Chapter Twelve
“I can’t tell you where I heard this, but I have it on good authority that he had a wife and child in Bristol. Ran off on them. Huge court case now. Don’t be surprised to see a ‘For Sale’ sign slapped on that lighthouse soon.”
THE LATESTowner of the old Deacon place was a tall, thin man with receding brown hair and a chicken. The bedraggled hen was squeezed under his arm, its eyes bright and beady with resentment.
Behind him, in the house, Flynn could see a woman silhouetted against the window as she peered out and then jerked the curtains closed. The sense of “something off” got stronger in the back of Flynn’s brain.
When children were in danger, sometimes only one of the parents could function enough to interact. The other parent was usuallythere,though, even if not exactly present. Maybe she was the child’s stepmother or she was minding other children inside. Or it could be something worse. That didn’t happen often—and less on Ceremony than on the mainland—but the times it had stuck with him.
“I don’t know how he got out,” the man said. He hugged the chicken like a security blanket. “We locked the door. We always do.”
Flynn glanced at Mac, who was already there when Flynn screeched up in a spray of mud and puddle water. It didn’t help. Mac hadn’t been at it long enough and was too intent on doing a good job to pick up on the “off.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t be helped,” Mac said, carefully on script. He hitched his bag up his shoulder. “Can you take us to him, Mr. Harris? Do you remember where it happened?”
“Sure. Of course,” Harris said. “Just let me put Hennibal back in her pen. She got out along with him.”
He turned and loped away through the rain to the small teal-blue barn. They watched as he shoved the hen inside, blocked her escape with his foot, and finally slammed the door in her beak.
That that wasn’t quite right had sunk in even for Mac. He gave Flynn a nervous sidelong look and muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“The boy was in the barn? Should we call someone—”
“Wait,” Flynn said. “Do our jobs first. Then we can report on whatever we find.”
“You sure?” Mac questioned, his eyebrows furrowed together over his eyes. Rain ran down his nose, found a way between the spots, and dripped from the end. “This is—”
Whatever Mac thought it was would have to wait. Mr. Harris slid back over to them. His Hunter boots were clogged with so much muck and silt he looked like he was on stilts.
“Okay. I’m ready to go.”
“Do you need to tell your partner where you’re going?” Flynn asked.
His answer was a blank stare. “No, she’s fine.”
He turned his flashlight on, and a pencil beam of light poked the darkness as he headed into the scrub. Mac patted his belt and looked panicked when he didn’t find what he needed.
“Go on. I’ll grab mine.”
He jogged back to the jeep. Nate waited next to it with a map held over his head as a makeshift shelter. His cigarette cast shadows and glow over his face, and the sight of him, clothes wrinkled and hair rumpled, even the damn cigarette, made Flynn’s balls ache. Somewhere Father Bly probably felt smug without knowing why.
“Is everything okay?” Nate asked.
Flynn reached over and took the cigarette from between Nate’s fingers. He dropped it to the grass and ground it out under his boot. Nate rolled his eyes at him but didn’t complain.
“Don’t know yet.” Flynn popped the boot, grabbed his flashlight, and flicked it on. It was always recharged after use, but better to find out the batteries had gone bad there than out in the weeds. The glare of 1000 lumens made Nate wince and bring the map down as a soggy shield for his eyes. “Stay in the jeep.”
If it turned out for the worst, he didn’t want to confuse things. Nate didn’t pick up on that, though, so Flynn got a dry look over the edge of the map.
“Because I look like the sort of man who goes yomping in the dark,” he said. Then his expression softened. “I hope the child’s okay, and umm… be careful.”
Flynn slammed the back of the jeep shut. “Worried?”
He caught the wry tilt of Nate’s mouth for a second as he swung the beam of the flashlight away from him.
“Don’t want to have to find another bad boy,” Nate said.
Flynn snorted and jogged away, and the light bounced along the path ahead of him in time with his steps. He swept it briefly over the cottage, but the heavy curtains were still tightly pulled.
