第 40 页

The banging came again. Harder. Thud. Thud. "Lissa!""I'm coming." The words eked from her mouth in a mangled, morning-harsh slur. At the door, she paused to rub her tired, aching eyes, knowing they were still puffy and red from a restless night. Plastering a smile on her face, she opened the door.

Minerva, Jim, and Ed Warbass were standing on her porch.

Tess gasped. It was all a mistake. She had a flash of hope so strong it left her breathless. Then she looked in Ed's solemn eyes, and the hope vanished.

Minerva thrust a shotgun at Tess. "I found this in the barn last night."Tess shoved a tangled lock of hair from her eyes. "Oh." She eyed the long, ugly weapon. "Nice.""It's Benjamin and Harvey's gun?" "Our boys," Jim interjected.

Tess looked back and forth between Minerva and Jim. She could tell something was going on?something important?but frankly she was tired as hell and she'd cried half the night and she didn't feel like hearing about the boys' gun. "Look, Minerva, I?"Minerva dismissed her protests with an impatient wave. "After you left yesterday, I kept thinking about how much you'd changed lately, about how Jack and even the girls had changed, and I wanted to help. Long after everyone else had gone to bed, I lay awake, tossing and turning. I kept thinking I knew something, something important, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I'd just about given up when it came to me.

"I remembered that the boys had loaned a gun to Joe and Kie Nuanna. For some reason that stuck with me. I kept thinking, the gun, the gun. I got up and put on my robe and wandered through the dark house. Before I knew it, I was in the barn, looking for that darn gun. When I found it?and saw the blotches on the stock?everything slipped into place, and I remembered the missing shot pouch."Minerva sidled past Tess and took a seat at the kitchen table. Ed and Jim followed. Then they all stared up at her as if waiting for her reaction to the startling bit of information that a shot pouch was missing.

Minerva set the gun on the table, then looked up at Tess. "I can tell you're trying to figure out why we're here, babbling about a lost pouch. It took me awhile to make sense of all the pieces, too. But just bear with me, okay? I want you to really understand everything." Tess nodded. "Okay.""Joe and Kie had borrowed our gun before; it was nothing particularly noteworthy. That's why I didn't think of it before. Once or twice they'd even brought us back some game. They knew I'd made that pouch for the boys for Christmas. The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed that they didn't apologize for losing it. Then I figured out the reason." She gave Tess a meaningful look.

"They didn't want to admit they'd lost it, because they knew where they'd lost it. The minute I realized that, I sent for Ed, and sure enough, he said I was onto something. Especially after he saw the gun."Tess looked at the gun again, only this time she really looked. Ugly blackish splotches covered the wooden stock. A tingling thread of anticipation crept through her body.

"It's blood," Jim said quietly. "The only way you'd get blood on the stock is if you used the gun as a ... club."Suddenly it all made sense. Tess's heart lurched against her ribcage and pounded. She lowered herself slowly onto a chair. In her lap, her hands started to shake with excitement. "When did the boys borrow the gun?"Minerva looked steadily into her eyes. "Wednesday. The day the Dwyers were killed." "Oh my God."Ed scooted closer to the table. His elbows thumped on the tabletop. "I can't tell if it's human blood on the gun, but I'll bet it is. I'll have to send it over to a chemist in Victoria."Tess understood instantly why the missing shot pouch was so important. She looked up into Ed's earnest eyes and asked quietly, "Did you find the pouch?""I can't comment on the evidence in an ongoing investigation." A shadow of a smile moved across his face. "But I will say I found some mighty interesting things in the Dwyers' root cellar."Tess sagged with relief. "Will you let Jack go now?"Ed gave her an apologetic smile. "It isn't that easy, Miz Rafferty. He doesn't want to get out. He thinks he did it, and he's scared to death he's gonna hurt someone else." "He didn't do it."Ed laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "That's a stubborn man you married. He isn't going anywhere until he's damn certain he isn't a murderer.""So what do we do?" Tess asked. Ed frowned. "Well, I'll run on down to the Kanaka camp and see if Joe and Kie are around. If they are, I'll arrest them. Maybe that'll snap Jack out of it.""Why would the boys kill them folks?" Jim asked. "Was it just a robbery that got out of hand?""That's the saddest part of all," Ed said solemnly. "The things stolen didn't add up to spit moneywise. Somebody killed those good people for a pocketwatch that Henry would have given away without a second thought." "What can we do?" Tess asked. "Well, another meeting wouldn't hurt. Now we can give folks something specific to go on. Maybe someone saw Joe or Kie on Wednesday and didn't think a thing about it.""I could talk to the townspeople," Tess said. "Make a personal appeal for help from one neighbor to another."A pained expression crossed Ed's face. "That might not be such a good idea. The islanders don't trust him ... or you." He winced, as if every word was painful. "They may not be too eager to help you get Jack out of jail."Tess frowned. Ed was right, of course. Joe and Kie were more trusted on the island than Jack Rafferty. But she'd be damned if she'd let small town prejudices stop her. She looked right at Ed. "I'll convince them to help us."Ed gave her a slow, grudging smile. "Why do I get the feeling the islanders don't have a chance?"Tess grinned for the first time since Jack left. God, it felt good to do something besides sit around and wait. "Because they don't."The walls were closing in on him. Jack's breathing echoed jarringly in the darkened cell. He felt like an animal, caged and alone.

