A Vineyard Summer

by Jean Stone

  “First of all,” Colin replied, “don’t call me ‘dude.’ I have a name. Second, perhaps I was not clear when I said my life is none of your damn business.”

  “Okay,” Annie intervened. “Though I’m sure the police will think it’s their business. The same way they’ll want to know who the woman on the boat was. You were seen, Colin, coming from the Cape over to the Vineyard. There’s an eyewitness.”

  He laughed. “I talk with lots of women, Ms. Sutton. Women usually like me. Present company apparently excepted.”

  “You were standing at the foot of the stairs between the top deck and the freight deck.”

  He frowned as if trying to remember the moment. The trouble was, if he was putting on an act, he looked believable.

  “Was it Sheila?” she prompted.

  “Sheila? My sister Sheila?” He laughed. “Hardly. The last place you’ll find her is on the Vineyard. She’s been very vocal about saying this place is for the birds.Which is why she wants our property to become an aviary. It’s her way of thumbing her nose at the whole place—at my parents, actually. They never forgave her for coming out at the Pink and Green Weekend in front of all their friends.”

  Though Annie hadn’t attended, she knew the annual spring weekend was the unofficial kickoff of the Edgartown social season. It seemed more than likely that Sheila had chosen the venue to make her announcement mostly to upset her parents. Such a strange family, Annie thought.

  Kevin backed away. “If it wasn’t Sheila on the boat, who was it?”

  “Come to think of it, I did talk to Nicole.” Colin nodded. “Yeah, maybe it was Nicole.”

  Annie wished she could shake the feeling that Colin was playing games with them. “Who’s Nicole, Colin?” she asked. “Is she a friend of yours? Is she an islander?”

  Colin laughed again. “Are you serious? You don’t know her?”

  Neither of them answered.

  “Nicole Flanagan. Roger’s wife. As in the mother of the bride.”

  In the short time Annie had conversed with Nicole Flanagan, the woman hadn’t made a lasting impression. “I’m sorry, but this is a private party,” the woman had said when she found Annie standing on their lawn in her long cotton robe. Annie remembered the overly sweet way in which she had spoken—syrupy, Earl called her—in contrast to the snobby way that she’d tilted her head.

  “Why would Nicole Flanagan have been coming over on the boat the day before her daughter’s wedding?” Annie asked. “Didn’t she have enough other things to do?”

  “If she did, they weren’t as important as the fact she’d gone to Falmouth. I remember she had a big pocketbook. It was red. She said she’d picked up custom chocolates for the gift bags, that she didn’t trust anyone to ship them. But if she had any cake, she sure as hell didn’t give it to me.”

  Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he planted them on his hips. “Enough,” he added. “I need to find Fiona. And I want both of you out of my house. Or I really will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing and for harassment.”

  * * *

  Once outside, Annie motioned to Kevin to follow her up the driveway instead of sneaking back along the path. As she suspected, the Porsche was parked a few yards from the house. It had New York plates and it was black.

  “It’s the same one that was at the airport,” she said. As she brushed past it, she glanced inside. On the passenger seat was the same wrapper from the protein bar and the small card that she’d mistaken for a ferry reservation ticket. “So he must have flown off island on a private plane.”

  “And then he flew back,” Kevin said. “Which is even more bizarre if he had nothing to do with Fiona landing in the hospital.” Their footsteps crunched over the clamshells. “So what next, Sherlock?”

  “Well, just because Myrna gave Nicole—if it really was Nicole—the cakes to throw away, doesn’t mean Nicole tucked one in her bag and decided to kill Fiona. First of all, why would she? Fiona Littlefield was her daughter’s friend.”

  “True. And just because Nicole was on the boat doesn’t mean Sheila wasn’t there, too. Do you think Colin is trying to cover up for his sister?”

  “I can’t imagine why. He seemed pretty clear that he doesn’t speak to either one unless it’s to argue about whether to sell the property. But at least Myrna should be able to identify—or not identify—Nicole as the one she told to take the cakes.”

