Vineyard Blues (17 page)

If he got there. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd be lying in ambush along the driveway to catch Oriona, and any friends she might have, unawares. I didn't mention such imaginings to Zee as we sat uncomfortably on the pantry floor and watched the darkness gather.

I was glad I didn't when, just after nine o'clock, a key turned in the back door of the house, and someone came in.

I heard Zee inhale and felt the touch of her hand on my arm. Footsteps moved from the back door, through the kitchen, and past the pantry, following a light we glimpsed beneath the pantry door, toward the living room in the front of the house. Zee started to get up, but I touched her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“We'll wait and see if he gets any reinforcements.”

We sat. No one else came in. We sat some more and listened while the person I presumed was Mr. Black moved confidently through the house. Apparently he knew his way around and just wanted to be sure everything was as it should be. Twice more we saw light under the pantry door as he and his flashlight went through the kitchen. Then footsteps and the light came toward the pantry, and we squidged back as close as we could against the wall on the far side of the counter. I found the switch on my five-cell in case he spotted us. The door opened and his light flashed in and around. But it was only a cursory look, and then the door was shut and the light and footsteps moved away.

I pressed a button on my wristwatch and the face lighted. Nine-thirty. I released the button and the watch went dark. I liked my watch. It had cost me nine dollars and was shockproof, water resistant, multipurposed, and affordable if I lost it. You should never pay more than nine dollars for a watch.

My rump was not too well padded and was getting sore. On the bright side, I was now pretty sure that Mr. Black was alone. I got slowly to my feet and flexed a few joints. I sensed Zee flow up beside me. The pantry was darker than the inside of a black cat. I flicked my flashlight on and off and located both the door and Zee's ear. I bent and whispered again.

“He'll be listening when she comes up the driveway so he can hear if she stops along the way to maybe let somebody out. If he hears her do that, he'll be ready to scoot out the back door. She won't do that, of course, but will drive right up to the front of the house. He'll be inside, watching. When she opens the car door, he'll be able to see that she's alone. She'll stand there, waiting. Then he'll have to decide whether to go through with his plan or to skip out the back door.

“I want you back in the kitchen in case he decides to run. You put your light in his eyes and yell ‘Police!' That should stop him. If it doesn't, delay him if you can do it without getting hurt. Don't use the gun unless he comes at you with one of his own or a knife. If he does that, shoot him. Otherwise, let him go.”

“All right.” Good old Zee. No arguments when the chips were down.

“I figure he'll open the front door and have her come in,” I said. “When she gets inside and the door is shut again, I'll put my light in his face and tell him the jig is up and get between him and the door. When you hear my voice, turn on your light and come to the living room making a lot of noise so he'll think there are several of you. Between us, we should nail him cold.”

“All right. Be careful.”

It was very good advice, but guaranteed nothing. Many a person has been killed while being careful.

I leaned down and gave my wife a kiss. Then I led her to the door of the pantry and slowly opened it.

Faint sounds came from the living room, where Mr. Black was apparently taking his stand. Stars and a half-moon cast light through the windows. Zee moved like a shadow toward the back door and disappeared. I turned toward the living room and tried to walk like a cat. Mr. Black would be nervous and any odd sound might spook him. I didn't make any odd sound, although I could hear the beat of my own heart. I eased up to the door of the living room and peered around the frame.

The window-light faintly illuminated the room, but for a moment I couldn't see Mr. Black. Then, a deeper darkness in the lesser darkness of the room, I saw him beside a window, looking out, motionless as an ebony statue.

Why was he so dark? Why so black? Then I remembered the picture Susanna had showed me of Oriona in distress. The figure distressing her had been a man in a black mask and hood, wearing a black cloak over a black shirt and tights. Mr. Black was dressed for the role of the distresser, and as such was apparently planning to again abuse the hapless Oriona.

Life imitating art, such as it was. It has long been noted that many criminals are childish in spite of their grown-up bodies. Although they age physically and even intellectually, they somehow remain eternal adolescents in their emotions and morality. Their sexual fantasies are those of pubescent teenagers who are driven by forces that are mysterious, threatening, thrilling, and irresistible. I didn't think that there was any cure for it, in spite of the claims of some psychologists.

