He liked his solitude, too, and what was the difference whether he was alone at home or alone here on Cow Cay?
He had a blanket with him for extra warmth, and a thermos of coffee—spiked coffee. Why the hell he was guarding a barren island and a big rock, he didn’t know. Someone had been sniffing around. Digging up the place. The Park Service didn’t even give a damn.
But if O’Riley wanted to pay him to watch a rock, hell, he’d watch a rock.
He found a place by Banshee Rock and sat down on the blanket, setting up his lantern and his thermos, and flipping through his iPod. Not a bad gig. He’d asked for a bonus because of the cold, and no one had even questioned it.
He leaned back against the rock and turned up the volume. The blanket below him kept his ass from freezing, and his parka did the rest.
Not bad, he thought.
There were some stars, and the moon was a crescent. Over on the main island of Newport, Christmas lights were flickering everywhere. Colorful.
Only the thatch of trees on Cow Cay seemed to be really creepy. They shifted in the wind, like something from a Halloween fantasy. He could imagine the skinny damned things picking up their skinny damned roots and starting to walk, waving their bony little branches around in an attempt to snag the hair of some high-school girl balling her boyfriend in a bedroll.
Then there were the birds, big black things screeching overhead.
Man, it seemed like they’d been around all day. Creepy as hell, watching the stinking birds swoop around those trees.
He hated birds. All of ’em.
Gulls, terns, seahawks—hell, he hated canaries.
Birds were messy. They were loud. They were always hanging around the docks, wanting handouts, and their shit was everywhere.
But birds like these, flying around as if paying homage to something in those trees, something awful, something that demanded a literal flock of subjects…they were unusual.
Screw the birds.
He had a bunch of old comedies on his iPod. He was going sit there and laugh all night, collecting the big bucks without having to do squat.
And his thermos was next to him, filled with nice hot coffee. Well, half-filled with nice hot coffee. There was some good old American bourbon in there, as well. He took a long swig.
The bourbon went down with a pleasant burn. Another swig, and he was warm all the way through.
He didn’t drink on duty. Not real duty.
For off-duty jobs…
He’d done a stint in the service; he’d been a hunter. He could listen. But screw this. He was on a freezing island in the dead of winter, on a ridiculous job. Who the hell was going to come out here tonight and dig?
As a matter in fact, who the hell was going to come out here tonight, period?
There was only one way to get through the long hours: his way. Lots of bourbon and a very small-screen TV.
He swore and got up, thinking he would relieve himself against one of those scrawny, creepy trees before settling in to wait and watch.
The good thing about being all alone on an island, he thought, was who the hell cared what you did? He took a piss in full view of the beach, and then, that taken care of, he belched loudly and settled down again.
Not bad. All the money he was going to make, and all he had to do was sit here, drink and laugh.
Money. It was all his ex-wife wanted, and for some reason the courts had decided she deserved it.
She was a bitch.
Work was a bitch.
Life was a bitch.
Life sucked.
And that was that.
But he was a man’s man, tough, smart and not about to take any shit. Even if the whole world had gone over to the pansies and the P.C. crowd, he wasn’t going to take any shit.
After a while he settled into his show, drinking steadily all the while. He would probably doze off soon enough, but even if he did, who the hell would know? Or care?
He was laughing at one of his shows when, with an awful thud, it landed on the blanket, almost in his lap, and his laughter became a scream.
“Anything on those blueberries?” Zach asked Morrissey over the phone.
It was nearly ten, and he was alone in his room at last. He and Caer had joined Amanda, Kat and Sean at a seafood place down by the wharf. Cal and Marni had come in on their own, and they had all laughed awkwardly over the fact that not only did none of them want to eat at home, they had all been drawn to the same restaurant.
Because, Zach realized, it was a buffet.
Whatever they ate was also being consumed by the dozens of other people eating there that night.
Only Clara, Tom and Bridey weren’t there. Clara had cooked for the three of them and then sat with Bridey.
Kat had talked about going out to a club, and she’d tried to convince him to come along, but he’d decided against it. He was too consumed with the mystery of Eddie’s death and the treasure, examining the charts in his mind, trying to figure out if he was misunderstanding or missing something.