Cape Refuge Read Online Free Page B

the day wore on, his anger had faded, and remorse had taken its place.
    Still, he didn’t plan to back down now. He’d made himself clear, and he intended to stick to it. If they didn’t ask Gus Hampton to leave Hanover House, then Jonathan would do everything in his power to persuade Morgan to move out and find another job.
    He drove around the southernmost point of the island, then up toward the dock at the mouth of Bull River. By now, Thelma and Wayne had probably made it to the meeting and laid all their cards on the table, and the council members were voting to keep Hanover House open and send engraved invitations to the inmates of every jail in Georgia. His in-laws just had that effect on people.
    He heard sirens out the window and looked in his rearview mirror for the flashing lights. Some tourist probably had a fender bender. A squad car came up behind him, then whipped past him and hurried off toward the dock.
    As the warehouse came into view, he saw that the police cars and fire trucks congregated in the parking lot just outside the building.
    In the center of it all sat Thelma and Wayne’s twenty-year-old Regal.
    Something was wrong.
    He started to turn into the gravel parking lot, but a horn and screeching tires made him slam on his brakes. The car passed, and he tried again, stopping his car among the squad cars and fire trucks rumbling out their impatience. Billy Caldwell, one of the rookie cops on the force, broke into a trot and headed toward the warehouse door.
    â€œBilly!” Jonathan called, leaving his car on the street and getting out. The young man turned around.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Jonathan asked.
    Billy looked as if he’d been caught at something. His sunburned face went blank, and he dropped his hands helplessly to his side. His mouth moved as if he couldn’t quite get his lips to form the answer.
    Jonathan crossed the parking lot and reached him. “Billy, what is it?”
    â€œIt’s . . . Thelma and Wayne,” he said. Jonathan stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of Billy’s simple statement. He started toward the door.
    â€œJonathan, you don’t want to go in there,” Billy said.
    But he had already opened the door and bolted into the big room.
    The place had been turned from a place of worship to a crime scene. Four police officers stood taking pictures and dusting the piano and doors for prints, while others spilled out the side door onto the boardwalk that went down to the dock and Crickets.
    Joe McCormick, the detective on the police force, stood at the southwest corner of the makeshift chapel. He was sweating and looked shaken. Jonathan started toward him, but Joe saw him and held out a hand to stop him. “Jonathan, this is no place for you right now. Somebody get him out of here.”
    But Jonathan hurried around the pews, getting closer . . .
    Between the uniformed legs that blocked his view, a body lay on the floor. He caught a glimpse of the bright yellow sleeve on the small, limp arm . . .
    â€œThelma!” he shouted and bolted forward.
    Joe caught him and tried to hold him back. “Jonathan, you can’t get any closer. This is a crime scene.”
    â€œLet me go!” He wrestled his way out of Joe’s grip and pushed someone out of his way. Then he saw them, Thelma and Wayne both, lying lifeless on the bloodstained floor.
    His body went limp and he stopped fighting. Billy, the young cop with a more compassionate touch, pulled him back away from the scene and walked him out the side door. He felt dizzy, like he might pass out. His heart seemed inadequate to do its job, and his eyes stung. “How . . . how did this happen?” he asked, grabbing Billy’s arm. “They were supposed to be at the meeting . . . they were on the agenda. . . .” Even as he spoke, he recognized the absurdity of his statement, as if they’d had no right to die when they’d had other