Think, damn it. Remember!

He paced back and forth, counting the steps from one end of the cell to the other. Behind his back, his hands were clasped in a sweaty knot. The clicking of his boot-heels on the dirty wooden floor sounded obscenely loud in the otherwise deadly silence.

Nothing. His mind was a huge, aching blank. He had no idea where he'd gone during the blackout, what he'd done. Images and thoughts spiraled through his mind. The blood on his shirt, the size of his boots, the number of nails in the sole. Johnny's dead, accusing eyes. The nearest he could tell, he'd been blacked out for nearly ten hours, maybe more. Long enough.

He went to the tiny window and clutched the iron bars. His whole body was trembling with the effort it took to try to remember. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cool metal.

Lissa. Her name came to him like a cool taste of water on a hot summer's day. His breath released in a tired sigh. Sweet Christ, he missed her.

You deserve to miss her. Turning wearily away from the bars, he started pacing again.

"Hey, mate. You okay?"

Jack turned, surprised by the jolt of relief he felt at hearing a human voice. He tried to smile at the jailer, and failed. "I'm fine. Thanks."The man pushed the military-style cap higher on his head. "You want anything?"A crushing wave of despair coursed through Jack at the casual question. Yeah, he wanted something, wanted it so goddamn desperately, he couldn't take a breath without aching for the loss. He wanted his life back. His wife, his family.

"No," he muttered.

"Suit yourself."

Jack watched the man go, suppressing a stupid desire to call him back?if for no other reason than to hear him talk. Anything, anyone, so Jack didn't feel so goddamn alone. The empty hallway mocked him.

He grabbed the rusted bars in shaking hands and banged his forehead against the cold metal. Help me, God. Let me remember. Then at least I'll know for sure. Please ... Heels shuffled toward the jail cell again. Wearily Jack opened his eyes. The jailer stood outside, arms crossed. "You shouldn't be banging your head like that. We don't have a doctor." Reluctantly Jack lifted his head. "Sorry." The man turned to go, then he paused and turned back around. "How'dya like some paper and a pen, mate? Give you something to do."The doctors were wrong, Jack. You can't make it go away by forgetting about it. Only remembering will help you....

Fear settled in Jack's stomach as a cold, hard lump. "Well?" the jailer demanded. "You want to try it?" Just try, Jack. That's all I'm asking. Just try. Jack's fingers tightened around the bars. Tiny flecks of rust stuck to his damp palms. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll give it a try.""Good." The jailer hurried to his office, then returned with a candle, writing paper, a pen and ink. "Here you go," he said, shoving them through the bars. Jack took them in trembling hands. "Thanks." When the jailer had left again, Jack set the candle on the uneven floor. The fecund scent of cold, damp earth filled his nostrils. Sitting cross-legged beside the light, he rested the Bible he'd been given on his lap and smoothed the paper on top of it. Then, carefully, he dipped the quill in the ink and brought the tip to the paper.

