Ghost Point by James A. Hetley

Author:James A. Hetley [Hetley, James A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary fantasy, Maine, coast, Vietnam war, PTSD, witches, spirit animals, smuggling
ISBN: 9781611384093
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2014-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

XVI

“Aunt Jean drives better than I do.” Susan glanced across the front seat of the Dart, checking to make sure Alice hadn’t vanished into whatever music played on her transistor radio. Or tape player, Susan wasn’t sure which. Field identification of tech wasn’t one of her strong points. She snapped her eyes back to the road after a slight . . . queasiness . . . under the rear tires reminded her to pay attention to business. “So what was that business about old eyes and she shouldn’t drive on snow?”

Alice blew a huge pink bubble from her constant wad of gum, popped it, and gathered the shreds with her tongue. “Yeah, she’s tired. We’ve been as busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. What is it, two days since you shot that bastard in your trailer? She’s good for three at least. She just wants you out of the House. Me too, probably. Wants to meet some people, talk to some people, and doesn’t want any witnesses. If we don’t see, we can’t testify. You know how the Bible says not to let your left hand know what your right hand is doing? Sometimes Aunt Jean keeps her left eye closed so’s it won’t find out whatever her right eye’s seeing. You’ll get used to it. Turn left here.”

Susan turned left. They were headed back toward Winter Cove on whatever mystery mission Aunt Jean had assigned. Alice wouldn’t talk about it, just gave the turns a few seconds before they came up. So far, it had been a series of empty back roads, and the girl kept glancing out the back window at every turn and long straightaway as if to make sure nobody was following them. That was one strange kid, no doubt about it. A strange kid who carried an automatic and two spare magazines of ammo tucked into her backpack full of clothes and teenager stuff.

“Well.” Susan concentrated on the road, a lousy curve with negative banking and a sheet of ice flowage from a frozen culvert. The new snow-tires chewed it up and spat it out like dry pavement. “I shouldn’t know about the connection between Rick Bouchard and binoculars and people trying to kill me?”

“Nah, that’s just her being a cheapskate Yankee, talking as if words cost money.” Alice blew another bubble, popped it, cleaned it up. “I’ll fill in the blanks. Base stuff—first off, people don’t trust strangers. That’s pretty much wired into humans. You’re a stranger in Sunrise County. So they notice you, notice what you’re doing. Might not do anything hostile, but they notice you. They talk about you. Everyone knows where you go and what you do. You’re the Eagle Lady.

“Second, Maine has been a den of smugglers since the first moonless night there was anything worth smuggling. That’s pretty much wired into Sunrise County. Dollar value, it’s probably the largest industry ’round here. These days, it’s mostly dope, coke and smack and grass, and it comes in by water.

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