The Drifter (10 page)

Suppressing a shiver, Carolyn turned away. She picked up her pace and was relieved when the village came into view at last.

The festival was in full swing. Booths had been set up in streets and on sidewalks, on corners and in yards, even on the village square. Bright awnings flapped in the breeze, and every imaginable craft and ware were on display. Carolyn could smell the tantalizing aroma of food, and she suddenly realized how hungry she was. She felt in her pocket for money and decided to sightsee awhile.

The narrow streets had been blocked to traffic—instead of cars, they were packed with people. Carolyn bought a hot dog and wandered up and down cobbled lanes and shaded alleyways, stopping from time to time to browse through shops or peek into busy cafés. Antique dealers were everywhere, alongside art galleries and musty bookstores. Artists had set up easels along the sidewalks and were happily painting beneath bright beach umbrellas. At the lower end of Main Street, Carolyn could see a dock crowded with boats and fishermen, while at the opposite end the street rose steeply up a hill, ending at an old stone church. She finished her hot dog, threw the paper into a litter can, and started up the incline.

She found the library about halfway up the hill, just as Andy had told her. The place was practically empty, the front desk deserted, and the only person Carolyn could see was a raggedy woman sitting at a table in back.

“Excuse me,” Carolyn whispered, easing up beside her. “I was wondering—would you have any information on Glanton House?”

An old wrinkled face looked up at her. Silvery hair splayed out stiffly in all directions, and watery gray eyes appraised her with one sidelong glance.

“Glanton House?” the old woman rasped. “And why would you be so interested in Glanton House?”

“I'm Carolyn Baxter, and I'm going to be living there now. Hazel was my—”

“Bad end,” the woman said solemnly, and Carolyn's eyes widened.

“Excuse me?”

“Bad end!” the woman hissed. “Hazel met a bad end! Everyone who lives there—sooner or later—comes to a bad end!”

Carolyn glanced uneasily around the room. She still couldn't see anyone, yet she had a nagging feeling that they were being listened to.

“What do you mean?” she asked softly. “About the bad end?”

The old woman stared. Her huge eyes bugged out, reminding Carolyn of a fish, and when she patted the chair beside her, Carolyn could see that she was wearing a pair of gloves with the fingers cut out.

“Tell me,” the old woman lowered her voice, motioning Carolyn to lean close. “Do you think I'm crazy?”

Carolyn pulled back, startled. “Well … I don't even know you—”

“But if you
did
,” the old woman insisted, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, “would you think I'm a little off? Just because I'm Molly McClure and people say Molly McClure is touched in the head? Just because I
know
what I
know?
”

Carolyn shook her head slowly. “I've never even heard of Molly McClure. What
do
you know?”

“Sit down,” the woman said.

“But—”

“Sit
down
. Here. Beside me.”

Carolyn sat. She would have preferred to sit at the other end of the table, but Molly McClure had ahold of her arm and was pinning it to the tabletop.

“Glanton House,” the old woman mumbled. “Strange things going on there … even now.”

“What kinds of strange things?”

“Him.”

“You mean … Captain Glanton?”

“Ah, so you
do
know something about the house!” Molly's eyes grew even larger, as though they would burst right out of her head.

“I've heard a little,” Carolyn admitted. “From Nora.”

“Nora,” the woman snorted. “Now,
she's
crazy!”

“But you were saying,” Carolyn reminded her, “about Captain Glanton?”

“Coming back to kill that faithless wife of his! Coming back for all eternity, and the killing never stops! That's true love for you!”

Carolyn's mind was racing to keep up. “Wait—you say
the captain
came back to kill his wife? But how do you know it was him? I thought Carolyn's lover was missing, and the murderer was never caught—”

Carolyn broke off as Molly snatched her hand and squeezed it tightly. The old woman's voice was a hoarse, dramatic whisper, and she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as she talked.

“That stormy night, Matthew's hand was cut off, wasn't it, my girl? And he slipped straight into the sea, never to be seen again. But Molly McClure has her own ideas about what happened. Molly McClure thinks our poor captain
lived
through that horrible night and vowed to get even. But first, he had to get back what was taken from him.”

“You mean”—Carolyn swallowed hard—“his wife?”

“Not his wife. His
hand
, girl. His
hand
.”

Carolyn looked confused. “But I don't see—”

“Oh, and he got it back all right, the scoundrel!” Molly's eyes rolled wildly. “He had them fasten a
hook
right onto that bloody stump! And then he stole into Glanton House one dark, dark night and
ripped
Carolyn and that lover of hers to
bits!
”

Carolyn could hear Molly's voice, but suddenly it seemed like a long way off, and the room was throbbing around her.…

Something clawing … scraping the walls
…

“No,” Carolyn murmured.

“Spilled their guts all over the room! Bloodbath, it was!”

Scratches on the walls
—
splatters on the floor
—

Carolyn shook her head, trying to clear it. “I guess lots of people have their own theories about what happened that night—”

“My theory is, he cut that lover of hers into fishbait! And that's why he was never found!”

“But I guess no one will ever really know,” Carolyn finished weakly. The room had grown very hot, and she fanned herself with one hand.

“By the water at night—I
see
things. Straaange things … chill-your-blood things.” Molly's voice sank … trembled. She put her lips close to Carolyn's ear. “Shadows over Glanton House. Ghost lights on the beach! It's
his
beach, it is—and
his
house still! And does the captain ever find what he's looking for? Hmmm …”

To Carolyn's dismay Molly pulled back and dug both hands into the silvery mats of her hair.

