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Authors: Cynthia DeFelice

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BOOK: Death at Devil's Bridge
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But instead Jeff said, “It grows on you.”
Like Donny says
, I thought. “Look, I gotta go,” I said.
Riding the rest of the way home on my bike, I practiced different conversations with Mom, who I knew would be waiting up for me. Part of me wanted to walk into the house and tell her everything, but another part of me wasn't sure.
Most grown-ups, Mom included, would think I ought to tell someone “in authority” about what Donny did.
But sometimes even grown-ups said it was bad to “tattle.” I could still hear my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Wolnick, saying, “Nobody likes a tattletale, Ben. I'll take care of Charles. You take care of Ben.”
My cheeks burned just remembering it. Charles had been shooting big, gross, germy spitballs into the fish tank, and
I
was the one who got yelled at.
The more I thought about it, the more confusing the whole thing became. For one thing, Jeff was my best friend, and he didn't seem to think what Donny had done was so bad.
For another, if I told on Donny, wouldn't he go to jail? How would that make me feel? How would I like being called a squeal, a rat, a snitch, a narc, a fink?
If telling was the right thing to do, why were the words for it so ugly?
Nobody likes a tattletale
.
When Mom asked, I said the fireworks were great and went to bed.
The next morning, Chick and I headed out of the harbor with our charter for the day: a man named Thad, who was pretty old, and his son, Jay, who looked around Chick's age. As Chick steered the boat out beyond the rocks at Devil's Bridge and around the clay cliffs of Aquinnah, his face seemed even ruddier and more weathered than usual. Pop's face had had that same warm, outdoors look. Chick's hands on the wheel were brown and tough, too, and strong, like Pop's. Thad and Jay had pale white faces and hands, and their skin was smooth and soft looking.
It was a chilly morning for early July, and Chick and I both wore hooded sweatshirts, lobstermen's rubber overalls and parkas, and rubber boots to protect us from the wind off the water and the sea spray. By afternoon we'd probably strip down to jeans and T-shirts, if the day remained sunny.
Thad and Jay could have just stepped out of one of the expensive shops down in Edgartown. They had on brand-new skid-proof boat shoes, neatly ironed khaki pants, and sweaters with anchors and other nautical designs woven into them.
Chick and I; Thad and Jay. Us and them, I thought.
They
were huddled miserably in the stern, trying to avoid the spray that showered into the boat every time Chick hit a wave. And there were plenty of waves, big ones, too, coming in from the northeast. Against the incoming tide, the wind caused a wicked chop.
In my head I could hear Donny laughing at Thad and Jay in their fancy clothes, saying,
Serves 'em right
. And part of me agreed. I mean, you just don't go out on the ocean, even in July, without being prepared for weather. Everyone around here knew that.
Still, I couldn't help feeling sorry for the two shivering men. Reaching into the storage area in the bow, I took out two spare orange parkas and handed them to Thad and Jay. “It won't be nearly as rough once we get around these cliffs!” I shouted over the noise of the engine. “Where we're going to fish, off Squibnocket beach, it should be pretty calm.”
They put on the jackets eagerly, Jay smiling with relief and Thad giving me the “thumbs-up” sign. Chick gave me a wink.
When we got around what everyone called the head, the big point of land formed by the clay cliffs of Aquinnah, the seas settled into a light, even chop, and Thad and Jay began to look a lot happier. I began handing out rods and baiting them up, while Chick positioned the boat off Squibnocket point.
We planned to drift the shoreline for stripers. That meant we'd be continually watching out for rocks and starting the engine from time to time to keep us the right distance away from them.
Thad was using a sinking lure, trying to coax the fish up, and I was relieved to see that he was a decent caster. Jay was pretty clueless, so I showed him how to cast a chunk of bait with a smooth, even motion, let it sink, raise it up a bit off the bottom, and wait for the strike.
I was untangling a big snarl from Jay's line when Thad shouted excitedly, “I got one!”
After that, the day went quickly. Jay soon got the hang of casting, and we all relaxed. The only trouble was as soon as my mind wasn't occupied with working, I began to think about Donny.
Here it was, summer vacation, which was usually the best time of the whole year. Working with Chick and making money was cool, and when I wasn't doing that, I was supposed to be messing around with my friends, carefree and happy. Instead, I felt weighted down by what I knew about Donny, almost as though I had an anchor tied around my neck.
