Cape Refuge (14 page)

“We're here,” Blair said. “Let's just get what we need and take it back to my house.”

Morgan took a tentative step into the room. “I feel like I'm invading their privacy.”

“We are. But they're not in a position to care.” The words came out on a cruel note. She didn't know where that flip tone came from.

She bent down and looked under the bed. She pulled out the boxes in which her parents archived their most important papers. “Let's take these,” she said.

“Okay,” Morgan said. “And we can take the file cabinet downstairs, if the police haven't already taken it for evidence.”

“Do you know where the key to the file cabinet is?”

“She kept it in her jewelry box,” Morgan said. She crossed the room slowly, anguish on her face, and went into the closet where her mother's modest jewelry box lay. She opened it, found the key.

“Okay,” Blair said, “help me carry the boxes down.”

“We could get Gus to help,” Morgan said.

“Leave the tenants out of this. It's just us.”

Blair grabbed one box, and Morgan took the other.

When they had loaded the car, Blair saw Rick—the other tenant—sitting in the sand across the street, watching the ocean. “There's Rick,” she said as a warm breeze picked up and whispered through the trees, blowing her hair against her mouth. She pushed it back. Morgan came up beside her. Her long curls bounced in the breeze.

“He does that a lot,” she said. “Just sits out there staring out at the waves. Mama said it's how he grieves.”

Blair had heard the story from her mother about how he had lost his wife and daughter in a drunk-driving accident and how he had come here seeking refuge while he tried to endure the pain.

“I'm going to run back in and get a few things together to bring back to your house,” Morgan said. “I'll be right back.”

Blair waited at the car, watching Rick as the waves lapped up close to his feet. He was a suspect too, as far as she was concerned. She needed to talk to him, read his face. She needed to see if he grieved over her parents.

She crossed the street, and her feet rocked across the sand as she walked toward where he sat. The waves hit hard against the shore. A storm was probably blowing in, she thought. It was appropriate—more so than the bright sunshine that mocked her pain. She wanted thunder and lightning, howling wind, dark skies.

She walked up behind Rick and set her hand on his shoulder. He jumped and almost knocked his chair over.

“Blair!” he said. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

He sat back in his chair, trying to steady his breathing. He looked pale, tired, just like the rest of them, and his eyes looked raw and red.

“I was waiting for Morgan,” she said. “I thought I'd come over and speak.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He was familiar with grief, she thought, and knew what not to say. “I like to come out here sometimes,” he said. “There's something healing about sitting here and listening to the waves, knowing that God is still in control even when it seems like he's not.” His voice faded out and he swallowed and got to his feet. He was a head taller than she and looked down at her with sorrowful eyes. “I'm going to miss your parents,” he said. “I'm going to miss them real bad.”

Blair turned the scarred side of her face away and gazed out over the water. A schooner was coming in, slowly making its way to the shore. There had been times in her life when she had sat on this beach herself and watched those boats come and go, wondering what it would be like to be on your way to some distant country, not knowing when or if you would return. She had dreamed of sailing away. But she never had, simply because the scars would have gone with her. And wherever she wound up, they would still be the ball and chain that held her to her past. And thwarted her future.

“I've been sitting here for a couple of hours,” he said, “watching for that boat to come in. I didn't see it until just now.”

He slapped his hands against his thighs, then let them hang limply to his sides. “I thought I was healing; I thought I was coming to terms with what happened to my family.” His voice blended with the sound of the wind and the waves. “Now I have to grieve over the people who were helping me heal. Sometimes you just wonder how many more people are going to have to go before God thinks you've had enough.”

Blair swallowed and kept her eyes on that boat.

“I'm sorry, Blair,” he said.

She shook her head. “Don't be. It's okay. I feel the same way.”

The water began reaching farther as the tide rose. She backed up so it wouldn't rush around her feet. “Sometimes I feel like somebody's just walloped me in the stomach and I can't catch my breath,” she said.

“That's it,” he said. “That's exactly it. I can't catch my breath. I haven't caught it yet from what happened a year ago.” He sat back down in the chair and dropped his face into his hands. Slowly he rubbed them down his face and looked up at her.

