A Shoot on Martha's Vineyard

by Philip R. Craig

  “You’re stretching things,” said the chief. “Even if you’re right, you’ll never be able to prove any of this.”

  “I don’t want to prove any of it,” I said. “I’m just telling you why I think Connie killed Ingalls and Moonbeam.”

  “I think I’m getting the picture,” said the chief, “but you go on and spell it out.”

  “I’ll make it short. Ingalls had been coming to the Vineyard for several years, but two or three years back he stopped going to Playa de Plata and built a house right here on the island, just beyond Moonbeam and Connie’s place. He hired Connie to clean the house a couple of times a week and he hired Moonbeam to take care of the grounds. That’s okay, because they can use money, but about that time, Moonbeam all of a sudden has that new pickup of his and Connie has that Subaru sedan of hers. He’s never had that kind of money in his life. Where did the cars come from?

  “He got them from Ingalls, and he got them for selling his boy Jason to him. Moonbeam and the boy would go up to Ingalls’s place to work the grounds, but Moonbeam was the only one who stayed outside the house. Jason would go inside with Ingalls.

  “They say that Moonbeam’s ancestors all married their cousins or even closer kin, so incest wasn’t anything new to him. And they say he got Connie from a whorehouse down in Kentucky, so he was used to dealing in human flesh. And even if that’s all nothing but gossip, it’s a sure thing that Moonbeam would sell anything for the right money.” “Even his own kid?”

  “Yeah. Connie’s gotten restraining orders on him in the past to keep him from abusing his kids, so it wasn’t too big a jump for him to sell Jason to Ingalls. Of course, he wouldn’t dare tell Connie about the deal, because she’d have killed him.”

  “Which is exactly what you think she did.”

  “Yeah. Now, Connie isn’t the highest form of human life I’ve ever met, but she’s got fire in her, and I think that when she found out about Moonbeam’s deal with Ingalls, she went up to Ingalls’s house and got that pistol of his and killed them both. She knew Ingalls was going out to the beach that morning, and she followed him out there and shot him. I figure she didn’t care if she got caught or not, but she almost lucked out and got away without anybody seeing her there.

  “I don’t know if she shot Moonbeam first or second, but when she was done with her killing, she wiped the gun clean and put it back. Maybe nobody would ever have tied it to the killing if Beth Harper hadn’t tried to shoot me with it.”

  The chief nodded. “And then she let it out that Moon-beam had gone missing again just like he’s done in the past, and all of us believed her, especially after they found Moonbeam’s pickup up there in Vineyard Haven where she parked it. And she iced the cake by asking us to put out a missing persons on him.”

  “But she knows where Moonbeam is, and I think I know, too.”

  The chief nodded again. “Up alongside that sewer line Connie filled over with the backhoe. Come on. I have to talk to some people and get some warrants. I hope you’re wrong about this, J.W.”

  I hoped so, too, but I didn’t think I was.

  — 33 —

  The children had been taken inside the house by a rep from the DYS, but Connie, hard-faced, arms crossed, stood among the reporters and law enforcement people who watched as I slowly uncovered the sewer line with Moon-beam’s old backhoe. I didn’t have to dig up the whole line, because the dirt that Connie had recently added still looked new, and if Moonbeam was there, he’d be under that part. I worked slowly because I didn’t know how far down he’d be, and we finally found him just before noon.

  Guys with shovels did the last of the digging, and the photographers recorded everything. The DA, who not long before had been hinting that I was a prime suspect, and then that Moonbeam might be, now made a statement to the reporters about the tragic nature of the case, about solid police work, and about the perseverance of his office that had led to this latest grim discovery.

  A reporter stuck a mike in front of Connie’s face as Olive Otero cuffed her and took her to the state cruiser. Connie had nothing to say.

  The reporter pointed the mike at me. “Any statement you’d like to make, Mr. Jackson? There’d been a lot of heat on you for the last few weeks. How do you feel now?”

  The question irked me. Why do reporters always ask survivors how they feel? “In the course of justice, none of us should see salvation,” I said. “We do pray for mercy.”

  “Mercy? Justice? Do you think justice is being done, finally?”

  “Ask me after the trial, if they have a trial,” I said, climbing into the Land Cruiser. “Meanwhile, you can quote me as saying I think the police have done a hell of a job.” I drove away.

