by Jean Stone
“Right. That must have been hard.”
“I don’t remember. I never saw him again.”
They spent the next two hours talking about everything from Kevin’s fourth-grade science fair (Donna helped him “build” a volcano that erupted all over the gymnasium floor) to his first semiformal dance in eighth grade (after he’d shamefully stalked her, Louise Bridges, the hottest girl in the class, finally agreed to go with him; she wound up being allergic to the corsage Donna picked out, and Kevin was so humiliated he did not go to another formal until his senior year).
The conversation was even more delicious to Annie than their dinner. They decided to share an apple crisp, and as they fought over the last morsels of brown-sugar-and-vanilla-icecream crumbles, John walked into the restaurant, adding another layer to Annie’s growing sense of happiness and contentment that she hadn’t felt in many, many years.
Chapter 11
Annie introduced the men. “My brother, Kevin,” she said to John, then, “My, um, friend, John Lyons.” She hated that she’d stumbled over how to refer to John. Should she have called him her boyfriend? It felt silly to call him her gentleman friend, the way that Donna referred to Duncan.
The men had shaken hands and were both sitting down when Annie realized she’d been daydreaming. She quickly sat and smoothed her skirt.
“How was the apple crisp?” John asked.
“John’s a police officer,” she told Kevin. “A sergeant, actually. Investigating everything is second nature to him.”
“The large glass bowl with visible traces of cinnamon and ice cream hardly called for the A-team,” John said. “That, plus the fact that the Newes only has a few choice desserts.”
“He’s been here once or twice,” Annie explained with a half smile. John was good at breaking the ice with people he’d just met. It was one of many—probably hundreds—of qualities that Annie liked about him.
“So,” he said, looking squarely at Kevin, “Annie tells me you were in the construction business. Hands-on or the paperwork?”
Kevin laughed. “Definitely hands-on. I have an MBA from BU, but I’d rather get my hands dirty. Unfortunately, when you have your own business, most of your time is spent parked behind a desk staring at a computer screen. Doing today’s kind of paperwork.”
Annie wanted to comment that she’d gone to BU, too, though several years before he had. It was another happy coincidence.
“But your MBA must have pleased your parents,” John said.
“My mother, actually. Dad left when I was four. But she—my mom, Annie’s, too—always told me to be myself. She said that would guarantee me a happier life.”
A dark-haired waitress named Lolleen appeared and set a mug of coffee in front of John. She asked if Annie and Kevin wanted more, but they said they were all set.
Then John turned back to Kevin. “You planning to stay on the island awhile?”
The question seemed to come from out of nowhere. Annie looked for Kevin’s reaction.
“In all honesty, I haven’t thought about it. I only know I was getting cabin fever, which sounds absurd, seeing as how I live in the city. But it seemed like a good time to get to know my sister better.”
Sipping his coffee, John seemed to be thinking. Annie had known him long enough to know when he was doing more than making idle talk. “Can I interest you in a little short-term work?”
Well, Annie realized, she’d been right that he was pondering, though she hadn’t anticipated his question. She wondered what on earth he was talking about.
Kevin sat up straight. “Don’t know. Like what?”
With a slow sigh, John said, “I don’t know if Annie’s told you, but my mother had a stroke this morning. She’s going to be okay, but it’s going to take a little time.”
Where was he going with this?
“My dad used to be in construction,” John continued. “He was a carpenter. He’s been retired for years, but he takes care of properties on Chappaquiddick. He maintains that if he didn’t do something to get out of the house, my mother would drive him nuts.”
And then the pieces fell together. And Annie wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
Resting his arms on the table, John leaned toward Kevin. “Right now, though, I’m more worried about him than I am about her. I have to leave for a couple of weeks, or I’d be here to help. Would you consider sticking around, maybe taking care of the properties for him? We can’t pay you much, but if you wanted to stay at my place that would cover you having to rent something.”
Picking up his spoon again, Kevin ran it around the remains of the apple crisp. “Wow. I don’t know. How long would you need me?”
“If you could stay for the whole two weeks I’m gone, it would be great. But, believe me, I’ll take whatever help I can get. I only know that I need to line up some help for Dad as well as for Mom.”
Annie felt a small tug at her heart. John was a good man. And though she’d been concerned about both his parents, she hadn’t considered Earl’s responsibilities. Still, it seemed odd that he’d ask Kevin before he’d run the idea past her. Nerves, she thought. From no longer knowing which end is up.
She reached across the table and put her hand on John’s. “Don’t forget I told you I’d help however I can.”
“With my mom, sure. And Bella. But I can’t exactly see you patching shingles on roofs if we have a storm.” His sad smile tugged at her heart.
“When would you need to know?” Kevin asked.
Draining his coffee, John got up and shook his head. “On second thought,” he said, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You and Annie should just enjoy your time together. My brain’s a little screwy right now, so please forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Kevin stood and shook John’s hand. “No problem, man. Let me talk it over with myself, and see what I come up with by the morning.Would that work?”
Annie smiled at Kevin’s laid-back humor that eased what could have been an awkward situation.
