Vineyard Blues (16 page)

Still the wry smile. “And you'll believe me if I tell you that.”

“Yes. I think someone is a bright person who can probably make a useful life for herself in some other profession.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “All right, Mr. Jackson, I'll do as you suggest. I think I can assure you that someone will torch no more.”

Torch no more. It sounded like a book title.

Joshua had finished his lemonade and was back at the dock. I called to him and he came trotting back to the porch.

“Are you done talking, Pa?”

“Yes.” I took his hand and said good-bye to Cousin Henry and Millicent Dowling. “Live well,” I said to her.

“I will.”

“You can do me a favor,” said Cousin Henry unexpectedly.

I was surprised. “If I can, I will.”

“I've never seen the famous Mr. Krane. I'd like to accompany you when you meet with him.”

I'd had stranger requests, but none that interested me more. “Sure,” I said. “I'll give you a call before I go see him. We can go together.”

“Fine,” said Cousin Henry, putting an arm on his granddaughter's shoulders.

I could feel their eyes following us as Joshua and I walked to our truck. I had mixed feelings and thoughts about what I'd discovered and agreed to. They weren't made simpler by Zee's first words when Josh and I walked into our house.

“Susanna Quick just phoned. She's gotten another call from that man. He wants to meet her tonight!”

I phoned Susanna Quick. She picked up on the first ring. “He called again,” she said, in a surprisingly cool voice. “He wants to meet me tonight.”

“Where?”

“There's an empty house off of Lambert's Cove Road. The people who own it won't be down until July.”

“How do you know that? Did he tell you that?”

“No. I used to do housecleaning for them when we first came to the island. Later, Warren did some remodeling for them. They never come down before the Fourth. It's a great big place up at the end of a long driveway. It's isolated. That's probably why the guy chose it.”

Probably, but a curiosity, too. “How does Mr. Black know about the place?”

“I don't know, but he does.”

Hmmmm. “Did he give you directions on how to get there?”

“No. He seemed to know that I knew where it was. I'm supposed to go there tonight at ten o'clock, alone.” She paused, then went on. “And he wants me to wear my Oriona costume.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I figured I could change my mind if I wanted to, but I did like you suggested and told him I'd be there. One problem, though, is that I don't have an Oriona costume. It belonged to the company I worked for, and after I left I imagine another girl became Oriona.”

It was a problem I hadn't anticipated. “Can you put something together that can pass?”

“Well, I can try,” said Susanna, “but I don't know.” She thought a moment. “Well, maybe I can get some green tights and rig a little skirt. I have to look sort of like Robin Hood.”

“Give the playhouse a call. They put on
Peter Pan
last year, and maybe they still have the costumes.”

“I will. And I'll go to the thrift shops if I need to. Maybe I can find a tunic or something. Gosh, I don't have much time . . .”

“You'll need somebody to watch the kids this afternoon and tonight. Do you have a baby-sitter?”

“I'm not sure I can get one on such short notice. I'll try.”

“Call John Skye's house. His twins, Jill and Jen, both sit for us and as far as I know, they're both at home. Tell them I told you to call them, and that it's an emergency.”

“All right. I wish I had more time.”

“What are you going to tell Warren?”

“That's one good thing. Tonight's his poker night. He plays penny-ante with some guys once a month, so he'll be out until about midnight. Do you think we'll be done with this by then?”

I wondered. A lot of things can go wrong even when a plan is well designed, and this one was hardly a plan at all.

“There's a good chance that'll happen,” I said. “If Mr. Black shows up on schedule, you should be back home before Warren gets there. But your admirer may not show up. He may be just running a bluff or doing a test to see what you'll do.”

“Oh, I never thought of that.”

Other possibilities that I suspected she hadn't thought of were that more than one person might be involved, that Mr. Black and his friends, if he had any, might be more than I could handle, that things could go wrong in ways I couldn't anticipate.

“Are you sure you want to go up there?” I asked. “Maybe we should use a ringer.”

“What's a ringer?”

