Page 46 of Dead of Summer
“Crooked Clarke Bake,” Geoffrey reads from the menu as the oyster seller sweats in front of him. “What’s that?”
“I’m sure it’s just a joke, right?” David says. “Isn’t that right?” The man pales. Faith’s stomach turns.
“It’s a take on oysters Rockefeller.” His voice is thin with stress. His hand clutches at the towel in front of him. The oyster farmers in the next stall over stop shucking and raise their heads to watch. “It’s quite popular,” he says. And Faith can tell he isn’t sure he’s said the right thing.
“Oh, is it? Then I’ll take an order.”
The man goes white. “Are you sure you want—?”
“What’s wrong? I can’t have the oysters? They’re fucking named after me. They’re popular because of me, after all.” Geoffrey turns on the man, his voice rising to a loud growl. Two women behind a pile of ice in tall waders also turn to watch.
“Yes, of course you can,” he says.
The knife slips, gouging the man in the thigh. He gasps in pain.
“Oh my god!” Faith cries out, reaching her hand to him. “Are you okay?”
“He’s fine, aren’t you?” Geoffrey says, stepping between them. “Look at the size of that blade, can’t be that bad.”
“Never mind. Nothing to worry about,” the man says, gritting his teeth. He presses a stained white towel to the leg of his jeans. He calls to the boy, “Go ahead and make Geoffrey Clarke some oysters.” The boy scowls, but his father gives him a desperate stare and his son prepares the oysters, shucking them expertly and loading them with sauce and breadcrumbs, throwing them onto a wood-fired oven set up in the back of the tent. It’s the first time Faith has seen Geoffrey look like he is genuinely enjoying himself. He is the only one. Even his posse of polo-shirted men shuffle uncomfortably behind him as he waits.
“What’s everyone so quiet for?” Geoffrey booms. “This is supposed to be fun.”
The boy hands over a paper tray with a blossom of oysters inside. “The Crooked Clarke, eh?” Geoffrey says. The air is suffused with tension as he lifts one to his mouth and tosses it back.
“That’s damn good,” he says, dropping the empty shell onto the ground. Faith feels the whole tent exhale simultaneously. He has chosen mercy this time.
“So glad you like it,” says the man, whose hand hangs limply in front of him as a red spot grows on the leg of his pants. Geoffrey ignores the injury, letting out a loud barking laugh.
“It’s so good you should make your help here sign an NDA.” As he says this he turns to look directly at Faith. His eyes, sharp and calculating, meet hers. She raises her chin and forces a smile back at him. She glances at David to see if he’s noticed, but he has turned away and is staring pensively down into his phone. Faith knows that nothing Geoffrey does is by accident. Even as she maintains her smile, a jolt of terrible recognition shoots through her.
He knows.
Part ThreeOPHELIA
HENRY
The small blue-and-white police boat has been in the water all morning. Henry watches it move from house to house, two blue-shirted officers on board. It is currently bobbing in the water next to the Clarkes’ main dock. The officers, Brody and some young willowy man Henry doesn’t recognize, wait with a member of Geoffrey’s staff as they confer with another staff member on the dock.
Geoffrey appears, marching down the dock in golf whites. His face shows an expression of exasperation that he has to do this himself.He has aged badly, Henry thinks, considering his wealth. His hair is nearly white. His face sags unhappily in the cheeks. At the end of the dock, he stops and stoops slightly, catching his breath with his hands on his knees. There is a bit of back-and-forth between the men. Geoffrey gestures impatiently at the Rock. His mouth moves angrily. Henry can imagine what he is saying though he’d rather not.
The officers get back into the boat and it pulls away from the dock, turning abruptly away from shore and cutting toward the Rock through the bay. Henry stumbles back, knocking over a chair.
He leans forward and focuses on the boat. As it grows closer, he can see the two policemen more clearly. One looks familiar, and he is startled to realize that it must beBrody, all grown. Henry knew hisfather, Hadley Island’s former police chief, for decades. He owed him. The other man is tall and thin.
The unexpected company sends his heart racing. He turns away from the window and frantically snatches up the logbooks and stashes them in the cupboard under the sink. Outside, the boat noisily scrapes up against the side of his dock.
The younger man jumps out first, clumsily tying the boat up as Henry steps out onto the deck. Brody jumps up onto the dock and waves a large hand in greeting. Henry cautiously raises his hand in response. He goes to the stairs. Better to meet them down there, away from the house. He’s not used to visitors in the best of circumstances. And now, with the girl. They’ll have questions. Ones that he won’t be able to answer.
“Long time no see, Henry,” Brody says when he gets close enough. He looks remarkably like Ed up close; the ruddy cheeks, the sturdy build, even the small patch of thinning hair on top are a carbon copy of his father.
“Hello,” Henry coughs out while trying to convey a normal, unsuspicious appearance.
“This is Sam.” Brody jerks his thumb at the young man standing behind him. His lip curls back as he looks at Henry. That’s how they think of him on Hadley now, as some sort of monster, he realizes with discomfort. That’s why they’re here again after all these years, isn’t it? Another girl missing.
“How is Ed?” Henry asks, attempting to act like a normal person, but his voice goes up into a strange unnatural octave.
Brody’s cheeks sag. “Oh, you didn’t know? Dad passed about six years ago now. Had a heart attack.”Damn it.Henry should have remembered that. Had Jean told him? He normally would remember the details of something so important, but he is flustered.