“Sure,” John told him. “But, please, no pressure. I’m on the eight fifteen tomorrow. If you decide to stay, I can call my dad and alert him. Annie can show you where my place is. There’s a key under the mat.”
Kevin laughed. “You leave a key under the mat? And you’re a cop?”
“This is the Vineyard,” John said, his smile widening. “Trust is part of life here.”
* * *
After they left the restaurant, Annie said goodbye to John—again—who said he wanted to check in with Claire one last time. As he left, she realized she’d forgotten to tell him about Fiona. Then again, it wasn’t important compared with what he had going on.
To help lift her spirits, she suggested to Kevin that they go for a walk. She led him toward South Water Street, away from the eateries and the drinkeries, as John liked to call the pubs. She pointed out various homes and gardens and the pagoda tree that the sea captain Thomas Milton had brought back from China and planted in 1837. With gnarly limbs that stretched like octopus arms in every direction, it had grown into what was thought to be the largest of its kind in North America. It was amazing that, in nearly two hundred years, it had withstood ferocious hurricanes and relentless nor’easters with hardly a quiver.
“You’re an excellent tour guide for a city girl,” Kevin said.
Annie liked walking beside him. Only an inch or so taller than she was, he fell into step with her. It felt comfortable, familiar, as if they’d grown up together, had been raised in the same house.
Then he asked, “So, what’s the deal with you and John? Do I need to play the role of a protective brother?”
She thought about Fiona and Colin; she wondered if Colin had ever played the role of a big brother with her before he’d tried to kill her. If, in fact, he had done that. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I think I stopped needing to be protected when I started to get gray hair.”
He eyed her head. “Hmm. Yes. In that c
ase, it appears I’m far too late.”
She gave him a playful swat. “Even if I were young, you’d hardly have to worry about John. He’s the best. Really, he is.”
“So you two are a deal?”
“We have been, yes. But it’s complicated right now.” She filled him in on John’s ex-wife and his two daughters. She didn’t tell him that Lucy was pregnant, only that John would be in Plymouth with them. “And his parents are good people. I was lucky they befriended me when I moved here.”
They strolled in silence until they reached Cooke Street, where Annie took a right. “I’ll take you past his place, in case you decide to consider his offer.”
Kevin made no comment.
Passing one lovely home after another, each close to the narrow road and framed by white picket fences woven with roses, Annie noticed that indoor lights were on, draperies were open, and no shades were pulled. Unlike in winter, when the homes looked cold and deserted with their owners safely residing in Boca Raton, San Diego, or other “wimpy places” (as she’d heard islanders refer to anywhere that didn’t require a snow shovel or a fleece jacket), the interiors cast welcoming glows that revealed classic summer hues, a plethora of original seascapes, and plenty of rich, dark wood accents befitting the nineteenth century, in which many had been built. Even the houses that had been torn down and rebuilt to suit a sophisticated market (Open floor plans; guest suites; wide, welcoming verandas, Annie thought with an uncharacteristic, envious sigh) had recreated much of the original décor.
She stopped in front of John’s well-kept, gray-shingled, white-trimmed duplex.
Kevin’s eyes widened. “Nice place. Don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s nice.”
“It is. It’s fairly new and very spacious for a town house. It has three full baths, two up, one down, and three bedrooms upstairs. It can get a little noisy in the summer with the traffic and the people walking by. That’s when he closes the windows and turns on the air-conditioning.”
“He lives here alone?”
“He does now. He got this when he was still married.” She did not mention that she’d been invited to move in.
Kevin didn’t ask for details, so Annie didn’t have to explain the way the housing lottery worked. She suspected that he wouldn’t be there long enough to need to know, anyway.
She opened the gate and they stepped inside for a closer look. A small garden flanked the front steps; Claire always made sure it was filled with colorful flowers. John let his mother enjoy the task, though he’d told Annie he drew the line at window boxes.
“He keeps a few cherry tomato plants on the deck out back,” Annie said. “He claims they’re the best snack on the planet. Red ones, yellow ones. He eats them like candy. They should come into season any day now.” Then she checked her watch. “Oh, Kevin, I hate to do this, but it’s getting late. I really need to get back to Chappy. Would you like to do something in the morning? Go sightseeing? Sailing? Gallery hunting?”
“You sail?”
She shook her head. “No. But there are charters.”
“The truth is, I get seasick. I almost lost my lunch on the ferry. But what about you? Don’t you have to work?”
She smiled. Sort of. “Well, yes. But as a writer, I’m flexible.”
“Mom told me you have a deadline.”
Mom. The word still rang strangely in Annie’s mind. Mom, as in Donna MacNeish, not Ellen Sutton, the woman who had raised Annie and who’d been dead so many years now it was tough to remember what it had been like to have a mother. “Well, yes, I do have a deadline.” She didn’t add that she also wanted to check up on Claire the next day and deliver the things she’d collected for Fiona. But Kevin was important, too. More important, in many ways.
“Okay. How about if I stop by your cottage in the morning? I think I can find my way to Chappaquiddick.”
She smiled. “For future reference, we call it ‘Chappy.’ ”
“I think I can find my way there, too.”
