Rebecca had been staring at Arlen, but when he looked over she turned away. Paul folded the paper, but Arlen shook his head, took it from the boy, and lit a match and held it to the edge, watched as the flame caught and licked along until the rolled paper was a torch in his hand. Then he dropped it out into the sand, and they watched it burn down to embers.
Part Two: CORRIDOR COUNTY
14
SOLOMON WADE MADE HIS first appearance the next day. By then they’d gotten the yard cleared and all the damaged siding repaired and had turned to the back porch. The railing could be salvaged, but many of the spindles were lost and the pillar that supported the roof had been smashed and sheared in half. They got the railings in place easily enough and then Arlen went to the roof pillar, turned the pieces over in his hands and studied them, looking at the jagged ends.
“Won’t fit together anymore,” Paul said. “There’s some scrap wood around but nothing like that.”
“Got to make it work, then,” Arlen said, eyeing the uneven fit of the broken wood. “If we shave it down and smooth it, we can drive nails in like this”-he indicated the angle with his index finger-“and make it solid. Will it look perfect? Nah. But it’ll hold. Problem is, we’ll lose some length, so we’ll have to cut a block to put between this piece and the rail. Maybe put it between this piece and the roof, actually. That’ll hide it better.”
It was nearing noon and had been, much as Arlen was loath to admit it, not an altogether bad day. He enjoyed working with the boy, and they’d made swift progress. All things considered, he was in fairly good spirits when he went around the side of the house in search of a drill and heard the clatter of an engine and saw the visitor approaching.
Rebecca Cady was also on the south side of the house, using a shovel to move sand out from under the foundation, where it had been heaped by the wind. Give her this much: she’d worked hard and without complaint alongside them. At the sound of the car, she straightened without much interest, but when she got a glimpse of it, her body went tight.
It was a steel-gray Ford coupe, and it rumbled right down the hill and into the yard, parked beside the truck. The engine shut off and the driver stepped out, and when Arlen saw who it was, he cursed himself instantly. They shouldn’t have lingered to give Solomon Wade another crack at them. It was begging for trouble.
The only thing that reassured him was that Wade appeared to be alone, not accompanied by Sheriff Tolliver.
Wade had a cigarette in his mouth, and now he removed it and blew smoke and studied the house with a quality of ownership. He removed his white Panama hat and fanned himself and shifted his gaze their way. He took his time walking down to them, looking around the property and smoking his cigarette and not saying a word. When he was close enough, he came to a stop and stared at Arlen. Behind his glasses his eyes were gray, reminded Arlen of the color of the sea as it had crawled up the beach in the storm.
“I expected you would have left my county by now.”
“Hurricane slowed us down a touch,” Arlen said.
Wade showed no reaction. At that moment Paul rounded the corner, half of the broken porch support in his hand, and everyone turned to face him. He pulled back and swung the piece of wood around in front of him, as if to ward off their stares. He looked as thrilled at the sight of Wade as Arlen had been.
“They’re helping me with repairs,” Rebecca said.
“I gathered that.”
“And their money was stolen. Sometime after Tolliver arrested them, all of their money was stolen.”
“Is that so?” he said without apparent interest. “How’s the dock?”
“Nearly ruined. Same with the boathouse.”
His scowl said that was of personal annoyance.
“There’s a lot to be done,” she said.
“Well, get the tavern cleaned up first, and get it done fast. You’ll be having visitors soon. Friends of mine.”
“Solomon”-she waved her hand at the building behind them-“you see what this place looks like? I can’t be ready for anyone.”
“They won’t mind the condition.”
“There was a hurricane-”
“I am aware. But it’s gone now.”
Paul Brickhill shifted the piece of wood in his hands and frowned at Wade, disliking the judge’s tone. Arlen watched it and saw what he’d already suspected-the boy was beyond smitten with Rebecca Cady.
“I don’t have electricity,” she said. “No lights, no icebox, no-”
“Then put out some oil lamps,” Wade said. “They’ll be down Monday evening, and you need to be ready to receive them.”
“Hey,” Paul said, “she just told you…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Both Arlen and Solomon Wade turned to him with daggers in their eyes, daggers carried for different purposes, and Rebecca Cady laid her hand on his arm, the word “stop” clear in the touch.
“Son,” Wade said, “do you remember that cell?”
It seemed a rhetorical question, but Wade held the boy’s eyes until it became clear he wanted an answer. Paul managed a nod.
“I hope that you do,” Wade said. “It would serve you well to remember.”
They all regarded one another in silence, and then the judge dropped his cigarette into the sand and ground it out with his shoe.
“Becky? Be ready for my guests.” He turned to Arlen then and said, “Mr. Wagner, walk on up to the car with me.”
Arlen did as he said. They left Paul and Rebecca behind and walked in silence until they reached the Ford. When they got there, Wade pulled open the driver’s door and stood with one foot resting in the car and one on the ground, his arm leaning against the roof. He put the Panama back on his head.
“Shame to hear about the loss of your savings,” he said. “Tough country right now for a man with no dollars.”
He was staring back up at the inn, where Paul was watching them and Rebecca was pretending not to.
“I’d expect,” Wade continued, “that you’d like to have that cash back.”
He was waiting for an answer again, just as he had with Paul. Arlen said, “I expect you’re right.”
Wade nodded. “Now of course I know nothing of the circumstance of your loss. I don’t know how much money you carried, if there even was any money.”
“Of course not,” Arlen said, wanting to smash those glasses back into Wade’s face.
“But I do know of a way that your loss could be made up. I have some sway in this county, and I believe I could see that you’re reimbursed.”
“On what condition?” Arlen said. “Because you’re damn sure not making that offer without a string on it.”
“On the condition that you do what you should have done all along, and tell me the truth about Walter Sorenson.”
“Judge,” Arlen said, “you’ve heard the truth. Heard it over and over. I can’t make you believe it.”
Wade gave a little sigh, as if this were expected but still disappointing.
“You believe you’re making a stand, Mr. Wagner, and, like so many foolish men, you believe that making a stand, even at the loss of a few dollars, is worth something. It’s a sad, silly notion. You couldn’t fathom the amount of money that passes through this place. Tell me, where do you think it goes?”
“Right into your pockets,” Arlen said, and Wade smiled and shook his head.
“You make my point for me. You possess a staggering lack of understanding of the world. The dollars that pass through my hands, Wagner, they rise and disappear like smoke. Then men you’d never imagine are connected to a place like Corridor County fill their lungs deep with it. You know my role in all that?”
Arlen didn’t say anything.
“I am,” Solomon Wade said, “the match.”