Vineyard Blues

by Philip R. Craig

  “I saw him that day in the library,” I said. “I thought maybe he’d found out about Mr. Black somehow and was trying to figure out what made him so weird. But he was really trying to find out about himself. Poor Warren. It must be tough for a good, straight-arrow churchgoer like him to wrestle with kinky thoughts.”

  “I’ll bet you never tried to find out why you have immoral desires.”

  “Absolutely not. When I have lewd thoughts I just try to enjoy them. I have most of them about you.”

  “I guess there are no unnatural acts,” said Zee, taking my hand, “but people still surprise me when they do certain things.”

  “Me, too.”

  Together we walked through the darkness.

  Then I said, “Like what, for instance?”

  — 29 —

  The next morning I called Ben Krane’s office and got—who else?—Judith Gomes.

  “I want to talk with your boss,” I said.

  Judith’s voice was cold. “When he comes in, I’ll tell him you called.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there at ten this morning.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll be in by then.”

  “Tell him I think I know who burned down his houses.

  That should bring him.” I hung up before she could. Judith and I just couldn’t seem to warm to each other. So it goes, sometimes.

  “Did you happen to find a check from Ben Krane in yesterday’s mail?” I asked Zee.

  “Is the pope Mongolian?”

  “I think there’ll be a Mongolian pope before I get a check from Ben.”

  Zee smiled. “That means you aren’t really working for him, because he failed to fulfill his end of the contract, or something legal like that.” She was glad to have me not working for Ben.

  I, on the other hand, wanted Ben’s money since I’d actually done the work he wanted, and I could use his dollars to help pay for the addition I planned on finishing before the start of the derby.

  “I’ll see if I can persuade him to come up with the dough,” I said. “Who knows, maybe the check is in our mailbox this very morning, just waiting for me to pick it up.”

  “Har, har!” said Zee.

  Diana the Huntress appeared. “Where are you going, Pa? Can I come, too?”

  “Sure.”

  Joshua appeared. “Can I come too, Pa?”

  “Not this time. You went with me yesterday. Today it’s your sister’s turn.”

  “We can both go, Pa.”

  “No. You stay with your mother.”

  Joshua tried the crying game on for size, but to no avail.

  “If you want to cry, it’s okay with me,” I said, “but you have to do it for your mom because you still can’t come with me this time. I’ll be home later and you can cry for me then if you still want to.”

  I picked him up and gave him a kiss, then did the same with Zee, then took Diana out to the Land Cruiser and drove away.

  Diana was not a great conversationalist unless hungry, so I had to do most of the talking, such as it was.

  “First we’re going up to Oak Bluffs to pick up Mr. Bayles.”

  “Okay, Pa.”

  That was it until we got to Cousin Henry’s house. There, I introduced the two of them. She put out her teeny hand and let him shake it.

  “How many kids you got?” he asked me.

  “Just the two you’ve met.”

  “You take one of them with you everywhere you go?”

  “Sometimes both. I like having them around.”

  “I don’t know,” said Henry. “When mine were little I was doing stuff I didn’t want my kids close to.”

  “Yeah, but you lived in the big, mean city, and I live on Martha’s Vineyard, where all is peace and love. I admit there are times I want the cubs to be home when I’m out, but not too often.”

  “Peace and love, eh?” Cousin Henry shook his gray head and climbed into the Land Cruiser, and the three of us headed for Edgartown.

  On the way, I stopped at the post office, just in case a miracle had occurred and Ben Krane’s check really was there. It wasn’t. I drove on into the village.

  “Don’t get here too often,” said Cousin Henry, looking at the clean streets, bright gardens, and neat white and gray buildings of the town. “Pretty place.”

  True. Edgartown is the loveliest of the Vineyard’s villages.

  I found a parking place on North Water Street, site of Edgartown’s ritziest addresses, and we walked to Ben Krane’s office.

  “If you prefer,” said Cousin Henry, “we can each speak to Mr. Krane alone. What I have to say to him won’t take long, in any case.”

