Charlie St. Cloud Part 11

"You're looking lovely, Mrs. Phipps," Charlie said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. I guess the shock has worn off, just like you said it would."

Charlie motioned to his brother to stand up out of respect. "Mrs. Phipps, this is my brother, Sam."

"How do you do?"

"Hi," Sam said. "Nice hat."

She tilted her head. "I wore this on the day my sweet Walter asked me to marry him." She was smiling. "You know, I just hated that old black dress they stuck me in at the funeral home. Don't know why my daughter picked it out of the closet. It's hardly how I want to look when I see my husband again."

Charlie knew she was ready, and sure enough she said, "I just wanted to stop by and say farewell. It's time for me to go. He's waiting for me." She reached out with her s.h.i.+mmering hand. "Good-bye and thank you."

"Good luck," Charlie said.

"Bye," Sam added.

Mrs. Phipps walked away and was almost transparent by the time she reached the end of the dock. Then a horn hooted on the water. Joe was steering his boat into the cove.

"Ahoy," he said. He was wearing a Bruins cap turned backward, a red checked s.h.i.+rt, and jeans. "Top of the morning to you."

Charlie waved, then mumbled to his little brother, "Gotta go."

"See you at sundown," Sam said, scooping up Oscar.

Charlie jumped onto the boat, and Joe pushed forward on the throttle. He aimed for the wharf across the harbor. "Look at you!" Joe said. "You're all happy today."

"What're you talking about?"

"You've got a bounce in your step. A grin on your face. Tell the truth. You get laid last night?"

"No comment."

"You snake! What's her name?" He spun the steering wheel hard, narrowly avoiding a moored catamaran.

Charlie leaned into the wind and shook his head. He zipped the front of his navy fleece. Tess was his secret, and he was going to hold on to it as long as he could. The last thing he needed was Joe meddling or making a play for her himself. "Nice day, huh?"

"Nice day, schmice day. Come on, Chucky Love! Tell me everything. Who is she? Where did you meet her?"

"You over or under on the Pats today?" Charlie said.

"The truth will come out," Joe said, idling the engine and letting the boat drift toward the wharf. The dock was already crowded with other vessels, and he deftly steered into an open slot. Charlie climbed out, tied up, and headed for the Driftwood, a small wood-frame shack with peeling red paint. Joe caught up with him, and the two stepped through the screen door.

Most of the little tables were already crowded with townies. Fish netting and harpoons dangled from the ceiling. A lacquered sand shark grimaced from one wall at a barracuda over the kitchen door, and Charlie still smiled at the urn above the cash register with a gold plaque that said: ASHES OF PROBLEM CUSTOMERS. ASHES OF PROBLEM CUSTOMERS.

Hoddy Snow, the harbormaster, was huddled in the back by the jukebox with his two deputies. Tink and a crew of sailors sat at their regular table in the front. Charlie approached Bony and his gang, took an empty seat, and asked, "What's going on?"

"Big news in the police blotter," one of the guys said. "Check this out. 'Midnight. Friday. A moan was heard from a bush on Rose Avenue. One squad car responded. Investigation turned up nothing.'"

"I bet it was Bony and his girlfriend," Charlie laughed.

"I wish," Bony said, "but if you ever hear me moaning in the bushes, you better call an ambulance."

Charlie saw Hoddy stand up in the corner. "Can I have your attention, fellas?" he said in an urgent voice. He was a hulking man, and his s.h.i.+ny Grecian Formula hair was combed neatly in law-enforcement style. He wore a snug polo s.h.i.+rt with his name and t.i.tle sewn in block letters over his heart. "Your attention please." The room fell silent. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but we've got a serious situation and we need everyone's help."

Hoddy definitely had a way with drama. A few years ago, he had appeared in an episode of Unsolved Mysteries Unsolved Mysteries to talk about the notorious fifty-four-year-old Atherton murder. And when Tucker Goodwin pulled up a dead body snagged in a lobster trap not long ago, Hoddy had a field day with the Boston papers and TV stations. to talk about the notorious fifty-four-year-old Atherton murder. And when Tucker Goodwin pulled up a dead body snagged in a lobster trap not long ago, Hoddy had a field day with the Boston papers and TV stations.

"It's a real bad situation," he was saying.

"Someone skinny-dipping in the harbor without a license?" Bony said.

"Knock it off," Hoddy said. "We just got a call from the Coast Guard in Gloucester. They want our help putting together a search. A fisherman picked up a life ring and a rudder floating off Halibut Point. They think it's from Marblehead."

"What boat?" Charlie said. "Whose is it?"

Hoddy's eyes narrowed. His voice choked up for a moment, and there was no doubting his seriousness. "It's Querencia Querencia," he said. "Tess Carroll's boat is missing."

EIGHTEEN.

BOBO GALLOPED, LIKE A DOG POSSESSED, DOWN Devereux Beach. Devereux Beach.

Tess stood on the cool sand and called out to him but he ignored her, charging ahead, splas.h.i.+ng through the surf. From the moment she had opened the door at dawn, he had bolted into the street and taken off without her. He was old, deaf, and arthritic, but they still ran together every Sunday morning, cutting through the quiet streets of the old town, loping along the sh.o.r.e, looping around the Neck, and always finis.h.i.+ng in the cemetery. Normally, he stayed on the leash, lumbering along beside her, barking at the Blaneys' cats on Merritt Street and nosing around the trash cans behind the s.h.i.+pyard Galley. But not today. He was in some kind of hurry.

