“How long do revivals last?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one.”
They fell silent then. Don studied his daughter, thinking how much she looked like Allison—and how much they both looked like Susan St. James. Allison resembled the actress the way she looked now. And Sarah resembled her as she had looked when she’d been the wife in MacMillan and Wife.
Don loved Allison and Sarah tremendously, and he was worried about what was happening to their quiet life here on the island. People were getting murdered in a manner that would shock even the most hardened New Yorker. The Lutheran minister was holding a revival. And Don’s wife had decided in the middle of cooking dinner to attend one of the services. Life here had always been simple and safe, even if not too terribly exciting. Suddenly everything was … what? The only word that came to mind was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Look for someone acting strangely. Kesselring’s words slammed into Don’s consciousness like a wrecking ball smashing into a building. But Kesselring was crazy. He said things that made no sense.
If someone is acting crazy, the ex-cop had said, it’s probably the killer.
That proved Kesselring was a fruitcake. Allison was acting strangely, but she certainly wasn’t the killer.
Allison was gone for two hours. Don and Sarah heard the car pull into the garage. Using the remote control, Don switched off the TV set, and a moment later Allison stepped into the living room.
Don and Sarah stared at her, uncertain what to say. Finally Don broke the silence. “How was the revival?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, joining Sarah on the couch.
The room became silent again. Don was waiting for her to offer an explanation for her behavior, but it was becoming clear that none was forthcoming. He said, “Sarah and I finished cooking dinner. Yours is in the fridge. Would you like Sarah to warm it for you?”
“Don’t bother. I can take care of it myself.”
Allison seemed her usual self. She was neither nervous nor upset; there was no dazed look in her eyes. She was sitting there, acting as if what she had done was the most normal thing in the world. Don was growing uneasier by the moment. He had no idea what was happening.
“Allison,” he said slowly, “don’t you think it was a little unusual for you to abruptly leave in the middle of cooking dinner?”
“I had to get to the revival.”
“But you said you weren’t interested in the revival,” Sarah said.
“I changed my mind.” Just a hint of puzzlement appeared on Allison’s face, as if even she was having difficulty accepting her explanation.
“What made you change your mind?” Don asked.
“I … I don’t know. I guess it was because I go to all the church activities.”
“Why didn’t you tell us beforehand—instead of walking out of the house like that?”
“I guess I didn’t know until that moment that I was going.” Apparently realizing how strange that sounded, she frowned.
Again a silence settled over them. Sarah was looking at her mother intently, the concern and confusion in the girl’s eyes obvious. She said, “What did you do at the revival, Mom?”
“We just got together … all of us …” Her words trailed off.
“Mom …” Sarah said.
“Honey, I … I don’t seem to remember what we did, except that we all got together. There were lots of people there. Even people who don’t usually go to church. Like Kevin and Irene Waggoner. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in church before.”
“I’ve been looking for Irene Waggoner,” Don said.
“To talk to her about the murders?”
Don nodded. As they were talking, the color had slowly been draining from Allison’s face. Don looked into her eyes, seeing bewilderment mixed with fear.
“I—” She faltered and had to start again. “I don’t know why I decided to go to the revival. It happened while I was cooking dinner. I … I just decided.” She slowly shook her head. “And I don’t remember exactly what happened there. Don, why don’t I remember?”
“Tell me what you do remember,” he said.
“I remember arriving, and all these people were there, and … and I remember leaving … and …” Again she shook her head. Her brow was full of deep furrows. She seemed to be on the verge of tears.
Don joined her on the couch, slipped his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know why I went to the revival,” she said. “And I don’t know what I did while I was there.” She looked at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either,” he said.
Allison was sitting between Don and Sarah. She took her daughter’s hand, as if trying to draw strength from the two people she loved most.
“Mom, I think you should see the doctor,” Sarah said.
Don said, “I think so too. Let’s get Doc Ingram to check you over, just to be on the safe side.” Although he didn’t say so, he was concerned that Allison’s behavior might have been caused by a mild stroke or some other problem that could affect the brain. He guessed Sarah had come to the same conclusion.
Allison said okay, she’d see the doctor.
“Promise?” Sarah asked.
“Promise.”
Allison turned to smile reassuringly, but her lower lip began to quiver after a moment, and the smile slipped from her face. A tear slid down her cheek.
Don was trying real hard not to think about Kesselring’s words concerning people acting strangely. Kesselring was nuts, had to be nuts. No other explanation made any sense.
3
The next morning Don drove to the Waggoners’ house again. He arrived just as Kevin was leaving for work.
“Irene inside?” Don asked as he walked up to the drive to where Kevin was standing beside a red Bronco.
“No,” he said, unlocking the Bronco’s door.
“Where is she?”
Kevin hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Kevin looked confused for a moment, then defiant. Was he hiding something? Don wasn’t able to read him. “Why do you want to know?” Kevin demanded.
