Mudlark by Sheila Simonson Page A

witness."
    Jay sat up straight. "Somebody saw the arsonists?"
    "No. The woman in the mobile home north of me heard the vehicle driving away, though. Thought it
was teenagers. When she looked out her window the house was on fire. She saw me come out and grab the
hose."
    Jay shoved a chair out for him and scooted his own closer to mine. "That's great. It's a shame that fire
truck came up the beach approach. It obscured the tread marks."
    Tom was staring out the kitchen window into the dark, mug in hand. The rain had stopped but it was
still overcast and windy. After a moment he sighed and came into the nook. "I suppose that's why they blocked the
approach last night--to look for tread marks. The adjustor says the electrician can come in the morning."
    "That's a relief. Ruth and I will help."
    Tom took the chair and smiled at me. "I appreciate the offer, Lark, but I'm going to have to hire a crew
anyway--carpenters and painters and so on." He looked down at the mug. "The adjustor said he'd put me up at a
motel, too, so you can get back to normal tomorrow. I'm grateful for all your help."
    "Which motel?"
    "The one in Shoalwater."
    "Then you can forget it until after Labor Day."
    He looked at me, frowning a little.
    "Even if they have a room available it'll be no place for a writer this weekend. Roomsful of kids
shrieking and running in and out all day. Teenagers with boom boxes vibrating the walls all night. I think you'd
better stay here."
    "I can't just move in on you--"
    Jay said, "It's not a problem, Tom. The house is huge."
    After a long moment, Tom nodded. "If it won't inconvenience you."
    I said, "Freddy will have hundreds of questions for you."
    "If you're sure--" Tom cleared his throat. "Thanks."
    Jay turned to Bonnie, smiling. "We can put you up, too. We haven't had a full report on your damage
yet."
    Bonnie beamed at him. "I feel a lot better just knowing you guys are across the street, but I think I ought
to stay with Gibson. He wasn't used to the place, and now he's really twitchy. And one advantage of not having a
huge house is that it doesn't take long to clean. I already cleared a path to my bed."
    "Will you feel safe?" I felt a little guilty that I hadn't I made the offer.
    "Probably not, but I didn't feel safe in Santa Monica either. Feeling safe is a luxury."
    "That's a hell of a note." Tom set his mug down. "Did they mess with your computer?"
    Bonnie shook her head. "I haven't bought one yet. I decided to wait until I'd unpacked everything.
There's not much room in the cottage, and my old machine took up a lot of space."
    "You could get a laptop," Tom suggested.
    "That's an idea."
    We talked computer for a while. It was a good thing Freddy was still upstairs. He had grandiose notions.
After ten minutes or so Darla drifted down. She said Freddy had promised to drive her home in half an hour.
    Darla wanted to talk about the murder. Tom didn't. When she probed he evaded. There were
undercurrents in the conversation I could sense but not analyze. It was clear that Darla had disliked Cleo Hagen, or
perhaps she just disliked what the dead woman had represented. The resort, on the literal level; on another, an
alien style of living.
    After a while Tom said, rather wearily, "Cleo or no Cleo, the resort will be built. They've broken
ground."
    Darla looked mysterious. "Legal questions will be raised after Labor Day."
    Tom snorted. "I suppose the tribal council's going to file an injunction."
    Darla scowled at him. "Why not? It's Nekana land."
    Tom looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup. "So's the McKay place. Are you going to sue me,
too?"
    "Your title's clear." She raised her chin. "Chief Nisqua deeded your land to Captain McKay."
    "Yeah--in exchange for what? Blankets?"
    "It was a recorded transaction."
    Tom leaned toward her. "Be real, Darla. Captain McKay was a scoundrel, and I have my doubts about
old Nisqua. After all, the land belonged to nobody or to the Great Spirit or whatever, and it was the