Читать книгу Silent Protector - Barbara Phinney - Страница 10

Ten minutes later, after he called his supervisor and detailed what had happened, Ian called the local police to say an ambulance wasn’t needed. Liz listened as he stated briefly that she’d been sideswiped by a car that roared up out of nowhere, just at the start of the causeway. Nothing more, she noted, saying as little as possible.

Within an hour, the police arrived, and together with the two officers, they returned to the causeway to stare into the murky water of the blocked-off strait.

“Why were you coming over this causeway, when you said you noticed that it was under construction?” the bigger officer asked Liz.

“The concrete blocks were at the side. There was only one sign that said Construction Ahead. It didn’t say that the road was closed.”

“The causeway is supposed to be closed to all traffic. I don’t know why the blocks were moved.”

“There’s a resort being built here,” she pointed out. “How did they get their equipment there?”

“Special permission. The causeway will hold vehicular weight, but it’s just not finished yet, hence the fact it’s closed.” The highway patrol officer peeled off his sunglasses and his broad-brimmed hat and stared out at the still, dark water. He shook his head. “It’s going to take some doing getting that car out of there. No one likes to get in with the snakes.”

Snakes? Liz grimaced. “Should I call a tow truck or will you?”

“I can, ma’am. I know which company to call. But I don’t know when he’ll be able to get out here.”

The other officer walked toward the island for a few feet and then turned around again. “Did you see where the car went?”

Liz shook her head. “I don’t know. The engine revved a bit. I remember that, but that’s all.”

The officer inspected the ground. “It looks like it turned around here a few times.” He looked at Ian. “Any new cars on the island that you know of?”

“No.” Ian indicated the direction of the resort. “You may want to check with the resort, though. They have several vehicles. The smaller ones are vans bringing in workers.”

The officer nodded. After the police took her statement and promised to call with a time when the tow truck would arrive, they left. Despite the anticlimactic way they arrived and left, Liz found herself feeling much better. She needed a shower. With the heat around her, her clothes had dried quickly, but the salt left on her skin was making her itch. She needed to clean up.

And change into what, she thought. The few clothes she’d taken were at the bottom of that inlet.

Lord, you know I need clothes. And some relief from this heat, please.

As they returned to Moss Point, she glanced around the small village. Huge, spreading trees that couldn’t decide which way to grow shaded much of the hard-packed dirt street, but it was the thick, pale droops of Spanish moss hanging nearly to the ground that must have generated the village’s name. There seemed to be few lawns for children, just dirt that carried in from the road until it reached the houses. In places that caught the sunlight, a few gardens had been worked. But in the heat of the summer, the vegetables looked burdened and sad.

Around them, small bungalows and trailers seemed plunked down willy-nilly. Most were simple, unadorned except by obvious poverty. Liz lived in a modest area of the country herself, and as a Christian, she tried not to focus on earthly wealth. But the brand of poverty here caught in her throat.

Several of the villagers were sitting in the shade of their homes, wisely keeping their activities to a minimum during the oppressive afternoon heat. All were quietly fanning themselves. Ian waved and called out friendly greetings to most of them.

The first house on the right sported a small store in front. The old, faded sign on the door stated that it was open. The older couple lounging nearby watched them closely.

She attracted attention, she could tell. By now, everyone probably knew she’d plunged her car into the water. It was like that in small communities. There were no secrets.

“What do most of these people do for a living?” she asked Ian quietly as they walked down the dirt road.

“Some fish. A few are artisans, making handmade souvenirs for tourists.” He swatted away a mosquito. “But most are unemployed. ‘The Shepherd’s Smile’ will change the lifestyle here. Change it for the better. I know it.”

“It hasn’t already?”

“It’s new. The Vincentis have hired me to implement it. Both are good Christians who can see beyond the poverty and the blame that gets tossed around and are willing to do something to help these people.”

They slowed where the road curled into a cul-de-sac. “What are their plans?” she asked.