  “No,” I said. “I want you to hear what I have to tell him, so if it’s okay with you, we’ll go in together.”

  “It’s okay with me,” said Henry.

  Judith Gomes, looking severe, remained seated behind her desk when we appeared. I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock on the nose.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning,” said Judith.

  “Please tell Mr. Krane that we’ve arrived.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I believe Mr. Krane is expecting only you, Mr. Jackson, not a group of people.”

  “My colleague Mr. Bayles and I will be appearing together today. Mr. Krane will want to hear from both of us. My daughter, Diana, is only an observer. Diana, this is Ms. Gomes.”

  Diana walked over and put out her hand. Judith Gomes, unable to avoid being polite, hesitated, then took it, but recaptured her own hand as quickly as possible. She then went into Ben Krane’s office and came back to her desk. “Mr. Krane will see you now.”

  Our group of three went in and Cousin Henry shut the door behind us.

  Ben frowned, then put on a professional smile, which he directed at Cousin Henry, toward whom he put out his big hand. “I’m Ben Krane. I don’t believe I know you.”

  Cousin Henry accepted the hand and let it go. “My name is Henry Bayles. Mr. Jackson and I share an interest in your current problems with fire.”

  “Indeed?” Ben sat down behind his desk and looked back and forth between us.

  “To be brief,” I said, “I think I know who torched your houses.”

  Ben was immediately interested. “Who?”

  “We agreed on a price for such information,” I said, “but so far the check hasn’t showed up.”

  He sat back. “I’ll have Judith take care of that today.”

  “Actually, I’d rather have cash.”

  It was apparently not an approved word in Ben’s vocabulary. “Cash?”

  “Half a week’s salary now, the other half when I finish my report.”

  Ben tapped his fingers on his desk and his eyes grew even harder than they normally were. “I don’t think so. You’ll get your money, but not until after your report.”

  “Well, I can’t say it’s been nice talking to you,” I said, “but I don’t mind saying good-bye, so good-bye.” I got up, took Diana’s hand, and started for the door.

  “If you know who started these fires, it’s your obligation to tell the authorities,” said Krane. “I’ll get the information that way, if you won’t talk to me.”

  “I haven’t any idea who started the fires,” I said. “I’ll be glad to so testify in court.”

  “That’ll be perjury. You just told me that you thought you knew. Mr. Bayles is a witness.”

  I looked at Cousin Henry. “Did I say any such thing, Mr. Bayles?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Cousin Henry, “I heard you say you didn’t know a thing.”

  I went on toward the door.

  “Wait,” said Ben. I turned.

  “Sit down, J.W.” I did, and Krane scribbled out a check and then touched a button on his desk. A moment later, Judith Gomes appeared in the door. Ben waved the check at her. “Take this and cash it and bring the money here.”

  She took the check and went out.

  “I won’t be held up,” said Ben. “I want my money’s worth
of information from you. If I don’t get it, you’ll be in court for the rest of your life.”

  “You’ll get it,” I said.

  Ben turned his angry eyes to Cousin Henry. “Maybe you’d like to tell me what you have in mind, Mr. Bayles.”

  “I’ll wait until Mr. Jackson has his say,” said Cousin Henry mildly.

  So we sat. I played patty-cake with Diana, then gave her a horseback ride around Ben’s office.

  Before long, Judith Gomes came back and gave Ben an envelope. He looked inside. “All right,” he said. “Let’s have your report.”

  Judith Gomes went back to her desk, and I put out my hand. “Let’s have the money first.”

  He tapped the envelope on his desk, then handed it over. I counted the money. It was, indeed, half of what we had agreed upon for the week’s work. I put it in my pocket.

  “Talk,” said Ben, his falcon face hard with dissatisfaction.

