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same verbiage he had just heard on the maritime forecast. Maybe, he admitted to himself, Gladys Ann had reason for concern. |
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He leaned out the window of his truck and studied the hazy sky overhead, then turned his attention to the eastern horizon. It was beginning to look like Red Gleason had picked a poor time to take a day off. In the short time since he had walked out of the post office, had his brief exchange with Moxie and listened to the forecast, the sky to the east had begun to sour. At the moment it was only a thin veil of wispiness, but beyond and further east the clouds were darkening and thickening. |
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Bartholomew grunted and headed for Morgan's place on the beach. Even if there was going to be a major blow, there wasn't anything he could do about it, and besides, he had more to worry about than the safety of the Gull House. |
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Less than five minutes later he had turned off the paved comfort of the highway and was plowing his way through the fine brown South Padre sand. It was a good 300 yards back to the old man's place. |
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When he arrived, Morgan was down on the beach, laboriously tugging his 18-footer out of the now encroaching tide. Bartholomew crawled out of his truck and noted with some dismay that the wind already had started to |
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