Cry for the Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page B

anything but the cozy bedroom of a private home. The double bed sported what was obviously a handmade quilt, and all the furniture was good sturdy oak. Not fancy, but warm and functional.
    “All right,” Elaine gave in. “It is nice, and it’s exactly the sort of thing I love. I just wish it weren’t in Clark’s Harbor.”
    “But if it weren’t in Clark’s Harbor it wouldn’t exist, would it?” Brad reasoned.
    “You’re not going to trap me into that old argument. Besides, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You’re just trying to be ornery.”
    “Me?” Brad said with exaggerated innocence. “Would I do a thing like that?”
    “Yes, you would,” Elaine replied, trying to keep hervoice severe. “But I won’t fall for it. If I did, in another minute you’d have me all turned around and I’d be begging you to let us stay here at least for a few days. But I don’t want to stay. I want to go back to Seattle, and I want to go in the morning.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” her husband said, clicking his heels and saluting. He smiled at his wife and wondered how serious she was—and how much arguing he was going to have to do to convince her to stay in Clark’s Harbor for a while. He decided to approach the problem obliquely. He began untying his shoes.
    “I’ve been thinking about Robby Palmer,” he said neutrally.
    Elaine caught on immediately. “The book,” she said. “You’ve decided to write your book about him, haven’t you?”
    “I don’t know,” Brad countered. “I’d like to find out what happened to him, though. The kind of disorder he has doesn’t just clear up as Glen said it did. It just doesn’t happen.”
    “But if it did?” Elaine asked.
    “Then it’s worth knowing about. My God, if there’s something out here, something about the area, that affects children like Robby, and helps them, then the world should know about it.”
    “What would you call the book? Paradise Found?”
    “Well, a book about Robby Palmer might have a wider appeal than a book about bio-rhythms,” Brad said defensively.
    “Why don’t you write about both?” Elaine offered. “Get both audiences?” She began laughing at her own joke, but stopped when she saw the look on Brad’s face. “Did I say something?” she asked warily.
    “I don’t know,” Brad said. He kicked his shoes off, then tossed bis socks after them. He stretched out on the bed and opened his arms invitingly. Elaine moved from the chair to the bed and snuggled close to him. His arms pressed her against his chest; one hand stroked the back of her neck softly. The patter of rain against the window became a steady drumming. And he knew he was about to win: they would not be going home in the morning.
    “Do you really hate it here all that much?” he asked after a moment.
    Elaine wriggled sensuously and nuzzled Brad’s neck, then once more tried to sort out her feelings.
    “I suppose it was mostly that body,” she said finally, shuddering slightly at the memory. “I keep telling myself that the same thing could happen anywhere—I mean, fishermen drown all the time, don’t they?—but I keep seeing that face, all blue and bloated, and I’m afraid that I’ll always associate that memory with Clark’s Harbor.” She paused and felt Brad stir. “You want to stay here, don’t you?”
    “Well, it’s certainly the prettiest place we’ve seen so far, and it seems perfect for what we want. It’s isolated and it’s small and there isn’t much chance that we’ll get so caught up in the social whirl that I won’t get any writing done.”
    “Social whirl, indeed,” Elaine chuckled. “I’ll bet that boils down to an ice-cream social at the church once a month. But I don’t know, Brad. I keep telling myself to forget about that man, but even when I do, there’s something about this place. Something that just doesn’t seem right. I suppose it’s partly the way Glen Palmer was treated in the café this