Just like then, he raised a hand to shade his eyes.

The light drifted away again, toward the rocking dock on the shore below him. The driver—possibly the same woman he'd spoken to on the payphone, though he'd expected a man—brought the boat in tight and cut the engine. She snapped the back hook then jumped out, leaving the flashlight to illuminate the floor of the tin boat, the chipped red paint of the gas tank, a paddle, a life vest, a scoped hunting rifle and a rusty bailing can.

She snapped the front hook and bent to pick up the flashlight, considerately shining it at Gimme Jimmy's feet this time rather than right in his peepers. "Yous call for a lift?" the raspy voice inquired.

"That's right."

"Well, come on then. Time's a-wastin."

Jimmy sauntered out onto the wobbly dock. "That it is, ma'am."

She struck a match against the edge of the dock and lit a home-rolled cigarette. The cherry illuminated the weathered face of a woman who'd lived a hardscrabble life on a windblasted rock. "Name's Clarabelle, if it's all the same to you."

"That's a pretty name, darlin."

Clarabelle spat a flake of tobacco and waved a hand toward the rocking boat, ignoring the compliment. "Welcome to the Barrows Bay Express. Please keep your hands in the boat at all times and enjoy your trip. If yous get queasy from all the rockin just go on 'n harf over the side."

They piled in and Clarabelle cast off.

"Y'always bring a huntin rifle along fer the ride, do ya?"

Clarabelle shrugged. "Fella rings at three in the damn mornin, you never know what kinda degenerate you gonna meet."

"Mm-hmm, reckon you're right."

Clarabelle wasted no more time conversing. She twisted the handle and pulled away from the dock, into the choppy water. Jimmy's teeth clacked each time the boat slammed down over another wave.

Out on the sound he spotted lights brightening the horizon in the distance, outlining what appeared to be the small island of Barrows Bay. The town itself wasn't visible from the sound, just some houses on the shore and higher up on the bluffs, and the ferry dock lit up like a landing strip.

Fella who gave him a lift to Narraganset said the Barrows Bay ferry got in an accident so there wouldn't be one running for another day or two. Short of hiring a water taxi like Clarabelle's Barrows Bay Express, most people would be stuck on the island. Which suited his purposes just fine.

He was watching the island against the black horizon when a flickering orange glow arose from the trees near its center. After a minute, he thought he could make out black smoke rising into the sky above.

"What's goin on up there?" he called back to the driver.

Clarabelle squinted into the dark, the cherry on her smoke glowing red hot, illuminating her hard face. "Looks like somethin caught fire. First the ferry, now this. What the hell next?"