Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)(39)

“We’ll stay low for a while,” Chase decided. “But be ready. We see an opportunity, we go.”

Ty’s stomach churned. He resented Navarre for keeping him here. He wanted to kill the guy. But at the same time…he seemed smart. He wasn’t afraid of Markie or Chase. If there was a way to stop them, or make it so Ty didn’t have to share their fate, Navarre might know how.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Ty muttered.

Chase looked at him with disgust. “Not in my room, you’re not.”

“I got my medicine next door,” Ty said meekly. “I’ll go throw up there.”

“Not now,” Chase insisted. “We’re going downstairs. The f**king detective wants another group meeting. And you are gonna behave yourself.”

Ty nodded miserably. He slid off the bed and hobbled toward the door. He would have to wait. He would be looking for an opportunity, but not the kind Chase meant.

Out in the hallway, he took a deep breath, trying to gather his courage. The walls closed in on him, but he concentrated. He could make it down the hall. It was just like the barrel of a gun. He was aiming at his target. And his target was to get free of Chase and Markie, to get off this island in one piece. If other people died, that wasn’t his problem.

He took a tentative step, then another. Chase and Markie walked on either side of him, but Ty promised himself he’d be rid of them by tomorrow, one way or another.

23

On my way downstairs, I thought about Alex. I wondered how he would react to Chris Stowall’s death. The booming and groaning of the storm outside made me think of the last fireworks display I’d ever seen Alex do.

It had not exactly been a celebration.

That July fourth, my mother had asked Garrett to watch me, which was never a good sign. She wasn’t feeling well. She couldn’t handle the company of others that night. At sunset, Garrett took me down to the beach, where Alex was setting up his display.

His tubes and wires looked like a miniature power plant. He’d set everything up on a length of wooden flats and was busy running around, checking his fuses one more time.

The other hotel guests—there were never that many—brought picnic blankets and barbecue prepared by Alex’s dad. Even Delilah, the old maid, had come down to watch the show. Alex’s fireworks displays were some of the only times I ever saw her smile.

My brother was in an unusually good mood that night. New guests had arrived the day before, and they had a teenage daughter. Garrett had big plans to get to know her tonight. He’d combed his unruly hair, which made him look even geekier than usual, and put on fresh jeans and his Pat McGee’s Surf Shop T-shirt.

“You help Alex out, okay?” Garrett told me. “I’m just gonna, you know, get a soda or something.”

He went off in search of the new girl. I suppose I should’ve been relieved that he was preoccupied and happy, but I knew it just meant he’d be in a foul mood tomorrow or the next day—whenever his romantic prospects fell apart, as they inevitably would.

Alex was too busy working to pay attention to me. The sky was turning purple and the guests were starting to cheer and call for the show. Behind us, the hotel at sunset looked like a perfect haunted house.

I didn’t hear Mr. Eli come up behind us until he spoke. “Are you ready, Alex?”

It was the first time I’d ever seen Mr. Eli outside. He wore his maroon bathrobe as always. The cuffs of his pajama pants were neatly folded up to keep them out of the sand. His feet were bare, so pale they were almost luminous in the dusk. I wondered if the old man was a vampire, coming out only after dark, but I suspected that a real vampire wouldn’t look so sickly and weak.

Alex brushed his hands on his pants and stood up. “Ready, sir. About ten minutes until full dark.”

“Wonderful.” Mr. Eli smiled. “Your mother would be proud, you know. She loved fireworks.”

Alex looked down at the mortars. The aluminum foil had been peeled away. Shreds of it blew across the sand, glinting in the last light like pieces of metallic eggshell.

“You all better get clear, okay?” Alex said. “Show’s gonna start.”

I watched from the sand dunes. I suppose, compared to professional shows, Alex’s display was pretty paltry, but I thought it was fabulous. Maybe that’s because I’d watched him put the whole thing together. Maybe I was just amazed that something so loud, bright and colorful could come from a dour kid like Alex Huff. The fact that I didn’t like Alex, that I feared him, in fact, made the show all the more fascinating.

The wind was warm blowing through the sea grass. Sand fleas started a seven-course meal on my legs, but I didn’t want to move. The smoke was almost as interesting as the starbursts and fireballs. It made ghostly faces in the night sky, swiftly stretched by the breeze and blown to shreds.

“He gets better every year,” a voice said at my shoulder.

I jumped in surprise. It was Mr. Eli, but he wasn’t talking to me. He stood in the dunes with another man. Both of them were only shadowy silhouettes, the tops of their heads illuminated by bursts of fireworks.

“Know what he told me today?” the other man asked. It was Alex’s father. His voice sounded deep and sad. “He said he wants to join the army.”

Mr. Eli was silent as a triple burst of silver lit up the water over the boat dock.