Vineyard Prey (8 page)

Which meant that I could.

The Skyes' old farm was off the Edgartown-West Tisbury road, a few miles from my place. The house, barn, outbuildings, and corrals were in good shape, and it was my job to look after them over the winter. Today, though, I was interested in turning the thermostat up, making up beds in three bedrooms, and putting food in the fridge. When things were ready, I went home again, keeping an eye on my rearview mirror, but seeing no black car or any other suspicious-looking vehicle.

I was not happy. I had gotten involved in something
that wasn't really any of my business. Joe Begay had asked me to stay out of it, and I'd planned to do just that, but now I was back in it again. The man in the green coat was not only interested in Kate, but knew that I had some sort of connection with her. And now he knew or would soon know who I was and where I lived.

Which meant that my family was now possibly in danger. Joe, who understood how violent the Easter Bunny could be, had sent his family out to Oraibi. I would move mine to John Skye's house, just in case the Bunny decided to include them in his plans. Zee was not going to like it, but she would go there because of the children.

Are there any times that do not try men's souls? There are, but this wasn't one of them.

When Zee got home from work and heard my tale, she was as upset as I'd guessed she would be.

“You told me you weren't getting involved in this. You told me Joe wants to handle it himself!”

“I wasn't, and he does. But things happen. I just want you and the kids to be safe. I'll be over there with you. It'll just be for a few days.”

“You don't know that. And what if Joe doesn't stop him? What then? What if something happens to Joe and to this woman, this Kate? Then what?”

“Then it'll be over.”

“And this Easter Bunny will go back home and blow up more people just like before! Is that it?”

“Nothing's going to happen to Joe.”

“But what if it does? What if something goes wrong? This Easter Bunny is a professional killer!”
She paused, frowned, and then said, “Are you telling me that Joe is one, too? That Joe and this Kate MacLeod woman are killers, too? Is that what you're saying?”

I felt my hand rub my chin. “He never said so in so many words.”

“But that's what you think, isn't it? My God! Joe Begay. I wonder if Toni knows.”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “Look,” I said. “Joe's work takes him to some hard places. He may have done things that most of us wouldn't do or couldn't do. I don't know about that and neither do you. What I do know is that he saved my life a long time ago and that he's been my friend since he moved to the island and that I trust him. And so can you.”

She took a deep breath and then nodded and put her arms around me and laid her head against my chest.

“Yes. I know you're right. And before you say it, I'll say it: not all killings are the same. I know that.”

She stepped back. “All right, we'll move over to John's place until this business is ended. Let's pack the stuff the kids will need.”

“Does that include the computer?” Our new computer was still pretty much a mystery to me, but it seemed to be a necessity to Joshua and Diana, who used it for schoolwork and, to a lesser extent, for fun and games.

“Yes,” said Zee, “that includes the computer. In fact, if they know we're taking the computer, the kids will realize that this isn't just an adventure but
that they'll have to study just as hard at John's house as they do here. It'll get them into the right frame of mind.”

We packed suitcases and the computer into Zee's little red Jeep.

“What about Oliver and Velcro?”

“They can stay here,” I said. “I'll come over every day and make sure they're fed and that the cat flap is open in the morning and closed in the evening so they'll have to stay inside for the night.”

“Good. I don't want some raccoon to bite one of my kitties.”

“They're not kitties,” I said. “They're grown-up cats.”

“They're kitties to me,” said Zee.

Kitties. Why do people speak about babies and other little animals in diminutive terms and talk to them in high-pitched voices?

When everything else was in the car, Zee retrieved the key from the top of the gun case and opened the door. Inside were my father's .30-′06 and shotguns. Inside, too, were the old .38 Police Special I'd carried as a Boston cop before semiautomatic pistols came into vogue, and Zee's two guns: the little Beretta 380 that she used when Manny Fonseca first taught her to shoot, and the modified 1911 model Colt .45 she now used in pistol competition. For pacifistic Zee, somewhat to her surprise and chagrin, was, in Manny's terms, a natural, by which he meant she could shoot rings around most people, including me. She had the pistol competition trophies to prove it and she was getting better with each passing day.

Now, as I watched, she took the Beretta and a box of ammunition out of the case and put them in her purse. Then she shut and locked the door and returned the key to its place. I said nothing. She looked at me. I still said nothing.

“Just in case,” she said.

I nodded, but said, “I don't think you'll need it.”

“I don't think so either, but you know what Manny says.”

“Yes, I do.”

Manny was fond of the shootist's maxim, It's better to have a gun and not need it than to need it and not have it.

I could understand that because I felt the same way about beer.

When Joshua and Diana came down our long, sandy driveway after their day in school, we told them about our plans to live at the farm for a few days.

“It'll be like a secret adventure,” I said, sitting on my heels in front of them. “I don't want you to tell anyone about it until we come back to our house.”

Joshua, ever a romantic, thought that sounded fine. Diana, however, was more practical. “What about Oliver Underfoot and Velcro? Are they coming, too?”

