Vineyard Prey

by Philip R. Craig

  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.

  Frost had been right about walls and I was sure he’d have similar thoughts about those signs. Zee and I had no such signs on our land, and the worst thing that had ever happened as a result was mild shock to those drivers who explored our driveway and happened to come into our yard while Zee and I were lying in our lounges perfecting our all-over tans. Without exception, the drivers all turned around and fled.

  My trip to Aquinnah took me through the Quitsa section of Chilmark, which, looking out on Noshaquitsa Pond, is the loveliest part of Martha’s Vineyard any time of year. The only beauty it lacks is the sight of the big schooners such as you find in the Vineyard Haven Harbor. Aside from that, and the fact that it’s twenty miles from the nearest liquor store, Quitsa is pretty close to perfect, and once again as I drove through I decided that it’s the place I’d live if I had my druthers and an unlimited amount of money.

  An added attraction to the area is the Quitsa Quoit, a small stone structure that consists of a flat capstone supported by several short standing stones. It looks like a miniature version of the prehistoric quoits found throughout the British Isles and in other places in Western Europe, and is the subject of radically different theories about its origins.

  The three principal such theories are that it was built by pre-Columbian European visitors, that it was built by native Indians, and that it was built by European farmers some time after they came to the island in the seventeenth century. Just why any of these groups would have gone to all the effort of building the quoit is unknown, although there are also theories about that.

  I have no theory about the quoit but I am fond of it nevertheless and sneak in to see it sometimes when no one seems to be looking.

  That morning I passed on without stopping and drove to Uncle Bill’s house.

  There I found two vehicles in the yard: Uncle Bill’s ancient Ford and the rental car I’d last seen driven by Kate MacLeod. I considered the possibilities of this small fleet as I walked to the house.

  Joe Begay opened the door before I got to it and waved me inside. The smell of bacon was in the air, and the breakfast dishes were stacked in the drying rack beside the sink. Kate was seated at the kitchen table with The New York Times spread out before her. She looked scrubbed and younger than when I’d last seen her.

  I accepted a cup of coffee and joined her and Joe at the table.

  “Well?” said Joe.

  I looked at Kate. “Did you tell him what happened in Vineyard Haven?”

  His dark eyes flicked to her face and she met his gaze so calmly that I was sure she’d anticipated my question when she’d heard I was coming.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, Joe. I probably should have told you, but I wasn’t sure that it meant anything. I’m still not sure.”

  “Tell me now,” said Joe. There was no rancor in his voice but his eyes seemed to glow.

  She told him about the man in the green coat, and about meeting me, and about driving out of town without a tail. “It’s possible that he was just a guy hoping to pick me up,” she said. “Maybe he went away because J.W. got to me first and knew my name.”

  “Maybe,” said Joe. “You’re an attractive woman. A lot of men would be drawn to you.”

  She colored slightly and I wondered again if she wished he were one of those men. Then I wondered if, perhaps, he actually was, since many a happily married man has had a fling with another woman. But when I looked at Joe’s face I saw no sign of affection there, only a thoughtful expression.

  “There’s more to the story,” I said, and told them about seeing the man again, across from the bookstore, then about spotting the black car behind me, and then about the episode on the road in the state forest. “He may have gotten my license plate number,” I said. “If he did, he probably knows who I am and where I live.”

  Joe frowned. “Have you told Zee?”

  “I’ve moved her and the kids out of the house for the time being. I went back home
this morning. There was no sign of anybody having been there.”

  “With luck, your family won’t have to be away from home for long.” Joe looked back at Kate. “I think we can be pretty sure that your admirer wasn’t just interested in a hot date with you. You’d better stay put here for a while until we figure out who he is and what he wants. Describe him for me.”

  She shook her head. “I only saw his back as he was crossing the street. Medium height, slim, forest-green winter coat, soft hat. I didn’t see his face. He walked fast and he was out of sight very quickly.” She looked at me. “You saw more of him than I did.”

