence for a few moments, then Harriet cleared her throat and put her spoon down. "So, I've been meaning to ask you…”
“Uh oh,” Darien muttered.
“Oh, stop,” she teased. “No, this Spanner person," Harriet began. "What's the plan for him?"
Darien arched an eyebrow as he chewe
d. "Plan? Well, I mean, he's out every night scrounging around the neighborhood looking for stuff for us, since I can't go out in the daytime…”
"No, I understand that. But he can't be satisfied doing that for long. Shouldn't he be trying to find the others?"
Darien put his own spoon down. The others. It'd been a sore topic of conversation since the fight at the Lavelle house. Spanner, Cisco, Tweedledee, and Tweedledum—the meth head and his rotund partner—had all disappeared during the battle. Spanner came back, the others didn’t. "It's the sheriff," Darien said at last. “There's nothing we can do against him. He's got all the guns, the training, and the manpower. What am I supposed to do with Spanner and Jon Boy?"
"So you've given up on…what's his name?"
Darien looked at the table. "Cisco." He grunted. "Yeah. He was mostly a lost cause to begin with. Now that he's out there on his own—I’m actually more worried than anything else. He's too smart by half to just go away—he’s seen what's available in this neighborhood, and I guarantee you he's gonna want a piece of the pie. He didn't like the way I ran things from the beginning, and now that Lopez is dead…there’s nothing holding him back.”
"I never liked either one of them, honestly,” Harriet said as she waved her hand in front of her nose, like she’d smelled something foul. “Just the way they looked at me made my skin crawl,” she whispered.
"Me too, sometimes," Darien replied. "But he's too smart to come at me and try to take over. He's going to do something else for a while, then slip back in and take me by surprise. I can feel it."
"So, we need to be ready," Harriet said with a stiff nod. She picked up her spoon and twirled it like a baton. "We can't keep doing what we’re doing, then. We’re barely surviving. We’ve got to branch out again."
Darien nodded slowly.
Harriet smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. A tingle went down the back of Darien's leg. Harriet could be downright scary when she wanted. "What I suggest we do is find some allies inside the neighborhood. I’ll find out who needs what in the neighborhood—I’ll start tomorrow. Perhaps if someone is in need, I can help them out and rebuild my reputation."
"I've had enough sitting around here watching everything out the window." Darien picked up his bowl and drained the dregs of the thick, gravy-based stew into his mouth. He used a napkin to wipe his face and then sat back with a contented sigh. "I'll go out with Spanner tonight once he wakes up. Maybe we'll even take Jon Boy with us. Who knows, he might find some of those stupid frogs he's been looking for…”
“Mmmm,” Harriet purred. She tapped the spoon against her ruby red lips. "I haven't had frog legs since…I don't know how long it’s been.”
"Well, by the sound of it there's plenty of croakers down there in that pond behind your house."
"If nothing else, it would keep Jon Boy busy."
Darien nodded, then glanced out the kitchen window. “Sun’s about set. I’ll go wake Spanner and we’ll get ready." They stood from the table, and Harriet collected the dishes.
"Do be careful out there. People in this neighborhood are a little…jumpy." She looked up and stared at him. “I’d hate for something to happen to you because some scared homeowner got trigger-happy when they heard a branch snap.”
The concern on her face and the twinkle in her eye touched Darien in a way that he thought hadn’t been possible for a few decades. He smiled. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Harriet nodded and took the dirty dishes to the sink. "I may or may not be awake when you get back."
"I hope you're not awake," Darien said. "If you're sleeping when we get back, that'll mean we've been out long enough to gather up a decent amount of supplies. It sucks having to start over," Darien said as he walked away from the table and admired Harriet's physique from across the kitchen. "But at least we've got something to tide us over for now. It was a good thing I gave you extra goodies from the stash at the Westin house, ain't it?"
Harriet turned and looked at him coyly over her one shoulder. "I haven't forgotten that," she purred.
Darian's grin widened. "Well, maybe I'll have to make sure Spanner and I get back earlier than I’d planned…”
Harriet shrugged one shoulder and turned, which made the golden hair cascaded over her shoulders again. "Might be a good idea."
Chapter 6
East of Newport, Rhode Island
Rhode Island Coastal Waters, Atlantic Ocean
Reese stood at Intrepid's wooden ship’s wheel and adjusted their course slightly to stay abreast of Tiberia, which ran just off the starboard bow. The two sailboats had made good time most of the day after the transfer of supplies, and Reese itched to run up all the sails and really let Intrepid spread her wings. Based on the admirable performance the sleek sailboat delivered in moderate winds, with a stiff breeze behind them, she would really fly across the water.