Tess felt the wind rising off the ocean as she watched Bobo bound up to a fisherman sitting on a lawn chair. He was about 500 feet away, but she could tell it was Dubby Bartlett with his prized casting poles planted in the sand, lines spinning out into the surf. He always fished there Sunday mornings while his wife was in church praying for them both.

"Dubby!" she called out. "Hold on to Bobo! I need to get him on the leash." He petted the dog, then looked up and down the sh.o.r.e, like he was expecting her to be right behind.

"Dubby!" she shouted again. "Over here!"

The wind was blowing pretty hard, sending up a spray of sand, and Tess's voice must have gotten lost in the swirl. Bobo jumped up on him, nuzzled his face, barked, then took off again. For a moment, Dubby watched the dog go, then he went back to his reels.

Tess gave chase again, shouting for the retriever to stop. She was getting angrier. What on earth had gotten into him? He was like a puppy again, totally uncontrollable, prancing along the sh.o.r.e, covering another mile without stopping.

"Bobo!" she yelled. "Come back here right now!" But the dog trotted along the trail that ended on the rocky banks of Waterside cove and ran up the sloping embankment through the back gates of the cemetery.

Tess lost sight of him but knew he was heading to the top of the hill speckled with tombstones. Strolling now between rows of markers, she saw Midge Sumner across the lawn. She was one of her mom's dear friends, bundled in her old purple parka, standing on a stepladder, cleaning the life-size statue of her sister Madge, who'd died of pneumonia as a child. Midge came every weekend to wash Madge's plaster ears with Q-tips and scrub her body with sandalwood soap.

Midge was too busy scouring to notice her, so Tess kept heading toward her dad's grave, where she knew Bobo would be sitting by the headstone.

"You're a bad dog!" she said. "What the heck has gotten into you?" Bobo rolled over and scratched his back in the gra.s.s. "Don't think you can charm your way out of this," she said. "I'm really mad. That was crazy!" She sat down beside him and ignored his yelps.

Instead, she looked out on the harbor and was amazed by the strange brilliance of the day. The blue of the ocean seemed more vivid than ever, and the sails on the boats shone like mirrors against the sun. Querencia' Querencia's mooring was blocked by a gorgeous Dijkstra forty-two-meter schooner that had probably come into the harbor to pick up gear from Doyle Sails. Tess inhaled the unmistakable odor of herring bait from the lobster traps stacked on the wharf. Even her sense of smell was more acute today, and the fishy fragrance reminded her of Dad coming home every night from the sea. Then she heard laughter and shouting behind her. She turned and saw a beagle sprint from the woods, chased by a gangly boy in jeans and a gray sweats.h.i.+rt.

"I'm going to get you!" the kid was yelling, his Red Sox cap askew on the dark curls spilling from its brim.

Tess stood up and called out, "Hey! You need a hand?"

The boy saw her and stopped running. A puzzled expression crossed his freckled face, and he approached slowly. His beagle was growling at Bobo, and the kid asked softly, "Does he bite?"

"No," she said. "He's an old guy. Lost most of his teeth."

The kid dropped his mitt, kneeled down, and gave the retriever a big scratch on the belly. Then he looked up at Tess with curious eyes.

"He likes that," she said. But the boy didn't answer. He just stared.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? n.o.body looks at someone like you're looking at me and it's nothing."

"You can see me?"

"Of course I can."

"But that's impossible."

Tess a.s.sumed the kid was playing a game. "Are you invisible or something?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That's pretty cool. What's your secret?"

Sam didn't answer. The boy and his beagle just stared. It was beginning to unnerve her a little. Then, after a long moment, he finally said, "What's your story? When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Tess said. "My dad's buried here. So are my grandparents and great-grandparents."

"That makes sense," Sam said, picking up his glove and ball. "You feeling all right?"

"Definitely," Tess said. "Hey, you play for Marblehead?"

"Obviously not anymore." There was an awkward silence. Then he said, "You're Tess, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"I heard about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, from Charlie," he said. Oscar barked at the sound of his name.

"Charlie?"

"He'd kill me for saying anything. Swear you won't tell."

"Cross my heart." She smiled.

"He hasn't sucked face with anyone in a really long time," Sam said. "I think he likes you."

Tess felt a twinge of embarra.s.sment. "Well, I like him too." Her cheeks felt warm from blus.h.i.+ng. "You know where I can find him right now? Is he home?"

"Did he know you were coming?"

"No. I didn't tell him."

"What else didn't you tell him?" Sam said. His eyes were locked on.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean." The kid was starting to get to her again. It's those video games, It's those video games, she thought. she thought. It'll ruin them all. It'll ruin them all. "Do me a favor, okay? Give Charlie a message?" "Do me a favor, okay? Give Charlie a message?"

"Sure."

"Let him know I came by."

"Will do."

The kid threw his ball and the beagle took off after it. "Hey, Tess," he said. "You play catch?"

"Sure."

"You throw like a girl?"

"Not on your life."

"Then come back tonight. Charlie's always here at sundown. See that forest over there? The big blue spruce?"

"Yes."

"Follow the trail on the other side of the old log."

"And then what?"

"You'll find us in the clearing. We'll throw the ball around."

"Sounds fun," she said. "I'll see you later." She took a few steps down the hill. She was liking the thought of playing catch with Charlie and the boy. Then she spun around, and said, "Hey, kid, what's your name?"

He hesitated for an instant before he answered. "I'm Sam. Sam St. Cloud."

NINETEEN.