“OK,” she said quietly.
“The old girl’s not browbeating you, is she?”
Tara often looked like she carried the weight of the world on those thin shoulders. She’s one of Annie’s strays, no doubt, Wally thought. Well, at least she’s doing some work for her keep. At Ian’s comment, a hint of a smile touched the girl’s usually serious face. “No. In fact, she’s been really nice to me, and I appreciate the work.”
Ian’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Nice? Are we talking about Carla?” He gave Tara a penetrating look. “I believe you’ve worked a miracle.”
“See,” Annie said, giving Ian a mock punch on the arm. “Carla’s not nearly as callous as you think. Come on.” She grabbed the tray of oatmeal cookies left from their earlier coffee break and led the way out to the porch.
Wally continued his work, while at the other end of the kitchen Tara emptied ice cubes into a pitcher and searched out napkins. From the open screen door behind him he could hear Ian’s and Annie’s voices rising and falling on the morning air. The sounds were warm and friendly, and Wally felt good just being there.
He’d come to love the people of Stony Point. In spite of his faults and all the wild oats he’d sowed as a kid growing up here, they didn’t look down on him. When times were hard, they stood by him. When Emily had broken her leg they’d made anonymous payments on the enormous hospital bill. Now they were buying up his handcrafted boats and saying how gifted he was! Wally hummed a little to himself and only half-listened.
His ears perked up, though, when he heard Ian talking about some money missing from the Gas N Go.
“I stopped in for gas on my way here this morning. Scooter Hatch looked like he’d lost his best friend.” Ian’s tone was somber.
Everybody liked Scooter. Wally knew him as polite, friendly and eager to go the extra mile. In a day when nobody got service at “service” stations, Scooter would even offer to wash your windshield. Wally straightened, made a pretense of jotting some figures down on a piece of paper. He took a step closer to the door.
“The Gas N Go came up short when they checked receipts at the end of the day last Friday,” Ian was saying. “A hundred-dollar bill that had been placed under the drawer in the cash register was missing. Scooter’s being blamed for it. He thinks he’s going to get fired.”
“Oh!” Annie protested, her voice rising. “Scooter’s no thief. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a really good kid!”
Wally looked up to see Ian massaging his temple, like he always did when he had a problem to solve. “I’m partial to him too, but it happened on his watch. He was alone at the store. They’ve got one of those old-fashioned registers that don’t automatically lock. Scooter likely got busy. You know how things can be on a Friday afternoon when everyone is heading out of town for the weekend and stopping for gas.”
Annie’s brows furrowed as she leaned in across the wicker table toward Ian. “So anyone could have gone inside and taken the money while Scooter was outside helping customers. Doesn’t Stuart realize that?”
“Scooter says the bill was there when he came in after school, but by the end of the day it was gone. Stuart is furious,” Ian said. “You know how unreasonable he can be about money. You’d think a hundred dollars was a fortune.”
“Well, it would be to Scooter if he has to replace it,” Annie was saying. “Almost every penny he makes goes to help his family. With his dad out of work and his mother so sick, he’s scraping to help keep food on their table.”
Wally felt his knees grow weak. He turned away, dropping to the floor to measure the lower shelves. Last Friday—he had been to the Gas N Go that day—along with Jem, who’d met him in town. They were going home to one of Peggy’s fried-fish dinners. Wally felt his stomach turn over as he recalled the afternoon. He had an hour after finishing a woodworking job to take his peapod out for a turn on the bay.
He liked being under the great blue sky with the water swirling around him, whispering its secrets, calming him. The gulls’ keening was like strange other-worldly music. Sometimes he felt closer to God in his peapod than anywhere else on earth. But he still came to listen to Reverend Wallace on Sundays. Peggy would have his hide if he didn’t. But Friday, Jem at the Gas N Go … Wally’s pleasant thoughts of drifting in the sun cooled as he thought about that day.
When he’d gotten to the end of the wharf around five o’clock, Jem was waiting, hands in the pockets of his trousers, the wind ruffling his hair. He needed a haircut, Wally realized, and he was still wearing those beat-up old shoes that looked like rejects from a thrift store.