Vineyard Blues (11 page)

“I'm hungry, Pa,” said Joshua, who never lied about such things. I looked at my watch. It was time to buy ice cream for all of the Jacksons and go home.

I thanked Laura Krane for her time and went out to the street. The two little ladies were still in the store, taking their time about deciding what to buy or steal.

Everybody has a favorite ice cream, so I ended up bringing home four different kinds: black raspberry for me, chocolate chip for Diana, strawberry for Joshua, and coffee for Zee. No one complained that I had gone overboard; in fact, for a while, no one had anything to say at all, for when the Jacksons eat, talk and other considerations are set aside until the food has been consumed.

The midafternoon ice cream break having ended, it was nap time for the small Jacksons, and nearly go-to-work time for Zee, who was on the four-to-midnight shift.

Zee was quiet and seemed almost sad as we sneaked out of the kids' room and left them to sail off in their wooden spoon into the sea of dew. I touched her arm and we went out onto the porch.

“Look,” I said, “I know you don't want me to do this job for Ben Krane, but we can use the money. Besides, if that really is Corrie's body, I want to know what happened and how and who, if there is a who. I don't think I'll be on this case for more than a week, so if you can, I wish you'd just put it out of your mind. I don't like this tension between us.”

She put her arms around me and laid her head against my chest. “I don't like it either.”

I held her against me, feeling relieved. Then she said, “I wish you'd drop the job. Please drop it.”

We stood there more like statues than humans, our arms wrapped around figures of stone.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to. Isn't that enough?”

I tried to see into her mind, into her psyche, into her heart, but could perceive nothing that might explain her insistence. It was unlike either of us to ask the other not to do anything that person was set on doing, even if we thought it foolish.

I kissed the top of her head. “I'll think about it,” I said. “But while I do, I'm going to try to talk to a couple more people before you go to work.”

She stepped away and ran a hand through her hair. “Who?”

“Peter Krane, if I can find him. I think he flies in on weekends, so he may be in town. And I should talk to Susanna Quick about that other matter.”

“I wish you'd just do the job for Susanna.”

“I know.”

“But you'll do what you want. Well, you only have an hour, so you'd better get going.”

She brushed by me and went into the house. A weight of woe seemed to push down on my shoulders and it made me both tired and angry. I went out to the Land Cruiser and drove into town.

When Peter Krane came to Edgartown from New York, he stayed in a guest house behind Ben Krane's house in Atwood Circle. I drove there, parked, and then followed the walk that led back into Ben's backyard.

The guest house was small and very private. High fences surrounded the yard, and there were no houses behind or beside the fences. A private driveway led through one fence, and on it was parked a new Jeep with those dark glass windows that let you see out but not in. Those windows are very fashionable but somehow irksome, the way some dark glasses are on certain people. You wonder where the eyes behind the glass are looking. I have a couple of pairs of those glasses myself, of course, and I enjoy being behind them as much as I dislike other people being behind theirs. It was a small perversion, but mine own.

I knocked on Peter's door, wondering what I would find inside. Some naked woman chained to the ceiling, being whipped with a silken lash by a black-hooded Peter Krane? Or was Peter Porn a more benign sort of slave master?

The door opened and Peter stood there, fully dressed and hoodless. He was a younger, more slender version of Ben, with a face slightly softer-looking than his brother's falcon countenance. I could see how he might be attractive to women. Perhaps even very attractive.

“Yes?” His voice was rich and gentle. There was a slight smile on his lips. His eyes were watchful.

I told him who I was and who I was working for, and asked if I could come in. He stepped back and I entered the living room. It was neat and comfortable. I didn't see any handcuffs or leather straps lying around. Krane waved at a chair and I sat there. He sat across from me.

“J. W. Jackson,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I've heard the name. How can I help you, Mr. Jackson?” He was one of those people, gurus and their ilk, whose very appearance suggests that they have some secret knowledge the rest of us lack. I hoped it was the knowledge I wanted.

And there was a musical quality to his voice, which made me wonder what sort of melodies he might sing to the women who crossed his threshold. Chain gang songs, maybe? My own singing, such as it was, was done privately, and was limited to oldish folk songs and country-and-western numbers. My technique was simple: if I wasn't sure of the words, I played my guitar louder; if I knew them, I sang louder.

“Your brother thinks somebody is burning down his houses,” I said. “He's hired me to track down the arsonist. One possibility is that the guy is motivated by revenge, so I'm asking everybody who knows Ben and his businesses to give me some names of people I can check out.”

“And now you're asking me. Why? I live in New York. My brother doesn't discuss his business activities with me. I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“You don't know of anybody who might have it in for your brother?”