I tried to concentrate on work, though, and I must have done all right because when we pulled into Menemsha at the end of the day, Thad and Jay thanked Chick and me over and over, and told everybody on the docks what a great time they'd had. They each gave me a ten-dollar tip, which just went to show that Donny wasn't right about
all
tourists. Why was it, I wondered, that the bad ones seemed to stick in everyone's minds, including mine, so much more than the ones who were nice?
Chick and I were cleaning up the boat when Pete came over to talk. As usual, he wore his battered hat, the word
Harbormaster
so faded you couldn't tell what it said unless you already knew. After hearing our report on the day's fishing, he said, “Well, the police were around today, asking questions. Apparently, the kid who was driving that car—Cameron Maddox—is still missing.”
“It's been what—almost three days now?” Chick asked.
I thought back to Friday morning, when I'd discovered the car. “Yes,” I answered.
“His parents were here, too,” Pete said. “They've had posters made up and are hanging them all over the island.” He gestured toward one of the tarsoaked poles that held up the dock, and I saw a photocopy of a young man's
face, with the words HAVE YOU SEEN OUR SON? across the top in bold black letters.
Curious, I leaned closer to read the small print below the picture:
Cameron Maddox, age 16, 5 feet, 10 inches, with green eyes, sandy blond hair. Missing since Thursday evening, July 2. Last seen in West Basin/Lobsterville Beach area, driving a red Porsche with Connecticut license plates. Anyone with any information, please call Mr. and Mrs. Maddox, c/o The Rosehip Inn, Edgartown
.
This was followed by a phone number and the word REWARD in the same big, black lettering.
I peered more closely at the photo of Cameron Maddox. It was your basic school picture, the kind everyone got taken every year. Maddox was smiling into the camera, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Now he was missing. It was kind of creepy.
“The police were asking Marshall and all the young kids if they'd heard anything about this Maddox kid dealing dope,” Pete said. “The parents are fit to be tied, saying the police are trying to ruin their son's reputation instead of finding out what happened to him. It got pretty ugly, I can tell you.”
“Why would they say a thing like that?” Chick asked.
“Beats me,” Pete said.
“Sounds as though they don't want to face facts about their kid,” Chick mused. “That's got to be a tough one, having your son missing and finding out he might have been breaking the law.”
I checked out Cameron Maddox's smiling face in the photo again. “He doesn't look like a drug dealer,” I said.
“You never can tell,” Chick answered.
Which was true. Donny didn't look like the kind of guy who'd rob a boat, either.
We crossed the channel to tie up at West Basin harbor, and I was happy to see Jeff there, waiting for us to come in. We all shot the breeze for a while. Jeff was excited because he had finished putting his plane together, and wanted to fly it.
After Chick drove off in his pickup, I was surprised to see Donny back out of a space in the parking lot and head over to us.
“Just the two gentlemen I was looking for,” Donny said, pulling up alongside Jeff and me. “Hop in. I've got a proposition for you.” He grinned enticingly. “This is your lucky day.”
I hesitated, remembering the night before and how eager I'd been to get
out
of the Tomahawk. But Donny was acting as though nothing unusual had happened, and Jeff reached right down to lock his bike to mine, then jumped in the front seat. Reluctantly, I took what was starting to feel like my place in the back. Donny pulled into an empty parking space in the lot, and we sat facing the water. Cameron Maddox's face stared at us from a poster stapled to one of the town signs.
Donny shut off the engine, put his arm over the seat, and turned so he could look right at me. “So, how was the fishing today, Daggett?” he asked.
“Pretty good,” I answered carefully. I was wondering what was up. I'd figured that after last night, he wouldn't want to hang out with Jeff and me again. And I'd thought that was fine with me. But now, face to face with Donny's magnetic personality and his contagious grin, it was hard to stay mad.
“How much money did you make?” he asked.
“Chick pays me thirty dollars a day, and today I got twenty in tips,” I said proudly.
“That's pretty good,” Donny said approvingly. “So, you got up at six A.M. and just got through, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”
Donny didn't answer, but instead asked Jeff, “Did you work today?”
Jeff made a face. “I spent half the day cleaning screens and washing windows for my mom.”
“Did you get paid?”
“Twenty dollars.”
Donny smiled. “How would you guys like to make almost that much for five minutes' work? Actually, it's not even work. For five minutes of your valuable time?”
“Get outta here,” I said.
“No way,” Jeff said at the same time.
“I'm serious,” Donny answered. “I'm in on a really good business deal, and I'm giving you guys first dibs on a piece of the action.”
“What do we have to do?” I asked cautiously.