  I talked. “You know the arson inspectors are a couple named Dings. What I’m telling you now is that the Dingses are going to find out that the person whose body was found in that last torched house of yours was a guy named Cortland Appleyard. Last summer you and your brother took turns humiliating Appleyard’s granddaughter, a girl named Linda Carlyle. The Dingses are going to find out that Cortland Appleyard came here a few days ago and that while he was on the island, two of your houses were torched, including the one Appleyard was staying in. Maybe Appleyard was here last March, too, when your other house burned, but if he was, I can’t prove it, and I doubt if the Dingses can, either.

  “The Dingses already know that the arsonist who fired this last house used new pennies to bypass the fuses, and I can testify that Corrie Appleyard had a satchel and new pennies when he came here last week. The Dingses found a partial roll of new pennies in the satchel beside Appleyard’s body. They’ll add all that up and name Appleyard as the arsonist, because he had motive, opportunity, and the technical skill to do the jobs.”

  Ben stared at me. “How did this Appleyard guy happen to die in his own fire?”

  “He didn’t. He had a bad heart. It gave out on him before he could leave the house. He was probably dead before the fire started.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The Dingses will get a report from the medical examiner’s office saying that’s what happened. They may have it now, in fact.”

  Krane’s eyes narrowed. “How did you get that information?”

  I sat back and bounced Diana on my knee. “I think the reporters in Washington call it a ‘knowledgeable source.’ You’ve got what you contracted for. You know who the Dingses will name, and you know there won’t be any more fires. At least, there won’t be any more set by the person who set these. I’d like the rest of my money now.” Krane was no fool. He stared at me. “You know more than you’re telling. You’re hiding something. I want to know what it is.”

  “You’re imagining things, Ben. Just because you’re a liar and a deceiver yourself, you think other people are, too.”

  He stood up. He was a big man. “I won’t have that from you.”

  I looked at him over Diana’s head, and felt once more the flickering of psychic fire on the rim of my consciousness. It was frightening and pleasing at the same time. The beast within was awakening. I realized that I wasn’t resisting it as I knew I should, and I knew why: it was because of what Zee had told me about her and the Krane brothers. My voice seemed lazy and hazy in my ears. “Are you trying to threaten me, Ben?”

  He was not a man who had reason to lack confidence in himself. He was fit and, if rumor was correct, more than willing to use his training in the martial arts. He was also a very sharp lawyer. If he couldn’t beat you one way, he certainly could another.

  None of which meant a thing to me. I began to look around for a place to put Diana, so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  Krane smiled a happy smile when he noted this, and started around his desk.

  “I never threaten to do anything I can’t pull off,” he said. “Right now I hope you actually do start trouble here so I can beat the shit out of you and claim self-defense. And after they carry you out of here, I’ll keep you in court for the rest of your life. You’ll wish you’d never been born.”

  I put Diana on the floor and gave her a little push toward the door. “You go out and talk with Ms. Gomes for a while, sweetie. And shut the door when you go out, please.”

  Diana looked at me with big eyes, then did as I asked. My own eyes went to Ben Krane. When the door closed behind me, I stood up. I felt airy and almost happy.

  “Just a moment,” said Cousin Henry, stepping between us. His voice was soft, but both Krane and I stopped in our tracks.

  Krane looked down at the little man and opened his mouth to say something, but Cousin Henry spoke first. “I presume, Mr. Krane, that you know nothing of the so-called black gang wars in Philadelphia back in the sixties and seventies. Am I right?”

  Krane frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “History,” said Cousin Henry, handing him a yellowed newspaper clipping. “Please read this.”

  Krane hesitated, then took the clipping and read it.

  When he was through, he frowned. “A mobster got himself blown up. So what?”

  “He was an acquaintance of mine,” said Cousin Henry, taking back the clipping and putting it into his shirt pocket. “Some people believe that I had some involvement in his death.”

  Ben Krane became wary. “What’s this got to do with you and me?”

  “Just this,” said Cousin Henry in a voice that was innocent as a coiled snake. “Linda Carlyle and my own granddaughter are good friends. I already feel a certain resentment about your treatment of Linda, and I will take it amiss if you continue to harass other people for whom I have affection or with whom I have pleasant relationships.”