  “Have you considered that someone else might have wanted Fiona out of the picture?” Kevin asked. “Someone who found out about the cake, then jumped at the chance to poison her?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Who would it be? Whoever did it would have had to conveniently know that Fiona couldn’t resist a honey cake. Sorry, but my editor would call that contrived. Something that would make the whole mystery neither credible nor believable.” But as they walked down Annie’s driveway, she had another thought. “Although . . .” she said slowly, “Dana would have known.”

  “Dana, the bride?”

  “Sure. She and Colin made the cakes for Fiona every summer. I know that since she was getting married it seems preposterous.. . .”

  “Yeah. Besides, why the heck would Dana want to kill Fiona?”

  Annie shook her head. “You’re right. Besides, it’s not as if she would have been on the boat with her mother the day before her wedding. It’s odd enough that Nicole was.”

  “Unless it took two people to bring the chocolates from the Cape. And unless someone else was with Nicole who Colin or Myrna didn’t see.”

  “Maybe. But, honestly, of any of them, Colin is the only one who might have motivation. I’m not sure he was telling us the whole truth, but he did seem fairly surprised.” She shook her head. “Maybe Nicole simply forgot to trash the cakes, brought them home, and somehow one made its way next door to Fiona. And it was an accident. And Fiona overreacted.”

  Kevin tossed her a look that said that was a stupid assumption.

  They reached his truck that was parked behind Annie’s car. “Come on. Let’s go see her,” Annie said. “I want to see how she reacts when we tell her what Colin claims.”

  “Now? You don’t want to wait until tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll be busy. The garden tour is Thursday, and I promised Claire I’d make the rounds to make sure everything is in place. Let’s go in your truck. I’ll walk back from the On Time.”

  “Have you noticed it’s already dark out, as in nighttime? It will be even darker when we’re done with Fiona. And as you’ve told me, there are no streetlights on Chappy. Not one.”

  “I’ll grab a flashlight. I’m not afraid of skunks.”

  Chapter 24

  It wasn’t until Kevin rolled onto the On Time that Annie had another thought. “Kevin?” she asked. “Do you think Colin is right? Do you think Fiona is needy? The story the police told about what she did to the ballerina in New York . . . do you suppose there have been other times she’s lied?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  Annie’s head had started to hurt. It was so hard to know whom to believe.

  The ferry captain started up the engine; there was no need to collect tickets from passengers or the drivers of the three vehicles on board: Tickets were only needed in one direction, from Edgartown to Chappaquiddick. The logic was that once you got there, sooner or later you’d have to make the trip back to the main island. The system worked.

  Musing on that now, Annie looked over at Kevin. “One thing we know for sure is that Fiona ate the poisonous cake, right?”

  “Well, yeah. Duh.”

  “What if it was her?”

  “Her?”

  “Fiona.”

  Staring straight ahead, Kevin frowned. “You lost me.”

  Annie twisted on the seat to face him squarely, the seat belt tightening across her chest. “What if Fiona was on the boat, too? And maybe it was Fiona, not Nicole, who took the boxes from Myrna. We don’t know when Fiona arrived on the island for
the wedding—or how. She doesn’t have a car, but she could have flown into Boston, then taken the bus right to the ferry and walked on. Just because she and Colin are at odds doesn’t mean she wasn’t on the same boat. The Island Home has room for twelve hundred people. Fiona could have been one.”

  “But if she took the cakes from Myrna, she must have known they were poisonous. So are you saying you think Fiona poisoned herself?”

  Annie raised an eyebrow. “Given all we know, is it so farfetched?”

  “But I thought you believed her.”

  “I did. I do. But . . .” Now that she’d started to reconsider, maybe it was even simpler. Maybe Nicole hadn’t found a trash bin on the boat and brought the cakes home intending to dispose of them. Maybe Fiona saw them in Nicole’s kitchen or in her wastebasket. Maybe she couldn’t resist. Then, after her reaction, when she learned of the poison, she saw the chance to get some attention. And get back at her brother and sister for wanting to sell the property.

