I went down to the foot of Circuit Avenue and started back up the street, hitting the bars in succession. In the first two nobody could remember having seen anyone who looked like Kate. Then I came to the Fireside and my luck changed.
The Fireside is not the classiest bar on the island, but before I got married and settled down, it had been one of my favorites. It is the haunt of some of the seedier locals and smells of beer and cigarettes and, more faintly, of marijuana, although smoking either tobacco or weed is officially illegal in public places.
Opposite the bar, along the wall, is a row of booths with knife-marked tables. The farthest of these booths is known to regulars as the Confessional because some peculiar quirk of construction allows people in the next booth to hear everything that’s said within it. Newcomers, especially young lovers, are steered there by jesters in need of entertainment with their beer.
My friend Bonzo worked at the Fireside, sweeping floors, bringing beer up from the cellar, serving drinks, wiping tables, cleaning up spills, and otherwise performing those simple but necessary tasks required in any bar. Their simplicity was exactly challenging enough to keep him attentive, for Bonzo had long ago fried some essential part of his brain with bad acid and had been transformed from a promising lad into an eternal child, sweet and gentle, the sad apple of his mother’s eye.
Now, in midafternoon, the place was almost empty. I waved at Bonzo, who was pushing his broom, sat down at the bar, and ordered a Sam Adams.
“Long time no see,” said the bartender. “A lot of married guys keep right on coming in after they get hitched, but not you.”
“Home is the place for me,” I said. “I’ve spent enough time in bars to last me the rest of my life. You on duty last night?”
“Nope, I was home in front of my fireplace. Nicki was tending bar.”
“I’m looking for a woman,” I said. “She might have been here last night.”
He gestured. “Bonzo was here. Maybe he can help you.”
“Okay with you if I buy him a beer?”
“Why not?”
I beckoned to Bonzo and he came over, a smile on his innocent face.
“Hey, J.W., how you doing?”
“Good. I’m buying you a beer. Your boss, here, said it was okay.”
Bonzo looked doubtful. “You sure? I got work to do, you know. I can’t be drinking on the job.”
“It’s a special occasion,” said the bartender, putting a Sam in front of him. “A sort of Christmas present from the management.”
“Gee, thanks.” Bonzo climbed onto the stool beside mine. “I like beer, you know, but I can’t drink much of it. It makes my head go around.”
I touched his glass with mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers to you, too, J.W.”
We drank and I told him whom I was looking for and how she looked, and said, “She may have been in here last night. You see anybody like that?”
He beamed. “You know something, J.W.? I sure did see her. She’s not very big but she sure is a pretty girl. I liked looking at her and—you know what?—she smiled at me!”
“What time was she here, Bonzo? Do you remember?” He thought about the question but then shook his head. “It wasn’t too late, but I don’t know exactly when it was. I know she and the man were gone before we closed up because I kept looking at her, you know, and one time I looked and she was gone. Sorry, J.W. I should have looked at my watch, maybe.” He showed me his watch. It, like mine, was the under-ten-dollars kind.
“That’s okay, Bonzo. Tell me about the man. Did you know him?”
“Oh no. I never seen him before. He was a stranger, just like her. These days, you know, we have strangers around almost all year. It’s not like it used to be when off-island people only mostly came in the summer. Now they come down earlier every year and stay later.” He looked into my face. “It’s what they call the shoulder seasons, you know. Like the shoulders on a man. They’re getting wider all the time, so we have strangers here all the way to New Year’s these days. He was one of them, and so was she.”
“Did you happen to hear his name?”
He thought some more, then shook his head.
“No, I never did. And I guess I never heard her name either because if I’d heard it, I’d remember it.
I sure wouldn’t forget the name of a girl as pretty as she is.”
“If it’s the same woman, her name is Kate. If she comes back, maybe you should ask her.”
He blushed. “Oh, I don’t know if I could just go up to her and do that. I don’t think I could just go up and ask her if she’s named Kate. Gee, no, I don’t think so.”
“What did the man look like?”
His brow furrowed as he thought back. “Well,” he said finally, “he looked like he was glad to see Kate.”
“You mean they didn’t come in together?”
“Oh no. She came in first and then he came in and pretty soon they were sitting together over in that booth there, laughing and talking like they was old friends. I could tell that some of the other guys were getting ready to go talk with her themselves, but then the man came in and he talked with her first and after that, nobody else talked with her. Just the man.”
“Can you describe him? You know: Was he tall or short? Young or old? Did he have a beard? What color was his hair, if he had any? What kind of clothes was he wearing?”
“Oh, I get what you mean, J.W. Let me think.” More furrows, then his brow smoothed. “He was what you’d call medium. Not tall, not short, not young, not old. Sort of as old as you are, maybe; you know what I mean? He was wearing winter clothes just like everybody else, and you know what?” He held up a forefinger and smiled happily. “I remember for sure that he didn’t have a mustache or a beard because when I brought them their drinks, he didn’t have either one! And you know what else I saw?”
