A Vineyard Killing (15 page)

The next morning Zee phoned me from the hospital and said that Donald Fox was definitely going to live. He was a tough man in good physical condition. The sword blade had stopped short of his heart and major arteries but had punctured a lung and sliced through lesser blood vessels. They'd operated and repaired most of the damage. Paul Fox was by his side, and Maria Donawa was by Paul's side as often as she could slip away from her duties for a few minutes.

“Bad news for Dodie,” I said.

“Dodie will just have to get used to it,” said Zee.

“Besides, Paul is not the kind of man Donald is. He's a nice guy. Maria told me that he told her that Saberfox will only take Dodie's house over his dead body. The boy has spunk he may not have known about.”

“He's in love with Maria,” I said, “and love is transforming. Take me, for instance. Before I knew you I was just a lazy guy who was only interested in beer and fishing. I didn't have a steady job, and I was totally without ambition. But then I fell for you, and look at me now.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line.

“Hello?” I said. “Hello? Hello? I think we've been cut off.”

“I'll see you tonight,” said Zee hoarsely.

The next day I drove up to John Reilley's work site and joined him on a pile of two-by-fours as he ate lunch under the noon sun. On the lee side of the house it was almost warm.

I told him about Hillborough and the Fox brothers, and about Maria and Paul.

“So Hillborough and Kirkland played Iago and Roderigo, eh?” said John, shaking his head. “Well, they're gone now and won't be missed. I wish good luck to the kids. Maria needs someone to take her mind off her mother's life, and young Paul may be just the man to do the job.”

“Maybe you can do the same for Dodie. She fancies you and she's going to need somebody to keep her from fussing about Maria and Paul.”

He looked sad. “I fancy her, too, and I think I could distract her or maybe even get her to change her mind about Paul, but I suspect that I should be moving on. I've been on the run for forty years, and I'm tired of it, but I have my reasons for going and they're good ones.” He bit into his sandwich.

“Maybe not as good as you think,” I said. “The lad you ran through didn't die. He got better and married the girl. You're not a wanted man and never have been.”

He chewed but had a hard time swallowing. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Juan Diego Valentine, who fled from Spain to the United States, thinking he'd killed a man, and disappeared.” I told him what I'd learned from Joe Begay.

He shook his head as though in a daze. “You're sure about this? Carlos didn't die? I was never wanted for murder?”

“Not for murder or anything else. No one involved wanted charges brought, apparently. The story of the duel got out, but the happy ending made it into a romance. The only bad part was that your parents and sister never heard from you again.”

He ran a hand hard over his head. “I didn't dare write. I thought I'd disgraced the family. I wanted them to think I was dead somewhere. I've been a complete fool.”

“And you've more than paid for it by being on the run all these years. Your parents are in their eighties and your sister is a grandmother, but I'll bet they'd be delighted to hear from you.”

He brightened. “You think so?” But then he shook his head. “No. I don't know if I can risk it.”

“If you're afraid the immigration people will kick you back to Spain, don't be. I'm not going to tell them you've lived here illegally for most of your life, and I don't think your family will rat on you. They'll just be happy to know that their long-lost son is alive and well. Hell, you've been John Reilley for so long that you can probably go see them on an American passport.”

“I don't have an American passport.”

“I'll bet you can probably get one. You must have a Social Security card, since you've been working for forty years, so you must have a birth certificate, too, because you'd need that to get your SS card. That should be enough ID, unless they're both fakes. So tell me: How did you become John Reilley? It's a short step from Juan to John, but where did the Reilley come from?” I arched a brow.

He was looking less and less unhappy. “Serendipity. I knew the best way I could lose myself in this big country was to change myself into someone totally different than who I'd been. So I didn't go back to Tulane for my final term as a premed student, but headed west and became an itinerant carpenter.

“I was lucky to be from a rich family, so I had enough money to see me through until I could begin earning my own, and I'd been in New Orleans long enough to speak good, Southern-style English, so nobody figured me for a foreigner on the run. I worked little day jobs at first, so I didn't need any papers, but I knew that I couldn't keep that up.

“Then one day I was in a little town in the Midwest—I won't say where—and there was a sad story on the front page of the local paper. A young man about my age had been killed by a drunk driver right outside of his church on a Sunday morning. It was exactly the sort of story that any small-town editor would put on page one.

“I read the story and learned that the family had just moved there from another little town upstate, where they had lived all their lives before moving here. The family's name was Reilley. The boy's name was John. It seemed like a kind of miracle. Out of the boy's death came my new life.”

“I can guess the rest,” I said.

“Sure you can. I went to that other town and got a copy of John Reilley's birth certificate. Using it, I got a Social Security card, and Juan Diego Valentine became John Reilley.”

“But still, you never stayed anywhere too long. Just in case.”

“I paid my income taxes because I didn't want the IRS after me, but I never got a driver's license or bought a house because I didn't want any more of a paper trail than I had to have. A moving target is harder to hit.” He looked around at the greening hills of Chilmark. To the south we could see the dark blue ocean under the pale blue sky. “One good thing that came of it is that I've seen a lot of beautiful country. None better than this island, though, even though I'm living in a cave.”

“Maybe it's time you surfaced,” I said. “I think Dodie would like that.”

“How about Maria?”

“Maria will feel just fine after I give my report,” I said. “You'll get a glowing recommendation.”

“You don't really know me,” he cautioned.

