Right there, in the middle of the dock, was a police department Jeep. No lights were flashing and there was no siren wailing. He unlocked the passenger door with his key fob and helped them inside, Christina still hanging on for dear life. Clancy reached over and squeezed himself between Evelyn and Christina and a police scanner, computer, and all sorts of devices mounted inside the vehicle. She wondered what he was doing when she felt the comforting click of the seat belt, which he’d pulled around them both. He began to pull back but paused a moment, hovering not an inch from her face, those intense blue eyes searching hers. Without a doubt, she saw concern in his expression, and something else. Maybe it was pity. He might even feel a twinge of guilt for turning her over to the executioners. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She shrugged. What could she say?
“I don’t have a booster seat, but it’s a short ride.”
With that, he backed out, and shut and locked the door.
Her heart was pounding and her mind grasped for a clue . . . what next? Where were they going? Who would make the arrest? Would Wahlman be there to take Christina away on the spot?
She watched Clancy drop the duffel bag into the back and walk around to the driver’s seat. Soon they were moving, winding their way through an access road along the dock and approaching a huge redbrick building. Faded white block letters along the side said FLYNN FISHERIES but the large sign out front welcomed visitors to the BAYBERRY ISLAND MUSEUM AND HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
She looked sideways at him. He kept his eyes on his driving, which was probably wise. The rain was coming down even harder and the Jeep’s windshield wipers were racing to maintain visibility, yet Clancy was cutting through parking lots and zipping down one-way side streets designed for horse and buggy. They came to a STOP sign. To her right there was a squat white clapboard building with tiny windows capped with metal latticework. The sign said BAYBERRY POLICE AND MUNICIPAL LOCKUP. She hugged Chrissy tighter.
He turned right at the STOP sign, heading down the narrow street that ran alongside the building. Evelyn figured he would be pulling up to a back door, so when he drove on by, she jerked her head in surprise.
“Where are you taking us?” Only then did she realize he hadn’t spoken one word since buckling them in at the dock. “Say something!”
“I’m taking you home.”
“You’re sending us back to Maine?”
Clancy turned his head to meet Evelyn’s gaze. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked relieved. “We’ll talk very soon.” He inclined his head toward Christina, indicating he didn’t want to discuss her fate in front of her. “It’ll just be another couple minutes.”
Evelyn felt foolish—he was doing only what she’d asked. “Thank you for that.” She meant it. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
He gave her a small smile. “Perfectly understandable,” he said.
The Jeep bumped along, continuing past a congregational church, a school, and the volunteer fire department. The road curved, then suddenly opened up. Gone was the tight squeeze of the town streets, and though it was difficult to tell with the rain, Evelyn thought they might be on a hill overlooking the ocean. Of course, she’d lost her orientation and had no idea where on the island they were. Where was he taking them?
Clancy pulled into a gravel driveway of a small house that seemed to have been painted red at some point in the past—the distant past. He turned off the engine.
“What is this? What the hell’s going on?”
Christina raised her head and looked around, blinking.
She must have fallen asleep, even in her wet clothes.