  I nodded. “Clean-shaven; brownish hair, I don’t know how long or short because his collar was turned up and his hat was pulled down. I couldn’t tell his eye color. Straight nose in a thin face. Very average and forgettable. He was pretending to read a novel but he was really watching Kate. That’s why I noticed him. If I hadn’t known her, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance.”

  Joe sipped his cooling coffee. “Sound like anybody you know, Kate?”

  “I know a lot of forgettable men.”

  Begay smiled. “If he is one of the bad guys,” he said to her, “how did he find you?”

  She spread her hands. “I can’t guess. At home I hang out in bookstores more than most but the Bunny probably wouldn’t know that, and even if he did I doubt if he’d plant himself in the Bunch of Grapes and wait for me to come in, especially since there’s no way he could know I’m even on the island.”

  “Who does know you’re here?” I asked.

  She gave me a cool glance. “You do.”

  I ignored her sarcasm. “Who else besides Joe and me?”

  “If your friend Spitz is as smart as you and Joe think he is, he may have figured it out.”

  “I don’t think Jake would tell the Bunny,” I said. “Did you tell anyone where you were going when you left Bethesda?”

  “No!”

  “You didn’t tell your boyfriend?”

  She snapped a look at me. “I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment!”

  I smiled. “How about a girlfriend?”

  She didn’t smile back. “I have women friends, but I don’t have a girlfriend!”

  “You like men, but you don’t have a boyfriend. That’s hard to believe. Like Joe says, you’re a very attractive woman. I imagine you could have your pick of men.”

  Her eyes flicked to and from Joe, then came back to me. “You’d be wrong. Besides, I never told anyone at all that I was coming here!”

  “No friend, no brother, no mother, no lover?”

  “No!”

  “No trusty ex-beau who loves you even though now you’re just friends?”

  “No! Now get out of my private life!” Her voice was angry and her eyes were hot, but there was an odd excitement in her face.

  I looked at Begay. “How about you, Joe? You plan to deal with the Bunny right here on the island, so you must have told somebody where he could find you.”

  Joe’s eyes were hooded. “If I did, I didn’t mention Kate. My plans were made before I found her pointing that pistol at your head. Kate shouldn’t be here but she is and now she’s got somebody on her tail. It complicates things.”

  “Send her away,” I said. “Put her on a plane and fly her out of here. The Bunny won’t be able to follow her and be here with you at the same time.”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” said Kate.

  “Where should I send her?” asked Joe. “Back to Bethesda and more poisoned pins? No, we’ve talked about it and she’s staying right here in this house with me. Uncle Bill says we can use the place as long as we need it.”

  “She sounds like more trouble than she may be worth.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong. She’s a trained agent and we’ve worked well together in the past. She’s good at what she does, and she makes two of us against one Bunny.” He looked at her and so did I. Her expression suggested gratitude and pleasure. Then he looked back at me. “You’re the problem, J.W.,” he said. “I’ve gotten you involved in this business and I don’t know how to get you out.”

  9

  “So far I don’t think I’m in trouble,” I said. “All Green Coat knows about me is that I know Kate. If he checks up on me, that’s still all he’ll know. I’m just a local guy with a family. The more he checks, the less reason he’ll have to think I’m anything else.”

  “Fine,” said Joe. “Then go back to your family and leave the Bunny to Kate and me. It’ll be over pretty quickly, I think. When it is, I’ll get a message to you on your cell phone and you can take your family home again.”

  “And later you’ll tell me the whole story.”

  He smiled. “Sure I will.”

  I smiled back. “Sure you will.” I looked at Kate. “Since I may not see you again, there’s one thing you can tell me: How’d you get your last name?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You don’t look like a Celt. Besides, I like to know a little something about people who try to kill me.”

  She shrugged. “My father is an engineer. A wandering Scot. He met my mother while he was building a railroad in Indochina. I’m the result. But I didn’t try to kill you. If I had, you’d be dead. I was deciding whether to do it when Joe, here, showed up.”

  “Joe makes a habit of saving my hide,” I said. I shook hands with him, nodded to her, and went out to my truck. As I drove down-island I checked my rearview mirrors. No one was following me.

