Vineyard Shadows (10 page)

Zee met me at the door. She winced when I forgot and hugged her too hard.

“Sorry.”

“That's okay.” Our kiss was gentle because of her split lip. She ran her hands through my hair and looked up at me. “I've been fending off reporters all day. Come and have a drink with me and tell me what you've been up to.”

The vodka was in the freezer and the olives, green for me and black for Zee, were in the fridge, and so I made quick work of building our vermouthless martinis and carrying them up to the balcony. There, while the kids played in the yard below, I told her about everything except the kisses.

“And how was Carla?” asked my wife, looking out over the pond at the boats in the sound beyond the barrier beach.

“Broke, worried, and wondering what to do.”

“And you're going to save her and her husband.”

“I'm trying to save us, mostly. I don't want any more thugs in our lives.”

“It seems like you've accomplished that. Sonny Whelen says he made a mistake.”

“Yeah. Except for one little thing. I told Sonny that I didn't know where Tom Rimini is, but I do. If Sonny finds out, he might not be happy.”

She stared off to the east for a long minute, then said, “I don't like any of this. I think you should tell Tom Rimini to get off the island and go somewhere else, and then you should tell Sonny Whelen that he's gone.”

The idea made sense, but even as I agreed that it did, I thought of Carla's fears and saw her soft, troubled face.

“I'll talk with Rimini,” I said. “I'll give him the cell phone and tell him what happened up in Boston. There may be a way to get him out of this and get him and his family back into a decent life.”

“It's because of her, isn't it?” said Zee, with that insight that baffles men. “That's why you're doing it.”

There was no escaping the truth of her suspicions. “Yes. I think so, at least. I'd probably be handling this some other way if it wasn't for her.”

Her voice was tight, and her hand strayed to her bruised jaw. “If it wasn't for her, none of this would have happened.”

She wasn't only thinking of her own hurts, she was thinking of the man she had killed and the man she had mutilated, and of possible troubles to come.

“I know,” I said. “I wish it never had, but it did. And now it has to be dealt with.”

“You don't owe her anything.”

I had been thinking about that. “Maybe not,” I said, “but if I don't help her and things get worse than they already are, I know I'll always wish I'd tried.”

“You're married to me now!”

I was surprised by the emotion in her voice, and tried to keep my own gentle and soothing. “You and the kids are the most important things in my life, but I'd like to think that if what's happened to Carla had happened to any other woman, to some woman I didn't even know, that I'd try to help her, too.”

“You're not Galahad. You should let the police handle it. Let that man Graham take care of it.”

“I'm trying to get in touch with him.”

She emptied her glass and stared down at it. “Do you still love her?”

I said nothing.

She took a deep breath.

“I don't know if love's the word,” I said. “I know I loved her once a long time ago. I know I kept on loving her for a long time after she left me, but then that love finally faded into something else. Today I found out that I'm still attracted to her and still care about her and want her to be happy and that I think her husband is a fool to have endangered her the way he has. But I don't love her the way I love you; the way a man loves the only real woman in his life.”

I watched her as she plucked the two black olives from her glass and ate them. Then she got up and went down the stairs.

I felt a great coldness inside my soul. The world was suddenly without form and void, and as I stared out at Nantucket Sound, there was darkness upon the face of the deep.

Time must have passed; then I heard her step on the stairs and she was there again. She kissed me and took my hand. “And I love you, too,” she said. “The way a woman loves the only real man in her life.”

And it was evening of the very first day.

Something was in my eye. I brushed it away.

“Pa!”

I looked down at Joshua. “What?”

“Can we come up?”

How could I say no? “No,” I said. “This is big-people time. We'll be down soon.”

“Pa?”

“What?”

“Can't we have a dog?”

“No! No dogs! We have cats at this house.”

“A dog might be nice,” said Zee.

Three against one, but I stood firm. “No dogs,” I said. “You have to take them for walks, you have to clean up their shit, and they're like damned slaves: they always want to know what you want them to do. They slobber and wag their tails and pant and say what do you want me to do? What do you want me to do? Tell me and I'll do it! Pant, pant, slobber, slobber, wag, wag. I don't like slaves. Give me cats every time. Cats don't give a damn what you want; they only want what they want.”

“You're given to long speeches today,” said Zee.

“No dogs. Period.”

“Ma!”

“What?”

“Can we come up, now?”

“No.”