The figure in the window moved, and I heard the faint sound of an automobile engine climbing up the driveway. Then, looking through that same window, I saw headlights through the trees. Then a car came across the meadow and stopped in front of the house.

The driver's door opened and a woman got out and stood in the pale glow cast by the dome light. She was wearing an outfit that belonged to Peter Pan. She held the door open for several seconds, then closed it and stood in the star- and moonlight.

Mr. Black stood looking at her for a while, then suddenly moved to the door and opened it. He flashed his light into her eyes, and I saw that she was wearing a mask and was dressed in green. Oriona garb, more or less. She put up her hand to shield her eyes.

He spoke. “Come here.” It was a rough but somehow artificial voice. She hesitated, then came up onto the porch. He backed away and she came into the room.

“Sit there.” His flashlight flicked to a stout wooden chair he'd brought from somewhere. She walked in the circle of light to the chair. He crossed around her and shut the door. Then he pulled the blinds and the room was lit only by his flashlight.

“Put your hands behind you and your knees together.”

She was very trusting of me. She put her hands behind her and her knees together, and sat there as if bound by invisible ropes. Mr. Black's light lingered on her, and I thought I could hear him take in deep breaths. Then he walked behind the chair and put his hands on her shoulders. She shuddered. I thought that was enough.

I aimed my flashlight at his eyes and flicked it on. “Keep your hands in sight and don't move!” I said in as authoritative a voice as I could muster. “And don't try to run. The house is surrounded.”

He froze, like a deer in the headlights of a car, his eyes wide behind the black mask he wore, his mouth agape. Behind me footsteps came running and a dancing light came into the room.

Mr. Black made a small sound, and Susanna flew out of the chair and across to me.

“Turn on the house lights,” I said to Zee, “and let's see who we have here.”

The room blossomed with light. Mr. Black's eyes went from me to Zee to Susanna and then to the door.

“Don't even think of it,” I said, pulling up my T-shirt and revealing the holster clipped to my belt. “Sit down in that chair, and keep your hands in sight.”

“Oh my,” said Mr. Black. He sat down.

“Take off that mask and hood and let us have a look at you,” I said.

He bowed his head, then slowly put up his hands and removed the black mask and hood.

Like Lawrence looking at the golden snake drinking at his watering trough, we stared with fascination.

Susanna was the first to speak.

“Warren! What are you doing in that costume? What's going on here?”

Warren Quick spread his arms, his face wide-eyed and miserable. “I don't know what to say. I wasn't going to do anything. I just wanted . . . want—” He shot to his feet, tore off his black cloak and spun around in a circle. “Look, honey! I don't have any ropes or handcuffs or anything. I wasn't really going to tie you up or . . . I just wanted to . . . to see you, to see Oriona. I . . .”

Susanna seemed more curious than upset. “You're the one who's been making all those phone calls! Why?”

Warren Quick's voice rushed out of his mouth. “I wanted to, you know, to have you . . . I mean, to have you dressed up like her, Oriona, like you did before I met you. I saw you by accident on the Internet, and I knew it was you. I recognized your eyes even though you were wearing that mask she wears. It was exciting! I knew it was all pretend, but I wanted to pretend, too!” He pressed the sides of his head with his hands, as words failed him.

“Why, Warren,” said his wife in a voice full of pity and affection as she went to him, “if I'd known you wanted to play Oriona and Man in Black, you should have just told me. I'll be glad to do it.” She put her arms around him.

“I know it's a sin,” said Warren, “but I can't help it. I saw you in that costume and I had to have you.”

“You're my husband,” said Susanna, “and I'm your wife. It's not a sin for us to love each other any way we want.”

“You don't think I'm crazy? I went to the library in Edgartown and tried to find out what was wrong with me, but I couldn't.”

“You're not crazy,” said Susanna. “We can try it out and see if we like it. If we do, that'll be fine; if we don't, we won't do it anymore.”

“Oh, Susanna.” He put his arms around her.

