Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)(40)

“He wants to get away from here,” Mr. Huff said. “I can’t blame him. Nothing but bad memories.”

“Do you really believe that?” Mr. Eli asked.

Alex’s father sniffed. I couldn’t see his face, but I could almost feel the grieving radiating from him, like the heat of a sun lamp.

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“It’s all right,” Mr. Eli said. “Let him go, if he wants to. He’s got his mother’s spirit. Hard to tie that down.”

“Yes.” Mr. Huff’s voice sounded ragged. “Suppose it is.”

Down at the beach, I caught a glimpse of Garrett and his new potential girlfriend. Garrett’s crooked smile lit up blue in a burst of copper chloride light. The girl was too pretty for him. I could tell just by looking, the way she held herself apart from him. She would never fall for him.

“Alex will come back,” Mr. Eli said. “Mark my words; he appreciates this place more than he lets on. If I had a son…well, I wish I had someone as good as Alex to inherit this place. He has a good heart.”

I wanted to tell Mr. Eli that he was wrong. People with good hearts didn’t treat younger kids the way Alex treated me. But I bit my lip and said nothing.

“Suppose he got that from his mother, too,” Mr. Huff said gruffly. “Sure didn’t get a sense of forgiveness from me.”

A series of fireballs shot in the air—yellow, green, red. They began to die and fall, only to explode into interlocking spheres, like the Venn diagrams we did in class. My English teacher’s lessons, forcing me to think inside the curves: How are these things alike? Where do they overlap?

“Are you sure…” Mr. Eli began to say. “Do you think you ever will tell him?”

“No,” Mr. Huff said. His tone was absolutely firm.

“He’s bound to find out someday. South Texas is just too small a place. Everyone is connected somehow.”

“They never found us,” Mr. Huff said.

“No,” Mr. Eli said. “That’s true. This place is separate. But if he leaves—”

The old man never finished his sentence. The fireworks finale filled the sky, so bright that I could suddenly see the men’s faces, and they looked down and saw me.

Perhaps I should’ve played it cool. But in that moment I felt too much like a trespasser. I ran down the sand dune and along the beach into the dark until the fireworks were far behind me, echoing against the side of the hotel like cannon fire.

The others were gathering in the parlor.

Benjamin Lindy stood by the fireplace. Maia had come downstairs, ignoring my objections. She looked a little better. She sat on the sofa now, comforting Imelda, who was crying into her apron. Chase and Markie were arguing with Ty, who seemed to have calmed down a little, or perhaps Markie had simply threatened to sap him over the head again.

Lane took a deep breath and walked into the room. I started to follow, but Garrett pulled me aside. “Now would be a good time, little bro, if you got something to say.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. “About Lane.”

“Yeah, of course about Lane.”

I shook my head. “Not really. Maybe there are some things I shouldn’t have to say. But it wouldn’t make much difference, would it?”

“You think I’m taking advantage of her.”

“I think she’s fragile. I think you’re both emotionally strung out.”

“You have any idea what she’s been through? You realize who her husband is?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I like her, Tres.”

He rarely called me Tres. He tended to save my name for times when he was seriously pissed off or needed money.

“Garrett, the circumstances are extraordinarily bad for starting to like somebody.”

He grunted. “How is that different than every other day of my life?”

“It is true?” Imelda asked.

I looked around the parlor. Alex sat on the steps with his head in his hands. Ty had crashed on the couch with an ice pack on his head. I couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not. I was hoping not. Chase and Markie leaned against the pool table behind him, each with a pool cue in his hands. Benjamin Lindy stood by the kitchen door as if he were guarding the exit. Garrett, Lane and Maia shared the other couch. Nobody looked happy to be here.

“Chris Stowall is dead,” I said. “That’s true.”

Imelda crossed herself and murmured a Spanish prayer.

“Ty was right,” Chase said. “This Calavera guy is gonna kill us all.”

“He hasn’t yet,” I reminded him.

“Dude,” Markie said, “he can’t let anybody raise the alarm. He needs to get off the island.”

“It won’t help us to panic.”

Garrett snorted. “A body in the cellar and one in the freezer, and we shouldn’t panic. Thanks for the advice, little bro.”

Always nice to know your brother is on your side.

“Whoever the killer is,” I said, “I don’t think we’re looking for a stranger. Chris brought Longoria to the island because he knew Calavera would be here this weekend. Calavera is probably in this room.”

Chase and Markie exchanged wary looks. Imelda’s hands clenched on her apron.