Vineyard Prey

by Philip R. Craig

  “No. How about you?”

  “I’ll know him. I saw him watching you in the store.”

  At that moment the woman I’d recognized coming down the street stopped in front of me, thrust her angry face up toward mine, and said, “Murderer!”

  I bowed. “Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Quackenbush.”

  The woman said, “Humph,” glared, and walked on up the street.

  Kate looked at her back. “What on earth was that all about?”

  “That’s Irma Quackenbush,” I said. “She’s president of VETA, Vineyarders for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. She hates everyone who eats meat.” I explained what VETA was all about.

  “I’ve heard of those people,” said Kate, “but this is the first one I’ve actually seen. Are they all like her?”

  “No, Irma is an extreme case. I think the only thing that keeps her from shooting hunters and fishermen is that we’re animals, too. Someday, though, she may change her mind about that.”

  The VETA fanatics are pretty closely related to all the other fanatics who think they alone are righteous. I consider such moralists to be far more dangerous than professional terrorists like the Easter Bunny, who kill for money, plain and simple. You can reason with a professional shootist but you can’t reason with an Irma Quackenbush.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Irma and her fanatic friends, I was wondering what had really brought Kate to Martha’s Vineyard and now into Vineyard Haven, which is as far from Joe’s house in Aquinnah as you can get and still be on the island. Her emotions had seemed a bit out of whack from the beginning, and still did.

  First, she’d almost shot me for no good reason. Even after seeing my ID and finding no weapons on me, and having no reason to believe I was other than I said I was, I thought she still would have pulled the trigger. Pro assassins, one of which she apparently was, generally don’t kill people unnecessarily because, if for no other reason, any killing attracts attention and attention is the last thing they want. Whenever someone deliberately commits a public killing, you know you’re dealing with an amateur or a professional politician who wants the publicity. All of the martyrs who willingly die for the Cause are amateurs. Their leaders, on the other hand, may be very professional. They never die if they can help it. Their job is to get the amateurs to do the glorious killing and dying.

  Kate was supposedly a professional, but her raw emotions when she’d ambushed me were inconsistent with that persona.

  And those emotions had only changed when Joe Begay had insisted that I was to be trusted, and she had acquiesced. Or seemed to.

  And now, three days later, here she was in Vineyard Haven, paying no attention to her surroundings even though she knew that the Easter Bunny was seeking her and might already be on the island. It wasn’t the sort of move a trained professional agent would make. Allowing yourself to be distracted in a war zone is the act of an amateur.

  “What were you thinking about, anyway?” I asked.

  She lifted her chin. “None of your business.”

  “You may be right. Are you staying up at Joe’s?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Right again, I guess. Do you have a car?”

  “I have transportation.”

  “Where is it?”

  She hesitated, then nodded toward the town parking lot. “Down there. Don’t try to be protective. I’ve got my eyes open now.”

  On the bright side, my old Toyota was parked in that lot, too. On the dark side, that’s where the man in the green coat had been headed when last seen.

  “Your mind isn’t on your work,” I said. “I suggest that you get out of this town. I’ll walk you to your car and make sure no one follows you when you leave.”

  She sniffed a ladylike sniff, but a sniff nevertheless. “And just how will you do that?”

  “By following him in my own car if he follows you, and making sure he knows I’m there. I doubt if the Bunny wants to be caught between two enemy cars. I think he’ll drop the tail.”

  She almost rolled her eyes. “Ye gods! You’re not armed and you’re not trained for this work. You’re more a danger to me and yourself than to him.”

  I nodded. “Maybe. But he doesn’t know that. I might be the second coming of James Bond, as far as he’s concerned.”

  “Ha!” But she was sweeping the street with her eyes. “All right, let’s go. I’ve already made an idiot of myself once. I can’t afford to do it again.”

  “We’re just old friends who happened to bump into each other,” I said. “Come on, we’ll walk down to the parking lot. Did you notice that the police station fronts on the lot? A gambling man might think that was a plus for our side.”

  “I did notice that. I parked as near to the station as I could get.”

  We crossed the street and walked down the alley beside the movie theater. As we went, I was looking for the man, and when we came into the parking lot I put a hand on Kate’s arm and stopped her while I surveyed the lot for sign of him.

  He wasn’t in sight and we went on to Kate’s car, which turned out to be a rental. I wondered if the Easter Bunny had followed her into town and knew what she was driving. I asked her.

