The Cypress House(22)
“Those beds aren’t too bad, are they?” Wade said.
“I’ve had better,” Arlen said, “and I’ve had worse.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Wade twisted his head to study Paul. “You know there’s men all over this country don’t have a bed for the night. Women and children, too.”
Paul said, “Yes, sir. I know.”
Wade nodded. “Just so we’re clear on that. Wanted to be sure y’all had a sense of appreciation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have a sense of appreciation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because I was worried you were lacking in appreciation after I heard from the sheriff. Said there’d been talk of lawyers and lawfulness and a general quality of bitching, not a hint of gratitude in the air.”
“He was mistaken,” Arlen said.
“You calling the sheriff a liar?” Wade said, swiveling to look at Arlen.
“I’m not.”
“A fool, then?”
“No, sir. Just mistaken.”
Wade nodded sagely, as if this were a philosophers’ debate of intense interest.
“I’ve made some calls,” he said. “Seems the CCC actually recollects the two of you. So does a train station attendant out in Bradford County.”
“Good to hear,” Arlen said, still wondering why in the hell a judge would be making calls in an investigation. Seemed like Tolliver’s job.
“Not a one of them answered the question I needed answered,” Wade said, “which is what you did to find yourself inside Walt Sorenson’s Auburn on the day of his demise. I’ll tell you something—it’s a question that vexes me.”
“If we could ease your suffering,” Arlen said, “we surely would.”
Wade cocked his head sideways and gazed in at Arlen. “Why’d you get off that train? Station attendant told me you didn’t miss the train, you just got off and didn’t get back on.”
“I didn’t like the look of the crowd we were traveling with,” Arlen said. That was true enough.
“Well, I’ll tell you something: you have fool’s luck watching over you.”
The words gave Arlen a tingle, one that started low in his back and shivered all the way up his spine and tightened the muscles in his neck.
“Train you were on was bound for the Keys,” Wade said. “Would’ve put you off down there, what, late afternoon day before yesterday.”
He dropped his hands from the bars. “You know what happened to the Keys last night?”
He waited, so Arlen said, “No. We’ve been in here. Nobody kept us posted on the news.”
“Well, let me get you posted, then—the Keys are gone.”
Paul said, “What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean obliterated. Nothing left but sand and shells. And blood.”
“The hurricane?” Paul said, voice soft.
“ ‘Hurricane’ isn’t even the right word,” Wade said. “That’s what they’ll call it, yes, but sounds like this was more devil than storm. I’ve been listening to the radio reports; they say they’ve got bodies in the trees down there. Whole towns blown to the ground, men and women and children swept out to sea. They sent a rescue train, and it was torn right off the tracks.”
Arlen couldn’t find his voice. Solomon Wade was staring in at him like he wanted to hear a response, but Arlen simply couldn’t muster one.
“They say it’s coming here now,” Wade said. “This rain’s the first of it. Wind’ll come next, and with it? We’ll have to wait and see. Could be as bad as what the Keys got, could be that it’s tasted enough blood by now. Either way, I ain’t got time to deal with you sorry bastards. But if a complaint rises to your lips about your stay here in Corridor County, you remember where you’d be if we hadn’t locked your asses up. You remember that.”
10
THE SHERIFF WAS WAITING in the car, parked just in front of the station, no more than fifteen steps from the door. Even so, they were soaked by the time they fell into the backseat. The rain was coming down in a way that made Arlen wonder if the power of gravity had been increased while they’d waited in the jail; things didn’t fall from the sky now, they plummeted.
Tolliver didn’t say a word to them as they sat dripping in the back of the car, just put it in gear and drove slowly away from the center of High Town, back into the shrouded woods that today looked more black than green. Arlen watched the rain come down, pouring so furiously the sheriff had to keep the car at a crawl because he couldn’t see out of the windshield, and wondered how in the hell they were going to get to a train station today. Be a mighty wet walk. And if there was a hurricane on the way…