I looked at Zee and she looked at me. She beckoned me into the kitchen.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I was afraid for a minute he was going to burst into song.”

“Not that,” she said. “I mean, what do you think about him and her? Should we get out of here and leave them alone?”

“I think that's up to Susanna.”

We went back into the living room. The Quicks were still wrapped in each other's arms.

“Excuse us,” said Zee. “Susanna, we're thinking of going home. How does that notion strike you?”

Susanna didn't let go of Warren. “That'll be fine. Thanks for everything. I'll talk with you later.”

Warren looked at us with his teary eyes and said something I couldn't understand. Maybe it was another thankyou.

Zee and I collected our backpack and cooler, and walked out into the night, leaving Oriona and the Man in Black alone.

The beams from our flashlights danced in front of us as we walked down the dark, sandy driveway.

“I saw him that day in the library,” I said. “I thought maybe he'd found out about Mr. Black somehow and was trying to figure out what made him so weird. But he was really trying to find out about himself. Poor Warren. It must be tough for a good, straight-arrow churchgoer like him to wrestle with kinky thoughts.”

“I'll bet you never tried to find out why you have immoral desires.”

“Absolutely not. When I have lewd thoughts I just try to enjoy them. I have most of them about you.”

“I guess there are no unnatural acts,” said Zee, taking my hand, “but people still surprise me when they do certain things.”

“Me, too.”

Together we walked through the darkness.

Then I said, “Like what, for instance?”

The next morning I called Ben Krane's office and got—who else?—Judith Gomes.

“I want to talk with your boss,” I said.

Judith's voice was cold. “When he comes in, I'll tell him you called.”

“Tell him I'll be there at ten this morning.”

“I'm not sure he'll be in by then.”

“Tell him I think I know who burned down his houses.

That should bring him.” I hung up before she could. Judith and I just couldn't seem to warm to each other. So it goes, sometimes.

“Did you happen to find a check from Ben Krane in yesterday's mail?” I asked Zee.

“Is the pope Mongolian?”

“I think there'll be a Mongolian pope before I get a check from Ben.”

Zee smiled. “That means you aren't really working for him, because he failed to fulfill his end of the contract, or something legal like that.” She was glad to have me not working for Ben.

I, on the other hand, wanted Ben's money since I'd actually done the work he wanted, and I could use his dollars to help pay for the addition I planned on finishing before the start of the derby.

“I'll see if I can persuade him to come up with the dough,” I said. “Who knows, maybe the check is in our mailbox this very morning, just waiting for me to pick it up.”

“Har, har!” said Zee.

Diana the Huntress appeared. “Where are you going, Pa? Can I come, too?”

“Sure.”

Joshua appeared. “Can I come too, Pa?”

“Not this time. You went with me yesterday. Today it's your sister's turn.”

“We can both go, Pa.”

“No. You stay with your mother.”

Joshua tried the crying game on for size, but to no avail.

“If you want to cry, it's okay with me,” I said, “but you have to do it for your mom because you still can't come with me this time. I'll be home later and you can cry for me then if you still want to.”

I picked him up and gave him a kiss, then did the same with Zee, then took Diana out to the Land Cruiser and drove away.

Diana was not a great conversationalist unless hungry, so I had to do most of the talking, such as it was.

“First we're going up to Oak Bluffs to pick up Mr. Bayles.”

“Okay, Pa.”

That was it until we got to Cousin Henry's house. There, I introduced the two of them. She put out her teeny hand and let him shake it.

“How many kids you got?” he asked me.

“Just the two you've met.”

“You take one of them with you everywhere you go?”

“Sometimes both. I like having them around.”

“I don't know,” said Henry. “When mine were little I was doing stuff I didn't want my kids close to.”

“Yeah, but you lived in the big, mean city, and I live on Martha's Vineyard, where all is peace and love. I admit there are times I want the cubs to be home when I'm out, but not too often.”

“Peace and love, eh?” Cousin Henry shook his gray head and climbed into the Land Cruiser, and the three of us headed for Edgartown.

On the way, I stopped at the post office, just in case a miracle had occurred and Ben Krane's check really was there. It wasn't. I drove on into the village.

