Rescue

play dumb. In law enforcement.“
    I wondered what happened to the “Mr.“ before my last “Just military.“
    “When you were in ‘for a while,’ ‘here and there.’“
    “Right.“
    Tidyman did the rocking routine again. “All right, nobody but us chickens. Now, what’s on your mind?“
    “I’m thinking of joining the Church.“
    “What, the... Reverend Wyeth’s?“
    “Yes.“
    “You don’t strike me as the type they’re looking for.“
    “maybe I’m looking for them. can you you tell me anything about it?“
    “The Church, you mean?“
    “Yes.“
    Tidyman played with the points of his star. “The Church^ of the Lord Vigilant is an institution down here, Francis. The Reverend seems to run it with a pretty tight hand, that wife of his maybe tighter. But the Church and its members spend a lot of good money on Mercy, buying heavy from local people who can use the trade. A real shot in the arm, especially after all the problems Andrew brought.“
    “The hurricane.“
    “Right.“
    “So the Church pours its coffers into the local economy, and nobody bothers it.“
    “No reason to bother it, unless you can give me one.“
    “Not yet.“
    Tidyman stopped rocking. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about your new—what would you call it, ‘vocation’?“
    “Or vacation, which is what I’m—“
    “You going to cut the shit and tell me what you’re really here for?“ n
    The burr was back, with a vengeance. “Like I said, not yet.“
    Sergeant Whit Tidyman pursed his Ups, mellowing the voice. “Don’t wait too long, now. Things have a way of spoiling fast in this climate, you don’t keep your eye on them-’
    “Do I get my gun back?“
    “Francis, you’re lucky to be getting your car back.“

19

    D eputy Sherman took me to Pedro’s in his Crown Victoria to pick up the convertible. He had even less to say than Billups had on the rideto the station, but he returned my keys and stayed long enough to be sure my car was functional.
    I drove first to Mercy Lodge. At the registration desk, a female version of Clark , in a yellow shirt today, checked her computer and said a Ms. Adair wanted John Francis to call her at home, leaving the number. I went to my room, shooed a gecko out of the tub, and took a long, hot shower to wash the smell of jail off me. I didn’t have the air-conditioner throat, since I’d slept at Dawna’s house under the ceiling fan and fresh air the night before, but when I dried off, the towel had a scent of banana rather than apple or peach. I wondered if the different scents had to do with intentional additives, like the different colors of the staff shirts, or just came from whatever was in the laundresses’ that day.
    I wanted to see Adair in person, but after what happened at breakfast, I thought twice about having another meal with her. Instead I headed north, stopping at a place called Mrs. Mac’s Kitchen. From the outside, it looked like a small bungalow at the beach, with an old screened door at the entrance and jalousied glass on the windows. Inside there was a Formica counter with bar stools that were ancient in the Year One. Some booths were arranged around the windows, waitresses in shorts and T-shirts calling half the customers by first name.
    I took a stool at the counter, and a waitress wearing jack-o’-lantern earrings handed me a sunset-covered spiral binder. I asked her about the earrings.
    “I’m just trying them out, for this Halloween party I’m going to next month? But when I walked through the parking lot, the wind come up, and these things started whistling like a little kid on the top of a pop bottle.“
    As I looked at the menu, she recommended the beer of the month, which turned out to be a British ale. At $1.50, I went for it and the Basic Burger at $2.50 more.
    Nursing the ale, I looked around the place. Collar ties like the ones in Dawna’s loft held old-fashioned beer bottles and cans in a museum display. Tacked on the walls above the windows were license plates from everywhere down through the years. The oldest I could see was, by coincidence, a “ ’59 Mass,“ white letters on a maroon background, reminding me of my dad’s car from that vintage. Before the burger even arrived, I was glad I’d stopped there.

    “Oh, I called you.“
    “I got the message. Can I come in?“
    “
    Dawna Adair slid the pocket door all the way open. “Sure’
    I followed her back into the living room, each of us taW1* a