“In this case, it would be somebody dressed in an Oriona costume pretending to be you. A policewoman, maybe, or a small man who knows how to handle bigger people.” I thought of Manny Fonseca, Zee's shooting instructor. He wasn't very big, but he had killed two men that I knew of.

But Susanna would have no part of a ringer. “No, J.W., I'm going to do this myself. I want to meet this man, whoever he is, and give him a piece of my mind!”

“It could be dangerous.”

“I'm not afraid! Well, maybe a little. But with you there, I'll be fine!”

She was a gutsy woman. Warren was lucky to have her.

“All right,” I said. “Tell me how to get to the house.”

She did.

“Okay,” I said. “You show up there at ten in the best Oriona outfit you can put together. You won't see me, and Mr. Black won't see me, but I'll be there. When he makes his play, I'll make mine.”

Bold talk is cheap.

“Good,” said Susanna.

I hedged one last time. “Don't be afraid to call the whole thing off. This guy will call you gain if you don't show up. You can count on it.”

“I'll be there. I want this over and done with!” “I'll see you there at ten, then.” I hung up and looked at the phone.

Zee had been listening. “I'll call and see if I can get the other twin to sit for us. Do you want me to go up there with you as backup? I can get somebody to work for me, if you do.”

The idea of a backup had never crossed my mind, but now that it was mentioned, it seemed very sensible, especially since Mr. Black might have some associates of his own up at the house. But I didn't really like the notion of Zee being up there.

She read my husbandly mind, as wives can often do. “I know you'd rather I stayed out of harm's way, Jeff, but Susanna doesn't want anybody else to know about this business. If you bring somebody else in, there'll be one more person to tell the tale.”

“It's just that there might be trouble, and if there is, I'd prefer you weren't in it.”

“And I'd prefer you weren't in it, but that won't stop you.” She leaned on the door frame, lean and lithe. “We can take a couple of flashlights and a couple of pistols, too, if you think we might need them. Susanna's my friend, and I don't like this happening to her.”

She pleased me. I said, “I have the impression that I'd have to tie you to the bed to keep you from going with me.”

“Mr. Black's the guy who seems to want to tie somebody up. I don't think you're the type.”

It was something of a surprise to me that there was actually no one I'd rather have with me than Zee, in spite of the possibility of danger. “We'd better find us a baby-sitter, then,” I said. “We want to get up there early, before Mr. Black does. He knows the territory, apparently, and we don't, so we'll need to scout the area and hunker down out of sight before he shows up.” I felt the corner of my mouth turn up. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she said, reaching for the phone.

“Whatcha doing, Pa?” asked Joshua, as I gathered sandwich makings on the kitchen table. His sister stood beside him, a teddy bear under her arm.

“Making supper for your mom and me.”

“Are we going on a picnic, Pa?” Both Diana the Huntress and Joshua were fond of picnics. Of course Diana, especially, was fond of food at all times in all forms.

“No, Joshua,” I said. “Just your mom and I are going to have the picnic. A twin is going to come and stay with you and your sister and fix your supper.”

A twin was at least as good as a picnic. “Which one, Pa? Which one is coming?”

An unfair question, since I can't tell the twins apart.

“Your mom is making the arrangements,” I said, avoiding another revelation of paternal ignorance.

“Can I help make the sandwiches?”

Why not? “You can spread the mayonnaise,” I said.

So Josh and Diana climbed up and smeared bread slices, themselves, and the tabletop with mayonnaise. When they were through, I put ham and cheese, sprouts, pesto, and lettuce between the bread slices. Sandwiches deluxe.

I got our little collapsible cooler and put the sandwiches, some half-sour pickles, some chips, and a couple of bottles of Sam Adams inside it. Then I filled a thermos with ice cubes and water, and we were provisioned for the night.

Zee came back from the phone. “Jill is going up to sit for Susanna, and Jen is coming here in an hour. I got Marcia Simpson to take my shift at work. Joshua and Diana, your faces are a mess. Come on. We're going to wash off that mayo so you don't disgrace the family when Jen comes.”

