CHAPTER FOUR
VICKI JERKED and nearly fell out of her chair. Fear tingling in her every nerve, she looked at the ceiling. “What was that?”
Jamie glanced up, then took a swallow of milk. “A loblolly branch, I imagine.”
“You mean the trees are flying?”
He gazed at her with a half grin curving his lips. “I said ‘branch’ Vicki. And I’m only guessing. If it had been a whole tree, I’d know for sure what kind it is because it would be sticking through a wall of the houseboat. I’m assuming it was a loblolly because the sound started here—” he pointed to the ceiling at the bow and slowly moved his finger to the stern “—and ended there. There’s a thicket of loblolly trees by the front of the boat. My suspicion is that one of them is now missing a fairly good-size limb.”
“It’s so frustrating not being able to see,” Vicki said. “We don’t know what’s going on out there.”
Jamie cupped a hand around his ear, drawing attention to the eerie sounds beyond the houseboat walls. “Oh, I think we have a pretty good idea. Besides, there’s still the door. You can have a look whenever you want.”
“No, thanks. I tried that, remember?”
He smiled. “Look, Vicki, if you’re going to jump at every little sound for the next few hours, you better tie yourself down. It’s only going to get worse.”
He was right. She took a deep breath, then dug into the tasty stew again. After a moment she heard another strange noise, a thumping coming from under the table. Forcing herself to remain composed, she looked to Jamie for an explanation.
He gestured down to a nearly hairless tail curling around a table leg. “It’s Beasley. He’s scratching his ear. I hear that even when there isn’t a storm.”
“Oh.” Vicki leaned over and patted the dog’s head. She expected his gray fur to be soft, but instead, each individual hair felt like a brush bristle. He lolled his head to one side and gazed up at her, his marble-size golden eyes holding something almost like adoration. “I wish I could accept this hurricane as calmly as you do,” she said to the animal.
A gust of wind rattled a metal panel on the window nearest her. Vicki forced herself not to react by concentrating on Beasley. “What kind of dog is he?”
Jamie swiped at a pool of gravy with a thick corner of bread. “Nobody knows. He wandered up the causeway three years ago. I don’t know where he came from or why he decided to stay. But he did. In all that time I’ve never spoken about his questionable parentage. I can’t see making a creature feel bad over something that was none of his doing.”
An image of her parents flashed through Vicki’s mind. Her drab, defeated mother, whose grease-stained apron symbolized the lack of attention she gave all the details of her existence. Her indolent father, who complained of aches and pains in every part of his body while he sat in a patched recliner watching an ancient television. Nils Sorenson blamed government taxes for his inability to buy a new TV. He never once considered that he might be able to save enough money to buy a nice set if he worked as hard on the farm as he did making excuses.
Jamie was right. People couldn’t change their origins. Remembering the way he’d looked thirteen years ago, she figured he’d experienced that frustrating fact of life almost as much as she had. But maybe Jamie had been lucky enough to have parents who’d encouraged him emotionally if not financially.
Jamie stood and picked up his plate. “Yep, Beasley’s story is pretty much the way life is here on Pintail Point,” he said.
“Why is that?”
He stacked her empty plate on top of his. “On any given day, I never know what or who is going to wander down the causeway. Or how long they’re going to stay.”
Vicki knew exactly how long she was staying on Pintail. Well, maybe not the precise hour she would leave, but she knew that the minute the wind stopped howling and the water receded from the causeway, she would get into her rented car, the divorce papers signed and tucked safely into her briefcase, and head back to Norfolk, where she’d catch the next plane to Fort Lauderdale. With a little luck that would happen before Graham became more impatient with her absence.
Still, if she had to endure a hurricane, she could do far worse than to be with Jamie Malone. He certainly had a calming effect in the midst of a meteorological nightmare.
They finished the dishes quickly, using hot water sparingly so there would be enough left for a couple of showers. When the supper utensils were put away, Jamie went to the living room and picked up the telephone. He gave Vicki an I-told-you-so look. “Future husband number two won’t be able to reach you tonight.”
What should have been good news was suddenly alarming. If Graham couldn’t reach her here, he would probably call information for the number of the Ramada Hotel. The phones might not be out in Norfolk, and he’d discover that she wasn’t at the hotel and in fact, hadn’t even registered. She’d have to come up with a logical explanation for her supposed change in plans… Well, she thought, she could avoid the problem by contacting Graham before he tried to contact her. A good offense was always the best defense.
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asked Jamie.
“Nope. I have a car phone in the truck, but again, that involves going outside.”
“You must have a computer. I could send an e-mail.”
“I have a laptop that I hook up to—” he pointed to the telephone “—that line.”
Vicki frowned. “Great.”
“Sorry, Vicki, but until Imogene’s done with us, we’re not much better off than pioneers.”
Okay, there wouldn’t be a phone call to Graham tonight, and Vicki resigned herself to inventing a good alibi for her absence at the hotel. While she struggled to formulate a plan, Jamie worked the dials of a battery-operated radio he’d brought to the coffee table, along with a half-dozen of the scented candles. Vicki sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Jamie and said, “I’m impressed. You’ve reached the outside world.”
He nodded. “Yep. It’s an Elizabeth City station, about twenty miles from here.”
As they listened to the broadcast, Jamie’s expression grew serious. “You’re interpreting all this as bad news, too,” she said.
“Predictable, anyway. It could get rough now. The storm’s just two hours from landfall.”
The wind howled outside. Not a steady groaning, but a crescendo of wails and moans that made Vicki think of prowling wolves. “I think it already has gotten rough.”
He managed a tight smile before scanning the four corners of the room with alert eyes. “Like I said, we’ll be all right. I wish I’d done more to protect the shed, though.”
It was the second time he’d mentioned the building a few yards from the houseboat. “What’s in there that you’re so worried about?”
He shrugged off the question with an ambiguous answer. “Just personal items, supplies, tools, things I use in my work.”
Remembering the detective saying that Jamie was an artist, Vicki asked what he did for a living.
“I make things,” he said.
“What things?”
“Wooden objects, mostly. When you were in the Bayberry Cove Kettle, did you see any of those little triangles with all the holes and pegs in them?”
“Do you mean the leapfrog puzzles on the counter?”
“Yeah. I make those,” Jamie said. “You can find them all over town. The local businesses put their names on the triangles. I guess they use it for promotions. There are some in the Kettle, the supermarket, even in pew boxes next to hymnals at the