Ellis stared at Ben as he put away The Kid’s phone. “And the Oscar for Best Lying Whitecracker in a Clusterfuck goes to—”
Ben said, “Folks are predictable when they think they’ve got the upper hand. It’s when they’re desperate you have to watch out.”
“Think that nickel-slick stuff will work? Maybe you’ve been perusing The Art of War?”
“Dear Abby. Now we don’t need to know where Chalk is. We know where he’s going. And he clearly doesn’t know we’ve already got LuAnna back, or that the lighthouse is denied, so that works.”
“Good enough. But, Ben?”
“What is it, Ellis?”
“Do we think we’ve got the upper hand now? Did we just become predictable?”
Ben’s smile was grim again. “Wouldn’t worry about that. Chalk said he’s got my mother, too.”
“That’s no good. You believe him?”
Ben didn’t answer for a moment. “He seems sure enough that she’s not on Smith Island now. And I didn’t say she was there, so that was a mistake. Dammit! As good as a confirmation. I don’t know what to think. We just found Pap mixed up in this mess. Maybe she was, too.”
Ellis said, “That’s true. Just because your pappy didn’t mention her doesn’t mean she wasn’t still in his life. He told her everything.”
Ben asked, “You have any history with this Chalk? Know him from Vietnam, maybe? Was he there when you were?”
Ellis said nothing more.
This was hell for Ben. Not only was his father dead after years of no contact, his mother was now firmly involved. More than that, Chalk near as swore he had her captive. Through the years, Ben carefully maintained a nebulous image of Ida-Beth safe and happy somewhere, but with a tragic fairy-tale spell holding her in exile from Smith Island and her family. He carefully cleaned and checked Knocker Ellis’s rifle in the cuddy cabin. If he killed Chalk now, he might sever his last link to finding his mother alive. Ben was disgusted with himself. After all, closure was for suckers. Wasn’t it?
They set Miss Dotsy on a large, slow, circular course to the southeast of the Point No Point Lighthouse ruins. Fighting the storm exhausted them even more. At least Miss Dotsy’s repaired gearbox was holding, so far.
Ellis manned the helm for the first half-hour. Feet set wide, Ben propped himself against the cuddy cabin with binoculars scanning the bay as best he could. Ellis’s rifle lay cleaned, inspected, dry, loaded, and secured just inside the cabin door.