“I think I know you well enough. You've spent forty years in the wilderness. Hell, Jesus only spent forty days.”

“That's a pretty irreligious comparison.”

“Some people think I'm a pretty irreligious guy.” I stood up. “Time for you to get back to work.”

I went to the Land Cruiser and drove home. It was almost April. Spring wasn't quite in the air, but it wouldn't be long.

Six weeks later Zee and I and the kids were on Wasque Point waiting for the blues to come in for the first time that year. Zee and I were taking turns keeping a line in the water while the kids played tag with the waves. It was one of those lovely, warm, early May days when you didn't need your waders but were comfortable in just a shirt and shorts, and the sun was a brilliant ball floating westward across a cloudless sky.

Between casts Zee brought me up to date on all the latest news, fresh from the ER hot line.

“Dodie and John Reilley are getting even cozier, and Dodie is beginning to accept the fact that Maria and Paul Fox have the hots for each other.” Zee seemed very pleased by these facts, as many women seem to be when learning of engagements, marriages, and less formal linkages between people they like.

“I hear that Paul is taking over Saberfox's office here on the island,” I said.

“That's right. And he's putting a stop to this practice of threatening people with lawsuits over their land. He thinks there's plenty of business for straight-arrow realtors here.”

“He'll have a lot of competition. There are fifteen thousand people on this island in the wintertime, and all but a half dozen of them are realtors.”

“It's not quite that bad, Jefferson. Anyway, Donald is back in Savannah, at the main office. That wound took a lot of zip out of him, but according to Maria he's got several women down there who are anxious to take care of him while he recovers. She thinks he may change his management style after all that's happened. Brad Hillborough was quite a revelation to him, she says.”

“He looked at Hillborough and saw himself?”

“Something like that.” She leaned closer. “And you know something neat?”

“No.”

“Maria says that John has taken Dodie to his house and that they're talking about going to Spain together. What do you think of that?”

“More proof that romance still thrives within the hearts of the bald and silver-haired crowd. And are you telling me that Donald Fox is going to become a kinder, gentler Fox?”

“Don't be a cynic. People do change, you know. It can happen.”

“It certainly happened to me. Why, before I met you I was a—”

“And you still are! You haven't changed a bit! Wait! Smell that?”

I sniffed and sure enough there was a watermelon aroma floating on the southwest wind. Bluefish!

“There's the slick!” cried Zee, pointing as she grabbed her rod from the rack on the front of the truck.

She was right again. Off to the west a round, oily slick was easing toward us on the rising tide.

I snatched my rod and trotted after her down to the surf. There she made her long, lovely cast far out into the water, just in front of the slick. I put my redheaded Roberts about three yards from where her plug had hit, and began to snake the lure back to shore.

Two fish struck us almost simultaneously, swirling white water around our plugs and bending our rods. I heard Zee laugh as she hauled back and reeled down and hauled back again, and I felt the power of my fish as I did the same.

The fish didn't want to come, but they came anyway, fighting, dancing on their tails, tugging against the hooks that held them, flashing first this way and then that through the water.

We fought them into the surf, then brought them flopping and writhing up onto the sand. We hooked our fingers in their gills and carried them up to the truck where I extracted the hooks, cut their throats, and tossed them into the shade of the truck.

The children had come running, and were very impressed.

“Those are good ones, Pa!”

“Nice ones,” I agreed, feeling happy. “How does stuffed bluefish for supper tonight sound?”

“It sounds good, Pa,” cried Diana, who was always on the hunt for food.

“Well, let's not just stand here,” said Zee, grinning.

“Let's get some more!”

So side by side she and I trotted back down to the surf and made our long casts out into the beautiful, heartless, innocent sea.

S
EAFOOD
C
ASSEROLE

(Serves 8–10)

J.W. cooks this casserole in this story.

Sauté these ingredients in 3–4 tbsp. butter, then add:

Mix well, season with celery salt and pepper, and place in baking dish.

Top with buttered crumbs and some bacon bits (and, if you wish, green or red pepper rings, red pepper, or pimiento).

Bake at 300° or till hot, and serve.

K
ALE
S
OUP

(Serves 6–8, at least)

This is a classic New England Portuguese dish that takes many forms but is always delish! Security on a cold winter's day is having a large container of kale soup in your freezer.

Cover shinbone with water, bring to boil, add beef, and simmer until tender (1–2 hours). Remove meat and marrow from bone and return to pot. Add soup mix, onions, and kale. Simmer till kale is nearly tender—15–20 minutes. Add kielbasa, potatoes and/or macaroni, chili powder, and pesto. When potatoes and/or macaroni are nearly done, add kidney beans.

Any other leftovers you have may be added at this time—corn, rice, green veggies, leftover soup or chili, carrots, etc. Heat until hot, and season with seasoned salt and pepper to taste.

T
OM
'
S
S
AUSAGE
, B
EANS
,
AND
R
ICE

(Serves 4–6)

This recipe came from Dr. Thomas Blues, retired professor, University of Kentucky. It is a simple and excellent skillet dish. J.W. uses kielbasa when he makes it but you can use hot turkey sausage if you don't eat mammals.

Heat oil in skillet. Brown sausage and remove from pan. Sauté onion and garlic until soft. Add sausage and remaining ingredients (except rice), including bean juice, cover, and simmer over low heat for about 30 minutes. Mash a few of the beans during the last 5 minutes. Serve over rice.