Arlen felt the back of his neck go colder than the beer in his hand.
“You haven’t heard of any of my people. We aren’t a famous bunch, and it’s a mighty small town.”
“Maybe so,” Wade said, “but you’d be surprised at all that I hear.”
A tremor worked into Arlen’s hand, the sort of muscle shake that white-hot anger touched off just before you swung on a man, but he willed it down.
“I’d be surprised, indeed, if you’ve heard anything of my people,” he said. “Like I said, it’s a mighty small town.”
“Why’d you leave it behind?”
“The war. Never went back. Went a lot of places, but never home.”
“And what did you do in the war?”
“Killed Germans,” Arlen said, wondering what in the hell this was all about.
“Well, good for you.” Wade seemed to amplify his southern accent when he desired. Right now he was laying it on heavy.
“What about you, Judge?” Arlen said.
“Pardon?”
“Where are you from?”
Wade’s eyes flickered. “Florida, sir. Florida.”
“You like the area, then. Trust the locals.”
“I do. They are fine people.”
“How is it you ended up with a sheriff from Cleveland, then?” Arlen said. He was doing now exactly what he’d promised himself he would not do-poking at Wade and Tolliver with a stick, riling them. He couldn’t help it, though. Not after that bullshit about the Wagners of Fayette County.
Tolliver’s eyes narrowed and then went to Rebecca Cady.
“Don’t look at her,” Arlen said. “She didn’t tell me. You want people to be unaware of your roots, you ought not go on about the Cleveland Indians in front of them, Sheriff. Nobody from another city would follow such a shitty ball club.”
Tolliver did not smile. He turned his gaze to Arlen and let it rest, cold and hard. Arlen winked and lifted his beer to his lips.
“That all you fellows need? Or do you want me to write a family tree?”
Tolliver turned to Wade. “It’s amazing he’s grown as old as he has, talking like that to men he doesn’t know. Someday it’ll be the wrong words to the wrong man, don’t you think?”
“I surely do,” Wade said.
“I believe it,” Arlen said. “It’s the reason I don’t do much talking to strangers. You might remember that you stopped me for this chat.”
“Speaking of being a stranger,” Wade said, “you seem to have made yourself right at home. Interesting, with the way people keep dying out here.”
“It’s one of the many things I don’t like about the place,” Arlen said. “I’ll be moving on soon enough.”
He waited for more questions, waited for some sort of threat relating to the dead woman they’d found in the creek, a promise of jail time, but nothing came. Wade stared at him for a few seconds, but then his eyes shifted, and when Arlen turned he saw Paul coming up the trail and felt a surge of annoyance. Why hadn’t the kid listened and stayed at the dock?
Paul walked to Arlen’s side, looking at the men on the porch warily.
“Afternoon, son,” Tolliver said. “Find any corpses today?”
“No.”
Tolliver smiled.
“What are you doing here?” Paul said.
Tolliver turned and gave Wade wide eyes. “Nosy little bastard, ain’t he? Why, we’ve come to provide a Corridor County resident with transportation. Mr. McGrath here was needing of a lift, and we take care of our citizens in this part of the world.”
Solomon Wade looked bored with the dialogue. He stepped down off the porch and walked toward the sheriff’s car. He paused when he reached Arlen and looked into his eyes.
“I’ll see what I can remember about those Wagners in West Virginia,” he said. “Be interesting to see what all I can recollect.”
Arlen reached out and extended a hand. Wade stopped and looked down at it as if he’d never seen the gesture.
“Always a pleasure, Judge,” Arlen said.
Wade gave a small cold smile and took his hand. Pressed hard against it and kept his eyes on Arlen’s.
“Paul,” Arlen said, “show some respect: shake the judge’s hand.”
Everyone looked confused at this.
“Do it, son,” Arlen said.
Paul glowered, but he reached out and offered his hand. Wade watched Arlen as if he were trying to understand the game, but he took the boy’s hand.
When he did it, Paul’s eyes went to smoke.
“Mention the man’s family,” Solomon Wade said, “and of a sudden he is most polite. I find that curious.”
He released Paul’s hand, and the smoke disappeared instantly.
“Take care now,” Arlen said.
Wade walked on to the car, with Tolliver and McGrath at his heels. The sheriff took the wheel and they went clattering away. Dust hung in the air long after they were gone.
Paul spoke to Arlen in a low voice.
“You see it again?”
Arlen nodded.
Paul seemed to blanch, but he nodded as if it were expected and said, “I’ll just have to stay out of his way, then. That’s all. Isn’t hard to do.”
Arlen didn’t answer.
“What are you talking about?” Rebecca said.
“Paul,” Arlen said, “go on back to the dock and get to work.”
He didn’t argue this time. Just walked off toward the water, moving with a quick stride that seemed uneasy.
“They say anything about the woman?” Arlen said when he was gone.
“No.”
“Then why the hell did they come out here?”
“Solomon wanted to bring the boat back.” Rebecca had come down off the porch and was standing close to him.
“Why?”
“To frighten me.”
“You’re frightened of a boat?”
She gave him cool, expressionless eyes, and after a few seconds he got it.
“That’s the one? Your father went out in that boat?”
She nodded.
He took another drink and stared up the road where they’d gone.
“What’s he use it for?”
“Smuggling. Mostly Tate runs it.” She lowered her voice and said, “What were you talking about just then? Why’d you have Paul shake his hand?”
He turned to face her again. “Wade’s going to kill him.”
“What?”
“I can see it when he touches him.”
She stared. “You’re not joking.”
“No.”
“How do you… what do you see?”
“The boy’s eyes turn to smoke every time Wade touches him.”
She was looking at him with her mouth parted, eyes wide with wonder.
“I’ve got to get him out of here,” Arlen said. “But it won’t be easy.”
“He believes you, though. He told me that. So he’ll know that it’s true.”
“He still won’t be willing to go.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s in love with you,” Arlen said.
29
IT WASN’T AS SIMPLE AS staying out of Solomon Wade’s way. Arlen was sure of that. And even if it was… Paul wouldn’t be able to stay out of his way. No, he’d remain with Rebecca, remain at her side, and Rebecca Cady was planted firmly in Solomon Wade’s path.
Arlen had trouble working that afternoon. Made the sorts of mistakes he never made, had to tear loose boards he’d just laid and remeasure and cut them correctly and lay them again. If Paul noticed, he didn’t comment. He was quiet himself, somber, but he didn’t miss a nail or a measurement. He never seemed to.
The uneasiness followed them back to the inn that evening. There, though, Paul endeavored to change the tone. His idea was a boat ride. As soon as he found out it belonged to Rebecca, he wanted to take it out.
“I’ve never been on a boat,” he said. “Not a real one. And that’s a dandy.”
“We aren’t down here to play on a boat,” Arlen said, seeing the pain in her eyes. “Quiet down about it.”
“There’s no reason we couldn’t take it out,” he said, undeterred.
“We don’t know how to run it.”