  Krane’s lip curled. “Like who, for instance?”

  Cousin Henry nodded toward me. “Like Mr. Jackson and his family, for instance. Or like the Appleyard family, in case you should consider bringing a suit to recover damages from Corrie Appleyard’s estate.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t need any help here.”

  “You may or may not be able to hold your own physically with Mr. Krane,” said Uncle Henry, “but you’re no match for him in a law court. Am I right, Mr. Krane?”

  “Right as rain,” said Krane, regaining his composure. “And the same goes for you, Bayles. If you threaten me, I’ll tie you in so many legal knots that you’ll die in court!”

  “Which brings me to my point,” said Uncle Henry, unflappable. “Let me show you this.” His hand emerged from a trouser pocket. It was holding a tiny silver pistol that looked almost, but not quite, like a toy. He pointed it at Ben Krane. “Mr. Krane, I am an old man who has seen a good deal of life, some of it fairly raw, as you may discover if you choose to look further into the subject dealt with in that clipping you just read. Now, although I am in good health, I probably only have a certain number of years left to me, and I have no fear of death. I mention that because if you try to sue or otherwise bother me or my family or my friends in any way, I’ll kill you.”

  Silence rang. Krane stared at him.

  Cousin Henry went on. “Of course I may go to jail, and your heirs may win your lawsuit eventually. But you, Mr. Krane, will be dead. Do you understand me?” He cocked his head to one side and looked up at silent Ben.

  “You can’t bluff me,” said Ben, at last.

  “I never bluff,” said Cousin Henry. “But, of course, any bluffer would say that. It might be simpler if I just shot you right now.” He raised the pistol.

  “No!” said Ben, stepping back and raising his hands as if they could fend off a bullet.

  Cousin Henry nodded and put his pistol away. “Good afternoon, Mr. Krane. I never want to hear from you again, but Mr. Jackson will expect the rest of his money in tomorrow’s mail. Will you come with me now, Mr. Jackson? I have to be getting home, but perhaps
we can buy your daughter an ice cream cone before we leave town.”

  All the anger had gone out of me. I waved at the door. “After you, Mr. Bayles.”

  We went out, leaving a white-faced Ben Krane behind us. I felt ethereal, as though I’d inhaled something illegal. The world was different in some fundamental way: more dangerous, more good. I liked it.

  — 30 —

  “So Cousin Henry considers you a friend, eh? I guess you should be flattered.” Zee sipped her vodka and a little smile played around her lips.

  “I think it was just a convenient word,” I said. “I don’t think Henry and I will be doing much socializing.”

  It was now July, and we were sitting on our balcony in the evening, taking a parental break from our children, who were down on the lawn looking up at us in hopes that we would change our minds and let them come up too. But we wouldn’t. It was grown-up time for Ma and Pa Jackson; no children allowed on the balcony until we finished at least one martini.

  Out on the sound, sails were leaning through the wind and powerboats were leaving white wakes across the dark water as they headed in for port. Behind us the summer sun was easing toward the western horizon. The Cape Pogue lighthouse was a small white vertical line on the tip of Chappaquiddick, off to the east, and on the far horizon was the dim line of Cape Cod.

  “Still, it was an interesting choice of terms,” said Zee. “What do you make of it?”

  “I think he was telling me that he approved of me leaving his granddaughter out of my story and of not actually accusing his friend Corrie of starting the fire. Cousin Henry gives tit for tat.” I leered at her bosom. “Speaking of which . . .”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” interrupted Zee, sliding away. “No tat offers, please. At least not until later.”

  “Rats.” I sipped my Luksasowa. Cold and good. Maybe God was a distiller. It seemed possible. Why else would She have created grain and potatoes?

  “What do you think Ben Krane will do, if anything?” asked Zee. “Do you think he believes what Cousin Henry told him?”

  “I think Ben is a smart guy, even if he isn’t a nice guy. He sent me the rest of my money, didn’t he?”