  At home, Zee and Joshua were eager to hear what happened. I told them. »

  “You look wiped out,” said Zee. “Here, hold your kid, and I’ll bring out some lunch.”

  We sat in the yard under one of our big table umbrellas and had sandwiches and beer. I began to feel better.

  “What do you think will happen to Connie?” asked Zee.

  “I don’t know. I think she’ll go to trial, but you never know how a trial will turn out. The kids are the real problem. The Department of Youth Services will take them, but I trust the DYS here in Massachusetts about as far as I can throw Boston City Hall.”

  “I’ll tell you something,” said Zee. “I don’t think she should have killed those men, but in a way I don’t really blame her, either. Imagine how she must have felt when she found out what they were doing to her children!” She looked at me with fierce eyes. “If anybody ever tried to hurt Joshua, I might shoot somebody, myself!”

  Powerful words from peace-loving nurse Zee. I decided to change to a cooler subject.

  “What’s next in your movie career?”

  But she had already started thinking about something else, and a little smile was playing on her lips.

  “What?”

  “I said what’s next in your movie career?”

  “Oh. What’s next is the modern barroom scene where the modern hero catches another glimpse of the modern girl he saw on the street and has another flashback to the pirate girl. They’re going to shoot it down in the Navigator Room tomorrow.”

  “Is this the scene where you get to say your line?”

  “No. That’ll be in the old-time pirate bar scene that they’ll shoot in the studio. I’ll have to go out to the Coast to do that, and to shoot the old-time pirate street scene that the hero flashes on after he sees the girl in the street scene we shot yesterday. You’re sure you don’t mind if I go out there one more time?”

  Her voice was right there at the table, but her mind was somewhere else.

  “I don’t mind,” I said. “What are you thinking about?”

  She gave me a sphinxish smile. “I was thinking about your boss, Kate Ballinger, and about my wooer, Kevin Turner.”

  “Is Kevin really your wooer?”

  “He’s trying to be, although I don’t think he wants to make an honest woman out of me. He is hard to discourage.”

  I noticed that my right hand had become a fist, and made it back into a hand. “I’ll discourage him, if you want me to.”

  “Never mind discouraging Kevin. I can handle Kevin. How about Kate? Are you having any luck discouraging her?”

  “You’re a woman. You know how hard it is to resist me. Don’t be so hard on poor Kate. She probably can’t help herself.”

  “Actually, you’re getting easier to resist every minute.”

  “You’re not,” I said, leering. “I don’t blame Kevin Turner for lusting after your bod. Of course, being the manly guy I am, I may have to challenge him to a duel for doing it.”

  “You can be manly in some other way,” said Zee. “I think a friendly but telling gesture might be better. Didn’t Kate say she might want to learn how to shoot? I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to invite her down to the Rod and Gun Club tomorrow after work. Manny is going to be giving me a l
esson then, and maybe he’ll give her one, too. I’ll invite Kevin to come, too, and we can all be friends together.”

  Joshua was so taken by this idea that he transmitted his lunch into his diaper. Or maybe he was just agreeing that Kevin Turner was a shit.

  It was going to take all the next morning to shoot the barroom scene, and since Kate had to be there and there wasn’t any place for Joshua and me to watch what was going on, he and I went fishing instead after I dropped Kate off. In a week or so the Bass and Bluefish Derby was going to start, so it was an excellent time for a little surf casting and scouting action.

  “Remember, you’re still working for me,” said Kate, adjusting the collar of my polo shirt with the logo of Cassiopeia Films on the pocket. “I’ll need you at noon.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said, looking over her head and seeing Zee watching us from across the room. Zee waved her fingers at me, and gave me a big fake smile.

  Joshua and I drove first to Wasque, where Joshua watched me and some other guys catch nothing, then cruised up East Beach, stopping at the Yellow Shovel and at all the little points between there and the new Dyke Bridge, where pilgrims still came to have their pictures taken and real fanatics still brought empty vials and bottles to fill with water from beneath the structure where, decades ago, the nation’s most famous automobile accident had taken place.

  We caught nothing, and all the time I was brooding about Connie Berube. She was a killer, but I couldn’t forget what Zee had said about shooting anyone who molested a child of hers. When I looked deep inside myself, I couldn’t really find much disagreement with that sentiment. But I was the one who had nailed Connie, so now what? I thought about that as I fished.

