I spotted Zee Jackson’s little red Jeep Wrangler double-parked on the street. Zee was leaning against the side. I waved, and she smiled and waved back, and when I got there, she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a big hug and kiss.
Diana and Joshua, the two Jackson kids, were buckled in the backseat, and when I leaned in they both held out their hands to be shaken and said hello to Uncle Brady.
I slid into the passenger seat and Zee climbed in behind the wheel. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless jersey. A pink ribbon held her long ebony hair back in a ponytail, and she had her usual all-over summer tan. She was stunning. J.W. had lucked out.
As we drove to the Jackson house at the end of the dirt road in Edgartown, I filled Zee in on Christa Doyle. “It feels like the wildest possible kind of goose chase,” I concluded. “But I’ve got to do it.”
“J.W. and I talked about it last night,” she said. “He thought you should start by talking to the police. All the towns on the island have hired on extra part-time help for the month. Everybody’s superconscious of security with all the bigwigs coming down for the damn Celebration. The place is swarming with feds and local law enforcement types. You’ve got a picture of the girl, I hope.”
“Fifty copies,” I said. “Getting cooperation from the police would be great, if I could manage it. I’ll try to get around to them this afternoon. After that, I have no idea what to do.”
Zee nodded. “She could be anywhere. It’s not a big island, as land masses go, but people are coming and going by ferry, boat, airplane, and helicopter, and they figure there will be close to a quarter of a million people here this week. Just get as many eyes and ears working for you as you can, I guess.”
The Jacksons lived at the end of a sandy driveway off an unpaved road through the scrubby woods. When we got there, Zee insisted on making me a bluefish-salad sandwich. To sustain me for my afternoon’s quest, she said. I ate with her and the kids up on the balcony, which gave a long view of a big salt pond and beyond it, Nantucket Sound. If you ignored the sailboats and the lines of traffic creeping along the distant causeway, you might think you were one of the Swiss Family Robinsons, utterly alone on some deserted tropical island.
When we finished eating, Zee said, “Why don’t you give me a look at the girl’s picture.”
I handed a photocopy to her.
She squinted at it, then shook her head and said, “Nope.”
“You were thinking she might’ve been to the hospital?” Zee was an emergency-room nurse at the Martha’s Vineyard hospital.
“Always a possibility,” she said. “The ER’s been awfully busy this summer. She’s quite a striking girl. I think I’d remember if I’d seen her.” She gave the picture back to me. “You might want to talk to Ilsa Johannsen. She works the desk at the ER. I can give her a call, if you want. Tell her to expect you.”
“That would be great,” I said.
Zee went downstairs. I stayed up on the balcony, sipping my coffee and looking at Christa’s picture, as though she might speak to me if I stared at it long enough.
She didn’t.
A few minutes later Zee came up. “Ilsa’s expecting you,” she said. “I also talked to Kit Goulart. She’s on duty at the Edgartown Police Station this afternoon. Remember Kit?”
I held my hand about a foot over my head. “Big woman, right?”
Zee smiled. “Right. She and J.W. are friends. She likes our kids. I’m not telling you what to do, but Kit’s got a soft heart, and Ilsa’s a peach. That’s a start, anyway, huh?”
“That’s a great start,” I said. “Thank you.”
We went downstairs, and Zee gave me a thermos of coffee and the keys to J.W.’s ancient Toyota Land Cruiser, which was parked in the driveway.
“J.W. should be home around six,” she said. “There’ll be martinis and bluefish pâté on the balcony and seafood St. Jacques on the table.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
Chapter Seven
J.W.
It was almost noon before Evangeline and I could get away from the sheep pasture and the questions of Sergeant Dom Agganis of the state police. In Massachusetts, the state cops handle all murder investigations outside of Boston.
Dom had shaken his head when we met. “They told me you’re the one who found him. I should have guessed. What is it about you? Why don’t other people find bodies?”