“I’ll have coffee ready. And you’ll get to see the place before I’m booted out. That’s a long story; I’ll tell you later.”
“Great. We can have coffee, then you can point me to John’s parents’ house. I might as well meet his father. The sooner I get started on learning his caretaking duties, the better for all concerned.”
Annie blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he said, draping an arm on her shoulder. “Got to take care of my big sister, you know? Besides, it sounds like it might be fun.”
* * *
On her way back to Chappy, Annie decided it felt odd to have a protective brother, but the concept was growing on her. Which brought her to think about Fiona again. Was it really possible that Colin had tried to kill her? What kind of a person must he be that Fiona would even consider that? And what about the other sibling, Sheila? Did she really want the family property converted into a bird sanctuary? And could she have somehow been involved?
Then, Annie had an idea.
The short trip home across the channel seemed to take forever. She was accustomed now to parking on the other side, and once she disembarked, it was only a short drive to the cottage. And though it was late, and she was tired, she could not quiet her mind. So she kicked off her shoes and went straight to her laptop. She might not have the training or the resources of a police detective, but as a writer, she knew how to do basic research.
Colin Littlefield, she Googled. Maybe she’d learn something about him from his social media pages.Then up came a link to his Wikipedia page.
Wikipedia? How many ordinary people had Wikipedia pages?
Colin J. Littlefield.
The photo showed a young man with blond surfer-boy-looking hair. He was good-looking enough, though not in the league of leading-man actor, or even of John, not that Annie was biased. She scanned the data below the image.
Born: October 17, 1979 (age 40)
White Plains, New York
Residence: New York, NY
Parents: Donald J. and Marina L. Littlefield
Siblings: Sheila B. Littlefield
Fiona M. Littlefield
Occupation: Filmmaker
Annie blinked. Colin was a filmmaker?
She quickly scanned the biography: Son of the late real estate entrepreneur Donald J. Littlefield; graduated from Andover 1999, Hofstra 2003, received a master’s from Columbia for which no date was given; no spouse, no children; US Marine veteran, Iraq 2003–06.
He had seemed like a regular, preppy rich kid, until she came to the part about him having been in the Marine Corps, a veteran who had served in Iraq. Annie had conditioned herself to pick up on quirks and incongruous traits; she wondered if this might be a big one.
She scrolled down to a list of film credits:
Dust in Their Boots 2011
Trial by Fire 2013
Airlifted 2014
Only the three titles were listed: It was noted that they were war-related films, perhaps they’d been a catharsis for what he had experienced. Beyond that, Wiki didn’t disclose what Colin had been doing in the past five years, and there was no indication that he had any public entanglements (arrests, lawsuits, bitter divorces, etc.). Annie wondered what he did for a living now, and if he might be broke, in need of funds that selling the house on Chappaquiddick would provide—if only his younger sister would agree.
She returned to the Google list: There were no other significant mentions of him; only the typical list of where she could find his age, address, and phone number if she paid a subscription fee. His name also appeared in obituaries of both of the Littlefield parents. But there were no links to websites, news articles, or any other mentions of him.
Next, she put Fiona’s name into the search engine. Though Fiona seemed to have no Facebook presence, no Twitter or Instagram accounts, and not even a LinkedIn job record, a curious entry referenced an article about a small ballet troupe. Aside from the Nutcracker, to which Annie and Murphy had taken Murphy’s twin
s when they’d been around five or six, Annie knew nothing about ballet. (The outing had been a disaster: “What was I thinking?” Murphy had howled because the twins had danced in their seats more vigorously than the performers on the stage. “God help me, they’re boys!” They left the theater during intermission.)
The article was not about Fiona, though her name was mentioned as having appeared in a lesser work by Tchaikovsky. It was dated four years earlier; there was no photo.
She moved on to Sheila, the eldest Littlefield sibling. Not expecting to find much, Annie was stunned to see link after link, all to good works, all of which involved birds and “critters,” as John called them. The woman was a director of a number of foundations and was listed as treasurer of three. There was no Wiki page, but a photo appeared on the website of one of the foundations. Sheila looked happy and engaged, not like the scowling, angry sister that Annie had envisioned. And not like a murderer, either.
As Annie sat, transfixed by the Google screen, she wondered if she should Google her own brother in case he might lead a life of suspicion.
Then she chided herself and shouted, “No!” Kevin was her brother, her blood relation, and she was not going to spy on him. Besides, it was long past her bedtime; she quickly shut down the laptop and got ready for bed. Tomorrow, after Kevin came and went, then after she saw Claire, Annie would drop off Fiona’s things. Maybe the girl had come to her senses and decided that her brother—her blood relation—had not tried to kill her after all.
As for Annie and her penchant for research, well, she knew that her curiosity and her unstoppable imagination were terrific assets for her career, but that they could also take her into shadowy corners where she, quite frankly, did not really want to go and did not belong.
Chapter 12
Kevin arrived promptly at seven o’clock the next morning. Annie had woken up early: The heat and returning humidity had permeated the cottage, making her briefly reconsider the four-thousand-dollar-a-month apartment with central air. Then logic helped to abandon the idea, so she showered, dressed, and was more or less ready to greet her sibling.