“Don't get here too often,” said Cousin Henry, looking at the clean streets, bright gardens, and neat white and gray buildings of the town. “Pretty place.”

True. Edgartown is the loveliest of the Vineyard's villages.

I found a parking place on North Water Street, site of Edgartown's ritziest addresses, and we walked to Ben Krane's office.

“If you prefer,” said Cousin Henry, “we can each speak to Mr. Krane alone. What I have to say to him won't take long, in any case.”

“No,” I said. “I want you to hear what I have to tell him, so if it's okay with you, we'll go in together.”

“It's okay with me,” said Henry.

Judith Gomes, looking severe, remained seated behind her desk when we appeared. I looked at my watch. Ten o'clock on the nose.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning,” said Judith.

“Please tell Mr. Krane that we've arrived.”

Her brow furrowed. “I believe Mr. Krane is expecting only you, Mr. Jackson, not a group of people.”

“My colleague Mr. Bayles and I will be appearing together today. Mr. Krane will want to hear from both of us. My daughter, Diana, is only an observer. Diana, this is Ms. Gomes.”

Diana walked over and put out her hand. Judith Gomes, unable to avoid being polite, hesitated, then took it, but recaptured her own hand as quickly as possible. She then went into Ben Krane's office and came back to her desk. “Mr. Krane will see you now.”

Our group of three went in and Cousin Henry shut the door behind us.

Ben frowned, then put on a professional smile, which he directed at Cousin Henry, toward whom he put out his big hand. “I'm Ben Krane. I don't believe I know you.”

Cousin Henry accepted the hand and let it go. “My name is Henry Bayles. Mr. Jackson and I share an interest in your current problems with fire.”

“Indeed?” Ben sat down behind his desk and looked back and forth between us.

“To be brief,” I said, “I think I know who torched your houses.”

Ben was immediately interested. “Who?”

“We agreed on a price for such information,” I said, “but so far the check hasn't showed up.”

He sat back. “I'll have Judith take care of that today.”

“Actually, I'd rather have cash.”

It was apparently not an approved word in Ben's vocabulary. “Cash?”

“Half a week's salary now, the other half when I finish my report.”

Ben tapped his fingers on his desk and his eyes grew even harder than they normally were. “I don't think so. You'll get your money, but not until after your report.”

“Well, I can't say it's been nice talking to you,” I said, “but I don't mind saying good-bye, so good-bye.” I got up, took Diana's hand, and started for the door.

“If you know who started these fires, it's your obligation to tell the authorities,” said Krane. “I'll get the information that way, if you won't talk to me.”

“I haven't any idea who started the fires,” I said. “I'll be glad to so testify in court.”

“That'll be perjury. You just told me that you thought you knew. Mr. Bayles is a witness.”

I looked at Cousin Henry. “Did I say any such thing, Mr. Bayles?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Cousin Henry, “I heard you say you didn't know a thing.”

I went on toward the door.

“Wait,” said Ben. I turned.

“Sit down, J.W.” I did, and Krane scribbled out a check and then touched a button on his desk. A moment later, Judith Gomes appeared in the door. Ben waved the check at her. “Take this and cash it and bring the money here.”

She took the check and went out.

“I won't be held up,” said Ben. “I want my money's worth of information from you. If I don't get it, you'll be in court for the rest of your life.”

“You'll get it,” I said.

Ben turned his angry eyes to Cousin Henry. “Maybe you'd like to tell me what you have in mind, Mr. Bayles.”

“I'll wait until Mr. Jackson has his say,” said Cousin Henry mildly.

So we sat. I played patty-cake with Diana, then gave her a horseback ride around Ben's office.

Before long, Judith Gomes came back and gave Ben an envelope. He looked inside. “All right,” he said. “Let's have your report.”

Judith Gomes went back to her desk, and I put out my hand. “Let's have the money first.”

He tapped the envelope on his desk, then handed it over. I counted the money. It was, indeed, half of what we had agreed upon for the week's work. I put it in my pocket.

“Talk,” said Ben, his falcon face hard with dissatisfaction.