Tony sat starboard further toward the bow and stared across the hundred yards of water at Tiberia. Every now and then, Reese noticed the younger man pull up a pair of binoculars and watch the people on board the other boat intently.
"What's going on over there that's so important?" asked Reese.
"Oh, it's just Aunt Libby," Tony replied. He quickly lowered the binoculars and stood to fidget with a line.
Reese looked at him askance. “What's wrong with Libby?" He turned and squinted across the distance at the other boat. He assumed that with Jo aboard, if there were some kind of medical emergency, she'd be able to handle things.
"Oh…it’s nothing,” Tony replied as he exhaled. He turned and busied himself with re-tying lines coiled up on the deck.
"Doesn't sound like nothing…” Reese muttered to himself. Before he could pursue the thought further, the radio squawked. "Intrepid, this is Tiberia—come in.”
Reese picked up the handheld mic attached at the helm and held it in front of his face. "Go ahead, Tiberia.”
"We just picked up something on Channel 6. Really faint but see if you can catch it. I think it's the Newport lighthouse."
Tony moved back to join Reese at the helm. "I got it," he said as he adjusted the radio. "Didn't hear anything before, I'm surprised that they were able to now…”
“—need to change course,” a scratchy voice said. “Trust me, you don’t want to come here. Can you hear me?”
Reese and Tony shared a look. Whatever was going on, didn't sound good. Reese turned his attention to Tiberia. Byron had pulled the other sailboat a little closer. Reese did likewise and turned the wheel ever so slightly to starboard. Intrepid gracefully sliced through the slight chop and angled closer to match Tiberia’s course change. In only a few moments, the two sailboats were easily within talking distance.
"You catch that?" asked Byron in a shout across the water.
"Yeah, but it didn’t make much sense,” Reese hollered back. “They talking to us? Why don’t they want us to come closer?”
They sailed in silence for another few minutes until the radio crackled to life again aboard both boats. "This is Castle Hill Lighthouse. There are two sailboats east of my position. I can just barely make your sails—if you can hear me, please respond."
"You think he's talking about us?" Tony asked. He squinted forward and shook his head. "I don't see any lighthouses.”
Reese grimaced. "He must be.” Reese shrugged. “We’re still a good ways offshore, but that lighthouse probably sits a hundred feet up, so he can see further than we can—by a long way." Reese turned and looked across the gap of water toward Tiberia. "What do you think?"
Jo stood at the bow and hovered near Libby, who sat by the starboard railing. There was a curious expression on her face, but Reese didn't have time to talk to her before Byron replied.
"He's probably spotted us already,” Byron yelled. “If they have any kind of electricity, the shore radar should've picked us up. I think we should make contact."
Reese nodded in agreement. "Well, I consider you the commodore of this little flotilla," he shouted back.
Tony adjusted the volume on the radio so Reese could hear. "Newport lighthouse, this is sailing vessel Tiberia, alongside sailing vessel Intrepid. We’re about ten miles east of you, assume you're talking to us."
"Tiberia, this is Newport lighthouse. If that’s you that I'm watchin’, you need to change course while you still can."
"Why exactly is that?" asked Byron's voice over the radio.
"Things are bad here,” replied the nasal Yankee accent on the radio. “There's no food, water, or medicine to spare. Whatever you’re looking for, the only thing you'll find is a lot of death and hardship. Your best bet is to steer clear."
After a moment’s pause, Byron came back on the radio, his voice sharp. "I figured the tsunami must have hit pretty hard around here, but we still need to make land so we can get supplies."
"I just told you,” replied the lighthouse operator with exasperation in his voice. “There's nothing here for you. Change course if you know what's good for you."
"What's good for me is making landfall at Newport,” Byron retorted. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, but I appreciate the warning. We know how to take care of ourselves."
The lighthouse operator laughed. "Not from this you don't. It's like the end of the world here, man. I'm telling you, the only reason I'm still broadcasting is because I got nothing better to do. I'm trapped up here on this rock. Last time I tried to go inland, somebody almost killed me. If they knew I was still up here broadcasting and warning ships away, they’d probably burn down the lighthouse. Seems to be a pretty lucrative trade for them."
Byron looked at Reese before he replied. Reese shrugged. “What do you mean, ‘lucrative trade?’”
The lighthouse operator sighed heavily. “I don’t know how many times I can explain this to people. No one ever listens. Whatever…look, they like to get boats and ships in close to the shore, then they capture them. They're like pirates without ships, I guess. Just stay away. I haven't seen anybody survive this, yet.”
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 5