“No, I'll come over here every day and take care of them.”

“But they'll miss us.”

“I'll spend some time with them every day. Besides, we won't be staying at the farm very long.”

“How long?”

“Just a few days.”

“What about our computer? We need our computer for school.”

As is often the case, what was once a luxury had become a necessity, but I had neither the time nor the inclination to philosophize upon that very common phenomenon.

“We're taking it with us,” I said. “It's already in the car. We'll set it up in John's library.”

“That sounds good,” said Joshua. “I like the library. I like all those books.” What a bright little chap. Like father, like son.

Diana thought for a moment, then negotiated. “Can I sleep in Jill's bedroom, Pa? I can see the barn from her window.”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Okay, then. Let's go.”

And we did. Zee and the kids rode in Zee's Jeep. I waited at the end of our driveway until they went over a hill toward Edgartown and out of sight. No black car followed them. Then I turned the other way, toward Vineyard Haven, and took the long way to the farm via the airport road. No one followed me either.

So far, so good. But I was jumpy.

The next morning, I took the kids to school, explained to the woman in the office that either Zee or I would be delivering and picking them up for a few days, then went back to our house. Everything looked normal outside as I walked around the building. The pieces of cellophane tape I'd put at the foot of the front and back doors were still in place. I
went inside and was met by loud meows from Oliver Underwood and Velcro. I opened the cat flap and they both immediately went out. So much for my cats missing me.

I filled their food and water dishes, then got our cell phone out of the truck and called Joe Begay's house.

He didn't answer.

  8 

I got an answering machine with Toni Begay's voice. I wasn't surprised that Joe wasn't home, but I'd have been happier if he had been, since that would have suggested that he felt secure in the house, which in turn would have suggested that the Bunny problem had been resolved, probably with extreme prejudice.

However, I wasn't totally out of Joe's loop because I'd noted his cell phone number when I'd talked to Jake Spitz, so I dialed that phone. While it was ringing I wondered if the phone was one of those that told you who was calling so you could decide whether or not you wanted to answer. I'd read about such phones and about other modern electronic devices that allow you to stay in constant touch with others, but little of it had registered with me because I generally prefer not to be in touch, and usually only carried our cell phone when we were cruising the far Chappy beaches, in case the Jeep broke down in some obscure place.

When Joe finally answered, I told him I was on my own cell phone and asked him if he considered this to be a secure line.

“Cell phones are not secure,” he said. “People with bombs can drop them on you if you use your cell phone too much because they can zero in on where you are.”

“Now that you mention it,” I said, “I remember reading about that happening in the latest Gulf War. They rocketed a caravan of cars going across the desert because some wanted guy was talking on his cell phone while they drove.”

“Right,” said Joe. “I don't recall if they got the right guy, but they got somebody. Anyway, I don't expect any rocket attacks on Martha's Vineyard, but if you want a secure line you should use a regular phone that you know hasn't been tapped. Why do you ask? Do you have something to say that other people shouldn't hear?”

“I thought I'd let you decide that.”

“Why don't you meet me at Uncle Bill's old place?”

A good suggestion. If the Bunny was actually listening in, he'd be hard-pressed to know who Uncle Bill was or where he'd once lived. “I'll be there,” I said.

Uncle Bill Vanderbeck, who now lived in the mostly underground mansion belonging to his new wife, still owned his old place off Lighthouse Road in Aquinnah. His house, like many, was at the end of a sandy driveway. It was a well-maintained old farmhouse with weathered gray shingles and gray trim. There was a small barn behind it that he'd used as a garage for his elderly car, and on the far side of the yard was a vegetable garden that was now hors de combat for the year, although it had the look of having been well tended during the growing season.

No surprise there, since Uncle Bill was a locally famous gardener as well as a rumored shaman. Bill scoffed at the latter idea, but the shaman stories didn't go away, maybe because reputations are hard to shake or maybe because the idea of a shaman living on Martha's Vineyard was just too interesting to give up. I liked it myself, in fact. I also liked the idea of the Loch Ness monster, of course.

I drove up to Dodgers Hole and took the road that led through to the West Tisbury road. There are people living in those developments who want to put up gates to stop through traffic such as mine, but so far they have not prevailed.

No one seemed to be following me, so I turned right toward the airport and drove on to Aquinnah. Here and there, beside the road, were the parked cars and pickups of deer hunters who had managed to find some of the increasingly rare woods where people could still hunt.

Like the beaches that had in my youth been open to fishermen but were now behind the locked gates of rich new landowners who kept their shorefronts to themselves, woodlands once open to hunters were now behind similar gates and the trees beside roadsides were covered with No Trespassing signs. I once counted over a hundred such signs along North Road alone, and there were probably more that I missed because I had to keep an eye on the road as I counted. Some of the signs were only twenty or thirty feet apart and I could see a half dozen of them at the same time. As always they made me wonder about the psyches of the people who had posted them.