"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - The Women of Whale Rock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

hotel stood empty, even in the busy summer. The owners tried to sell the hotel,
failed, and closed the doors. Lucy heard that they had discovered another body
inside the day they boarded it up, but no one had any record of it.

And so the curse of the Sandcastle began.

But locals did not discuss it, except for Retsler and Bishop. Retsler because he
had to deal with the bodies, and Bishop because of guilt.

Because of his wife.

Charles stood in the gravel turnout near the beach access. He wore his
waterproof jacket and a pair of knitted gloves, the last pair Grace had made for
him. The other gloves were in his bedroom closet, frayed reminders of her and
the lack of her. He had his back to the path, hands shoved in his pockets, the
wind off the ocean wiping his remaining hair into his face. The traffic on 101
was Saturday heavy, but so far no one had stopped to see what was drawing the
gulls.

They were still diving for the body. Their caws sounded like screams up close, a
woman's scream, desperate and alone.

He shivered in spite of himself.

At last Retsler's blue sedan pulled into the turnout, spraying gravel like
shotgun pellets. Dan Retsler was forty, but drove as if he were eighteen and
immortal. Charles often wondered how Retsler managed to pick up speeders without
feeling like a hypocrite.

Retsler got out, wearing his green cop's rain slicker and waders. In his right
hand, he clutched the bullhorn. In his left, a rifle. He handed Charles the
bullhorn, then dug in the car a moment longer, emerging with a bag of popcorn
big enough to feed a family of five.

"Where's Eddie?" Charles asked.

"The Billows. He knows what to do."

They all did. They had done it often enough.

Charles hefted the bullhorn, turned it on its side, made sure the speaker was
off, and turned the control to "siren." Retsler loaded his rifle, but kept the
safety on. The bag of popcorn leaned against his leg like a small child.

"Ready?" he asked.
Charles nodded. They turned together and stared at the gulls, circling and
crying, white perfection against an azure sky. The ocean smelled strongly of
brine, but the wind had died.

Retsler led the way across the narrow footpath and down the concrete steps. The