  “No one followed me,” she said coolly. “I know how to spot a tail and there wasn’t any.”

  “The guy was with you in the bookstore,” I said.

  “He might have been an ordinary guy on the make.”

  I suspected that she’d had experience with such guys.

  “My truck is right down there between here and the street,” I said. “You pull out and I’ll wave byebye. If anyone follows you, I’ll be on him like ugly on an ape before you get out of town.”

  “You islanders have quaint turns of phrase,” said Kate. She got into the driver’s seat, backed out of the parking place, and drove away. I waved a friendly good-bye and watched her go out of sight in front of the brand-new Stop and Shop. No one followed her. No one even looked her way.

  I waited awhile and then walked back up to Main Street and went into the bookstore. I looked around and didn’t see the mystery man anywhere, then went over to the biography section. After a while I found the book that I thought Kate had been reading. It was a biography of a woman whose passions and scandalous affairs had made her name notorious and had kept her in the international society columns for most of her life.

  I put the book back on the shelf.

  Hmmmmm. Could it be? Was Kate in love with Joe Begay? It would account for her rush to the Vineyard to be with him in a time of danger; it would account for her willingness to shoot me just in case I wasn’t who I said I was but was really the Bunny or a Bunny accomplice; and it would account for her distraction and her need to get away from Aquinnah if, during their three weeks together, Joe, who I knew loved his wife and children, had shown no romantic interest in her.

  So maybe the beautiful assassin was infatuated. If so, she was in trouble. And so was Joe, if he was depending on her, because love intrudes on cold thought, and cold thought was what was needed to deal with the Easter Bunny.

  I turned toward the door and as I did so I saw the man across the street, looking at the store. As if he spotted me looking back at him, he turned and walked away. There was a pretty good crowd in the store, and by the time I got past them and into the street, he was gone. I ran down to the parking lot but he wasn’t in sight.

  Uncle Bill Vanderbeck would have known how he performed that disappearing act, but I didn’t. I wondered if the man was watching me even though I couldn’t see him. I felt as I sometimes had when I was a kid and it was night and my bedroom was dark, and something seemed to be lurking in that far corner. It could see me but I couldn’t see it. My only hope was to lie so quiet and still that it wouldn’t notice me under the covers.

  Here and now I couldn’t hide and try to hold my breath, so I got into the Land Cruiser and started home. About a mile out of town I noticed a black car behind me. I slowed down; so did the car. I speeded up; so did the
car.

  Trouble at River City.

  7

  I took a right at the new four-way stop sign and drove toward the airport. Behind me, the black car did the same. I cut left on the road leading to the state forest headquarters, and then went left again onto the road that led back to the regional high school.

  By this time the driver of the car realized that I knew he was tailing me. He pulled into sight behind me but then stopped and got out of his car. In my rearview mirror I saw that he was wearing a green coat and a felt hat. He lifted binoculars to his eyes.

  Blast and drat! I slammed on the brakes and slid to a stop with the Toyota sideways in the road. Back toward forest headquarters the driver lowered his glasses, got back into his car, made a U-turn, and drove out of sight. I grabbed my own binoculars but before I could adjust them the car was gone.

  I tossed the glasses aside and turned and followed the car, but by the time I got back to the airport road it was nowhere to be seen.

  Not good, Kemo Sabe. It was possible that the guy had not gotten my license plate number, but I doubted that and I definitely hadn’t gotten his, so he had the edge.

  Spilt milk. I drove on home. There was no one in my mirror, but that didn’t make any difference. It wasn’t hard to trace a license plate to its owner.

  Zee was still at the ER and the kids were in school. Only the cats, Oliver Underfoot and Velcro, were at home. I checked their food and water then got John Skye’s house keys and drove to Oak Bluffs, where I loaded up on groceries at the Reliable Market before driving on to John Skye’s farm.

  John and Mattie Skye generally summered on the island, but they wintered in Weststock while he taught at the college there. Their twin daughters, Jill and Jen, whom I’d known since they were tots, were now college women at Weststock. I’d never been able to tell them apart, but both of them were cute and full of zip and hormones and had no shortage of young men in their lives, which meant no shortage of worries for their parents. Because John and the twins would be busy in class until the Christmas holidays, they wouldn’t be using their Edgartown house for a while.

  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.