“First up was to plant a church and let God reach these people.”

They stopped at one of the trailers on the right. Rusting in several streaks, it sat parallel to the dirt road. In front sat a small garden of tomatoes and peppers. Several banana palms and one orange tree offered a bit of shade to its side deck, which was met by a tidy path of white rocks and crushed shells. All over the place, potted geraniums and other heat-loving flowers nodded in the light breeze. Liz could smell their blossoms from the road.

A loud, squawking sound sliced through the hot air. With bright colors, a bird flashed past them, startling Liz.

Charlie laughed. “It’s Joseph, Auntie Liz! He’s come to say hello!”

Ian took her arm to steady her. “Joseph is named for his colorful coat. He’s our local runaway and has been around for years. We think he’s a rainbow lorikeet that escaped from someone’s home in Northglade. He follows people around. Everyone likes him except Elsie, who says he’s always pecking at her plants just to annoy her.”

The bird landed on the small side deck in front of them, cocked his head and said something unintelligible.

“Shoo, you crazy bird! You’re always getting where you don’t belong. Shoo!” The voice continued, “Come in! We’ve been waiting too long with this meal, and George says he won’t wait any longer.” A tall, strong woman exited the trailer. She stopped when she spotted Liz. Her short, frizzy gray hair stuck out in all directions, and her dark skin bore a sheen of perspiration.

She turned to Ian and set her hands on her hips. “You could have told me we were having company.”

“I’m sorry, Elsie. I only just found out. This is Liz Tate, Charlie’s aunt.”

Her frown deepening, Elsie wiped her hands on her apron and trotted down the steps. Over the hot breeze, Liz listened to the woman’s footfalls crunching on the shell walkway. Elsie stuck out her hand toward Liz. “Charlie’s aunt, you say? I didn’t know he had one. Not that the boy talked any.”

“He can, though,” Ian answered blandly. “He used my cell to call Liz, who figured out where we were.”

After shooting Ian a questioning frown, Elsie lifted her graying eyebrows. “Well, come inside. I haven’t got a fancy air conditioner, but I do have a gallon of cold lemonade and a good fan.”

Ahead of them, Charlie galloped up the stairs and disappeared into the mobile home. He reappeared a moment later with a cell phone and shoved it toward Ian.

“Thank you,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry I used all the battery, but I didn’t wreck it. Honest.”

Ian nodded. Liz thought he might be holding his breath, hoping for more from the boy, but no more words came.

“Elsie,” he asked, “we’ve had a dip in the water. Is it all right if Liz has a shower here? I’ll run home for one and be back in ten minutes.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need more than a shower,” Liz told the woman. “I don’t have any dry clothes.”

“That’s no trouble. I have something that’ll fit you.” Elsie led them into the front room where she told her husband to pull another chair up to the kitchen table and that supper would be ready as soon as Liz showered and Ian returned.

A good wash and a clean dress felt good, Liz decided after she was done. Though the dress was simple and long—and identical to the one Monica wore—Liz was grateful.

Thank you, Lord.

She walked into the small trailer’s kitchen just as Ian opened the side door and entered.

His hair was still damp and finger-combed, his clothes lightweight and crisp. Liz found herself staring at him, all fresh and clean, his expression so full of concern and compassion. He smiled at her. And automatically, her heart tripped up. To cover her sudden fluster, she looked away.

Ian walked over to George as he pulled up a fifth chair to the small round table. He spoke quietly, with Liz catching only a few words: a tropical storm coming, George telling Ian not to overwork himself and feel free to ask others to help.

It would appear that George was part of this whole Witness Security Program. And probably Elsie, too. Liz didn’t know enough to make any more assumptions than that.

She caught more of Ian’s words. He had called his supervisor, suggesting Charlie be moved immediately, but his supervisor disagreed.

Liz stared at Ian, openly eavesdropping because this was too important for any good manners. The supervisor ordered them to stay put, to see who might show up, that he and the Wilsons were well trained for this. And extra help was on its way.