“Can we have a dog?”

“Your father says no.”

Oliver Underfoot and Velcro sat beside the catnip in the garden and looked up at us. They didn't want a dog either; that was obvious. That made it three to three, not three to one. I wasn't in a minority after all.

The evening sunlight cast our shadows on the lawn. My glass was empty. I ate my olives. I wished Tom Rimini had never gambled his first dollar. I looked at my watch.

“I'll give Rimini a call to let him know I'm coming over. I'll be back in time to make supper.”

“I took the liberty of rinsing and bagging the clams you got yesterday. They're in the fridge, waiting for you to decide what to do with them.”

“Thanks. I had in mind eating them.”

“A good plan, but right now I've got bluefish and veggies marinating. All you have to do is slap them on the grill.”

“Bachelors are idiots.”

“You won't get any argument from me, McGee.”

We went downstairs and were met by the little ones.

“Can we go up, Pa? Can we go up, Ma?”

“Oh, dear,” said Zee.

“Be careful,” I said. “If you fall, you'll break your necks!”

“Just for a little while, then,” said Zee. “And no climbing on the railing! Joshua, you make sure that Diana doesn't climb on it, and don't you climb on it either! Diana, don't climb on the railing! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

They galloped up the stairs, with Zee's frown following them.

“I think I'll stay out in the yard and keep an eye on them.”

I, too, had learned that being a parent meant being worried about your children a lot of the time. You couldn't stop worrying, but at the same time you had to let them go, you had to let them grow away from your arms.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll call Rimini.”

But when I dialed John Skye's number I got a busy signal.

It was more than irksome, it was dangerous. One traced call and Rimini's safe haven was no longer that.

I hung up, waited, and dialed again. Still a busy signal.

I went out into the yard where Zee, eyes shaded by one hand as she looked up into the setting sun,
was watching her children enjoy their rare visit to the balcony.

“I'll be back,” I said, and drove away.

John Skye had bought his old farm years before when prices were a lot lower than they had been since. Zee and I had been married in his yard, between the house and the barn, and I knew the place well, since I opened it in the spring, closed it up in the fall, and kept an eye on it during the winter. My favorite room was his library, which was filled with books most of which I had never read. It had seemed the perfect place to hide Tom Rimini, but no place is perfect for people who won't stay hidden.

Rimini's green Honda was in the yard when I pulled in. The barn would have been a better place for it, but Rimini apparently hadn't thought of that.

I knocked on the door and when Rimini opened it even I could hear the anger in my voice: “I thought we had a deal. You agreed to make your calls from somewhere else! Every time you make a call from here you take a chance on having it traced!”

He backed away, his eyes worried and wary. “What . . . what do you mean? I haven't called anybody.”

“I just tried to phone you. The line was busy. Twice!”

“What? When?”

“Just now. Ten minutes ago!”

“Oh. Oh, that wasn't me calling out. That was someone calling your friend John Skye. I told them he was in Colorado.”

“It took you quite a while to tell them that. I tried to get through to you twice.”

He licked his upper lip. “Sorry. We chatted a few minutes. You know . . .”

“Who was it?”

“Oh, gosh. I . . . I don't remember. He said he'd get in touch with your friend later in the summer.”

“And who did you say you were?”

“I said I was doing some work on the plumbing. It was the first thing I could think of. I figured old places like this always have problems with plumbing.”

I felt the anger ease out of me. I gave him the cell phone and told him to use it when he called Carla between six and seven. “She'll be out of the house and waiting for your call.”

“Why should she be out of the house?”

“In case the place has been bugged.”

His eyes widened. “Bugged?”

“Yeah. Your car, too. We should have it checked out. It may have a homing device of some kind on it, too, come to think of it.”

“I don't know how to do that! And who . . . ?” He paused. “You mean . . . ?” A worried look appeared on his face. I thought it was overdue.

“That's right,” I said. “There are several possibilities. Whelen and Graham are two of them. Pete McBride might be another. I know a guy who can check out your car. He's an old hand at such stuff. I'll see him tomorrow.”

Rimini eyed me uneasily. “Pete McBride? You know about him?”

“I know he's another player. I just don't know his game. Let's sit down.”

We sat at the kitchen table and I told him about my day in Boston. I didn't tell him about my feelings for his wife or the kisses we'd exchanged, but I told him the rest. He listened without comment. When I was through, he was chewing on his lower lip.