Hurricane Hannah. Sue Civil-Brown
the meantime, I’m going to find out exactly what we’re getting into here so I don’t mess it up.”
Craig sighed and pulled over a stool, the metal legs scraping on concrete. “No seat of the pants, huh?”
“Not with this one. I want that woman off this island in one piece just as soon as I can manage.”
“Yeah, right.”
Buck glared at him, and Craig wisely shut his yap.
BUCK’S APARTMENT behind the office was pin-neat, although darkened by a shortage of windows…probably deliberate because of storms.
Hannah couldn’t resist looking around a little out of curiosity. The man had apparently brought Navy habits with him into civilian life. Every bit of furnishing was utilitarian. Nothing appeared to be out of place. A check of the refrigerator showed it was spotless, and also offered the bounty of some fresh fruit. Grabbing a pear, mindful that it was probably terribly expensive given how far it must have come, she ate it, loving the way the juice trickled down her chin.
Having seen everything else, she was no longer afraid to look in his bathroom. It, too, was spotless, and the shower stall gleamed. The hot water felt like heaven and she took longer than she might have otherwise. When she at last emerged, she was pink from the heat and her fingers were beginning to prune.
When she had toweled off she decided that since she wasn’t going to be spending the expected time in Aruba, she might as well wear some of the nicer clothing she had brought.
Like the sarong she’d bought years ago in Jamaica, a lovely combination of blues and greens. Sandals…and a barrette in her hair that was decorated with a small but colorful flower.
A glance in the mirror told her she looked okay, so off she went to find a ride to town, because if she had to spend all day with Buck Shanahan, there was going to be blood on the floor.
Then she returned to the hangar and said, “Can someone give me a ride to town? I need some necessities.”
Buck glared. Craig jumped to his feet. “Sure,” he said.
AS THE JEEP bounced along, rounding one tight switchback after another on their way down the mountain, Craig glanced over at Hannah, obviously trying to decide whether to say something. Finally, he spoke.
“You really ought to find a way to bow out of Buck’s poker game tomorrow night,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “I like poker. It’s fun, and I’m going to be bored beyond belief if I don’t find something to do.”
“I understand that, Ma’am, but….”
“First, it’s Hannah, not Ma’am. ‘Ma’am’ is my mother, or my grandmother. Second, I’m not going to be offended if you guys smoke cigars and tell bawdy jokes, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have three brothers. I think I’ve probably heard it all.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “Look, if you’re bored, I’ll give you a ride to the casino tonight. They’ll still have the poker tables open in the restaurant. Play there. Don’t play in Buck’s game. Buck’s game is the toughest on the island, bar none. He says it’s just a few friends, but they play hard and they’re all damn good. I don’t play in Buck’s game. My wife would kill me if I did.”
“I don’t feel much like being stranded away from my plane if the hurricane should happen to pick up speed,” she said. “And I never gamble with money that I can’t afford to lose.”
“Well, that’s what you’ll do if you sit at Buck’s table,” he said. “Take my word for it.”
“You never know, maybe I’ll get lucky,” she said.
By this time they were riding along a dusty street framed on either side by small, colorful shops. Not many people seemed to be out and about, however. Maybe they were all working. Or maybe they were battening down for the storm.
“You’ll need to, Ma’am…Hannah. Well, here’s the island grocery. Do you need me to show you around?”
She smiled. “I woke up with an alligator staring at me. I think I can navigate the wilds of a grocery. But thanks anyway. Meet back here in an hour?”
“Sure thing,” he said as she climbed out.
So this was going to be a major tourist resort? she wondered as she looked around. It looked more like a Caribbean version of Shantytown, U.S.A. Across the street from the grocery was the requisite tourist T-shirt shop, and a few other shops appeared to specialize in island-themed knickknacks, but by and large the town center looked tired and more than a bit run-down.
The grocery itself was a small shop, more the type she commonly saw in Europe than the big box supermarkets she was accustomed to in the U.S. The shelves were plywood on two-by-four frames, closely packed with what seemed to be a hodgepodge of items in no discernible organization. But she was able to find the few staples she needed—bread, some cold cuts, milk, juice, mustard, coffee, cream and sugar—and the prices were not much higher than she’d have paid in Houston. Considering that everything had to be flown or shipped in, that surprised her.
The grocer, an elderly man who introduced himself as Horace, the sole surviving descendant of Hank Hanratty, leaned over the counter to chat as she set her selections down. “So you’re the fruitcake who ruined last night’s game. I hear Buck had sevens full.”
At first surprised, then a little irritated, Hannah answered, “I had to make an emergency landing, yes.”
The old eyes, a faded blue, smiled at her. “Does him good to get shook up once in a while. You’ll have a run for your money, though.”
“A run for my money? Over what?”
“Buck. That volcanologist has her cap set for him.”
Hannah bristled. “I can assure you, I don’t have my cap set for anyone. I just want to be on my way to Aruba.”
He nodded as if he didn’t believe her. Now he was definitely smirking. “Maybe not,” he said doubtfully. “Casino’s damn near shut down now, you know. Are you sure that’s all you want for getting through the hurricane?”
“It’s a hurricane now?”
The old man nodded. “Just hit Cat One a couple of hours ago. I thought you pilots paid attention to the weather. You ought to buy some water. That’s the first thing to muck up every time one of these things blows through.”
“I have no place to put it.”
“I’ll stack it for you,” he said agreeably enough. “Craig can load it in that Jeep of his for you when he gets back. You need three gallons per person per day. So that’s you and Buck, figure four days…twelve gallons.”
“Umm,” Hannah said, but the old man was already stacking cases of bottled water by the door.
“Next is non-perishable food,” he said. “Canned food is better, but we want to avoid the salty stuff. That would increase your water consumption. So let me see…two people for four days….”
A cardboard pallet of assorted canned meats and vegetables grew beside the cases of water.
“You keep saying ‘two people,’ Horace. Why do you assume I am buying for Buck, too?”
“Least you can do for costing him the game,” he said, without looking up, still stacking cans. “Plus, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“But I don’t want to get to his heart!” she objected.
“Yeah, whatever,” he replied. “Now, what kind of flashlights do the two of you have?”
“I,” Hannah said, emphasizing the word, “have an emergency flashlight in the aircraft, and my own in my travel kit. I’ve no idea what Buck has, though I’m sure he is more than adequately prepared.”