The Drifter (5 page)

“Who
are
you?” Carolyn demanded furiously.

He jumped three inches off the ground. The bag fell out of his arms and spilled helter-skelter across the floor.

“What are you trying to do, scare me to death?” The young man turned on her, his voice every bit as angry as hers.

“What am
I
doing?” Carolyn forced herself to move out into the room, forced herself to sound calm, though her heart was racing out of control. “What are
you
doing in my
house?
Get out before I call the police!”

“Well, that's just great,” the boy muttered. He squatted down and began gathering up several cans of soup.

Carolyn opened her mouth, closed it again, and stared at him. After several silent moments of retrieving things, the boy finally cocked his head and looked up at her.

“Well?” he said.

“Well, what?”

“Well, are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna give me a hand?”

Carolyn kept staring. She opened her mouth once more and finally found her voice.

“Will you please leave? I think you must have the wrong house or something.”

He shook his head and kept picking up groceries.

“I
know
where I am, thanks very much. You must be Carolyn.”

Before she could answer, he stood up, giving her a wide friendly smile.

“I'm Andy.”

He held out his hand. Taken aback, Carolyn watched as he took hers and pumped it up and down. His blue eyes crinkled and his smile widened even more.

“Andy Farrel,” he added, turning her loose.

Carolyn looked down at the mess across the floor. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Bringing you these.”

“I didn't order any groceries.”

“I know. They're a gift.”

“A gift? From who?”

“Bell's Market. In the village.”

“Oh.” Carolyn frowned, trying to make sense of everything. “You mean my mother had them sent over?”

“Nope. Mr. Bell had them sent over.”

“Mr.—”

“Bell. He owns the market. It's a sort of welcome-to-the-island gift. And hope-you-shop-with-us gift.”

“Well … I …”

His grin was disarming. “Even though you will,” he said. “'Cause it's the only grocery store on the island.”

Carolyn watched as he heaved the sack onto one shoulder and ambled off to the kitchen.

“Well, my mother just went to buy groceries!” Carolyn exclaimed. “Does she know about this?”

“She will soon enough. Hey, you better put the milk and juice in the fridge,” Andy called back. “Or do you want me to?”

Carolyn didn't answer. She followed him into the other room as he opened a cupboard and rummaged inside. Now that his back was turned, she had time to really study him—his dark brown hair, all shaggy and windblown; tight faded jeans with one back pocket ripped across his narrow hips; faded denim shirt with sleeves rolled up past his elbows; lean arms and sinewy muscles and quick, sure movements. There was something carefree and boyish about him, and as he glanced back over his shoulder at her, Carolyn dropped her eyes.

“Haven't dusted for a while, I see. Hey, hope you like clam chowder—he sure sent enough of it. Cheapskate. It's not even homemade.”

“Listen—Andy—whoever you are—”

“Look, this isn't my regular job, okay? It's just that I happened to be in the store when he was getting this stuff together, and he asked me if I'd run it out here.” He reached for a canister on the counter, and Carolyn watched in dismay as he opened it and loaded it up with tea bags.

“Want me to make some?” he asked, but Carolyn shook her head.

“No. By all means, just keep making yourself at home.”

Andy grinned again. “I brought Hazel her groceries a lot—one of my
many
odd jobs around the village. She never left her house if she could help it. Mr. Bell always said she didn't want people gawking at her. Funny old lady, Hazel. Just between you and me, I think she
liked
being the village eccentric.”

He hunted in the bottom of the sack and pulled out a bag of cookies, which he promptly tossed into a drawer.

“Also from Mr. Bell. Oatmeal. Bet they're stale.”

Carolyn leaned sideways against the doorframe. “You knew Hazel well?”

“Not really.” Andy frowned. “She was old and old-fashioned. Blind as a bat, too. Wore these long dresses and this big hat with a veil when she walked on the cliffs. I'd see her up there sometimes when I was out in my boat.”

“It sounds like you knew her.”

“Knew what she looked like. Never talked to her.”

“But you said you brought her groceries.”

“Nora always handled that, and I talked to Nora. I'd only been working on the island a few months when Hazel died, so it's not like she and I were old friends.”

He paused, stared at a loaf of bread, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I kind of wish I'd known her before, though.”

“Before what?” Carolyn asked.

“Before she got so weird.”

“What do you mean weird?”

Andy's face grew serious. He seemed to be groping for the right words.

“Nora told me once that Hazel was getting to be a problem. Real preoccupied and distracted. Like her mind was going—or at least going to some other world. Nora was always worrying about her.”

“Was Hazel sick?” Carolyn eased down into a kitchen chair, watching as Andy bounced a bag of potato chips from one hand to the other.

“You mean physically?” He tapped the side of his head. “I think it was more up here. Nora said sometimes Hazel didn't even recognize her. And other times Hazel was scared of the house.”

“The house!”

“Or scared of
something
, anyway—Nora didn't know what.”

Carolyn held back a shiver. “And she never found out?”

“I think it was really starting to get to Nora.” Andy's eyes twinkled. “Which is really something, considering how scary
she
is.” He stopped, his voice lowering. “She's not lurking around, is she?”

Carolyn shook her head, and he sighed in relief.

“Nora said Hazel heard things that Nora couldn't hear—saw things that weren't there.”

“Did she say what?”

“Voices. People walking around in the house.” Andy thought a minute. “She'd see faces at the windows, or hear people on the stairs. Things like that. Or she'd ask Nora to stay over sometimes so the screams wouldn't keep her awake.”

“What screams?”

Andy shrugged again. “Of course, Nora never stayed—she's always afraid she'll get possessed by something. Right—like it hasn't already happened.”