“How do you do it, Blair? How do you not cry? I saw you at the funeral service today. Your eyes were dry.”

That boat looked so peaceful, floating toward home. But behind it, dark clouds closed in, moving faster than the boat. “Crying doesn't do much good,” she said.

She didn't want to tell him that if she ever got started, her tears might never stop. “I have to go,” she said. She started back across the sand.

“Blair.” Rick's voice stopped her. She turned back. He had stood up again, taken a few steps toward her. “Yeah?”

“I hope they find them. Whoever did that to your parents, I hope they find them soon.”

“Me too,” she said.

“You know what your mama would tell you right now?” he asked. “She would tell you to cling to the Lord with all your might. And she would tell you to forgive.”

Blair's hair whipped into her face. “That's a tall order when you don't know who to forgive.”

“It's a tall order even when you do.”

She knew he was talking about his family and the drunk who had killed them. For the first time she felt something of the pull that Morgan had toward the tenants, a little connection of understanding, an affinity that she hadn't expected to feel.

“Your mother wouldn't say it was easy,” he said, “but you know she'd say it.”

“Yeah,” Blair said, “she'd say it, all right.”

She met his eyes for a moment, saw the genuine grief pulling at his face, rimming his eyes. Finally, she turned away and hurried across the street where her sister waited.

 

S
adie had gathered enough change to buy a toothbrush and some toothpaste, so she went into Goodfellow's Grocery and closed her eyes in pleasure at the rush of cool air conditioning. Though she had bathed daily at the outdoor showers, she still felt sticky and sandy. She had washed her clothes in the swimming pool at one of the hotels last night, but they still smelled of perspiration.

She had slept in a boat bobbing in the water near the dock, curled up on the floor so no one would see her. It was comfortable, and she had found a life jacket for a pillow, and a tarp with which to cover herself. The act of surviving had become a full-time job, the only one she could get.

She found the toothbrushes and chose the cheapest one, grabbed a small tube of toothpaste, and counted out her change. There was enough, she thought with gratitude.

She headed for the front and waited in the short line. The people in front of her had obviously been on the beach all day. Like her, they looked sandy and sweaty, and their clothes were rumpled and damp.

Maybe people would think she was a sun-drenched tourist instead of a homeless runaway.

She got to the front of the line and set the items down.

“You find everything all right?” the checkout girl asked.

“Yes,” she said, trying to smile. “It sure is hot out there.”

“Yep,” the girl said. “Humidity's like five hundred percent.” She rang the toothbrush and toothpaste up. “That'll be two dollars, thirty-six cents.”

Sadie counted out her change, dropped it into her hand. “You wouldn't have any openings here, would you? I sure could use a job.”

The girl shrugged. “Sometimes they do. You could ask over there. The guy with the mustache. He owns the place.”

“Mr. Goodfellow?” Sadie asked with a smirk.

The girl laughed. “No, Mr. Jenkins.” She lowered her voice. “And he's not that good a fellow, either.”

Sadie thanked her and headed for the man. He was surveying his stock of soup, and she came up behind him and cleared her throat.

He turned around.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I know I look awful. I've been on the beach all day. But I was wondering if you had any job openings. I'm a real hard worker, and I really need the money.”

He looked down at her cast. “You live around here?”

“I'm new in town,” she said. “I was in a car accident a couple of days ago. Great way to start a vacation, you know? Anyway, I like it so much that I wanted to try to stay. I graduated last month, so I can really go anywhere I want. . . .”

She stopped, realizing she was saying too much. Lies were best told in bits and pieces, not with long explanations.

“You can fill out an application,” he said. “If anything comes up, I could call you.”

“Okay,” she said. “Only, I'm not sure where I'll be staying, so I'll just check back every day. Will that be okay?”

He shrugged like he didn't much care. “Fine.” He got her an application. “Just leave it with the cashier when you're done.”

She filled it out, lying about her home address, her age, her school. Then she left it with the girl at the front. Brimming with hope, she left the store. Maybe he would hire her. It would be a nice place to work. She could make friends with the cashier, buy the food she needed, and stay in air conditioning.