He spread well-manicured hands. “Not a soul. Sorry. As I say, Ben and I don't discuss his business or mine. I come here to get away from business.”

“What kind of business are you in, Mr. Krane?”

He waved one of those graceful hands. “A little of this, a little of that. You know.” He smiled a smile that no doubt charmed people other than me. After I had been smiling back at him for a while, he added: “I do a little publishing and I have some interest in movies and theater. My wife likes live theater better than coming down here, so it was cheaper for me to work in the business than to buy her all those tickets!” He laughed a laugh he had no doubt laughed before when he offered that line to a listener.

I was looking into the eyes above his laughing mouth and I didn't see too much humor there. Still, he was a handsome man with theater contacts in New York, which could be a pretty attractive combination to some women, I imagined.

“If you don't know anything about Ben's business, maybe you can tell me something about his personal life. Maybe there's somebody who's got it in for him for some private reason.”

His smile faded away. “If so, I don't know anything about it. And if I did, I don't think I'd tell you. Does Ben know you're snooping around asking questions about his private life? I doubt it. I think you'd better go.” He stood up and his right hand became a fist for an instant before becoming a hand again.

I pointed to the phone. “Call him. Tell him what I've said here.” He hesitated and I put fast words into the pause to lever him away from his refusal to talk to me. “Your brother has given me carte blanche to do this my way, but if you don't want to talk to me, I'll pass that on in my report. Ben might be pretty annoyed if it turns out that you didn't tell me something that might have helped me find an arsonist. He's already lost an office and three other buildings, and there was a body in the third one. Even if they don't try to nail him for torching his own places, he might be charged with negligent homicide if the fire marshal decides the building burned because of some wiring Ben should have had fixed.”

Krane wasn't happy, but he sat down again. “All right. Ask me, and if I know something, I'll tell you.”

“Does he have any business enemies?”

Krane was sullen. “I told you, I don't know anything about his business.”

“He never mentioned some sharp deal he pulled, or some client who blames him for a bad ending in a court case?”

“No. As I told you, I don't come down here to talk business. I come down here to get away from business.”

“All right, let's talk about what Ben does for relaxation. He's gone through two wives who have a few nasty things to say about him. What about his other women? Any of them mad enough to torch his buildings?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Elaine got pissed off because he fooled around a little. So what? And Laura is a dyke, for God's sake. Dykes hate all men. Either one of those bitches would bad-mouth Jesus Christ himself!”

“I hear that Ben's a womanizer who wham-bams them and then drops them without the ‘thank you, ma'am.' I hear that there are some mad women out there, and I'm wondering if one of them is pissed off enough to hurt Ben where he's got some real feeling: in his wallet. You know any name that might fit that description?”

“No.”

I studied him and let him study me, then I said, “All right, tell me about the women he handed on to you when he was done with them. If they weren't mad enough at him already, maybe they were when they found out he'd sent them to the slave market. Any names of anybody feeling that way come to mind, Peter?”

Anger flared from his eyes, and I thought he was going to come at me. But he caught himself and slowly eased back into his chair.

“I never force anyone to do anything. There's no slavery here.”

“You mean that if I get up and wander around this house, I'm not going to find any ropes or tape or cuffs or chains or gags or blindfolds or other toys?”

He studied me. “What if you did? What would that prove?”

“It might prove that you like to play master to women who like to be mastered or who are at least willing to play that game for a while.”

“I'll let you in on a secret,” he said with a sneer. “There's more of those babes out there than you might think. Besides, there's no law against people doing anything they want as long as they do it in private.”

He was technically wrong about that, but I took his point. “I'm not concerned about what consenting grownups do with each other,” I said, “but I do want to know if Ben or you or both of you have been involved with a woman in the past several months who might be so mad that she'd torch Ben's houses to get even.”

He thought about that. “Just the past several months?” He thought some more, then shook his head. “No. Nobody I can think of.” Then he smiled a smile that became a grin seen, perhaps, by some of the women he'd brought home: a white-toothed grin that had no pity in it. “You want to go a few years back, I might be able to give you a name or two!”

I didn't like him very much. “Tell me,” I said, feeling the anger in my face.

He must have seen it, too, for he was already changing his mind and shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, forget it. I can't remember any names in particular.”

“Just being a jackass, eh?”

He came out of his chair like a dancer. I was only a shade slower. Our eyes were about level.

“Get out of here,” he said, but my impression was that he was only acting, saying what he thought a tough guy would say.

“What do you do with a woman who doesn't want to play your games?” I asked.

“Get out.”