“Does he find what he's looking for?” she mumbled again. “No … no … or else he'd go away now, wouldn't he? Or else he'd go back to where he came from.…”

“Molly,” Carolyn said slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“He
should
go away. He doesn't belong here now. What can it mean but more grief? What can it mean but more tragedy?”

Molly closed her eyes, covering them with her hands. Then, as Carolyn watched nervously, she slowly lowered her hands again and folded them in her lap.

“You think I'm crazy,” she muttered.

“No,” Carolyn said quickly. “No—no, I really don't—”

“When the key to the whole problem is so simple.”

“Simple?”

“All you have to do is find it.”

“Then tell me what you mean, so I can.”

“The captain will tell you.” Molly's toothless grin was slow and sly. “If you just listen to him.”

“But …” Carolyn was growing more frustrated by the second. “If he's dead, then how can I—”

“Know him for what he
was
,” Molly hissed at her. “And then … you will know things for what they
are
.”

To Carolyn's surprise the old woman rose abruptly from her chair.

“Don't stay,” she murmured, pointing a gnarled finger in Carolyn's face. “Bad house … bad end.”

She turned her back. Walking barefoot and trailing a shopping bag behind her, she staggered around the table and out the front door.

Carolyn sat and stared.

She rubbed the chill from her arms and glanced nervously around the empty room.

Well, this is just great. I come in for some basic information, and I end up in the Twilight Zone
.

“Can I help you find something?”

The voice was so close that Carolyn jumped, knocking a stack of books onto the floor. Embarrassed, she bent to retrieve them white the pleasant-faced woman behind her knelt down to help.

“Oh, here, don't bother,” the woman scolded gently. “I have to put these back on the shelves anyway.”

“Gosh, I'm so sorry—”

“Don't be. I see you met our Molly—she tends to have the same effect on most folks when they're first introduced.” The woman laughed softly and stood back up, balancing the books easily in one arm.

“Oh … I wondered,” Carolyn babbled, “I thought maybe she was the librarian or something.”

“Or something, is right.” The woman laughed again. “No,
I'm
the librarian and if I hadn't been buried in the stacks back there, I'd have heard you come in.” She gave Carolyn a quick handshake. “Jean Lawford. Molly just comes in here to read from time to time. She can't afford books of her own—or a house, either, for that matter.”

Carolyn stared at the door where Molly had gone through. “Where does she live, then?”

“Mostly on the beach. She sets up housekeeping in some of the old caves down there … walks up and down all day, picking up litter and generally scavenging. According to her, she's found some real treasures.” Jean smiled and shifted the books from one arm to the other. “Don't let her upset you. She's not well, poor thing. Doc Brown manages to get medicine to her, but whether she takes it or not …”

“You mean, you can't really tell?” Carolyn guessed.

Jean shrugged and flashed a smile. “Let's just say that when she
does
take it, it confuses her even more. Poor old Molly never makes sense—to herself or anyone else.”

Carolyn smiled and sat back down. “We were talking about Glanton House.”

“Hmmm … well, I can show you what I've got, but understand, most of it's hearsay. Legends and superstitions and scary campfire stories.”

“My mother and I are living at Glanton House now. We're going to make a guest house out of it,” Carolyn went on, and was pleased to see Jean's nod of encouragement.

“Isn't that wonderful! Then you'll need something for a little PR—but more positive than scary, am I right?”

Carolyn gave her a grateful smile. “Anything would help.”

They both looked up as the door burst open. Carolyn saw the tall figure hurrying toward them, but it took her a few seconds to realize it was Andy.

“Carolyn …”

He stopped beside her chair, and she knew something had happened—knew it by the look on his face and the sudden fear in her own heart. She got slowly to her feet and felt Andy take both of her hands in his.

“What is it?” she mumbled. “What's wrong?”

His eyes held hers, steady but sympathetic.

“It's your mother,” he said gently. “There's been an accident.”

11

“I'
M GOING TO TAKE YOU HOME
,” A
NDY SAID.

Carolyn nodded, but things weren't quite registering. She stared hard into Andy's face, searching for answers behind his words.

“Is Mom okay?” she finally whispered, and Andy's hands were on her shoulders now, squeezing tightly. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world but here.

“She took a bad fall,” he told her carefully. “Someone called from your house, and Doc Brown rushed right over. Whoever it was said you'd come into the village, and could someone try and find you.”

“I've got to go.” Carolyn turned helplessly toward Jean, but the librarian was already shooing them out the door.

“Bless your heart, good luck to you!” she called.

Carolyn looked back to thank her, but Andy was already hurrying through the crowds.

“Come on,” he said urgently. “We'll take my car.”

Carolyn couldn't think. She was only vaguely aware of the crowds streaming past, of climbing into a car, of weaving through narrow streets until at last they cleared the village and headed out onto the cliff road.

The windows were down, and the stiff sea air bit fiercely at her cheeks. After several moments Carolyn felt revived enough to look at Andy beside her. His jaw was clenched, and his brows drew worriedly over his eyes.

“How bad is she hurt?” Carolyn asked.

“I don't know any details, Carolyn, I just—”

“Well, who called?”

Andy gave her a sidelong glance as he swerved to miss a hole in the road. “I don't know. Some guy. He said he lives there.”

“Lives there!” Carolyn exclaimed. Her mind raced furiously, and she groaned. “He doesn't live there—well, I guess he
sort
of lives there—”