“What?”
“I saw her talking once on one of those little telephones everybody has. I’d like to have one of those myself, J.W., so I could just call somebody whenever I wanted to.”
That might have been her call to Joe Begay. “What were they drinking?” I asked. “Can you remember?”
His professional pride appeared. “Heck, yes, J.W. I work here in this bar, you know, and I have to remember what people are drinking! They were both drinking bourbon and water. Ladies don’t usually drink bourbon, but that’s what she was drinking. They both had several before they left.”
“How’d they seem to be getting along?”
“They were getting along good, J.W. They were talking and laughing and having a good time. And I think they were still happy when they left because they left a big tip like happy people do.”
After I left the Fireside, I spent an hour going into all of the other bars in town, but no one else had seen Kate or her companion.
Where had they gone? Who was the man?
I drove to Edgartown and parked in front of the police station. Kit Goulart buzzed me in, then rang the Chief to see if he was free to see me. I went to his office and told him most of the truth about what had happened to Toni Begay’s car, leaving out only the part about Joe and me being in the woods when Joe pressed the button that detonated the explosives. Then I told him about Kate being out of touch and about my talk with Bonzo.
“You’ve had a busy day,” he said.
“How about your day?” I asked. “Did you find out anything about the guys on the list I gave you?”
“What I found out is police business.”
“Here I tell you everything and you won’t tell me anything.”
“That’s right.”
“Hell of a note.”
“If you’re going to cry, I’ll give you a tissue.”
I looked at the computer on his desk. “If you found anything out, you did it awfully fast. Did you use that thing?”
“What if I did? Modern technology is a tool of modern law enforcement. Too bad you’re still living in the last century, otherwise even you could
probably find out things you want to know.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his neck.
“Are you telling me that the information I want is there on the Internet?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“How do I find it?”
“You probably can’t, because you’re not as computer smart as me or your children or your wife.”
Hmmmm.
I looked at my watch. In not too long, Zee and the kids would be at John Skye’s house. “Well,” I said, getting up, “it’s been great talking with you.”
“The pleasure has been all mine,” said his voice as I went out the door.
23
I was sitting in John Skye’s library staring at the computer screen when Zee came home with Joshua and Diana. I went out to meet them.
Zee’s nose was twitching both before and after my kiss.
“What’s cooking, chef?”
I checked the fire in the fireplace. It was burning nicely. “I’m heating kale soup,” I said. “I stopped at home and got some, along with a loaf of bread.”
“Ah. Winter security is a supply of kale soup in the freezer.”
She went off to change out of her hospital clothes while I learned that my children had had a reasonably enjoyable day at their schools, even though thoughts of the coming holidays were beginning to intrude upon scholarly activities.
“We wanted to talk about Christmas,” said Diana, “but our teacher said it wasn’t politically correct. What’s politically correct, Pa?”
When I was a kid, the phrase hadn’t existed, and as far as I was concerned it still shouldn’t.
“Politically correct words and ideas are words and ideas that nobody minds talking about,” I said. “Some people think Christmas isn’t politically correct, so the schools don’t want you to mention it even if you’re thinking about it.”
“It’s not just me, Pa. All of my friends are thinking about it. Why isn’t Christmas politically correct, any-way?”
I knelt down beside her. “Some people don’t like it because they think it’s too religious and other people don’t like it because they think it’s not religious enough and other people don’t like it for other reasons. But in our family we like it. We don’t think there are any ideas that are politically incorrect. You can talk about anything.”
“How about the F-word, Pa? Is that politically correct?”
Hoist with my own petard. “It’s just a word, Diana, but you’re too young to be using some words and that’s one of them. Later, when you’re bigger, you can use it if you want to.”
“What’s it mean, Pa?”
Ye gods. “It can mean different things. Sometimes it’s used when you’re talking about love and sometimes when you’re talking about hate. Sometimes it’s part of a joke, and sometimes it’s an insult.
It’s easy to use some words in a way you may not mean. That’s why you should wait until you’re older and know more about them before you use them.”
“And the F-word is one of them?”
“That’s right. My advice to you is not to use it for a while.”
“Okay, Pa. But can I talk about Christmas?”
“Absolutely. Maybe not at school, but everywhere else.”
“Good.” She started for the library. Joshua, who had been listening to my language lore, started after her, but stopped when I called his name. He looked at me.
“Josh, I need some help on the computer. Maybe you can show me what to do.”
“Sure, Pa.” Joshua was used to my computer ignorance, and had total confidence in his own abilities.
“I want to get information about some people. I think the information is somewhere on the Internet, but I don’t know where or how to get it.”
“I’ll show you,” said my son, and led me to the computer, which was already occupied by his sister.
She looked at us. There were two of us, and we were both bigger, but she was unintimidated. “It’s my turn to be first,” she said. “Yesterday I was second and we take turns.”
“Aw, come on,” said Joshua. “Pa has to do some work.”
Her lower lip went out.