And judging by George’s deepening frown, Liz would guess he didn’t like that answer any more than Ian did.

Someone might show up? Hadn’t Ian hinted of that when they were talking in the clinic? If he suspected as much, then he must have told his supervisor. Now, with George talking about a tropical storm coming and Charlie being used as bait, she knew only one thing.

Charlie shouldn’t be here, no matter how well trained anyone was or how much extra help was on its way.

“I should go, as soon as possible,” she said after George gave thanks for their meal of hearty sandwiches and crisp salad. “There are a hundred reasons why I should take Charlie and leave. Including your workload, that tropical storm coming and the fact that someone might be here—” she glanced at Charlie, who was busy removing the green peppers from his salad “—ahead of me.”

Ian set down his fork. “Charlie is safest with me.”

“You need to pastor these people, too. I heard what George said. You can only spread yourself out so thin.”

“You should let me worry about that.”

“And,” Elsie added, pouring more lemonade, “you two need to talk about it down in his office.” She shot Charlie a quick look. Having dissected his food, he was happy to crunch on the carrots he’d found in his salad. He appeared to be ignoring both of them.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Ian answered calmly. “A taxi won’t come down this far from Northglade. You may not realize that it’s only a small town itself, with not much in it.”

She’d seen Northglade on the map, a community inland from Spring Island with a farm population. She doubted there were any motels there.

“Are you saying you won’t let me go?”

He leaned forward. He’d chosen a seat across the table from her and now drilled a stare into her. “You’ve been traveling for how long? You had a scare and a dunk in the water, and you haven’t slept since Saturday night, I’d guess. It would be very wise to spend the night here. If the Wilsons will have you.”

“Of course we will.” Elsie nodded. “Liz, dear, even if you could find a car to get you off the island, do you think you should be driving after all you’ve been through? I can see it in your eyes, just how tired you are. And I know you don’t want to risk Charlie’s life because of a little stubbornness.”

She’d expected some manipulation out of Charlie, because he was just a child and they sometimes did that sort of thing, but she hadn’t expected it out of the adults around the table.

But they were right. More than right. She was practically dead on her feet. Ian hit the nail on the head when he said she hadn’t slept. The evening Charlie had called, she’d been up arranging flights until the wee hours. The next day she flew out and then spent that night waiting for a connecting flight at Newark. Was it Wednesday already? And she hadn’t slept since Saturday night?

The reminder of that fact brought a yawn to her jaw, something she stifled quickly.

“Stay the night here, Liz,” Ian said quietly. “It’s the best thing.”

“But what about—” Still holding her glass of lemonade she dropped her voice “—whoever might be here?”

“Let me worry about that. You need to sleep, and we can discuss anything in the morning.”

She stared into his eyes, feeling the pull of that attraction again. A man who had given up a career to serve God. A man who cared enough for Charlie to risk his life. A handsome, compelling, intelligent man. Whose brilliant blue eyes met hers with a magnetism she couldn’t pull away from.

You’ve found Charlie. He’s safe. Rest tonight. Get some sleep.

Logic told her to capitulate. But she couldn’t ignore all that Ian had said back at the rec center. Charlie was in danger. The man who’d killed Jerry would come after him.

And yet, despite the fear rising in her again, she read Ian’s clear expression.

Trust me.

She took a shaky sip of her drink. Should I, Lord?

“We’ll put a cot in Charlie’s room. He can sleep on it, and Liz can have his bed.” Oblivious to Liz’s warring thoughts, Elsie settled the matter with a firm nod.

“Liz,” Ian added softly, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest. It’s really the best thing.”

Fatigue rolled over her in one heavy, blanketing wave. Elsie had kept her curtains closed, and only through the tiny window above the sink did Liz see that night was closing fast.

With all eyes on her, Liz fought off the weariness. “Okay. And I bet I won’t be long in bed after Charlie.”

