The Cypress House (24 page)

    "There
any reason I shouldn't walk up the road with that cute little box, show it to
the law, and tell them what I've seen? "

    "Where
is the box?"

    "That
ain't the question, honey."

    "It's
my
question. Where is the box?"

    He
grinned at her and shook his head.

    It
went quiet again. They listened to the water break on the beach, and Arlen
finished his cigarette and put it out under his toe.

    "I've
told you all I care to tell you," she said. "This isn't a game. My
brother will die. He's the same age as Paul, almost. Ten months older."

    "And
he's almost out," Arlen said. "How do you know that? "

    "I
only look ignorant, Miss Cady. Solomon told you fourteen days left. I suspect
he meant until your brother gets out. Am I right?"

    Her
silence told him that he was.

    "So
he'll come back," Arlen said. "That's your idea at least. Then
what?"

    "I've
got a plan."

    "Many
of the dead people I've known did."

    "You've
such an encouraging touch."

    "Is
that what you need? Encouragement?"

    "What
I need," she said, "is to be left alone again."

    "Bullshit.
Last thing in the world you want is to be left alone. You could've sent us off
days ago, but you didn't. You let us linger."

    She
was quiet.

    "Well,"
he said, "I suppose I'll have to do some thinking." "What have
you done with that box?" she said.

    "It's
in a place of my control. Don't get any bright ideas about having Wade hang me
up by my toenails to find out where."

    "I
wouldn't do that."

    "You'd
do damn near anything you
decide
to do," he said. "That much
has been made clear."

    She
went quiet again, and he realized that she was crying. Hardly making a sound,
but her cheeks were damp and her breathing unsteady.

    "Like
I said," he told her, the edge dulling from his voice, "I've got my
own decisions to make."

    They
sat there for a long time in the silent dark, and eventually he stepped away
from the railing and went to the door and held it open. She hesitated but then
rose and walked inside. Her body passed close to him, almost brushing him, and
he could smell her hair, clean and with some hint of flowers.

    She
turned to him, still standing very close, her chest inches from his, and said,
"So what do you expect me to do? Go upstairs and wait for you to
think?"

    "You
can do that," he said, "or you can kill me while I sleep. Let me know
what you decide."

    She
came into his room just before dawn. He'd finally found sleep; the flask still
lay in his hand, held against his side the way a child holds a dear toy. He
wasn't sure what sound stirred him or even if one had. He just opened his eyes
and she was there, the white gown almost all that showed of her in the dark.
The sky hadn't begun to lighten yet, but he knew it must be close to morning.
For a moment he didn't speak, just looked at her and then dropped his eyes to
her hands, thinking of the pistols. Her hands were empty.

    "You
don't believe that Wade's intimidation is enough to keep me here," she
said. "Enough to keep me working for him. That's what you said."

    He
didn't answer, just pushed up in bed. He was bare-chested, and the room that
always felt too warm now seemed cool.

    "You
asked why he didn't just run us off and take the place over for himself,"
she said. "Do you know how much I would love to have him do that? I'd
give
him the property, sign it over to him without a dime in return. That's
not enough for him, though. Not at this point. This family has been connected
to him for too long. We're either working for him or we're working against him.
That's how he sees it at least. The minute I try to leave this place, even if I
want nothing more than peace, he will view it as a threat. And I can tell you
something about how he handles threats."

    She
went quiet for a moment, and when she continued her voice was lower, more
controlled.

    "Solomon's
had help at the Cypress House for years. Since not long after my father built
it. My father thought he was financially secure and found out he wasn't. He
lost his savings, and he couldn't make any money here. It was a foolish idea
from the start. This place is too far from anywhere to make a success. So what
if you can catch fish? You can catch fish anywhere."

    Her
face was beginning to take shape in the gloom.

    "I
stayed in Savannah when they moved here. My brother was just a boy, so he went
along, but I was grown and I stayed there. They'd been down for only a few
years before my mother died. Drowned just out from the beach."

    Arlen
remembered the way his mother had looked at the end, body and mind ravaged by
fever, her eyes so far from the woman he'd known that he couldn't look into
them.

    "My
father was devastated, and he needed help with my brother. I came down for a
time, stayed for just over a year. When the lumber company in High Town went
under, they killed off the railroad spur and this place was truly isolated. I
couldn't stand it anymore, and I left. I hated it here.
Hated
it. I
moved back to Savannah. I was there for five years."

    She
paused, and he was about to ask why she'd returned, but something told him not
to speak. Just let her talk.

    "During
that time my father worked with Wade. After Prohibition ended, things got
worse. The people involved were more ruthless, my father's role more important.
He was scared of it, then. After getting in so deeply, he decided he was
scared. He began writing me letters, telling me that I needed to help him
convince Owen to come and live with me in Georgia, that Owen couldn't stay in
this place anymore. I tried to talk to my brother, and I was ignored. Then he
was arrested."