“I need to talk to her.”
“Well, I don’t know where she is.”
“You were at church with her last night.”
Kevin looked puzzled. “Church?”
“You know, stone building with stained-glass windows.”
“That’s right. We did go to the church last night. To the revival.”
“Didn’t think you were a churchgoer.”
“I’m not.”
“But you went last night.”
“That’s right.”
Don was perplexed by the way this was going. Although Kevin Waggoner wasn’t exactly acting guilty, he was certainly behaving oddly. “When did Irene leave?”
“Leave?”
“You said she wasn’t here, so she must have left.”
“No, she didn’t leave.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kevin, you’re not making any sense.”
“She didn’t come home with me.”
“From the revival?”
“Yeah.”
“She went home with someone else?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kevin, how could you not know?”
Kevin Waggoner’s face turned an angry red. “Because I don’t!” he snapped. “She probably left with Paul Edley’s replacement, how’s that? She’s probably got the hots for some guy and left with him. I don’t know what guy.”
“Kevin—”
“And,” he shouted, “I don’t give a shit what guy!”
Kevin Waggoner climbed into the Bronco, started the engine, and roared backward into the street. Shifting into drive, he left a strip of rubber as he drove of
f.
Watch for people acting strangely. Don pushed the thought away.
4
Still angry, Kevin Waggoner drove along Lansing Street, the part of his brain not consumed with being pissed off noting that the snowbanks had shrunk to a mere eighteen inches or so in the unusually warm weather of the past few days. But then that was the weather. One day it looks like the coming of the next Ice Age, and on the next it looks like summer’s almost here.
They had a saying here: If you don’t like the weather on Ice Island, just wait a minute and it’ll change. Wasn’t that the truth? Kevin wondered whether they used that same saying anywhere else.
His anger was gone now, and Kevin tried to recall just what happened at the revival last night. Even though he’d been pretty upset with Irene, he’d gone to the revival with her. And he left alone, which should serve him right for taking her. But what had happened in between?
He couldn’t recall.
And come to think of it, why had he gone to a damned revival in the first place?
Unnerved, Kevin cut in front of a car at the intersection of Lansing and Huron, and the other driver honked his irritation. What the hell? he thought, paying little attention to the annoyed driver. What the hell?
5
Don spent half an hour talking to a teacher who was a friend of the Gordons and who’d been off sick when he’d interviewed people at the high school. Agnes Gross spent the whole time telling Don how horrible it was, what happened to the Gordons, and provided no particularly helpful information.
As he was heading for the police station, Cindy Thornley, the weekend dispatcher, used the two-way radio to let Don know that Lieutenant Roper of the state police had called and wanted Don to phone him.
“Your wife called,” Cindy informed him when he arrived at the station. Although she was about thirty and the mother of two, Cindy’s short blonde hair and smooth, lightly freckled face gave her a sort of well-scrubbed, high-school-girl look. She reminded Don of Doris Day. If there were a Miss Wide-Eyed Innocence pageant, Cindy would win it hands down.
Sitting down at his desk, Don called Allison, who told him, “Doc Ingram says that as far as he can tell I’m fine.”
“Did he have any idea what might have caused it?”
“No. He said it’s probably nothing, but that after the Split’s over I might want to arrange for some tests at the hospital, just as a precaution.”
“I think you should do it.”
“Don, do you know what those hospitals charge?”
“The insurance will cover it.”
“Not the deductible.”
“Hey, you and Sarah are the most important things in my life, kiddo. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. So if you need a few tests, we’ll get them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. That’s the way I like my women. Nice and respectful and obedient.”
“Oh, boy, are you going to be in for a pile of grief when you get home.”
They both laughed, then Don said, “By the way, do you recall who Irene Waggoner left the revival with last night?”
She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Didn’t she leave with Kevin?”
“He says she didn’t.”
“I guess I don’t remember seeing them leave—either of them. There was a really large crowd. The church was filled to overflowing. So it would have been pretty easy for me to miss them in the crush.”
When he hung up, Don turned to Cindy. “Go to the revival last night?”
“No. I hear they had a really big turnout.”
“That’s what I hear, too,” Don said. He picked up the phone and called Lieutenant Roper.
“I got you a chopper,” the state policeman said.
“That’s sure a relief,” Don said.
“I’m afraid there is one slight problem.”
“It doesn’t have any rotor blades.”
“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”
“No, I’m just developing a real good understanding of how these things work.”
“That’s what I thought. Sarcasm. Anyway, I got a helicopter from the National Guard. They were going to fly out there this morning, but the chopper developed a small mechanical problem.”
“And it’ll only take six weeks to get the part.”
“No, they have the part. And they’ll have the machine ready to go on Monday.”