  Maybe Green Coat didn’t need to follow me around anymore because he knew where I lived and figured he could wait for me there. Or maybe he’d managed to stick an electric tracking device on my car and could find me whenever he wanted.

  Or maybe he’d decided I wasn’t a danger to him and didn’t merit further attention.

  I wondered if he was the Easter Bunny.

  If not, who was he and why was he interested in Kate MacLeod?

  Was he, after all, just a guy anxious to jump her lovely bones? If so, why follow me?

  I was long on questions and short on answers. One thing I was pretty sure of was that if Joe Begay did terminate the Bunny, I’d never learn where or how and nobody outside of his professional circle would even know it had happened. The Bunny would simply be gone.

  On the other hand, if the Bunny killed Joe and Kate, there was a good chance that he’d make a spectacle of his work, to show people who cared about such things that he was more than capable of tough jobs that others in his field might shun and that he was not a man to mess with. It would be good publicity and could lead to a fee hike for his services.

  I wondered why no one had a good photo of him. He must have passport pictures, at least. Why didn’t Joe’s agency have a copy? Some agency must have one; why didn’t the members of the fatal trade mission have copies?

  I was glad to be out of the Bunny business, but I wasn’t sure that was actually the case. I might think I was, and Joe and Kate might think I was, but the Bunny might not think so and Green Coat might not think so and maybe there were other people I didn’t even know about who didn’t think so. And if any of them didn’t think so, I might be a target.

  Good grief! I was getting paranoid! Pretty soon I’d be hearing voices and thinking that everybody in the whole world was a Bunny!

  Maybe I was paranoid and being followed at the same time.

  Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  Maybe nothing at all.

  As I passed a parked pickup, two hunters in orange camouflage coats and caps came out of the woods. One carried two shotguns and the other had a deer slung over his shoulder. They looked tired but happy. I’d once been a hunter so I knew how they felt. There’d be venison for their supper tonight. My mouth grew moist at the thought.

  For them, life was good and the Easter Bunny didn’t exist.

  I thought of the torturer’s horse and of the boy falling from the sky while the ship sailed calmly by. The world didn’t stop turning for
love or for loss. It had turned as Abelard and Héloïse lay abed, it had turned as Rome fell, and it would turn the day they buried me.

  In my mind an image appeared of the wheels of my truck turning on the turning earth. It was a hint that I was wasting time thinking shallow thoughts. Enough of that! I had most of the day left, so I’d do something useful for a change. I decided to go home, get keys for the houses I looked after during the winter, and put in a few hours of caretaking.

  But, just in case, I was careful when I drove down our long, sandy driveway. I checked the woods on both sides, drove slowly, and eased into the yard. Nothing seemed unusual. Oliver Underfoot and Velcro ran to meet me, giving me their usual lectures. I studied the house, then got out and petted the cats.

  The tape was still at the bases of the front and back doors, so I went inside and checked the rooms. Everything looked the same as when I’d left it earlier that morning.

  I got the keys and was walking toward the front door when I heard a car coming down the driveway. I looked out a window. It was a black sedan.

  I tossed the keys onto a table and trotted to the gun cabinet. I hurriedly opened it and loaded my old .38 revolver while listening for the silence that would follow the sedan’s engine stopping and the sound of the driver’s door shutting behind him.

  But the engine didn’t stop and the car door didn’t close. I went back to the window. The car had stopped beside my truck. The man in the green coat was only partially out of the car and was sagging against the door as if he was too tired to go farther.

  As I looked, he lurched to his feet and staggered toward the house, and I saw blood on the front of his coat and the hand that he held against his chest.

  I shoved the pistol in my belt and ran out of the house to meet him. He put out his other hand, reaching toward me. His knees let go as I got to him, and I caught him as he fell.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “I’ll call nine-one-one!”

  I started to rise, but he grasped my coat and stared into my face. His mouth was full of blood, and when he tried to speak the sound was lost in red bubbles. He turned his head and spat out the blood then again looked up at me. I put my ear near his mouth and he said in a very distant voice, “Not the Bunny. Tailgate.”