  But that theory felt wrong in lots of ways, so Annie didn’t tell Kevin.

  Though it was a Tuesday night, he couldn’t find a parking space near the Kelley House. “Grrr,” he said, “summer.”

  Annie laughed and suggested they drive to John’s, leave the truck, and walk back. It seemed like a good solution. But when Kevin pulled into the driveway, a band of emotion tightened inside her. She turned from the front windows. Though the sun had set, she was afraid the sky wasn’t yet dark enough to mask a view of the silhouette of John’s cozy sofas, his terminally wilting plants, or the braided rug in front of the fireplace where they’d often tossed pillows, made themselves comfortable, and drunk wine.

  Then, as Kevin turned off the ignition, his text alert sounded. He glanced down at his phone. “Taylor.”

  “Read it,” Annie said. “I’ll wait on the porch.” After all, she was an adult. Over fifty. Capable of handling the waves of life’s emotions.

  But the porch proved to be a challenge, too. As soon as she sat on one of the Adirondack chairs, she wished she hadn’t. This was John’s house, after all, the man she seemed to care more about now that he was gone; the man who appeared to care less and less about her as each hour, each day, passed; the man she might not see again for . . . who knew how long.

  She stared at the garden, its blooms and colors lost to the night, fading in the dim glow of a streetlight.

  When had they last been there? Two weeks ago? They’d sat in the evening, listening to the hum of the tourists who meandered through town on their way to or from dinner. Across the gap between the chairs, they had held hands. Closing her eyes now, Annie let herself be comforted by a fantasy that, any second, John would lean across the divide, wrap his arms around her, nuzzle his face into her neck. But the facts could not override her fantasy: John was gone, and would not be coming back. She tried to swallow, tried to wish away her tears. Instead, she sat. And ached.

  “Annie? You okay?”

  It wasn’t John, of course. It was Kevin. “Sorry,” she said, her eyes open now, her heart still again. “I was musing. Missing John.”

  He sat in the chair next to her before she could say, “Please don’t.” “I’m sorry you don’t know when he’s coming back.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell, hoping the response would ward off tears.

  “I might have good news for you, though,” Kevin added.

  No matter how insignificant, good news would be welcome right then.

  “Taylor heard about a year-round rental—a garage apartment—in West Tisbury. She wanted me to let you know.”

  How on earth Taylor knew that Annie and Kevin were together spoke to the ongoing question of how the woman learned everything that went on with Chappy people.

  “She said you can see it tomorrow if you’re interested. She left the owner’s number.”

  “Well,” Annie said, not wanting to admit that bothering to look for a place to live right then was not as high up on her agenda as it should be. “I suppose I could go after I’m sure everything is set for the tour.” Over the last, emotionally charged hours, it felt as if she’d completely forgotten about the deadline for her manuscript. But she knew that with every minute she wasn’t working, it would be tougher to pick up where she’d left off.

  “Want me to come with you?” Kevin asked.

  “Don’t you have shingles to fix tomorrow? Fences to mend? Lawns to mow?”

  “I do, but I also know how badly Earl wants you to stay here. He might grant me an exemption. Urgent family leave, or something like that.”

  “He wants me to stay on Chappy. Or, at the very least, in Edgartown. West Tisbury might as well be back in Boston.”

  Kevin snorted. “The dynamics of this island are certainly strange. But let’s go see Fiona now before God knows what else happens.”

  “Sure,” Annie said, her somber mood lightening. “In the morning, I’ll call about the apartment.”

  * * *

  Fiona was not in her room at the Kelley House, nor had she checked out. But when Annie tried to call, it went straight to voice mail.

  “Let’s walk around,” she said to Kevin. “Maybe she’s in one of the restaurants.”

  “She doesn’t look like she eats very much.”

  “You wouldn’t either if you thought one or more of your siblings was out to kill you.”

  “Or if you were busy trying to keep your story straight so others would think that.”

  “Good point.”

  “Does she have any friends on the island?”

  “I don’t know. Dana Flanagan must have been her friend if she was in her wedding. Though she was not in her first. Or her second.”

