“But she may be hurt! And what about the kids?!”
“A couple of phone calls will tell us what happened. . . . Maybe Carla just got scared into talking. Not every hood beats up women the way Pat Logan liked to do. Where do your folks live?”
“Brookline.”
“Fine. Carla's are in Milton. If Carla's not at home, she and the kids will probably be in one of those two places.”
“I don't like this.”
“You've made yourself a bed of nails. Now you've got to lie on it. You come in and sit down and I'll make the calls.”
He wasn't a fool, even though he had been acting like one for quite a while. He stared at the ground like a teenager caught shoplifting a stuffed toy for his girlfriend. Then he nodded. “Okay. But if she's hurt, I'm going up there!”
And do what? I wondered. “Come into the house,” I said. “We'll call your place first. What's the number?”
He told me and I dialed. The voice that answered was agitated but so familiar that my heart did a little turn.
“Carla, this is Jeff. How are you?”
I could hear her take a deep breath and let it out. “Jeff. I'm fine. How . . . how are you?”
“Are you alone? Can you talk?”
“Yes. I meant to phone you, Jeff. I . . .”
“Listen to me, Carla. It's important. First, Tom is fine. He's in a safe place.”
“Oh, thank God! If anything happened to him . . .”
“Never mind that, now. Some guys visited you and you told them Tom would be at my place. Did they hurt you or did they just scare you into telling them?”
“They didn't hurt me. I'm not brave, I guess. They know where my kids go to school. They told me about accidents that happen to people. Is Tom really all right?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry I told him to go down there, but it was the only place I could think of. He was scared! I was going to call you and tell you he was coming, but it was like those men could read my mind! They told me not to call anybody! That they'd know, if I did. That they'd be back. Is Tom there with you? Let me talk with him!”
“I'll have him call you later. It's better that you don't know where he is, because those guys may be back for the information.”
“I wouldn't tell them! Not again!”
Maybe; maybe not. “You can't tell what you don't know,” I said. “Right now all you need to know is that he's in a safe spot. I'll have him get in touch with you later, so the two of you can talk. How are your children?”
“They're fine. We're fine. They're getting ready to go play tennis. Is that safe? Should I let them go? God, Jeff, I feel like I did when you were on the police force. I'm scared all the time!” I could hear the fear in her voice. It was a familiar tone that I remembered well from the last years of our marriage.
She was not frightened without cause. “I don't think you need to be afraid,” I lied. “They're not going to hurt you or your children, and your husband is safe and sound. We'll figure a way out of this mess.”
“I wish he were home! I wish none of this had happened!”
I felt the same helpless wave of pity for her that I'd felt long, long ago, when she had wished that I was someone other than who I was, and did something other than what I did, when we had loved each other but couldn't live together anymore.
“He'll get home,” I said. “Meanwhile, you have to be tough. We'll work it out.”
“I'm not tough, Jeff. If I was tough I never would have left you.”
I remembered the scene in the Boston hospital. I was sitting on a bed, bandages on my belly where the bullet had entered and the surgeons had gone in to do repairs but had left the slug nestled against my spine because leaving it there was less dangerous than trying to dig it out. Carla was going out the door, her head bowed, her light brown hair neatly combed as always. She had just told me that she was divorcing me. She was crying. So was I.
“Women are always tougher than men,” I said. “I'll have your husband call you later.”
Before she could say anything else, I hung up the phone.
Rimini was looking at me. “Well?”
“She's fine. The kids are fine. Whelen's goons scared her, but they didn't hurt her.”
“You should have let me talk with her.” He reached for the phone.
I stopped his clean white hand with my rough tan one. “No. If you talk with her now, she'll know you're here. If she knows, Whelen can know. We'll wait. You can call her in an hour or two. She won't know where you are, and you won't tell her. Not if you want to stay safe.”
“Safe! What good does it do for me to be safe? I've got to get out of this mess!”
I almost felt sorry for him. He was stewing in his own juice.
“It took you time to get into it,” I said. “It may take some to get you out of it. While we work at it you park your gear in that spare room there.”
“I can't leave Carla and the kids alone!”
He irked me. “The best thing you can do for your wife and family is disappear for a while, till we work things out. You're an amateur in this sort of game. I know a little more about it, so let me see what I can do.”
“You're right.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “I don't know what to do or how to do it. Do you really think you can do something?” Then a bitter note entered his voice. “And if you can, why should you?”
Why, indeed? Because of the Riminis, my wife was in the hospital and my daughter had been cut by a knifeman. The Riminis had brought me nothing but grief. But I had once loved Carla.
“Because I'm already involved,” I said. “Sonny Whelen thinks I know where you are. Worse yet, he's lost a couple of his men here at my house, and he won't be happy about that when he finds out. I have to get him out of my life.”
He nodded, but then gave me a nervous look. “You could do that by just handing me over to him. I couldn't complain if you did.”
I liked him a little better for saying that. “I don't usually hand people over to thugs.”
“Not even me?”
“Especially you.”
“Why?”
