The Definition of Wind by Ellen Block

Author:Ellen Block [Block, Ellen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-440-42338-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

A bulky brick building in a corner of the square served as the island’s sheriff station. Abigail went in expecting to see Larner at the desk and instead found his deputy, Ted Ornsey, with his feet up, a fan blowing right at him while he threw pencils into the particle-board ceiling tiles. There were more than a dozen dangling above his head.

Abigail cleared her throat and Ted jerked his feet down off the desk, straightening up.

“How may I help—oh, hey, Ms. Harker.”

“At ease, Ted.”

“Thought you were a tourist.” He got up on his chair and pulled the pencils out of the ceiling. “I’m supposed to be on my best behavior case any of ’em come in, but it’s dead as a doornail. Fire musta spooked folks. No stolen bikes or purses. No loud parties. No missing kids. Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

“I get the idea.”

“Worst part is, our backup guy, Larry, is down with the summer flu. So it’s only Caleb and me. I’d prefer to be out there with him, looking for who set the fire, ’cept somebody has to hold down the fort.”

“Set the fire? You believe it was arson?”

“Guys on the fire squad figured the blaze started ’cause someone flicked a cigarette from a car window into the salt marsh. But the ‘point of origin,’ ” he said, making air quotes with his fingers, “suggests otherwise. That fire was intentional. Can’t say much more. Ongoing investigation and such.”

Ted had said enough for Abigail.

After Paul and Justin’s passing, fire had been transformed into a serious phobia for her. She recalled only bits and pieces of the actual blaze. Paul had carried her, barely conscious, out of the burning house. What Abigail did remember were the dreams she’d had at the hospital in the days and weeks that followed. In them, she was the one trapped inside as the roof collapsed and the walls folded in on themselves, flames barring her path as she frantically tried to escape. She would wake up choking, as if she’d been inhaling smoke. Her lungs didn’t seem to know the difference between dream and reality. Between the fires on the island and the broken padlock, Abigail was feeling extraordinarily vulnerable, and the fear was all too real.

En route back to her car, she passed the Wailin’ Whale. Remembering that Merle said Larner often went there even when he was on the clock, Abigail decided to stop in. It was a long shot, but she was desperate.

Dim lighting, saloon-style doors, and the glow of the jukebox gave the Wailin’ Whale the feel of a honky-tonk bar circa three decades ago. The cracked-vinyl booths and scuffed pool table that was short a couple of cues told a tale of too many customers and too many bar fights over the years.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Nat Rhone was at the bar, swirling an empty shot glass on the wood countertop. His slur said he’d had more than his fill.

The bartender waved Abigail over as if she were his savior.

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