“I imagine that's what you say to them, too.”

I suddenly realized that I was hoping he would take a swing at me and felt like a fool. “Never mind,” I said. “I can find my way out.”

I went past him and out the door. As I did, I heard him say, “Don't come back,” and had to force myself to keep walking. Something in us never grows up.

Because Zee had to go to work in not too long, I didn't have time to drive to West Tisbury, so I drove to the police station instead. The chief was dealing with a pile of papers. If policemen didn't have to spend so much time doing paperwork and standing around in court waiting to testify, the crime rate in the United States would probably plummet.

“Hi,” I said. “Is this what they call protecting and serving?”

“I'm busy,” he said. Shuffling paper never put him in a good mood.

“I've been nosing around,” I said, “but I'm not getting very far.”

“No surprise there. You should leave snooping to us professionals.”

I told him who I'd talked to and what little they'd said.

“I wouldn't talk to you either,” said the chief. “If I had more energy, I'd throw you out of here right now, in fact.”

“You're going to need all of your strength just to file those papers,” I said. “I don't suppose you can point me to any angry women who've been cut adrift by Ben or his little brother?”

He studied a sheet of paper and put it on one of the piles adorning the edge of his desk. “If I do know any women like that, I don't plan to tell you or anybody else who they are. They've had enough grief from the Kranes without you giving them more.” He opened a file and began to finger through its contents.

I thought that if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't tell me the names, either. Most people can grow away from their hurts if you let them. Still, I said, “I presume that if you thought any of them were likely arsonists, you'd be checking them out yourself.”

“You can presume that I know my job.”

In fact, I did presume that. “Don't be in such a snit,” I said. “I'm a citizen. I have a right to know that the police I pay for with my taxes are on top of things.”

“Take my word for it, citizen Jackson, we are.”

“What about Ben's businesses? Any of his scuzzy clients mad at him because he didn't manage to weasel them out of the clutches of the law? Anybody he screwed in a business deal who might torch him because he burned them?”

The chief closed the file and gave me a sorrowful look. “You're a pitiful specimen, J.W. You actually expect me to give you the names of people mad at Ben Krane?”

“It doesn't hurt to ask. Maybe if you give me a lead I can make a citizen's arrest and be a hero.”

“And maybe if I grow green hair I can be the King of May.”

“I see kids walking around with green hair,” I said. “It's not impossible for you to grow some, I suppose, although you're not doing too well lately with the batch God gave you.”

“One problem with identifying Ben Krane's enemies is that there are too many of them. He's screwed a lot of people and done it legally. He's a sharp guy, unlike most of the lowlife that I deal with. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he screws you on this deal you've got with him. He give you any money yet?”

“The check is in the mail,” I said defensively.

He shook his head. “Sure it is. Anyway, Ben is not exactly a beloved figure hereabouts, as you must know. He's lost three properties since spring, and unless he's torching them himself, it seems a hair more than possible that someone else is doing the job. Or it may just be coincidence. The houses were all old and just waiting to catch fire or blow down.”

“But you don't believe it was coincidence, do you?”

“Do you?”

“Give me a couple of names.”

“No.”

“You're a tough one, Captain Bligh. I presume that there'll be an insurance investigator down here sooner or later, to make sure that they don't pay up on something Ben might have burned down himself.”

“I believe that's safe to say,” agreed the chief.

“If I find out anything, I'll let you know. Unlike some people I know, I'm a cooperative, caring member of our social group.”

“Out, out, damned spot. I have work to do.”

I went out and drove home.

Zee was in her white uniform when I got there. The contrast between the uniform and her dark, Portuguese beauty was startling, as always. If looks alone could cure, the patients who came to the Emergency Ward would be back on the streets in no time. I put my big hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She pulled my head down and kissed me. “I'm working on it.”

“Can I help?”

“Tell me that you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Are you quitting this job?”

The weight I'd felt earlier came back. “Not yet.”

“I didn't think so.” She put her hands up to my face and held it between them. “Are we too much alike, do you think?”

“You mean about being stubborn? Of course not. You're the only stubborn one in the family. I'm flexible as a snake. Wishy-washy, even. Yeah, maybe we are.”

“That and not liking other people telling us what to do.”

“No, neither one of us is much good at that.”

“And not always telling things to each other, even though we love each other.”

Yes. “I don't know how much you don't tell me; I only know how much I don't tell you.”

She looked up at me with those great, deep, dark eyes and gave my cheek a little pat. “I've got to go. See you later.”

I bent down and we kissed again and then she was gone.

