Cry for the Strangers Page 0,77

felt the lethargy sink in.

And then the wreck began to fade from his vision. At first he thought it was because he was drifting out on the tide, but then he knew it was something else. Silently, he apologized to Jeff for what had happened, then gave in to the sea. His eyes closed and the storm suddenly was no longer threatening. Now it was lulling him, rocking him gently to sleep. He looked forward to the sleep, though he knew he would never wake up. …

The ball of fire rising from the sea didn’t register on Jeff immediately. It wasn’t until the roar of the explosion hit him seconds later that he realized what had happened. By then the flames had become a fiery beacon in the mouth of the harbor, an inferno of glowing red intertwined with veins of oily black smoke. Then the other fuel tank blew and a second ball of fire rose into the night sky. Jeff Horton, his mind numb with shock, began crying softly, his tears mixing with the rain and salt spray.

Glen Palmer didn’t see the first explosion, but when the shock wave hit the old house on the beach he leaped to his feet and ran to a window. He saw the red glow immediately and was staring at it when the second explosion ripped through the night. He grabbed his flashlight and charged out of the house, running along the beach toward the wharf. It wasn’t until he’d reached the small point that separated Sod Beach from the short stretch of rocky coast that he realized the explosion had not been at the wharf. It was out in the harbor, far out. And then he knew. A boat had gone on the rocks.

He dashed across the long sand spit that formed the northern arm of the bay and arrived at the wharf just as Merle Glind and Chip Connor stepped out onto the porch of the inn. He started toward them, but as he glanced out the length of the wharf to the fire far beyond, he realized someone was there.

Framed against the inferno, the black silhouette of a man stood quietly, almost sadly, staring out to sea. Glen Palmer changed his mind. Instead of going to the inn, he hurried out onto the wharf.

From his window Harney Whalen gazed out on the fire burning brightly in the harbor.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” he said softly to himself. “Somebody’s sure got themselves in a peck of trouble tonight.”

He went to his bedroom, shed his robe, and began dressing in a clean uniform. He didn’t hurry—he’d lived in Clark’s Harbor long enough to know that no matter what had happened out there, there wasn’t much he could do about it tonight. Not tonight, and not tomorrow.

Not until the storm broke.

Sometimes it seemed to Harney Whalen that in Clark’s Harbor the storms never broke.

He was about to leave the house when the telephone rang. He didn’t bother to go back. He already knew why it was ringing.

17

Glen Palmer reached out and touched Jeff Horton on the shoulder. Jeff turned, and Glen recoiled slightly from the vacant look in the young man’s eyes and the dazed expression that had wiped all traces of emotion from his face.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Jeff blinked twice and his mouth worked spasmodically. “My brother—” he said. “Max—the boat …” The reality of it seemed to hit him then like a physical force, and he sank slowly to his knees and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the sobs that wracked his body.

Glen bit his lip nervously, uncertain what to do. He thought he probably should go to the inn and ask Merle Glind to report what had happened, but he didn’t want to leave the grieving young man alone. Then he heard the sound of running feet pounding on the wharf. There was no need to go to the inn.

He knelt next to Jeff and squeezed his shoulder.

“Is it your boat out there?”

Jeff nodded, unable to speak.

“And your brother… ?”

Jeff looked up then, and the slackness in his face had been replaced by a grimace of confusion and pain.

“He was only going to batten down and grab a couple of charts—” Jeff tried to explain. “He said he’d be right back. But he didn’t come back—” Sobs overtook him and he leaned heavily against Glen, his body heaving.

“Glen?” The voice was tentative, and Glen looked up to see Chip Connor standing over him. “I thought it was