“Mrs. Price found him,” I said. “I was just following her.”
“That would be Mrs. Ethel Price, better known to a hundred billion fans as Evangeline, would it not? What are you doing following Evangeline around? You and her move in pretty different circles.”
“Jake Spitz got me a job as her driver.”
“I’ll talk with Jake. You gotta be dressed for the job?” He flicked a thick finger toward the slight bulge under my shirt where my old .38 was stuck in my belt. He had sharp eyes.
“The gun was Jake’s idea and she approved. She has a real bodyguard, but since she got here she has him staying home looking after her daughter. Name’s Hale Drummand.”
He scribbled in his notebook. “You touch anything at the crime scene?”
“So it’s officially a crime scene.”
“That’s how we’re treating it. Looks like he was strangled from behind. Wire or cord, I’d say. The ME will make it official, one way or another. Well, did you touch anything?”
“I put a finger on Warner’s throat to see if he had a pulse. I didn’t touch anything else and I got Mrs. Price out of there before she could. Then I stayed at the door until the cops came. Nobody got in while I was there.”
He grunted. “Cops can mess up a crime scene as well as anybody else. You know anything about the deceased Mr. Warner?”
“Never heard of him before today.”
“They tell me he was a big shot in the entertainment biz.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay much attention to the entertainment biz.”
“You get to be a big shot in most businesses by stepping on a lot of people on your way up the ladder. I hear that your Mrs. Price and Warner had some kind of falling-out a while ago. You know anything about that?”
“She didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. He was dead when she got here.”
“Maybe she snuck in last night and did the job.”
“She said she’d never been here. Besides, sneaking in here is pretty tough. The woods are full of security. I think you better look for somebody else.”
“I got plenty of suspects, all right. Everybody in show business. But I think I’ll start with your Mrs. Price, in spite of your wise advice.”
He went away and an hour later Evangeline found me waiting by our car. She looked tired and troubled. By that time rumors of Warner’s death had spread and people were doing more gossiping than working.
“Get in,” I said. She did, and we went out the long driveway. “Dom Agganis is okay,” I said. “He’s tough, but he’s fair and he’s good at his job.”
“They say it was murder. I never saw a murdered man before. It’s quite a shock.”
“I didn’t notice anybody crying at the news. Did Agganis give you a hard time?”
She stared out through the windshield. “He wanted to know about Ogden and me.”
My nose itched. “What did you tell him?”
Her voice was flat. “It’ll come out anyway, I suppose. Years ago Ogden and I were an item for a while. Then I went in another direction. I was pretty young at the time and he was an important man. He didn’t want to break it off.”
I waited for more, and when it didn’t come I said, “But you did, so you left.”
“Something like that.”
“A grilling can take a lot out of you,” I said. “Let’s get some lunch. It’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t feel hungry.”
“I do. I’ll take you to a bar where nobody will know who you are.”
She tried a smile. “All right.”
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I took her to the Fireside, in Oak Bluffs. It wasn’t full yet, so we found a booth. Evangeline kept her dark glasses on.
Bonzo spotted me and came right over. He stared at Evangeline and smiled his childlike smile.
“Hey, J.W.,” he said. “How ya doin’?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Bonzo, this is Ethel Price. Mrs. Price, this is my friend Bonzo.”
“Call me Ethel,” said Evangeline, smiling up at him.
Bonzo beamed. “Glad to know you, Ethel. You ain’t been in before, or I’d have remembered. I never forget anybody as pretty as you. Say, J.W., I hear they’re catching bass up at Lobsterville. Maybe we can go up there sometime. What do you think?”
“Well, I’m pretty busy for the next week, but after that we’ll do it.”
“Hey, J.W., that sounds good. Now, what can I getcha?”
I ordered a Sam Adams and a hamburger, and Evangeline, to my surprise, did the same. I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it. A salad and diet soda, maybe?
“Your friend seems nice.”