  “First or second wedding?”

  “Right.”

  “Huh. That sounds like one of those ‘contrivance’ things your editor would hate. Unless you think the bride was involved.”

  “Highly doubtful. I think Dana would have had other things on her mind.”

  “True. But she’s probably on her honeymoon now. And what with her father shouting about lawsuits, it’s also doubtful that the bridesmaid has gone to the Flanagans’.”

  “Another good point.”

  They scanned the outdoor seating at the Newes and the long line at the door. Annie wormed her way inside as if she belonged there. Her eyes skimmed the crowd in both dining rooms, then checked out the bars. She even went into the ladies’ room. No Fiona.

  They crossed North Water Street to Chesca’s, where it was also crowded and where a small ballerina might easily vanish within the high-spirited groups. They scrutinized l’Etoile, then crossed back to Rockfish and the Wharf, and circled down Dock Street to the Seafood Shanty. Fiona was nowhere in sight.

  “We’ve missed several places,” Annie said. “It would be easier if it were winter, when only a handful of restaurants are open.”

  “Maybe she just went for a walk. You’re sure she doesn’t have a car?”

  “She does not. She’s a New Yorker.”

  “So is her brother, but he drives a Porsche.”

  “That belongs to someone else.”

  “Hey! Maybe Colin is a car thief, too.”

  “If so, he might have picked a less conspicuous vehicle.”

  “Touché.” He said it with a slight flourish that reminded Annie of Monsieur LeChance.

  By then they’d reached the harbor and the On Time had chugged into its berth.

  “Let’s call it a night,” Annie said. “I have a busy day tomorrow. I have to finalize things for the tour, pick up the programs, visit Claire for last-minute instructions, and call about that apartment in West Tisbury. In other words, I must start tending to my own business.”

  “Which,” Kevin replied, “I assume includes finishing a manuscript?”

  Annie groaned. “Right. I keep forgetting about that. Well, Fiona will be gone tomorrow, so maybe that will be a good thing. By Friday, the tour will be over, I might actually have somewhere to live, and I can get back to my life.”
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  “Without giving the honey cake another thought.”

  Annie folded her arms. “You hardly know me, brother, and yet you know me so well.”

  “Well, I’m not comfortable with the lack of a resolution, either.”

  “Are you thinking that I should readjust my schedule? Like, check out the apartment first, and on my way back from West Tisbury, stop at the airport? See if I can find our ballerina wandering around with a rolling suitcase?”

  Kevin smiled. “Not a bad idea.”

  She thought about it for a minute, then wondered if it might work. “I could go on the Internet tonight and find out what time flights leave tomorrow for the city.”

  “Or you could come back to the Kelley House early in the morning. Wait for her to leave. Then jump out of the bushes, scare the crap out of her, and demand to know if she poisoned herself. Catch her off guard, you know?”

  “You, my brother, are definitely incorrigible.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  “Which must be what Taylor sees in you.”

  “Ouch!” he cried.

  She laughed and headed toward the boat.

  “Wait!” Kevin called. “Don’t forget to watch out for the skunks!”

  Annie laughed. “Maybe I should try to find them before they find me. I read somewhere that they love honey, or at least honeybees. If I follow them, maybe they’ll lead me to the leftover cake.”

  “Terrific,” Kevin said with a wave, then turned and walked in the other direction.

  Fishing her flashlight from her purse, Annie walked onto the On Time and settled on a bench. She wondered if, unlike Chappy, West Tisbury had streetlights so the night was not as dark.

  * * *

  No sooner had Annie snapped on the lights inside the cottage, kicked off her sandals, and tossed her purse onto a chair when there was a knock on her door. She turned and saw Roger Flanagan, his face close to the glass; she rued, not for the first time, that she’d never added a curtain that might have provided privacy.

  Too late now, she thought.

  “Roger,” she said, opening the door. Based on their encounter at the police station, she saw no need to invite him in. For another thing, it was close to ten o’clock. At his age, shouldn’t he be asleep? “How may I help you?”