She crossed the busy road and went back down to the beach to walk along the shoreline. When she reached the end of the sand, she walked further, up along the river side of the island. She crossed through the yard of a house on the water and saw a boathouse at the end of a drive.

It looked like a little house, with a front door and a roof, but only three walls. A boat probably floated inside it, she thought. It would be safer to sleep in a boat that was docked in a boathouse. She would be out of the wind and the sand and the morning dew, and no one would be as likely to find her there.

The idea blossomed in her mind as she walked further, looking for one that wasn't so close to a house. There were several, scattered out along the river, but most were too visible.

Finally, she came upon one situated in a woodsy area, with nothing but a dirt road leading to it. She tested the doorknob, but it was locked, so she took off her shoes and dropped her backpack and slipped into the water. She swam to the opening of the little house. Just as she thought, a boat sat there in the opening of the boathouse floor, and around it was enough room to walk, and various items hung on the walls.

She pulled up onto the floor and looked around. Yes, this place was lonely enough to keep her hidden tonight, and it wasn't likely that anyone would want to take the boat out tonight. Tomorrow morning, she would leave early, then come back when it was dark again.

It was an answer, she thought, until she could get a job and find a better place.

Things were starting to look up.

 

M
organ was quiet as they drove back across the island with their parents' boxes and file cabinet in the car. Blair seemed pensive too, lost in her own thoughts.

A massive magnolia tree blocked the view of Blair's house, the library, and the marine museum, as they came up the street.

As the place came into view, they saw police cars filling the library's parking lot. Morgan's heart jolted. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “What now?”

Blair pulled haphazardly into the gravel parking lot and jumped out of her car. Cade came to the open door of the library.

“What is it, Cade?” she asked.

“Someone's broken into the library and vandalized the place,” he said. “The mayor came looking for you, and he used his key to get in. It's a mess in there. We're dusting for prints.”

Morgan touched Blair's back and saw that her facial scars flamed with shame. She started to speak up for Blair, but her sister lifted her chin defiantly. “I did it,” Blair said.

Cade frowned. “Did what?”

“I'm the one who made the mess. I was—a little angry the other night,” she said. “I kind of took it out on the books. I was going to put them back together before anybody saw it. I didn't think it would hurt for the library to be closed for a couple of days. Didn't count on the mayor using his key.”

Cade stared at her in stunned silence. Finally, he said, “You did
that?
Shelves on the floor, books everywhere, tables knocked over?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was just coming home to put it all back together. I'm sorry, okay? I was upset.”

He gave her a long, contemplative look, and she turned her scars away from him.

“Okay,” Cade said quietly. “It's no problem. One less crime to solve.”

He stepped back to let her in. Melba stood among the books, her massive chest heaving. “Oh, honey, you're not safe anywhere around here,” she cried. “They've come into the library and ransacked it—”

“It's okay, Melba,” Cade cut in. “We know who's been in the library. Case solved.”

Joe McCormick turned from where he was dusting. “Solved? Cade, what's going on?”

Cade motioned him into Blair's office at the back, muttered a few words, then they both came back out.

“Well, aren't you going to tell us who did it?” Melba demanded. “Don't we have a right to know? This could be the same person who killed Thelma and Wayne!”

“It was me,” Blair cut in. “Cade's being polite. He doesn't want to embarrass me, but I'm the one who did it, Melba.”

“Did what, honey?”

Blair was getting angry again, and the smooth side of her face was coloring to match the scar. “I'm the one who knocked the books over, okay? My parents were murdered that day. I was having a little trouble coping.”

“Oh, honey.” Melba brought her hand to her chest. “And here we thought you weren't—”

“Weren't what?” Blair asked. “You thought I wasn't grieving for my parents because I didn't cry out in the open where everybody could see and gossip about my tears like they were some kind of cheap entertainment? Is that what you thought?”

Horrified at Blair's outburst, Morgan touched Melba's shoulder. “Oh, Melba, she doesn't mean it. It's just been a really hard week.”

The woman drew in a breath, raising her big chest. “Well, you don't have to tell me that now, honey. I understand completely. Just don't you worry another little bit about it.”