His hand didn't move. The ink-heavy tip remained poised. He sighed. He couldn't do it.

Yes, you can, Jack. He heard Lissa's voice as clearly as if she were in the room with him. He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat, felt the warmth of her body beside him, heard the quiet sounds of her breathing.

He touched the pen to the paper and began, very slowly, to write. I knew I shouldn 't be there. I didn 't believe in the war. . . .

The words came to him, some easier than others, some he had to skip entirely. But they came. He wrote and wrote and wrote. All the memories and thoughts and emotions he'd hoarded in the darkness of his soul for so many years came pouring through the quill's pointed tip.

He wrote until the candle was sputtering and burning low, and tears were streaming down his face, until the darkness was all around him, and shadows made the words blur before his eyes.

And still he kept on writing.

The next day dawned just as gray and dismal as the one before it, with thick, low-hanging clouds anchored to the metal-hued sky. Rain splattered the dirt road in huge, plunking drops and formed muddy puddles.

In the distance, the school bell pealed. Its melancholy clang echoed through the moist air. Tess sat stiffly in the front of the wagon, her hands curled in a tight, nervous ball in her lap.

At the schoolhouse, Jim maneuvered the wagon through the crowded yard to a spot alongside the rickety fence.

Tess swallowed hard, steeling herself for the ordeal that lay ahead. Everything depended on her. Jack's life, their future, the children's future. Everything.

Today?now?she had to be what she'd never been in her life. She had to force her chin up, smile, and walk to the goddamn podium. She had to be easygoing and pleasant and persuasive.

Her self-confidence slipped. She wasn't sure she could do it. All her life she'd been quiet and isolated and alone. A wallflower.

Don't think about that. It was the past. She was no longer the Tess Gregory who melted into the background. Now she was Lissa Rafferty. Jack's wife. And she had no choice but to succeed. Jack's life depended on it.

"Lissa?" Jim's voice broke into her thoughts. "They're waiting for you."Tess forced her chin up and tried to smile. "Thanks, Jim." Scooting across the splintery plank seat, she took his hand and got down. When her feet hit the solid ground, her knees almost buckled.

Jim grabbed her elbow and steadied her. "Are you all right?"She nodded stiffly. "Fine. Let's go." Together they wove their way through the wagons and horses that cluttered the grassy yard. With every step, Tess felt her stomach tighten.

They climbed the steps slowly. At the creaking of the boards, the hushed conversations in the schoolhouse died away. A silence fell across the small room as people turned, one by one, to gaze at Tess.

She stood in the door, feeling as conspicuous and out of place as a weed in a rose garden. "H-Hello." She winced at the breathy, hesitant sound of her voice and cleared her throat. Nodding a silent thanks to Jim and Minerva, she walked down the aisle, her heels clicking matter-of-factly on the wooden floor.

At the front of the room, she turned and faced the mass of unfriendly faces. "Hello," she said again. "I'm Lissa Rafferty. I know most of you don't know me well, and have no reason to trust me, but I've come to ask for your help."A buzzing of dissent swept the crowd.

Ed Warbass stepped out of the throng of people and made his way up the aisle to stand beside Lissa. "This little lady is here at my request. I expect you to treat her with some respect."The crowd quieted. Once again Tess felt every eye in the room on her. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt dizzy.

She fought the urge to turn and run. "As many of you know, my husband, Jack, has turned himself in to Ed and is in jail in Victoria.""It's where he should be!" someone yelled.

Tess winced. "It's where the murderer should be," she said quietly, so quietly the crowd had to strain forward to hear her. "But what if Jack's not the murderer?" She waited, allowing the pregnant silence to expand. Then, softly, she said, "If he's innocent, we're all still in danger."Her gaze cut to a portly man standing in the front row. "If Jack's not the murderer, your children are in danger. So is your wife."The portly man flushed and looked uncomfortable. "B-But why would he say he done it if he dint?"Tess let her gaze drift over the rest of the crowd. "Did any of you, or your relatives, fight in the war?"There was a heartbeat's pause, then slowly, almost reluctantly, a few hands went up.