“He got the way he is by using some very bad acid, but he’s a sweetheart. Loves birds and fishing. Lives with his mother. I’d trust him with my life.”
She nodded. “I know some people like that. Could have happened to me, I guess. I haven’t done dope for years. It scares me to think of the chances I took.”
“We all did things once that scare us now.”
The beer and sandwiches came and by the time we were finished with them and headed for the door she seemed to be feeling better and the place had filled with its typical summer mixture of working stiffs and college kids pretending to be working stiffs.
“Hey, J.W., who’s the looker? I thought you were a married man, and here you are out with another beauty.”
Nate Fairchild was as wide and rough as a barn door. He and I had gone nose to nose a few times in the past, but now had more or less struck a truce.
“Why, Nate,” I said, “I thought you’d be fishing on a nice day like this.”
“Well, I ain’t. Who’s your good-looking friend? Does Zee know about her?”
“Nate, let me introduce my sister. Ethel, this is Nate Fairchild. Nate, this is my sister, Ethel Price. Like you noticed, she inherited the family genes for looks.”
“I never thought there were any Jackson genes for looks, but of course you’re the only Jackson I ever met. Howdy do, Miz Price. Nice to meet you.” He showed his strong yellow teeth.
She gave him a swift but charming smile. “That’s Mrs. Price, Mr. Fairchild. Nice to meet you, too.” She took my arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we really have to go. I’m forcing my brother to take me shopping, and he just hates it.”
As we went out I could feel Nate’s eyes following Evangeline.
“My, my,” she said as we found our Explorer. “Now we’re siblings. You handled that well. He looked like a bruiser.”
“He is a bruiser, and you handled him quite well yourself. We have an afternoon in front of us. What’s your pleasure?”
“How about shopping?” She arched a brow.
“You’ll really be making me earn every cent of my salary, but okay.”
She laughed. “Just kidding.”
“I can take you to see the ashram. We were pretty close to it yesterday.”
She put her lower lip between her teeth.
“Or I can take you back to West Tisbury. You were interested in buying a statue. Or I can take you someplace else. You’re the boss.”
“West Tisbury, then. I love those statues. A couple of them would look wonderful at Cragmoor!”
Cragmoor, I guessed, was her Scottish castle. I’d never been to Scotland, but I liked singing Scottish ballads while I thumbed my guitar. I also liked the Loch Ness Monster and had opted to believe everything that supported its existence and disbelieve everything that didn’t.
Zee noted correctly that this position was totally contrary to my normal skepticism about lots of things other people believed in, and to my definition of truth as that for which there was the most evidence at the moment.
Confidence in the reality of Nessie didn’t quite qualify by this test, but so what? A foolish consistency is the hob-goblin of little minds, as Ralph Waldo observed.
We drove to the Field Gallery in West Tisbury and walked among the dancing statues so Evangeline could make her choices. Then, while I looked at other art on display and at the outdoor workshop where the statues were made, Evangeline arranged for her purchases to be shipped across the sea.
When that wa done, and we were again in the Explorer, she said, “I guess I’ve procrastinated as long as I can. Let’s go find the ashram.”
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
“I’m sure I have to, so it may as well be now.”
We drove to Indian Hill Road, where I found a narrow, unpaved driveway beside which was a small sign bearing the single word EXETER.
There are a lot of such modest driveways on Martha’s Vineyard, and many of them lead to very substantial homes owned by people who, unlike Peter Fredericks and the Vineyard’s other recent palace builders, are not interested in making a display of their wealth. This one wound over a hill and then down toward Vineyard Sound, ending at a large, early-twentieth-century house and a number of outbuildings. Lawns flowed away from the house on three sides. On the fourth side, a walkway led to wooden steps that in turn led down to a private beach. Across the sound, the Elizabeth Islands were part of the house’s excellent view.
