Shit, hurricane or not, he wanted out, and he wanted out now. Regardless of the rain, the wind didn’t seem all that powerful yet, had the trees swaying and shaking but not stretching out sideways the way they would when it really began to blow, like they were roaring mad at the roots that bound them to the earth, determined to get free. He’d never seen a true coastal hurricane, but he’d been in Alabama in ’28 when the remnants of a bad one blew out in the wooded country where he’d been staying. The sheer power of that storm, the ferocity of the wind, had lingered in his mind. It wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to experience hiking down the highway. No, they’d best grab their bags and hitch whatever ride they could, get inland and find housing for the night.
“I’ve never seen rain like this,” Paul said. He had one hand on the seat in front of him, squeezing it as he stared out the window and into the downpour.
“It’s heavy,” Arlen agreed.
They limped along a ribbon of gray that looked more like a creek bed than a road. Here and there the sheriff slowed and eased them one way or the other to avoid washouts of mud and gravel. He moved his hands on the wheel constantly, shifting their positions as if he weren’t sure which one worked best, and Arlen realized he didn’t like the rain any more than Paul did. He was breathing shallowly and there was sweat on his face. Twice he swore at the storm, and his voice was uneasy. This was the first hurricane he’d seen. Arlen was sure of it, and with that recognition the old questions returned: How had he found his way down here, and how had he gotten elected sheriff in a place where strangers had to be scarce?
“Hey, Arlen,” Paul said.
“Yeah?”
“What the judge said about the hurricane… you think the men we were with on the train… you think they died?”
Arlen turned his head from the kid, looked back out the window, and said, “No. I don’t.”
“That’s a lie,” Paul said softly. “You know they did. You always knew it.”
There were answers for that, but Arlen didn’t offer any of them.
Down near the Gulf, without the woods as a screen, the rain actually seemed less imposing. The sheer expanse of gray sky lightened things up, and the ocean winds pushed the rain sideways and sprayed it around. There were no cars parked in front of the inn, but lights showed inside. The sheriff drove them to the top of the hill, just where the Plymouth had parked, and then said, “Get out. I’m not trying the hill in this mud.”
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Arlen said. He pushed open his door and felt a spray of rain drill into his face, stepped out and let the wind swing the door shut as he walked for the inn. He intended to go all the way down there at a stroll—couldn’t get much wetter—but then Paul passed him at a run and Arlen thought, What the hell, and followed suit.
Paul beat him to the door and jerked it open, but Arlen slid on the wet boards of the front porch and knocked right into the kid. They fell through the door together, stumbling, and by the time they had it shut they were both laughing, acting like a couple of schoolboys instead of two men who’d just been released from the county jail.
“Well, we’re out,” Paul said. “I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy to stand outside and get rained on!”
“You’d have thought we were in there for ten years, way you talk.”
The kid grinned and wiped rain from his face. “Felt close enough to me.”
Arlen was sweeping his palms over his clothes, trying to shed the water, when he looked over Paul’s shoulder and finally saw the woman. He’d thought the room was empty when they entered, but Rebecca Cady stood in the corner nearest them, a hammer in her right hand. When he saw her, neither of them spoke. Then Paul followed his eyes and spotted her and blurted out, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said.
“The sheriff just dropped us off,” Arlen said. “We had a nice couple nights in jail. Evidently it didn’t matter to them that we were in here with you when Sorenson’s car blew up.”
“I didn’t expect it would,” she said, stepping forward and dropping a handful of nails onto the bar, then setting the hammer down.
“Don’t seem awful concerned,” Arlen said.
“Would my concern mean much? You seem to hold me responsible.”
“I’m just wanting to let you know that we’re damn lucky the judge didn’t decide to keep us in those cells until the end of the year.”
Something changed in her face. “You met the judge? Solomon Wade?”
Arlen nodded. “That’s right. You a friend of his?”