“No,” I said. “If it’s her turn, it’s her turn. I can wait until you’re both through.”
I went out and left them with their homework, willing away my impatience. In the kitchen I made two perfect martinis and added black olives to Zee’s and green ones stuffed with jalapeño peppers to mine.
“You’re clouding,” said Zee, reappearing and accepting her drink. She sat beside me on the couch in front of the fireplace.
I showed her the list of names, most of which I’d gotten from Kate, and told her what I knew about the people, and how I wanted to know more. Then I told her about the explosion.
“Good God!” she said. “It’s a miracle Joe didn’t get killed!”
“It wasn’t a miracle; it was Joe’s good judgment. He’s been expecting something like that. In fact, if I hadn’t phoned him and drawn him away from the house, he would have caught the Bunny in the act, so you could argue that it’s my fault the Bunny is still walking around out there. That’s why I need to know more about the people on this list. They were all in black ops or Kate’s bed or both, and they’re the only people I can think of who might be tied to this trouble on the island.”
“Or might not be.”
“If it’s not one of them, fine. Whoever the guy is, he killed Arbuckle and he put a bomb in Toni’s car. That means he’s somebody Arbuckle trusted too much and that he either already knew or learned where Joe lived. Whoever he is, he’s managed to hide out and move around the island at will in spite of the cops looking for him. I want to find out if anybody on that list knows the island well enough to do that, or was friendly with Arbuckle.”
“The police and Jake Spitz and those DIA guys are following those leads,” said Zee, the voice of sanity.
“Maybe I’ll see something they miss.”
She sipped her martini, then surprised me by saying, “Tell me about Kate.”
I instantly decided not to tell her about my first meeting with Kate or about Kate’s offer to share her bed and body.
“Kate is a very beautiful woman who likes men,” I said.
“Does she like you?”
“She barely knows who I am.”
“Have you had to fend her off?”
“She’s a trained intelligence agent, so I probably couldn’t fend her off if she really wanted to jump my bones.”
“Would you try?”
“You bet.” I hooked my arm around her and pulled her close.
“You’re worried about her, though, aren’t you?”
“The Bunny tried to kill her down in Bethesda,” I said, “and she hasn’t been seen since yesterday. So, yes, I’m worried about her.”
“Did it occur to you that maybe she’s the Bunny?
That maybe she was lying about those awful needles in her apartment?”
“The idea crossed my mind, but I don’t think so. She knows how to shoot and she’s had Joe and me in the same room with her more than once. It would have been easy for her to kill us both and be back in Bethesda before anyone knew anything about it.”
She shivered. “I hope the police catch the Bunny right away, before anyone else gets hurt.”
Amen to that.
We were quiet for a while, sipping our drinks and looking into the timeless fire. Then Zee said, “You know who may be able to help you with the computer if Joshua can’t manage it by himself?”
“Who?”
“Brady Coyne.”
“Brady? I didn’t know Brady was a computer whiz.”
Brady Coyne lived in Boston and supported his fishing habit by lawyering for a wealthy clientele. We fished together when we could, and had an ongoing dispute about the relative virtues of fly casting, his game, and surf casting, mine.
“If he isn’t, I’ll bet he knows somebody who is,” said Zee. “He must work with private detectives and
they must subscribe to computer services that help them track down people. I’ve read that you can find out where people live, where they work, who they married, how many kids they have, and stuff like social security numbers and even bank accounts. I think it’s scary, but I’ll bet you that Brady knows somebody who can do that.”
I gave her a kiss. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“Go stir your soup. I’ll nip into the library and see how the kids are doing with their homework. After supper, we can attack your list.”
So we did that. First Joshua gave the list a good shot. He got onto the Net and said, “Since you’re looking for stuff about people, let’s try typing ‘people search.’”
He typed and clicked and up came a seemingly endless list of sites claiming to offer information about almost anybody. I patted Josh on the shoulder. Such a brilliant lad. Why hadn’t I thought of doing that?
“Excellent,” I said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Samuel Arbuckle.”
The site immediately wanted to know more about Sam: where he lived, his phone number, and especially his social security number.
“Try Alexandria as an address,” I said.
He tried and there was Sam!
“Great. What can they tell us about him?”
What the site wanted before they told me more was money.
Hmmmmm. “Try another site,” I said.
Joshua did that, and we found Sam again, but again the site would only give up more information if I subscribed to its service.
I tried to calculate how much it would cost me to investigate all of the people on my list. Quite a lot. If the police would just let me in on what they could find out, I could save a bundle. But they wouldn’t. There ain’t no justice.
We tried three other sites with similar results. We’d been at it for an hour without any luck. Time for Plan B.
I thanked Joshua for his help and agreed with him that if I’d let him stay up and keep trying he might be able to find a site that would tell me everything I wanted to know for free. But I didn’t want him staying up late on a school night, so I sent my disappointed boy to bed.
“Time to give Brady a call,” I said to Zee.
Vineyard Prey Page 14
