The trip to the mill wouldn’t take long, and it wasn’t even one o’clock yet. He had asked Peggy to have the ham-and-cheese sandwich ready for him when he stopped by the diner before picking up the boat. He half-expected Jem to be there and was relieved when he wasn’t.
He climbed into the dory, dropping a folded canvas aft. After he picked up his supplies, he’d wrap the boards in it to protect them from water that might spray into the boat. The sudden storm that had come up an hour or so ago had vanished as quickly as it had come, and a weak sun bravely chased the clouds across the sky.
He took his time launching the dory, his binoculars slung around his neck. A month ago he’d seen a flock of lingering Bohemian waxwings. Not much chance they’d still be around now, but he might spot a snow goose or a coot. He cruised slowly near the shoreline, feeling the worries begin to ebb as the water rocked beneath him. He liked to take Emily around the bay in his peapod. Sometimes they’d fish or look for birds along the bank; those were the best times, and once again he sensed the goodness of his life in Stony Point. Binoculars poised, he scanned the wooded bluff, alert for a blur of wings or a craning neck.
But what came suddenly into his sights had two legs. A man walked slowly along the bluff, hands shoved deeply into his pockets, eyes downcast. The man’s gait was familiar. In a flash Wally recognized his brother. What was he doing so far from Petersgrove and a good two miles from Stony Point’s town center? Carla Calloway’s spread, with her menagerie of abandoned pets, lay just beyond the wooded rise.
Thoughtfully, Wally dropped the binoculars and stared at Jem. And then he saw someone else. A girl ran in the opposite direction along a footpath toward the animal shelter. He raised the lenses once again and notched up the power. The girl was thin, not very tall, and had a wild bush of dark hair. She was running very fast. Even from three hundred yards off shore he recognized Tara, Annie’s houseguest, whom he and Jem had met last week at Grey Gables.
That is, he thought Jem and Tara were meeting for the first time. What were the chances that Tara and Jem would just happen to be in this wooded area at the same time? And why was Tara running like the devil himself was after her? Had they met by chance, and had Jem tried to make a pass at her? She was pretty, but she hadn’t seemed to appreciate Jem’s charming ways the afternoon they’d met; in fact she’d been downright cold toward him. Had he said something, done something to her?
Wally didn’t want to pursue that thought. He stashed his binoculars in the tackle box and revved up the motor. When he caught up to Jem, he cut the motor and drifted in toward shore. As he approached, he saw Jem pause along the rocky ledge above him.
“Hey, Jem!” Wally called. He flung the cast rope around a tree stump protruding from the shoal. “Come on down. I’ll give you a ride back to town.”
Panting with exertion, Jem maneuvered the rocky decline. He grabbed hold of Wally’s hand and dropped down unsteadily into the boat.
“Well, little brother, I’m glad you happened along. I hitched a ride in from Petersgrove, but the guy only took me as far as the junction.” Jem smiled amiably, but he looked worn and tired. His hair looked like a blown haystack, and his fine silk shirt was wrinkled and smudged. “My rental blew a gasket—probably won’t get a replacement until tomorrow.”
Wally headed out onto the bay at a mild rate of speed, troubled by what he’d seen. What was important enough to bring Jem to Stony Point today, and why did he look like three miles of bad road? “You OK, Jem?”
“Of course. Just got caught in that little thunderstorm we had.” He jabbed at the front of his shirt and smoothed his rumpled hair. “Say, where’d you get this sweet little dory?”
“Todd loaned it to me for the afternoon. I’m on the way to the mill to pick up some lumber for Annie. It’ll only take a half hour or so, and we’ll head back into town. Were you—uh—going somewhere special?”
“Just to see the old digs. Thought I might kick back with you for a bit, but I don’t want to make a bore of myself. If you’re busy—” Jem left the sentence unfinished.
“I’m picking up some supplies for the job I’m doing. Glad to have you ride along.” Wally eased the dory out into the open but kept the pace slow and steady.
Suspicions nagged at him. Jem wasn’t booked into either of the hotels in Petersgrove. Wally had checked, having gone himself to the Schooner’s Rest Inn. The clerk had said that Jem had been there but had checked out. He was headed back home when he passed the trailer park and saw Jem getting into an old camper or some kind of van. Jem always came to Stony Point in a fancy sedan. What was he doing in that old rig that looked like it was on its last legs? If he asked Jem about it, he’d be mad as all get out, accuse him of spying on him, which was—after all—the truth.