“Because I used to be married to your wife. I don't want to help make her a widow. You can stay here tonight while I think about a better place for you to hang out.”
He eyed me thoughtfully, then nodded. “I'll get my gear.” He went out.
I went into the bedroom and used that phone to call Quinn. Quinn is a reporter for The Boston Globe. I'd met him when I was a cop up there, and we'd hit it off. When I needed to know something about who was who and what was what in Massachusetts, I still called Quinn.
He answered on the first ring, which meant he was writing up a story. Otherwise, he was almost never at his desk.
“I'll trade you a story for some information,” I said.
“I usually come out on the short end of these deals with you,” said Quinn, “but I'll do it for your wife's sake. She's stuck with you when she really wants me.”
“As a matter of fact, the story is about Zee. It's too good not to get out pretty fast, so since I feel sorry for you for being such a dud as a reporter, I thought I'd try to save your career by offering it to you first.”
“Speak.”
I told him the tale as I'd heard it, omitting only Tom Rimini's name.
“Wow! That's good,” said Quinn happily. “I can see the headline now: GANGLAND GUNMEN MEET THEIR MATCH; SMALL-TOWN HOUSEWIFE MOWS THEM DOWN. Or something like that. I think I got everything but the name of the guy they were after.”
Sharp Quinn. “You didn't get it because I didn't give it to you.”
“Don't be coy. I can get it somewhere else. Some cop will tell me.”
True. “Off the record, then.”
“Okay. But if I get it someplace else, I'll feel free to use it.”
“Fair enough. They were after a guy named Tom Rimini. He's a schoolteacher with a gambling habit.” I told him Rimini's tale. When I was through, I added: “I want to keep h
im out of the story as much as possible, because I want to get him out from under Sonny Whelen's thumb if I can.”
I could almost see Quinn's ears perk up. “How come this interest in Mr. Rimini? You old buddies, or something? He save your life in Nam or some such thing, like in the movies?”
“Nothing like that. He's married to Carla.”
“Ah.” Then, “So?”
A good question. I gave him the only answer I'd come up with: “She lost one husband, me, and I don't want her to lose another one. She doesn't deserve that.”
There was a silence. Then he said, “Okay, I guess. I don't want to belabor the obvious, but aren't you married to Zee now? How long has it been since you've even seen Carla?”
“A lot of years.”
“You still think you owe her?” Quinn was a bachelor who had had a lot of women in his life. I wondered if he even remembered them all.
“I guess I just don't want to see her get hurt anymore.”
“Zee know about all this?”
“Not yet. She might tomorrow, if she gets home and finds Rimini still here in our spare room.”
“What? You're keeping him there at your place?”
“For the night, at least. Hey, maybe I can send him up to your place instead? Nobody would think of looking for him there.”
“Very funny. I have one bedroom and I don't share it with men. No, you keep him.”
“And you keep that detail out of your story. Now, here's what you can do for me in exchange for me spilling my guts to you.”
“What?”
“Two things: check on the cop named Graham. The one who turned Rimini. I want to know as much about him as you can dig up. Who he's working for, and all that.”
“Don't you trust Graham?”
“I don't trust him or not trust him. Before I do either, I want to know as much as I can about him.
“Second, I want you to find out where I can meet Sonny Whelen. I want to talk with him.”
“Oh, no, you don't,” said Quinn. “No, no, no. Sonny is going to be in a bad mood when he hears about what happened to his lads this morning.”
“He's not the only one in a bad mood,” I said. “Find out where he lives, where he likes to eat, and where he hangs out. When I was pounding the streets up in Bean Town, Sonny was out and about in Charlestown, like he owned the place.”
“Which he pretty much did, and still does, although that idea might be challenged by Pete McBride. Pete is beginning to think he should run the rackets in Charlestown.”
“Fine. Maybe they'll shoot each other and my problems will be solved. Meanwhile, if you have any contacts with Sonny's associates, tell them that I want to meet with him. Tell them that he can name the time and place, but that I want it to happen soon.”
“J.W., I'm telling you that I don't think that is a good idea.”
“Just do it, please.”
“All right. But I don't like it.”
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “If anything happens to me you'll have a clean shot at Zee. Of course, you'll have to convince her first that a reporter is an actual human being. It won't be easy.”
I had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang. It was a reporter from the Cape. I told him that the Jacksons weren't home and rang off. In the guest room, Rimini was looking at the decoys my father had carved so long ago.
“Those are very nice,” he said.
“Sit down,” I said. “Just so you don't change your mind about running home to save Carla, I want you to know what happened here this morning.”
He sat, and I told him. He looked sick when I was through.
— 6 —
An hour later, Rimini and I and the kids got into the old Toyota and I drove him down to the parking lot at the foot of Edgartown's Main Street. There are some public telephones there on the side of what used to be the Junior Yacht Club building. Now the Junior Yacht Club has snazzier quarters, although they're nothing in comparison to the senior Yacht Club. There were a lot of summer people and cars on the streets, but fate was kind and we actually found a parking place right where we wanted one.
We went to the phones and while Joshua and Diana ogled the boats tied to the dock, I handed a receiver to Rimini.