Carolyn stared at him. Andy opened another cabinet and tossed the potato chips inside.

“I can't imagine anyone living out here all alone like that,” Carolyn mumbled.

“Well, she wasn't always alone, I guess. Nora said Hazel took in drifters now and then—word got around the docks that she'd give them work and a hot meal. They made Nora really nervous, so Hazel would call her up and tell her not to come if one of them was staying there. Thing is, Nora never actually saw them. So who knows—maybe Hazel made them up.”

“You're kidding,” Carolyn said.

“No, really.” He turned back to face her and crossed his heart. “Nora said Hazel would swear up and down that something was one way when it really wasn't. But you know”—his glance was almost apologetic—“old houses creak … old people imagine things.”

He let the cupboard door slam, and Carolyn leaned toward him across the table.

“But what if she
wasn't
imagining it?”

Now it was Andy's turn to stare. “Excuse me?”

“What if she really
did
hear and see those things?” Carolyn burst out. “Old houses can be
haunted
, too.”

“Oh.” Andy's eyes narrowed. “I get it. Nora's been telling her ghost stories again. The old throat-ripped-clean-out bit. Did I forget to mention that
housekeepers
can be the most crazy of all?”

“You mean the story about the house isn't true?”

“Well, of course it's true.” Andy laughed. “But Hazel lived here for years and years. So why would the spirits suddenly get restless when Hazel suddenly gets senile?”

“You don't know for sure she was senile.”

“Like I don't know for sure Nora's an alien? If you ask me, those two crazy women deserved each other.”

“You don't know anything about anything—” Carolyn began hotly, but Andy held up his hands in defense.

“You're right, you're right—and Hazel's your aunt, after all, so I shouldn't—”

“I didn't even know her,” Carolyn grumbled. “I just happen to believe that anything is possible, and it doesn't necessarily mean you're crazy. Or senile.”

Andy leaned back against the counter. She could feel his eyes on her, and she pulled nervously at a loose thread on the tablecloth.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I'm open-minded.”

“Is that sort of like empty-headed?”

“Ouch!” Andy's jaw dropped. “All I did was bring groceries. Okay. Let's start over.”

Before Carolyn could respond, Andy started opening cupboard doors again, pulling things back out.

“Will you stop?” Carolyn watched in amazement, trying not to laugh. “I was just trying to make a point.”

“Yeah. And you're about as subtle as a dumptruck.”

“Well, I wasn't ever around Hazel, but I
have
been around Nora, and I really think she
believes
this place is haunted.”

Now it was Andy trying not to laugh. He pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded.

“Carolyn,” he said reasonably, “all the island kids think Nora's a witch. Or haven't you noticed her eyes?”

“She can't help the way she looks.”

“You couldn't pay kids to come within two miles of this place! Most villagers, either, thanks to Nora's and Hazel's ghost stories!”

“I'm just trying to be fair.” Carolyn looked away, embarrassed. “I think it's cruel when someone really
believes
something, and no one listens to them.”

For a moment there was silence. At last she glanced over at Andy, and he smiled.

“You're right,” he said. “You're absolutely right. No one will ever really know what Hazel saw or heard—not even Nora. And now Hazel's dead. So
she
can never tell us.”

Carolyn's nod was halfhearted. She felt sad all of a sudden, and strangely uneasy. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

“Andy …”

“Yeah?”

He was finishing with the groceries and glanced up from the bag. A shock of hair fell stubbornly over one eye, and he gave it an impatient swipe.

“The letter we got said Hazel died of exposure,” Carolyn said. “Couldn't the doctors do anything to save her?”

“She didn't have doctors.” Andy looked startled. “Nobody found her till it was too late.”

“You mean … she died
here?
In the
house?
”

Neither of them noticed the shadow slipping along the hall outside the door. And neither of them saw the tall, dark figure glide into the room until Andy looked over and gave a yelp.

“Dammit, Nora! What is this—a conspiracy to give me a heart attack today?”

Carolyn started from her chair as Nora's eyes raked her over. In one movement the woman's black coat slid from her arms onto a chair, and she walked to the stove.

“I had to stop at the store,” Nora announced crisply, putting on the teakettle. “For detergent.”

Carolyn's breath came out in a rush. Andy sagged back against the counter and put his hand to his chest.

“She's the one to ask,” he said irritably. “She's the one who found Hazel.”

Nora stiffened. Carolyn saw the bony hands hesitate over the stove, and she could swear they trembled.

“And she didn't die in the house,” Andy went on, his voice steady now. “She died out there.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen window, indicating the gray oblivion beyond.

“How awful,” Carolyn murmured sympathetically to Nora's back. “I'm so sorry, Nora.”

“They brought her back here and tried to revive her, but they couldn't.” Andy flicked a glance in Nora's direction, but the housekeeper didn't return it. “They think maybe she'd been out there all night—maybe even most of the day before.”

“It wasn't my fault!” Nora turned suddenly, her eyes flashing. “She gave me the day off! How was I to know?”

Carolyn looked back at her in surprise. “Well …” she stammered, “I'm sure no one blamed you. After all, if it hadn't been for you, who knows when they would have found her—”

“Wasn't the cold that killed her anyway,” Nora mumbled, turning back to the stove. She snapped off the burner and set the kettle to the back. She took down a cup and saucer, china rattling softly in her hand. “Wasn't the cold at all, nor nothing like that. It was
him
.”

“Him?” Carolyn echoed.

Nora swung around, her flinty eyes holding Carolyn in a relentless stare.

“They'll say different,” Nora whispered. “But me …
I know better!
”

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