stood at the end of her pier. Her boat, an old Sea Ray 160, bobbed in the swells. She bent forward, handing a Coleman stove to Jeremiah Young. He stowed the stove, turned back to grab a folded tent. Next came a cooler, a box, a small hatchet.
Annie’s breath caught in her throat as Jeremiah took the hatchet.
He turned and added the tool to the growing pile stacked behind the seats. After a final transfer of what looked like folded blankets, Jeremiah offered a hand to Henny as she stepped into the boat.
Annie leaned forward. There was no weapon in evidence. The hatchet had joined the other goods behind the seats. Jeremiah’s demeanor wasn’t threatening nor did Henny appear threatened. She moved into the captain’s seat, the motor rumbled. As the boat edged away from the pier, Jeremiah stood with his back to Henny, coiling the mooring line.
Jeremiah was a fugitive. Authorities were looking for him on the island and the mainland. Description: white male, twenty-one, approximately six feet tall, muscular, unkempt shoulder-length light brown hair often beneath a do-rag, rounded face, light brown eyes, occasionally unshaven, no distinguishing marks. Last seen wearing Braves sweatshirt, jeans, work boots, brown corduroy jacket. Wanted on suspicion of murder. Considered dangerous.
Henny expertly steered through channels toward more open water.
The mist was heavier now. Whitecaps indicated rough water in the Sound.
Annie was bewildered. Surely Henny wasn’t taking Jeremiah to the mainland. She would make herself guilty of aiding and abetting a fugitive, an accessory after the fact.
The boat was perhaps thirty yards from shore now. The boat curved around a small hammock and turned south, nosing into a wide channel between thick cordgrass.
The mainland was due west.
The boat headed straight for one of the largest hammocks in the bay, a hump of land densely covered with trees, a wildlife sanctuary, and absolutely inaccessible except by boat. Jeremiah would need the hatchet to hack through tangled vines and limbs of salt myrtle, Southern bayberry, and yaupon holly that thrived beneath a canopy of live oaks.
The boat disappeared on the far side of the hammock.
Annie felt frantic. The boat was out of sight, Henny alone with a man wanted for murder. What was Henny thinking? Jeremiah could easily overpower her.
To call for help, Annie would have to run to her car, retrieve her purse from the trunk.
Henny didn’t want help.
The thought came instantly with the hard glint of unvarnished truth.
If Henny had needed or wanted help, she would have given some indication to Annie when they stood on the porch. If Jeremiah was a threat, she could have whispered quickly, “Leave, get help, Jeremiah in the house.” Henny had stood with her back to the door. Jeremiah could not have seen what she did or heard what she said.
Henny didn’t want help.
The conclusion seemed inescapable, yet Annie felt desperately unsure. She stood, riveted, staring across the marsh, watching, hoping. Minutes crawled past. Her thoughts raced. Should she turn and run, call Billy Cameron?
Not unless she felt Henny was in danger.
At this moment, she wouldn’t even address the idea of right or wrong. At this moment, all that mattered was Henny’s safety.
There had been no hint of coercion. Unless Annie had completely misread the actions of Henny and Jeremiah, they were working together. Henny wasn’t frightened or under duress.
The only possible conclusion was that Henny had decided to help Jeremiah hide. Henny would have made that decision gravely, understanding that her actions were unlawful. To break the law, Henny must have a powerful motive.
Obviously, Henny had decided Jeremiah was innocent.
Innocent.
Annie felt as though a boulder had rolled from her shoulders. If Jeremiah was innocent, Gretchen had not died because Annie had been slow in
Annie’s breath caught in her throat as Jeremiah took the hatchet.
He turned and added the tool to the growing pile stacked behind the seats. After a final transfer of what looked like folded blankets, Jeremiah offered a hand to Henny as she stepped into the boat.
Annie leaned forward. There was no weapon in evidence. The hatchet had joined the other goods behind the seats. Jeremiah’s demeanor wasn’t threatening nor did Henny appear threatened. She moved into the captain’s seat, the motor rumbled. As the boat edged away from the pier, Jeremiah stood with his back to Henny, coiling the mooring line.
Jeremiah was a fugitive. Authorities were looking for him on the island and the mainland. Description: white male, twenty-one, approximately six feet tall, muscular, unkempt shoulder-length light brown hair often beneath a do-rag, rounded face, light brown eyes, occasionally unshaven, no distinguishing marks. Last seen wearing Braves sweatshirt, jeans, work boots, brown corduroy jacket. Wanted on suspicion of murder. Considered dangerous.
Henny expertly steered through channels toward more open water.
The mist was heavier now. Whitecaps indicated rough water in the Sound.
Annie was bewildered. Surely Henny wasn’t taking Jeremiah to the mainland. She would make herself guilty of aiding and abetting a fugitive, an accessory after the fact.
The boat was perhaps thirty yards from shore now. The boat curved around a small hammock and turned south, nosing into a wide channel between thick cordgrass.
The mainland was due west.
The boat headed straight for one of the largest hammocks in the bay, a hump of land densely covered with trees, a wildlife sanctuary, and absolutely inaccessible except by boat. Jeremiah would need the hatchet to hack through tangled vines and limbs of salt myrtle, Southern bayberry, and yaupon holly that thrived beneath a canopy of live oaks.
The boat disappeared on the far side of the hammock.
Annie felt frantic. The boat was out of sight, Henny alone with a man wanted for murder. What was Henny thinking? Jeremiah could easily overpower her.
To call for help, Annie would have to run to her car, retrieve her purse from the trunk.
Henny didn’t want help.
The thought came instantly with the hard glint of unvarnished truth.
If Henny had needed or wanted help, she would have given some indication to Annie when they stood on the porch. If Jeremiah was a threat, she could have whispered quickly, “Leave, get help, Jeremiah in the house.” Henny had stood with her back to the door. Jeremiah could not have seen what she did or heard what she said.
Henny didn’t want help.
The conclusion seemed inescapable, yet Annie felt desperately unsure. She stood, riveted, staring across the marsh, watching, hoping. Minutes crawled past. Her thoughts raced. Should she turn and run, call Billy Cameron?
Not unless she felt Henny was in danger.
At this moment, she wouldn’t even address the idea of right or wrong. At this moment, all that mattered was Henny’s safety.
There had been no hint of coercion. Unless Annie had completely misread the actions of Henny and Jeremiah, they were working together. Henny wasn’t frightened or under duress.
The only possible conclusion was that Henny had decided to help Jeremiah hide. Henny would have made that decision gravely, understanding that her actions were unlawful. To break the law, Henny must have a powerful motive.
Obviously, Henny had decided Jeremiah was innocent.
Innocent.
Annie felt as though a boulder had rolled from her shoulders. If Jeremiah was innocent, Gretchen had not died because Annie had been slow in
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