There were several people in sight, and they, like the buildings and the grounds, seemed to be in excellent condition. They paused and looked at us as we drove into view. As I parked in front of a five-car garage, four of the larger men approached. They were wearing black summer shirts over black summer shorts.
“Alain calls them Simon Peters,” said Evangeline. “Ashram security.”
“After Simon Peter, the guy who cut off somebody’s ear when they came to arrest Jesus?”
“That’s it.”
We stepped out of the car and she took off her dark glasses.
“Welcome,” said the first Simon Peter. “May we be of assistance?” His eyes flitted between my face and the lump made by the gun in my belt, and he made a small gesture. The other three Simon Peters silently surrounded me.
“I’ve come to see Alain,” said Evangeline. “Do you know who I am?”
He spoke in a formal voice. “I recognize you, madam. Yours is a famous face. How may I help you?”
“You can tell Alain that I’m here.”
“I’m sure he will be delighted to see you.” He gestured toward the house. “At this hour he meditates, so it will be a short time before he’ll be free. May I suggest that you wait inside?”
“I’d prefer the porch. I’ve always loved a view of islands. Come on, J.W.”
She turned toward the house, but the Simon Peter held up a hand. “I’m sorry, madam, but your companion must stay here. Arms are not allowed in the ashram.”
“I want him with me.” Her voice was hard.
“I’m sorry, madam, but it cannot be. Your companion may go no closer.”
“Is it the pistol?” I asked.
He placed his palms together. “This is a house of peace and prayer. Weapons have no place here.”
His body, like those of the other three Simon Peters, looked like a weapon to me. I said, “I’ll leave the pistol in the car. I think there’s enough security here already.”
“Very good, sir. I regret the necessity of asking if you have other arms. The threat of terrorism has reached even sacred places such as this, and we must all be more careful than we were in more innocent times.”
“I also have fingernail clippers, a pocketknife, and a Leatherman tool. I don’t think of those things as weapons, but the airlines do, and maybe you do, too.”
He placed a smile on his face. “Perhaps you will be kind enough to leave those items in your car as well.”
“No problem.”
I carefully lifted the hem of my shirt and with thumb and forefinger took my pistol from my belt and put it under the seat of the Explorer. Then I put the items I’d mentioned on the seat itself.
“You’ll feel better if you double-check,” I said. And spread my arms and legs.
A Simon Peter patted me down expertly from behind.
“Thank you,” said the one in front. “Please follow me.”
We went to the house and Evangeline and I sat on comfortable chairs on the north porch and looked out over Vineyard Sound. The Simon Peter went away.
A square-rigged ship that I guessed was the coast guard’s Eagle was tacking west into the wind, looking like something out of ages past. Down at the beach below the stairs people were in the water or lying on blankets and mats. Most of them were young and many were women in very small bathing suits. As I looked at them, a beautifully shaped girl wearing a bikini and sandals and carrying a large towel came from behind the house and walked past us toward the beach. As I watched her go down the stairway, I finally noticed her hair and realized that my eyes had not previously gotten higher than her neck. I wondered if her face was as lovely as the rest of her.
“Not bad, as religious sites go,” I said. “Nothing monastic or nunnish about this place.”
“The spirit and the flesh are one, according to Alain,” said Evangeline. “Balance between them is the key.”
“Who are all these people?”
“Followers of the Light and novices considering whether to take their vows.”
“Vows?
“Not the Benedictine Rule or anything like that. Just to practice virtue, to be true to the Light.”
“To love God and to follow the golden rule. Not a bad vow as vows go.”
“You told me what you think of oaths. I presume you think the same of vows.”
“I’ve taken some. When I joined the army, when I joined the Boston PD, both times I got married. I think that’s enough vows to last a lifetime.”
I felt her eyes. “You’ve been married twice?”
“My first wife couldn’t stand being married to a policeman, never knowing if I’d come home alive. When I got shot, she stayed until she knew I’d get well, then left me and married a schoolteacher.”
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