I peeked into the kids' room and saw that they were still asleep. It wouldn't be for long, though, so I decided to use my brief time alone to make some calls. The first one was to the Quick Erection Company in West Tisbury. As I'd hoped, Susanna Quick answered from the office.

“This is J. W. Jackson. Can you talk?”

Her voice was agitated. “Yes, I can talk. Warren is out on a job. I'm glad you called. I was just about to call you!”

“Another phone call from your admirer?”

“Yes!”

“Can you talk about it on the phone?”

“I don't want to, but I can.”

“Did you recognize the voice? Was it the same person?”

“I think so. I don't know. It's like he's talking through a fog.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Yes! No. He says he wants me to . . . do things that I do. . . that I used to do . . . in the movies. He wants me to do them with him! I told him that I don't do that sort of thing anymore, but he wouldn't listen!”

“Did he ask you to meet with him?”

“No. But he said he knew all about what I'd done, and asked if my husband knew, and I said no, and he said maybe he should know, and then he described some of the things I used to do in Hollywood and said he'd call back soon and hung up.”

“Could you trace the call?”

Her voice was apologetic. “No, I haven't talked with the telephone company yet. I know I should have. Maybe I can do it today.”

“That would be a good idea. He didn't threaten to hurt you or your family?”

“No, nothing like that. I was an idiot to have made those movies.”

“Have you thought any more about telling Warren everything?”

I heard panic in her voice. “Oh, no! I can't do that! He's a wonderful man, but he's, you know, religious and very proper. Why, I was the one who suggested the name for this company, and I honestly think he didn't get the pun until it was too late! I wish now I'd never done that either, but it seems to be helping us get business. People laugh at first, but when they see how fast and how well Warren builds things, they recommend us to their friends. Anyway, I don't want him to know about me before I met him. It would shock him terribly, and I'm afraid of what it might do to our marriage.”

I thought of the conversation I'd just had with Zee; of our admission that neither of us told the other everything.

“All right,” I said. “You can leave Warren out of things for the time being. Maybe we can pull this off with him never being the wiser.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“Do you have any idea at all who this guy might be?”

“No, none. Although . . . sometimes I think I hear something in his voice—not his voice, exactly, because that's always muffled—but something . . . I can't really say what . . . something that reminds me of maybe somebody I do know, or did know. But I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I'm just imagining it. I don't know.”

“Do you know a man named Peter Krane?”

A pause. Then, “No, I never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Do you know a man named Ben Krane?”

“Ben Krane, the real estate guy? I've heard of him, but I don't know him.”

“They're both womanizers, from what I'm told. The difference is that Ben likes his sex straight and Peter likes his with kinks. Peter works in the theater business in New York City. He's got his hand in movies and publications too, he says. I don't know what sort of material he handles in New York, but here on the island he apparently plays dominance/submission games with women. If his New York work is in the same field, it seems possible that he may have come across the movies you made. I thought if you knew him or had met him here on the island, he might have recognized you and he might be the guy who's been calling you. Are you sure you don't know him?”

“I've heard of Ben Krane, but I don't remember ever seeing him. And I've never even heard of his brother. Do you really think it could be him?”

“Maybe he was a customer who came into the office.” I told her what he looked like.

“I don't remember seeing anybody like that.” She paused. “But we've done business with a lot of people. Maybe . . .”

“Maybe he bought something,” I said. “Will you check your records?”

“Yes. I'll call you if I find anything.”

“Good. It's probably not him but if his name's in your books, I'd at least put him on the suspect list. Meanwhile, how gutsy do you feel?”

“Not very, to tell you the truth.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, the next time the guy calls, whoever he is, see if you can arrange a meeting with him. If you can, let me know when and where, and I'll be hidden there when you meet him, if he shows up. Can you do that?”

“Oh, I don't know . . .”

“If you can't, that's okay. But if you can, maybe we can nip this thing in the bud, and Warren won't ever have to know anything about it.”

“I'll try.”

“Good girl. Don't worry. Mr. Black will be the one who's surprised, not us.”

Bold words, for it's not unknown for the ambusher to be ambushed, the besieger besieged.

As I turned from the phone, I wondered how things were going to turn out between Mr. Black and me, and I thought of King Pyrrhus, who came to the oracle seeking foreknowledge of his upcoming battle with the Romans. “Pyrrhus the Romans shall subdue,” said the always correct and always ambiguous oracle; it was a prophecy of the original Pyrrhic victory, for though the king won the battle, he suffered such ruinous losses to his own army that he himself was soon overthrown.

Thinking these thoughts, I heard the first sounds of children waking up. It was a sweet sound of stirring and small noises, and as I heard it, my dark musings gave way and I felt blessed.