The Cypress House by Michael Koryta Read Free Book Online Page A

in the dim bar.
        "Another
dry county?" Arlen said.
        Sorenson
shook his head.
        "Then
what are you doing here?"
        "I
told you last night, Mr. Wagner, business isn't about booze these days."
        Sorenson
took a drink of his beer, and now Arlen could see that sweat was running down
his face in thick rivulets, more sweat than the heat deserved. He looked over
his shoulder at the door, had another drink, and then looked again.
        "You
expecting company ?" Arlen said.
        "Huh?
Um, no."
        Paul
said, "Why's it called Corridor County?"
        "The
waterways," Sorenson answered. "There are inlets and estuaries all
over the shore here, and they wind around and join the river about ten miles
inland. It's a crazy tangled mess, though, and every storm that blows through
shifts things around and puts up sandbars where there didn't used to be any.
Nobody but a handful of locals can navigate the whole mess worth a shit."
        He
got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."
        He
picked up the heavy black case and walked around the back of the bar and
through the swinging door where Rebecca Cady had gone. Arlen looked at Paul,
saw the question in the boy's eyes, and shrugged.
        "Go
look at your ocean," he said, hoping to distract the kid until Sorenson
came back out and they could get on the road.
        Paul
got to his feet and walked over to the windows, gazed out at the sea, waves
rolling in with their tops flattened by a freshening wind, and then went out on
the porch. After a moment Arlen picked up his beer and followed. The smell of
the sea rode toward them in warm, wet gusts, and seagulls screamed and circled
the beach. South, there was nothing but sand and short dunes lined with
clusters of grass, but to the north the shore seemed to curve inland and
thickets of palms and strange green plants that looked like overgrown ferns
traced what Arlen assumed was one of the inlets Sorenson had mentioned. He
could see the roof of another structure through the trees. Some sort of
boathouse, probably, sheltered from the pounding waves of the open water.
        Paul
stepped off the porch and walked down to the beach. He slid his shoes off and
rolled his pants up to his knees. Arlen leaned on the weathered railing and
felt a smile slide across his face as he watched the kid pick his way over the
sand and down into the water, wade in until the waves broke over his knees and
soaked his trousers. Paul seemed to have forgotten anyone else existed, just
stood in the water, staring out at the line where sea met sky.
        The
wind was blowing steadily now, and that was probably why Arlen didn't hear the
car. As it was, he caught a lucky angle. He'd turned back to glance in the bar,
checking to see if Sorenson had reappeared, and saw a flash of movement through
the windows at the opposite end of the building. It was gone then, and he took
a few steps to the side and still couldn't see anything. After a glance back at
Paul to make sure he was still standing in the surf, Arlen set his beer down on
the rail and walked off the porch and around the side of the building. There,
parked at the top of the sloping track that led down to the Cypress House, a
black Plymouth sedan had pulled in beside the trees. The sun was shining off
the glass and Arlen couldn't see anyone inside, but the car hadn't driven
itself here.
        He
pulled back, leaning against the wall to get himself out of sight. Felt foolish
doing it, but all the same he didn't want to be seen staring. Sorenson had been
acting damn strange since the moment they'd arrived, and now someone had parked
up at the top of that hill and stayed in the car as if waiting on something. It
didn't feel right.
        Paul
was walking along the shore now, shin-deep in the water, his eyes still on the
sea. Arlen went quietly back up the porch steps and then stepped inside the
bar, taking care to move sideways, keeping out of view