Cry for the Strangers Page 0,105
hands.
“You’re working too hard,” he said. “You’ll blow the fire out as fast as you feed it. Do it slowly.” He worked the bellows easily and a moment later a tiny flame leaped to life, igniting the paper. Brad put the bellows aside and tossed some chips of wood onto the tiny blaze, then some kindling. The fire grew steadily.
“Nothing to it,” he announced.
“Beginner’s luck,” Elaine said. “It was all set to go when you took over. Hand me the coffee.”
She carefully measured out the coffee, then placed the basket inside the aluminum percolator that stood waiting on the stove. “I could learn to do without coffee at this rate,” she complained. “Any idea how long it’s supposed to perk, assuming it ever starts?”
“Till it’s done,” Brad replied just as there was a knock at the kitchen door, followed by a voice.
“Anybody home?” It was Rebecca Palmer, and she didn’t wait for a reply before coming in. She was carrying a thermos.
“I thought you might be able to use this,” she said cheerfully. “The first couple of days we were here I couldn’t get the coffee to perk at all.” She pulled the top off the thermos and the room filled with the aroma of fresh, strong coffee. Elaine poured three cups and immediately took a sip from one of them.
“I may live,” she sighed. Then she looked questioningly at Rebecca. “Did you see Jeff?”
“Jeff? Isn’t he here?”
“I thought I heard him go out just before I got up,” Elaine replied. “I think he was going out to look for wreckage.”
“He’s not on the beach,” Rebecca said.
“Probably went the other way,” Brad suggested. “But I don’t think he’ll find anything.”
Chip Connor found Harney at his desk, sourly going over the report Chip had left there the night before. The chief looked up at him and pushed the file aside.
“You expect me to do anything about that?” he asked.
“It’s our job,” Chip pointed out.
“Anything stolen?”
“Not as far as Glen could tell. But you should see the place,” Chip added. “It’s a mess.”
“Well, that’s the way things go sometimes,” Whalen said, unconcerned. “If nothing was stolen then what’s the big deal?”
“You mean you aren’t going to do anything?” Chip couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“No,” Whalen said heavily, “I’m not.”
Chip’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Harn. It seems like lately you just don’t give a damn what goes on around here.”
“I don’t give a damn about what happens to outsiders,” Whalen corrected. “And I have my reasons.”
“I know about your reasons,” Chip replied. “Granddad told me all about it. But the past is the past, Harney. All that happened years ago. Things change.”
“Some things change. Some don’t.= Some things can be forgiven, and some can’t. I haven’t forgotten what happened to my grandparents. Never will. And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want any outsiders hanging around this town. They’re dangerous.”
“It seems to me that this town’s more dangerous for them than they are for us,” Chip countered.
“That’s the way things are here.” A hatred came into Whalen’s voice, a tone that Chip had never heard before. “When my grandparents first came here it was dangerous for them. The Indians didn’t like what was going on and they did their damnedest to get rid of all the whites. But my grandparents hung on and they learned to live here. My daddy even married a girl who was part Indian, but I guess you know about that, don’t you?”
Chip nodded, wondering what Whalen was getting at.
“Well, the Indians went away after a while, up north, and left us alone. But they always said the place would be no good for strangers. And it hasn’t been. The lumbermen tried to come in here, but it wasn’t any good for them.”
“That was your doing,” Chip said. “First your grandfather’s, then yours.”
“I didn’t renew a lease, that’s all,” Whalen said mildly. “But they should have gone away then. They didn’t. They tried to stay and fish. And it didn’t work.”
“I heard,” Chip said dully.
“Well, it’s been that way ever since,” Whalen said. “Every now and then strangers come, and they always bring trouble. But it’s just like the Indians said. The trouble always flies back in their faces. And you know something, Chip? There’s not a damned thing we can do about it.”
“You don’t even try.”
“Not anymore, no,” Whalen agreed. “I used to but it never did any good. So I live with it. Can’t say it bothers me