“Just listen, for now. I had this great idea. It's so simple, I can't believe nobody's thought of it before. Okay, you ready? You know how there's basically no stores or anything up at this end of the island?”
“How about
anywhere
on the island,” Jeff said, moaning. “No malls, not even a McDonald's! I mean, there are McDonald's in
Russia
, for crying out loud, probably even in
Siberia
.”
It was one of Jeff's constant complaints. Personally, I couldn't have cared less. I wasn't crazy about McDonald's food, and I'd rather be fishing any day than hanging out at a mall. I thought it was cool that the Vineyard was different from other places.
“Yeah, well, I'm setting up a little supply service for people who don't want to drive all the way down-island every time they need something,” Donny said. “See, I'll get the orders together and make all the arrangements. All you guys have to do is make the deliveries on your bikes. I'll pay you fifteen dollars for every delivery. You'll make about ten deliveries a week each. That's a hundred and fifty bucks. What do you say?”
I looked at Jeff, shrugged, and smiled. It sounded easy enough. Too easy. “What's the catch?” I asked.
Donny gave me a quick grin. “No catch,” he said. “People are lazy. They're willing to pay big bucks for convenience. You'll be mostly delivering to tourists. They've got money to burn.”
I nodded. The ridiculous prices visitors were willing to pay for the silliest things was a constant source of amusement to islanders.
Then Donny's face grew serious. “The only thing is, you can't tell anybody about it. Somebody could steal my idea, cut into my profits, you know?”
That made sense. But I still didn't like the sound of it. “You really mean we can't tell
anybody?
” I asked.
“Nobody,” Donny said sharply. “Not even your mother, Daggett,” he added, then smiled. “Not that I think your mother's going to steal my idea. It's just that the fewer people who know, the better.”
Jeff nodded eagerly, but I waited to hear more.
“So are you in, or should I ask somebody else? I've got to know now.”
“Hold it a second,” I said. I felt as if there were questions I should ask, but I couldn't think of what they were. I looked at Jeff, hoping he'd say something, but I could tell right away that he wanted to go for it. He was already figuring our profits in his head.
“Daggett, three hundred bucks a week between us! And that's not even counting money from our other jobs. We'll have that boat and motor by August!”
One problem immediately popped into my mind at that: how would I explain to Mom that I was going in on a boat and motor with Jeff, if I couldn't tell her where I'd gotten the money? I pushed it from my mind. I could worry about that later, when—and if—I had the money.
Then I had another thought. “What if I make a delivery to somebody who knows Mom? She'll hear about it. She always does.”
“Not to worry, Daggett,” said Donny. “Like I said, most of our customers will be people from off-island. I'll tell my local customers to keep their mouths shut about it.”
It seemed odd: most businesses, like Barry's, advertised their services. Donny must have sensed my doubts, because he said, “Okay, another reason for the secrecy is that I'm not real sure this is strictly legal.”
Uh-oh
, I thought.
Here we go
. No wonder it sounded too good to be true.
“It drives a lot of people who are renting houses crazy that they have to drive all the way to Chilmark to pick up their mail, you know? So some of the stuff we deliver might be letters or packages, to save people a trip to the post office. And I'm not sure if that's against some bogus federal regulation, like horning in on the U.S. mail or something. So I'm just playing it safe, you see what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.” Delivering a few letters didn't sound like a crime to me. I couldn't imagine why the U.S. post office would care. Donny probably
was
just playing it safe. But something was still bugging me.
Suddenly it came to me. “What do you need us for? Why don't you make the deliveries yourself? You've got a car.”
“Believe me, I would if I could, Daggett,” answered Donny. “But this business is already so big, I'm going to be busy just taking and filling the orders. Especially since I'm still working at the garage. I'm thinking, if we do this right, we all might be able to quit our other jobs soon and let the good times roll, you know?”
I nodded slowly, thinking it over. Not that I wanted to quit working for Chick. But the idea of making a hundred and fifty dollars more each week was growing in my mind, making it hard to think of anything else.
Donny looked at me and said, “Listen, Ben. I know you were kind of freaked when you figured out I stole that stuff. I know it's not your style. That's cool. But this is different. It's a way to make some good money without robbing anybody's boat. It's a
good
thing, Daggett.”
I was surprised that Donny had even noticed I was upset the night before and more surprised that he actually seemed to care. It was almost as if
he was apologizing, trying to make it up to me. He wanted to earn some honest money, and that
was
a good thing.