“I came with Blair tonight to help her start putting things back together,” Morgan said. “The library will be good as new before you know it. As organized as Blair usually keeps things, I'd say she has a right to blow a fuse every now and then.”

Blair met Cade's somber eyes across the room. “I need to go call the mayor,” he said. “You going to be all right?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “I'll be fine.”

Cade looked over at Morgan. “You'll stay with her?”

“I'm not leaving,” Morgan said.

The exchange set Blair off again. “Don't talk about me like I'm unstable. I don't plan to destroy any more public property.”

He looked wounded. “No, Blair,” he said, “that wasn't what I was thinking at all. I just don't like to see you hurting.”

Blair bent over and started snatching books off the floor. “Find someone else to feel sorry for, Cade.”

Cade just watched her for a moment. Finally, he and Joe headed for the door.

Melba kissed Morgan, leaving a pink lipstick smear on her cheek. She touched Blair's hair and looked tearfully into her face. Blair moved away and grabbed another book.

When they were alone, Blair stooped down and began stacking books. “I can't blame the mayor for jumping to conclusions,” she said with a sigh. “Wonder why he would use his key to get in? He's never done that before.”

“Probably saw the mess through the window and got worried,” Morgan said.

Blair lifted her stack and set them on a table. “I don't know what came over me. It's going to take us days to put everything back together.” She bent over and picked up a rare, ancient book she had bought at an auction with her own money. “What am I saying? Days? It took me
years
to get it as organized as it was in the first place.”

“Well, I'll work as long as it takes,” Morgan said.

“What about going through Mama and Pop's things?”

“I don't think I'm up to it right now,” Morgan said. “It's like rubbing alcohol into a wound. This kind of physical work is just what I need.” She went to the top of one of the toppled bookshelves. “Give me a hand with this.”

Blair got the other side, and with great effort, they managed to get it standing again.

They worked for twenty minutes trying to get the next one up, when they heard another car pull up.

“What now?” Morgan asked.

Blair went to the window. “It's Cade again.”

Morgan looked out over her shoulder. Cade was getting out of his car, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. “What does he want?”

Blair went to the door and flung it open. “What?”

“I thought I'd come help out,” he said. “I knew you'd need some muscle to get these shelves back up.”

Suddenly speechless, Blair turned to Morgan.

“I think we can do it ourselves,” Morgan said. “Maybe you need to get on back to the jail and keep an eye on your prisoner.”

“The prisoner's in good hands,” he said. “I got a few minutes to spare.”

“Well, maybe you should be out looking for whoever killed our parents,” Morgan said. “The real murderer.”

He looked down at Blair. “Do you want help or not, Blair?”

She turned back to the bookshelves lying like dominos across the floor. “I guess we could use his help,” Blair said to Morgan. She glanced at Cade. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said, then he clomped back across the wooden floor to the bookshelf furthest in the back, the one on the top of the domino pile, and pulled it upright. When he had gotten the third set of shelves up, they heard another set of wheels on the gravel outside.

“Now what?” Morgan mumbled.

Blair went to the door and looked out. Melba and several ladies were getting out of the car.

“It's the cavalry,” Cade said. “I asked Melba to get some people together to help with this.”

Blair gave Cade a belligerent look. “They're not bringing food are they? We don't have any place to put it.”

“No, they're not bringing food,” Cade said with a grin. “They're just bringing a few more hands to help.”

Melba came in, wearing stretch pants and a big floppy T-shirt. The other ladies were dressed for work, as well. “I couldn't get the whole auxiliary,” she said, “but I did get ten of us.”

Blair grunted. “Melba, it really isn't necessary. . . .”

“It certainly is,” Melba said. “There's no reason you and Morgan should have to do this all by yourself.” She stepped into the building and smiled at Cade. “And I see our police chief is already hard at work. Don't you worry about a thing,” Melba said. “With thirteen of us working, we'll get it all done tonight. Might even get the place vacuumed and dusted too.”

Morgan saw that Blair was about to object again. They both wanted to do it alone, quietly, without people trying to make them feel better. But it was impossible. “I can't argue with that,” Blair said finally. “I appreciate it.”

The ladies came in one by one with their condolences and hugs, and Blair and Morgan accepted them as each one started to work.