“Dad said I don’t have to go to bed early,” Charlie piped up.

Elsie arched her eyebrows at him. “If it was a school night you’d be going to bed early, young man.”

Charlie’s bottom lip pushed forward slightly. “Dad said I don’t need school. He said that I’m smart.”

Liz frowned at him. “Then you’re smart enough to know that you need your rest.” With that, she pulled out his chair and stood tiredly. “And you’re smart enough to know we should help Elsie do the dishes.”

As they rounded the table, she caught Elsie peering knowingly at her husband. “I told you he could talk just fine.”

George snorted. “Talking to his aunt ain’t the talking he should be doin’, and you know it, Elsie.”

Ian said his good-nights a short time later, thanking Elsie as he always did, for all she was doing for him and Charlie.

At the door, the older woman patted his arm. “You’re more than welcome, and don’t worry about a thing. Everything will work out. You just need faith, that’s all.”

She’d taken one look at him when he’d shown up for supper and guessed his thoughts. Yes, he was busy right now. Too busy, and Liz’s arrival didn’t make things any easier. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d called his supervisor in DC to inform him that she’d not only shown up but had also claimed she’d been run off the road. Ian had wanted to berate the man for not telling him about her, but all his supervisor had said was she had no claim on Charlie and wouldn’t be a problem. Ian reminded him that she’d seen her nephew regularly enough to have the boy call her the second he got to a phone, but the man refused to admit his mistake.

Suppressing a yawn, Ian rubbed his face. He felt like something the cat dragged in. While George liked to stay up late, watching TV until after midnight, Ian napped in the evening and spent the rest of the night next door, working on the program the Vincentis had hired him to implement, all the while watching the Wilson trailer.

Those short bouts of sleep were catching up with him. He hadn’t expected any trouble before Liz showed up, and now that Charlie’s location was compromised, sleep would be even more elusive.

Ian’s supervisor wanted Charlie to remain on the island as bait. And with the storm coming, all flights were cancelled, all roads plugged with residents already leaving, going to fully booked hotels inland. Most of the villagers here couldn’t afford that luxury and would wait until the shelters opened. Getting Charlie off the island would be easy. Finding a place for him much harder. And he needed Liz to go, too, or Charlie might sink back into his silence again.

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t fool himself. There was another reason for not wanting to have Charlie and Liz removed, and Ian knew it. He’d never given up on a case. He’d never been removed from a case. He’d been one hundred percent successful at cases worse than this one.

Ian trudged into his house, not bothering with the lights, even though night had fallen. He lived next door to the Wilsons, and on the other side was the Callahan house. Stephen Callahan, one of several boys just a bit younger than Charlie, had latched on to the boy as a playmate. But tonight, their house was dark. Leo Callahan had managed to secure work at the resort’s work site as a general laborer. The work was hard in this heat, so Ian wasn’t surprised to see all the windows open.

There were no streetlights in Moss Point. Down the road, the rec center had a security light out front, for all the good it did, with the dense foliage between the building and the rest of the village. From where Ian stood, he could see the bugs flying in and out of the light’s glowing circle, thick enough to look like snow swirling on a winter’s evening back home in Virginia.

He’d seen plenty of snow the winter that came to mind. He’d taken off from his uncle’s house. Uncle Ed hadn’t wanted his younger brother’s bad kid, and that winter, Ian had had enough of the abuse. The snow that night had been thick, flying past the streetlights as Ian had walked the town until dawn.

Shaking off the unpleasant memories, Ian looked out at the middle window, just past the small deck. A blurry silhouette walked past the high, small window. Liz was preparing for bed. A moment later, the light winked out.

He turned away, flopped onto his couch and shut his eyes.

Something jerked him awake.

A yell. A loud and insistent dog barking. A glance at his watch told him that two hours had passed. He then looked over at the front window, thinking it odd to see a flickering, orange glow outside.

He leaped up. A house was on fire!