He backed into the trees without answering, unsure of himself. He was there, among the storm-torn mangroves, when they all came out of the tavern. Sheriff Tolliver and the gray-haired man she had called Tate led the way. The three boys followed—dragging the man from the Plymouth between them. He could not hold his own footing, and though he mumbled constantly he could not make intelligible words. It sounded as if he were trying to speak without lips or teeth.
They loaded him back into the Plymouth, but this time he was in the backseat, and this time all three of Tate’s boys rode with him. Tate fired up the truck as Tolliver leaned in the Plymouth window with an inspector’s stare, spoke to the boy at the wheel, and then moved back to his own car. He climbed in and started the engine and led the procession out of the yard and up the road.
Arlen searched for the girl in the darkness, hoping that her appearance would change as they left this place. It was too dark, though. He couldn’t see a thing.
18
HE WENT TO THE BOATHOUSE to check on Paul first. The boy slept soundly, curled up against the stack of old blankets, water lapping at the dock pylons beneath him. It was pitch-black, but the later it got the louder the night seemed—insects and nocturnal animals and wind sounds filling the trees all around the inlet. To the east, farther inland, the woods thickened, a mass of weaving silhouettes against the night sky. Arlen thought that if he lived in this part of the country, he’d want to hug the coast as much as possible, where things were open and bright and you could see what was coming.
He picked the flask up from where it lay on the dock and had a long drink. Then he capped it and walked back to the inn. The lights were still glowing, and he could hear a scraping sound. He swung open the door and stepped inside, and Rebecca Cady gave a shout of fear.
She was standing in the center of the barroom with a mop in her hands, and when he opened the door she pulled the mop back and brandished it like a weapon. Then her shoulders sagged and she dropped it back to the floor.
“What are you doing? I told you to stay out!”
He stood in the doorway and looked around the room. Everything was as it had been, except that the floor around the fireplace was shining with soapy water.
“Late for washing the floors, isn’t it?”
“Get out.”
He let the door swing shut behind him. There was a strange smell in the air. Kerosene and cleansers, yes, but there was something else to it. A faint copper tinge. He felt his stomach stir and the muscles in his neck go tight.
“How was the party?”
“It wasn’t a party.” The mop was shaking in her hands. She tightened her grip, trying to still it, but that only seemed to intensify the rattling. As she stood there and stared at him, a tear leaked out of her right eye and glided down her cheek, dripped off her jaw, and fell to the wet floor.
“What in the hell happened?” Arlen said, walking toward her.
“Get out!”
He stopped halfway across the room. She pulled her shoulders back and gave him a look that would have been cold and strong if not for the tears.
“Maybe if you want me out of here so bad, you should go call the sheriff,” he said. “My guess is he’ll see that I’m gone fast enough. Me and the boy both. And he’ll probably help you clean the floor.”
He had edged closer to her, was only a few feet away now. He looked from her face down into the pail at her feet. Even in the dim glow of the oil lamps, the crimson tint was clear. There was a lot of blood in that water.
“I’d like you to leave.” Her voice was shaking, and Arlen had the sense that if he reached out and laid one fingertip against her skin, she’d collapse.
“Did you see her?” he asked.
“What?”
“The woman they brought in. Her name was Gwen. Did you see her?”
She shook her head, and another tear fell free.
“They had her in handcuffs,” he said. “Chained up in the sheriff’s car. They went all the way to Cassadaga to find her.”
“I was upstairs,” she said in a whisper so faint he could scarcely hear it. “I always stay upstairs. I don’t want to see any of them. I don’t want to hear… anything.”
“Like the sounds of that man getting beaten within an inch of his life?” Arlen asked. “You didn’t hear that upstairs?”
Her face was wet with tears now.
“I can’t speak to you about this,” she said. “I can’t. Just promise me that you’ll leave. That you’ll take Paul and go. You don’t belong here. You shouldn’t be here. Leave.”
“All right,” he said. “You want us gone, I’ll see that it happens. But something to remember? If we’re not around, it means you’re here alone.”