Then he said something that really got me. In a low voice, sounding almost humble, he murmured, “I've got to have some cash if I want to keep a girl like Jen happy.”
Donny, Mr. Cool, was worried about losing his girlfriend? I remembered Jen's face when she kissed Donny. It had looked to me as though she really liked him.
“Aw, I don't think Jen's snobby like that,” I said.
“Maybe not,” said Donny. “But her family's got money. She's used to nice stuff. You didn't see her when that Cameron Maddox guy pulled up in his expensive sports car and asked her to go for a ride. She wanted to; I could tell.”
Donny looked so downcast that I found myself feeling sorry for him. It was amazing to discover that a big shot like Donny had such thoughts.
“So,” he said, looking at me from under his eyebrows. “What do you say?”
Before I could answer, Jeff said, “When do we start?”
Donny didn't react but continued to look at me, waiting. Jeff was watching me, too, his eyes willing me to say yes.
I gazed from one to the other and made up my mind. “Yeah, when do we start?”
“
All right
, Daggett!” Donny pumped his fist, then lifted his eyebrows tantalizingly. “How about right now?”
“Why not?” Jeff said, turning to me with a huge smile.
“No reason, I guess,” I said. “I've got nearly an hour and a half before Mom gets out of work. I might as well use the time to make a little cash.”
Why not?
“Excellent. But first I need to know I can trust you.”
Jeff looked wounded, and I felt the same way. “You can trust us, man,” Jeff said. “You didn't see us telling anybody about the other stuff, did you?”
“No, and that's how I know I can trust you,” Donny said soothingly. “Otherwise, I'd never have let you in. This is just to make it official. You don't talk to anyone about this. If anybody asks where the extra money's coming from, what are you going to say?”
“I could say it's from tips,” I said.
Donny nodded. “Good. How about you, Manning?”
“From doing lots of lawns and odd jobs.”
“Okay. No matter what, you never mention me, right?”
“Right,” Jeff and I agreed.
“Okay.” Donny extended his hand to Jeff, who shook it, trying to look solemn, but I could see the excitement shining in his eyes.
Next, Donny reached his hand over the seat to me, and I took it. I felt a thrilling jolt of heat and power as Donny looked into my eyes and tightened his grip. “Partners,” he said, and gave me a wink.
“Okay,” he went on, “your first job is to deliver these two packages right here.” He reached into the glove compartment and took out two identical-looking manila envelopes sealed with the little metal fasteners bent shut and taped over.
“What's in them?” I asked. “Mail?”
Donny nodded. He handed one envelope to me and one to Jeff, and gave each of us directions.
“The person there will give you an envelope with the money in it. Bring it to me, and I give you your share. Simple.”
“No problem,” Jeff said.
“Where will you be?” I asked.
“Just stop by my house when you're done.”
“Okay,” I said. Donny lived pretty close to both Jeff and me. His father was never around, and his mom worked, so the coast would be clear.
I placed the envelope in the clip on my rear bike rack. My directions were to head down State Road, turn left at the white picket fence right before Ida Hill's house, where she sold homemade chocolates, go right at the next two forks, and look for a house marked with a big red
K
at the entrance to the drive.
I didn't know whose house it was, and it was probably being rented, anyway. Lots of people we knew lived in little dumpy shacks or moved in with relatives for the summer so they could rent their own houses to tourists for a lot of money.
As I rode down State Road, I saw HAVE YOU SEEN OUR SON? posters on almost every telephone pole. The Maddoxes had really covered the territory. I thought about when Pop was missing and how worried Mom and I had been, then how frantic she was last year when I'd run away during the night. I hoped that kid would turn up soon and give his parents a break.
I found the house and knocked at the door. A woman peered through the screen at me, looking puzzled. Then her face brightened. “Do you have a package for me?” she asked.
I nodded, holding up the envelope. She disappeared for a couple of seconds and returned with a regular letter-sized envelope, which she handed me in exchange for mine.
“Thanks,” she said. She closed the door and was gone.
I rode to Donny's house and found him sitting in a lawn chair in the yard, working out some figures on a notepad. He took the envelope, looked in, smiled, and handed me a five and a ten.
“No problems?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Told you. Easiest money you'll ever make.” Donny used the envelope to tap out a little rhythm against his thigh. “So, this time of day is good for you, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Between four and five-thirty.”
Jeff rode up on his bike, sweating slightly from the ride, but smiling. He handed Donny his envelope and collected his money, reporting that everything had gone smoothly for him, too.
BOOK: Death at Devil's Bridge
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