“There's a possibility that the phone at your house has been tapped, or the house itself might be bugged. Probably neither of those things has happened, but they might have. So for the next few days, when you call your wife, always use a public phone and never tell her or anyone else where you're staying.”
“My house bugged? My telephone tapped? Who would do anything like that?” The idea seemed to astonish Rimini.
“I can think of two people,” I said. “Sonny Whelen and Graham. Both because they'd want to know who you meet and what you say when you're out of their sight.”
“My God! Do you really think it's possible?”
It was easy for me to be impatient with him. I shrugged. “I think it's unlikely, but I think you should act like it was true. You decide. It's your life.”
He shook his head and turned to the phone.
“And you might skip what happened at my house this morning,” I said. “That might scare Carla more than she needs to be.”
I stepped away, but not too far away because I didn't know if I could trust him to be discreet. I looked past the yacht club, but my ears were aimed at the bank of phones.
More and more boats, both sail and power, were coming into the harbor and finding moorings as July drew nearer. The Shirley J., our eighteen-foot Herrishoff America, was swinging on her stake halfway between the yacht club and the Reading Room dock, where she had been moored since early May. She was a lovely thing, and as usual when I looked at her, I felt the old urge to stop whatever I was doing and go sailing for a few days. I'd been able to drop everything and do stuff like that when I'd been a bachelor, but now I was a married man with a family, so I had to keep myself more in check. It wasn't hard to opt for Zee and the kids, but any sailboat was still a siren.
Right now, of course, I had Rimini and Sonny Whelen to deal with, so there'd be no sailing for me. Not for a while.
Off to my left, Rimini's voice spoke of love and caring and regret and loneliness and the hope, but not the promise, of coming home. When at last he hung up the phone, Rimini looked tired and sad.
“Come on, kids,” I said. “Let's get some ice cream and then head for home.” I glanced at Rimini. “You, too. Ice cream is good for you whether you have troubles or not.”
Rimini tried a smile. “Maybe you're right.”
So we walked up to North Water Street, bought and ate four separate flavors, then drove back to the house.
The next morning I was feeding blueberry pancakes to the children when Rimini came into the kitchen. He didn't look like he'd had the good night's sleep that doctors recommend.
I waved a spatula. “There's juice in the fridge and coffee right there. Help yourself. Pancakes coming up.”
He went straight for the coffee. I wasn't surprised because I've been told that for schoolteachers, like cops and doctors, coffee and booze are the fluids of choice.
I put a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Eat. These are our own berries off our own bushes out back. We picked them last year.”
“Pa,” said Joshua. “I'm done.”
I eyed him. He looked pretty sticky. “Okay. Go wash the syrup off your hands and face.”
He climbed off his chair and I looked at Diana the Huntress. Unlike her big brother, Diana seemed far from done. She lifted her eyes from her empty plate.
“More, Pa?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
I served her another pancake. Like her mother, Diana could eat a horse and never seem to gain an ounce.
By the time Joshua reappeared to show me his now fairly clean hands and face, Diana, too, announced that she was done. If possible, she was even more syrupy than her brother had been. I took her into the bathroom and helped her scrub. Joshua followed.
�
��When are we going to get Ma?”
“Soon. You two go play for a while. I want to talk with Mr. Rimini.”
“Why can't we stay and listen?”
“Because it's private big-people talk.”
“So?”
“So me no so's. You two go out and play. When I finish talking with Mr. Rimini, we'll go for a ride and bring your mother home.”
The carrot did it. “Okay, Pa. Come on, Diana.”
I went back into the kitchen and got myself some pancakes. The cook is often last to eat. They were worth waiting for.
“I'm going to move you to another house,” I said to Rimini, between mouthfuls. “The police and the D.A. will be wanting to talk with my wife and if they find you here they may make your life more complicated than it already is. Ours, too. It's also possible that one of them may let it slip that you're here and that Whelen may get the news. I don't want any of his goons coming here, ever.”
He chewed and swallowed, then nodded. “Makes sense.”
“I take care of a house that belongs to some friends of mine. John and Mattie Skye, and their twin daughters. John teaches up at Weststock College. They usually summer here, but right now the whole family is out in Colorado where his kin still live. They won't be back on the island until August, so the house is empty. It's off the road, so you'll have as much privacy as you need, and John's got a huge library, so you won't get bored. I called John this morning and told him I wanted to put an extra guest of mine in his house for a few days. He said it was okay, so I'm going to give you a map and a key. You pick up some groceries and go on out there. Call me later this morning after you get moved in, but don't call your wife from that phone because the call might be traced. And don't tell her where you are. She can't tell anybody else what she doesn't know.”
“I'm sorry I brought this to you.”
“You didn't. Carla did. Of course, you brought it to her, and of course, neither of you meant to have it happen. But now we have to try to get you out of it. I'll see what I can do. Meanwhile, you go play hermit at John Skye's house, and don't tell anybody anything they don't need to know.”
“You don't need to do this. You don't owe me anything.”
Vineyard Shadows Page 4