“By any chance did you get them to swear it, sign in blood? No, wait, scratch that. I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you. I appreciate your help. I really do.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Roper said. “I know you’re really up against it out there. In your situation I’d be getting a little upset too.”
After hanging up, Don looked over at Cindy and said, “You know Irene Waggoner?”
“I know who she is, but I don’t really know her.”
“Have you heard anything about her fooling around with other men?”
“I heard she was making it with Paul Edley.” It seemed odd for someone who looked so innocent to say something like that so matter-of-factly.
“Paul Edley,” Don repeated. He was wondering whether he was the only one on the island who’d been unaware that Irene was fooling around with Edley. “Anyone else?”
“Edley’s the only one I’ve heard about.”
He called Allison again, asked her the same question. “I don’t know about anyone other than Edley,” she replied.
Dan was uncomfortable with this Irene Waggoner business. Why had Kevin acted the way he had—maybe not guilty but odd? Where was Irene? Had something happened to her? And then there were all those other questions. Such as who killed Paul Edley and the Gordons. Was Kesselring involved in some way? Don suspected he could fill a whole page with questions. And he had no answers. Not one.
6
It was late in the afternoon when sixteen-year-old Wes Brock finished painting the interiors of cabins sixteen and seventeen at the Superior Motel, which was owned by his parents, Stan and Patsy Brock. He put the lid on the paint can, took the brushes into the bathroom, and began washing them in the sink. It was the annual thing, painting the unoccupied cabins during the Split. It was the best time to do it, since any cabin unoccupied when the Split began was guaranteed to stay that way until the ferry started running. Painting was something Wes absolutely hated, and he was glad the day’s work was done. Tomorrow he’d paint eighteen and nineteen, but he didn’t have to think about that now.
Leaving the cleaned brushes in the cabin with the paint, Wes headed for the portion of the motel in which he and his family resided. It was a pretty nice place to live, he supposed. If you opened the door at one end of the living room, you found yourself behind the counter of the motel’s office; except for that, it was like any other house.
Wes hoped he had done a good enough job. If he hadn’t, his dad would show him all the places he missed and make him do them again. Wes wasn’t very good with his hands. He was overwhelmed by the simplest automotive repair. The complexities of changing a tire or replacing a worn windshield wiper blade were beyond him. When the seat on his bicycle slipped, he lived with it until his dad could adjust it. If anything, he was even worse at sports than at doing things mechanical. In elementary school, when they’d chosen sides for softball games, he’d been chosen after the girls.
There was one thing he was good at—not just good but a master. It was in the back room of the house, and he was heading for it now. His mom would make him come out for supper, but except for that lone interruption he planned to spend the evening with his computer. He’d check the mail, as he called it, which meant entering the secret access code to see whether any other computer enthusiasts had left him any messages. He had contacts all around the country, kindred spirits who communicated via their home computers. After answering any messages that needed answering, he’d get down to some serious hacking. It was illegal, of course, but he was careful not to pry into places where he’d be likely to get cau
ght. He’d never tried the Department of Defense or the CIA. However, he managed to get into the computers of airlines and other companies. Pretending to be a nonexistent police department, he’d gotten information from NCIC, the national crime computer. And once, probably the most illegal thing he’d done, Wes had knocked twenty dollars off his folks’ electric bill.
Wes had almost reached the combination office and residence when a blue Buick rolled into the motel’s parking area and headed toward him. It was an old model, built back when cars were enormous, and it glided toward him like a whale. Like any northern car that had been around for a while, its sides were full of rust holes. Inside were four boys. Jock types with small minds and big muscles. Wes experienced a flash of anger. It was bad enough seeing these jerks in school. He didn’t need to encounter them on the weekend as well. He prepared himself for what he knew would come.
As the car pulled to a stop beside him, the driver rolled down the window. It was a big blond kid named Derek Aldrich, who had once filled Wes’s shirt with snow, packing it in there until Wes was as huge as Santa Claus and he was standing there shivering and feeling humiliated. Derek had told him that he should leave the snow in there for five minutes if he wanted to be his buddy, the unspoken threat being that bad things would happen to him if he wasn’t Derek’s buddy. Wes had tried to comply, but when he went into the school and started dripping, his teacher, Mrs. Norton, made him get rid of the snow and take off his wet shirt and dry it out on the radiator.
“Hey, Wes, how ya doin’?” Derek asked.
“Fine,” Wes said.
The others in the car were Russ Dowling, Ben Jones, and Scott Bender. Like Derek, these were boys he’d grown up avoiding. They called him things like Spaghetti or String or Blade (of grass) because he was so skinny. And Four Eyes because he wore glasses. And when Wes had developed a case of acne, Russ called him Pimple Puss.
“We came over to see what you were up to,” Derek said. His three companions grinned. It was like looking into the mouths of circling sharks.
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