I talked. “You know the arson inspectors are a couple named Dings. What I'm telling you now is that the Dingses are going to find out that the person whose body was found in that last torched house of yours was a guy named Cortland Appleyard. Last summer you and your brother took turns humiliating Appleyard's granddaughter, a girl named Linda Carlyle. The Dingses are going to find out that Cortland Appleyard came here a few days ago and that while he was on the island, two of your houses were torched, including the one Appleyard was staying in. Maybe Appleyard was here last March, too, when your other house burned, but if he was, I can't prove it, and I doubt if the Dingses can, either.

“The Dingses already know that the arsonist who fired this last house used new pennies to bypass the fuses, and I can testify that Corrie Appleyard had a satchel and new pennies when he came here last week. The Dingses found a partial roll of new pennies in the satchel beside Appleyard's body. They'll add all that up and name Appleyard as the arsonist, because he had motive, opportunity, and the technical skill to do the jobs.”

Ben stared at me. “How did this Appleyard guy happen to die in his own fire?”

“He didn't. He had a bad heart. It gave out on him before he could leave the house. He was probably dead before the fire started.”

“How do you know that?”

“The Dingses will get a report from the medical examiner's office saying that's what happened. They may have it now, in fact.”

Krane's eyes narrowed. “How did you get that information?”

I sat back and bounced Diana on my knee. “I think the reporters in Washington call it a ‘knowledgeable source.' You've got what you contracted for. You know who the Dingses will name, and you know there won't be any more fires. At least, there won't be any more set by the person who set these. I'd like the rest of my money now.” Krane was no fool. He stared at me. “You know more than you're telling. You're hiding something. I want to know what it is.”

“You're imagining things, Ben. Just because you're a liar and a deceiver yourself, you think other people are, too.”

He stood up. He was a big man. “I won't have that from you.”

I looked at him over Diana's head, and felt once more the flickering of psychic fire on the rim of my consciousness. It was frightening and pleasing at the same time. The beast within was awakening. I realized that I wasn't resisting it as I knew I should, and I knew why: it was because of what Zee had told me about her and the Krane brothers. My voice seemed lazy and hazy in my ears. “Are you trying to threaten me, Ben?”

He was not a man who had reason to lack confidence in himself. He was fit and, if rumor was correct, more than willing to use his training in the martial arts. He was also a very sharp lawyer. If he couldn't beat you one way, he certainly could another.

None of which meant a thing to me. I began to look around for a place to put Diana, so she wouldn't get hurt.

Krane smiled a happy smile when he noted this, and started around his desk.

“I never threaten to do anything I can't pull off,” he said. “Right now I hope you actually do start trouble here so I can beat the shit out of you and claim self-defense. And after they carry you out of here, I'll keep you in court for the rest of your life. You'll wish you'd never been born.”

I put Diana on the floor and gave her a little push toward the door. “You go out and talk with Ms. Gomes for a while, sweetie. And shut the door when you go out, please.”

Diana looked at me with big eyes, then did as I asked. My own eyes went to Ben Krane. When the door closed behind me, I stood up. I felt airy and almost happy.

“Just a moment,” said Cousin Henry, stepping between us. His voice was soft, but both Krane and I stopped in our tracks.

Krane looked down at the little man and opened his mouth to say something, but Cousin Henry spoke first. “I presume, Mr. Krane, that you know nothing of the so-called black gang wars in Philadelphia back in the sixties and seventies. Am I right?”

Krane frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“History,” said Cousin Henry, handing him a yellowed newspaper clipping. “Please read this.”

Krane hesitated, then took the clipping and read it.

When he was through, he frowned. “A mobster got himself blown up. So what?”

“He was an acquaintance of mine,” said Cousin Henry, taking back the clipping and putting it into his shirt pocket. “Some people believe that I had some involvement in his death.”

Ben Krane became wary. “What's this got to do with you and me?”

“Just this,” said Cousin Henry in a voice that was innocent as a coiled snake. “Linda Carlyle and my own granddaughter are good friends. I already feel a certain resentment about your treatment of Linda, and I will take it amiss if you continue to harass other people for whom I have affection or with whom I have pleasant relationships.”