The three of them headed for the bathroom, and while I collected a five-cell flashlight for me and a smaller plastic model for Zee, and put some bug lotion in my pocket, I thought about the contents of the gun cabinet.

Manny Fonseca, who loved guns beyond all things but his family, when asked why he toted one on peaceful Martha's Vineyard, inevitably replied, “It's better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it.” It was a view I rarely shared, but tonight struck me as an exception, so I got out my old police .38, loaded it up and put it in its holster, and put both in a canvas backpack with the flashlights.

Soon Zee and her shiny-faced kidlings reappeared and I told her what was in the backpack.

A frown appeared on her face. “Guns are dangerous.”

“Yes. I doubt if I'll need it, but . . .” I shrugged.

Zee had two pistols: the Beretta .380, which she had started with but didn't use much anymore, and the customized .45, which she now used in shooting competitions. Being a talented shootist who didn't approve of guns, she occasionally teetered on the rim of paradox and indecision.

“I wish I knew who was going to be up there.”

I was no help. “Me, too,” I said.

“I can't really imagine needing one.”

“You're probably right. Probably all we'll need is the flashlights. Once we ID this guy, he'll know it's all over for him, and he'll leave Susanna alone because he won't want his name known.”

Zee nodded. “I wouldn't want mine known.”

I said nothing.

“I'm going to take the three-eighty,” said Zee, giving me an almost-but-not-quite-apologetic look.

“Fine. You know what Manny always says.”

“Yes, I do.”

Two hours later we were in West Tisbury, hiking up a narrow, sandy driveway. The Land Cruiser was parked a half mile back, just off Lambert's Cove Road, where Mr. Black was not apt to see it. The driveway wound through trees that almost touched overhead, toward the top of a hill that promised a nice view of Vineyard Sound. The promise was fulfilled when we came to the house and barn. They stood in a small meadow surrounded by forest that fell away on every side and gave an especially fine view of the Elizabeth Islands.

We stood in the trees for some time, looking for signs of life. There were none. We walked out across the meadow and I knocked at the door of the large white farmhouse. No one responded. We knocked on the back door. Nothing. We went to the barn. A door was open, and we went in. No one was there, but there were well-maintained machines in storage: a small tractor with plows, harrows, and a wagon that went with it; a riding mower; a handsomely maintained De Soto sedan supported by blocks, the object of some collector's eye.

“He told her to come to the front of the house,” I said. “I don't know where he'll be waiting, but I want to be close to her, so we should probably be in the house.”

“But it's locked.”

I revealed my picks.

“Oh,” said Zee. “But isn't it illegal to pick locks?”

“Yes, it is.”

She raised a brow. “Oh, well.”

We went in through the rear door of the house and locked it again behind us, and then went to the front of the house. We had a good view from the living room windows on either side of the front door.

“We can wait for him here,” said Zee. “When he comes to meet her, we can just step out and confront him.”

“We can if he comes from somewhere else, but I think he'll come from in here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because there are beds in here and not out there. I think he'll be inside when she comes and that he'll want her inside, too.”

Zee thought, then nodded. “Take off your backpack.” I did, and she got out her flashlight and the Beretta and tucked them into her pockets. “He must have a key,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Where'd he get it?”

“Maybe he's the guy who owns this place.”

“Would he have her come here? Would he do this in his own place?”

I thought of the serial killers who used their own homes as cemeteries for their victims. “I wouldn't,” I said, “but people do strange things.”

She looked around. “We'd better find a place to hide out.”

We went through the house. It was filled with antiques mixed with simple, functional furniture. Whoever owned it had good taste, I thought. Also money.

“I think the pantry is a good place,” said Zee. “We can hunker down behind the counter out of sight until he gets in, then catch him before he can get out. I'm starving. Let's eat.”

All armies, even very small ones like ours, travel on their bellies. So we went out behind the house and ate our food and drank our beer, so there'd be no food smells in the house to rouse Mr. Black's curiosity when he got there.