Cry for the Strangers Page 0,120

are ghosts on the beach, and he’s right. I’ve seen them. They killed Mommy and they killed Mr. Horton and they’ll kill everybody else too.”

Elaine half-rose from her chair, intent on calming the child, but Brad signaled her to stay where she was. “Ghosts? What kind of ghosts.”

“Indians,” Missy said sulkily. “Mr. Riley told us they used to kill people on the beach, and sometimes they come back and do it some more. And I’ve seen them. I saw them the day Mr. Riley told us about them, and I saw them the night Mr. Horton got killed, and I saw them last right.” As she spoke the last words Missy fled sobbing from the table. Elaine immediately followed her.

Robby seemed unperturbed by Missy’s outburst. He picked his sandwich up again, took a big bite, and munched on it thoughtfully. Brad watched the boy eat, sure that he was turning something over in his mind. He was right, for Robby suddenly put the sandwich down again.

“Maybe she really does see things,” Robby suggested hesitantly.

“Could be,” Brad offered.

“I mean, the beach is a weird place during the storms.”

“Oh?” Brad could feel something coming and wanted it to come from Robby undisturbed, uninfluenced by his own feelings.

“I like the storms,” Robby went on, “but it’s funny. I can’t really remember what happens when I’m on the beach. It used to be fun, before all the bad things started happening. It was like I was all alone in the world, and it felt good. Even though it was raining real hard, I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything, except inside myself.” His brows knotted in sudden puzzlement.

“What is it?” Brad prompted him.

“It’s funny,” Robby said. “I can remember how I felt but I can’t remember what I did. I mean, I can’t remember going anyplace or doing anything, but I guess I must have.” His voice dropped, and he seemed about to cry. “I wish I hadn’t gone out last night. If I hadn’t nothing would have happened.”

“Robby,” Brad assured him, “it isn’t your fault.”

But Robby looked unconvinced.

Glen Palmer came back to the Randalls’ in the middle of the afternoon, but when Brad asked him how the talk with Whalen had gone he was uncommunicative.

“I’m going to go up to the cabin,” he said. “Is it all right if I leave the kids here?”

“Of course,” Elaine agreed, watching him worriedly. “But wouldn’t you like one of us to go with you?”

“I’d rather go by myself. I have some thinking to do and I think I can do it best there.”

Brad nodded understandingly and accompanied Glen to the door. When he was sure they were out of range of the children he put his hand on Brad’s shoulder and spoke softly.

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think that whoever killed Rebecca and Jeff knew what they were doing.”

Glen paled slightly and stared blankly at Brad.

“I had a talk with Robby a little while ago,” Brad explained. “He doesn’t remember what he did on the beach last night. He only remembers feeling good.”

“What does that mean?” Glen asked dully.

“Well, whatever happens to Robby must be happening to someone else. But with the opposite effect: Robby feels good, someone else goes crazy. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Jeff and Rebecca just happened to be there.” In his own mind Brad had dismissed Missy’s story as childish imagination, not worth mentioning.

“Oh, God,” Glen groaned. “It all seems so—so futile!”

“I know,” Brad replied sympathetically. “But we’ll find out what’s happening, and we’ll stop it.”

“I wonder,” Glen said. “I wonder if it really even matters anymore.” He started out onto the beach but Brad called him back.

“Try to get back before dark, will you? Let’s not have anything else happening.”

“Okay,” Glen agreed. Then he turned and started up the beach, his shoulders slumped, his steps slow, uncertain. A few moments later, he disappeared around the corner of the house, and Brad stopped watching. While Glen walked and thought, Brad would work.

Chip Connor arrived at the Randalls’ at five thirty that afternoon and hesitated nervously before knocking at the front door. When Elaine opened it a few seconds later she found Chip twisting his hat in his hands and looking very upset.

“Chip!” she said warmly. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” Chip replied automatically. “Is your husband here?”

“Yes, of course,” Elaine said, her smile fading. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. But I need to talk to Brad.”

“He’s in the dining room. Come on.”

Brad was at the dining-room table surrounded by