    A
soft breeze slid in through the open window and flattened the sheet against
Arlen's thigh.

    "I
left Savannah and came back. Thinking" — her voice hitched slightly —
"that I would save them."

    In
his room at the far end of the hall, Paul coughed and muttered. It brought
Rebecca up, held her silent. The moon painted her shadow on the wall.

    "My
father was terribly depressed. Near suicidal. He blamed himself for Owen's
situation, and he felt trapped here. He said anyone who betrayed Solomon Wade
paid for it. That he'd follow you, find you no matter how long it took, and
kill you. I didn't believe that."

    This
time she was quiet much longer.

    Arlen
said, "Tell me the rest. I don't care how hard it is. You've got to tell
me the rest."

    "It
was my idea," she said finally, her voice unsteady now. "My father
was willing to try, but it was my idea. He kept talking about how the only way
you escaped Solomon was through death. I told him we'd use that. He was going
to take the boat out and sink it. Fake his death. He would leave, go to a place
we'd agreed upon, but I'd have to stay for a while. For it to fool Wade, I
would have to stay here at least long enough to make it look like we hadn't
run. I'd sell the inn, and when my brother was released, there'd be no reason
for him to return here. It wouldn't concern anyone when we decided to leave
Corridor County once my father was dead. It would seem logical."

    "Your
father actually did drown, though," he said. "That's what Thomas
Barrett told me. So did he drown trying to scuttle the boat?"

    "You
don't drown with your throat cut."

    He
was silent for a time, and then he said, "No, you don't. How can you be
sure that's what happened, though?"

    "I
saw the body. Who do you think was supposed to get him off the boat before he
sank it?"

    "You
didn't tell anyone."

    "You
have trouble believing that," she said. "I'm sure you've never seen
your own father with his throat cut because of the way you handled a
situation."

    
No,
not with his throat cut,
Arlen thought
. I saw my father spilling blood
into the dust from a bullet, though, and you better believe it was because of
the way I handled the situation. Difference was, I was right. Edwin Main might
have been corrupt, but I did what was right. My father was dangerous. Insane
.

    "By
the time I got back here," she said when he didn't respond, "Solomon
Wade was waiting. His message was simple: either I did what was asked, or my
brother would end up like my father."

    Another
sound from Paul's room, this time a garbled sort of cry. Talking in his sleep.
Trapped in a nightmare.

    "Is
your brother aware of any of this?"

    "No.
How could I tell him while he was in prison?"

    "He
knows your father is dead, though."

    "Yes.
But he believes that he drowned."

    "And
you believe he'll be killed if you leave or seek help."

    "I
think that's obvious." She shifted her weight, the floor creaking beneath
her, and said, "You want to know why Solomon Wade killed my father? It's
not just because what he knew made him a threat. I don't think it had anything
to do with that, really. It was the idea that he thought he could slip out of
Wade's control. The idea that he thought Wade had anything but total power over
him."

    It
went quiet again, and the morning wind worked through the window and swirled
her gown around her feet.

    "You
wanted to know my reasons," she said. "You wanted to know why I
haven't gone to someone for help. Said you couldn't believe a woman like me
would be intimidated into such an agreement with Solomon Wade."

    She
took a step closer to him, so he could see her face clearly, and said, "Do
you believe it now?"

    He
nodded. "You've been waiting for him to get out. Waiting for Owen."

    "Yes."

    "He's
almost out. He'll be coming back."

    "Yes."

    "And
then?"

    She
wet her lips and broke eye contact.

    "It
would seem to me," he said, "whatever plan you've got, it's going to
need to be a damn good one."

    "We'll
be leaving," she said.

    "You
don't think Wade's expecting that?"

    "I
know that he is."

    Arlen
let his silence speak for him.

    "Well,
what do you propose ?" she said. "Stay ? Live the rest of our lives
with a gun to our heads?"

    "No,
I wouldn't propose that. But you'd better not make a mistake."

    "After
the last six months of my life," she said, "surely you don't really
believe you need to explain that to me."

    He
gave that a nod.

    "Well,
there you are," she said. "My reasons. You said you had your own
decision to make. You can make it with those in your mind."

    He
was waiting for more, expecting her to say something else, to implore him
toward silence or trust, but instead she turned and walked almost soundlessly
across the floor, opened the door, and slipped back out of the room.

    The
next morning they finished the generator shed and began work on the dock, and
Arlen's eyes wandered constantly, looking for Solomon Wade or Sheriff Tolliver
or Tate McGrath and his sons. No one came. Paul sensed his distraction and
asked after it, and Arlen dismissed it as a headache. He had a bandage on his
hand from Rebecca's bite, but Paul didn't inquire about that.

    She'd
asked nothing of him. Told him her story and slipped back out of the room. What
she wanted, evidently, was only his silence. She wanted her fourteen — now
thirteen — days to wait until her brother's release. No other help had been
requested, no other plan shared.