  We took the inside road up to Cape Pogue Pond and tried at the mouth of the Narrows, then farther along at the Cedars, then off Quahog Point. Nothing. Across the pond, over on North Neck, the giant new house looked bigger than usual, for some reason. Chappy was getting more crowded all the time.

  Joshua thought it would be better if I took him for a walk instead of trying to catch fish that obviously weren’t interested in my lure, so I put my rod on the roof rack and carried him along the beach, where we looked at rocks and shells and watched the gulls working the shallows. Later, as I was strapping him back in his car seat, a truck came by and stopped. Zack Delwood got out. I finished with Josh and shut the door.

  Zack looked up and down the beach. No one was in sight. “Got your pistols with you this time, tough guy?” He came toward me.

  “Not this time,” I said.

  “I hear they got Moonbeam’s old woman for killing that fucking Ingalls. Now I’m going to get you for trying to stick me with the rap.”

  “I never tried to finger you,” I said.

  “You’re a liar. You and the chief are thick as thieves. The two of you would have hung it on me if you could.”

  He was about my size and age and could do some real damage if I let him. I faded back, fell down, and got up again as he closed in on me. I swung a clumsy-looking left and as he tipped his head to let it go by, I came around with a right and threw a handful of sand into his wild, angry eyes.

  He bellowed and dug at his eyes, and as he did I stepped to the side, pivoted, and drove a foot into his knee. Injuries to knees, one of God’s worst designs, end a large percentage of professional athletic careers. Zack screamed and fell, grabbing at his leg.

  Blind and crippled, he was a pitiful sight. He gasped and groaned.

  “I think it’s a dislocated kneecap,” I said. I got a hold of his injured leg. “This is going to hurt.” Zack cried out as I straightened the leg and popped the kneecap back into place, then sighed and panted as the pain lessened.

  I got water from the pond and helped him rinse out his eyes.

  “I didn’t finger you for the Ingalls killing,” I said. “Do you understand me?”

  He nodded. I walked over to his truck. Automatic transmission. Good; he could drive with one good leg. I went back to him. By then he had recovered until he was about half of what he had been before he had started the fight. “I’ve decided to raise some money for Connie Berube’s defense fund,” I said. “I need help. I think you should be a volunteer. You collect from your friends, if you have any, and I’ll collect from mine. Maybe we can do her some good. What do you say?”

  “Help me up.”

  I did, and we hobbled to his truck. “You could have killed me,” he said. “There’s been enough killing.”

  “I got kids,” he said. “I don’t blame Connie Berube for what she did.”

  We got him into the truck. “See your doctor about that knee,” I said.

  “You didn’t fight fair,” said Zack.

  “There’s no such thing as a fair fight,” I said. “Somebody’s always got the edge.”

  He thought that over, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s right. Okay, I’ll help with the money. I’ll be in touch.” He drove back toward the Dyke Bridge.

  I still had some fishing time left, so I wasted some of it at Bernie’s Point, then drove on to the Jetties, where there were already some people fishing for bonito and Spanish mackerel. There, after failing to catch anything on my favorite Roberts Ranger, I replaced the Ranger with a two-and-a-half-ounce Hopkins and, somewhat to my surprise, nailed a four-pound blue at the very end of my cast. Everybody else immediately abandoned the bonito and Spanish mackerel, grabbed their big rods, put metal on their leaders, and tried for blues.

  “Imitation is the tribute mediocrity pays to genius,” I said to Walter and Iowa, who were casting beside me.

  “If bullshit was money, you’d be the richest guy on Martha’s Vineyard,” said Walter.

  There was a little school of blues way out there, and we got a few of them before they moved off.

  “Not bad,” said Iowa, tossing a fish into his box. He looked at Joshua. “Why didn’t you bring your mom out here instead of this guy? It would be good for her to hang around some real men for a change.”

  Joshua gave him his best toothless smile.

  “When are you going to get this kid a rod?” asked Walter. “It’s time he learned how to cast.”

  “I thought you were going to custom-make one for him,” I said. “For free, of course.”

  “What a cheap bastard you are. Say, how’s Zee doing in the movie biz? She having fun?”

  “I think she is,” I said. “I know that she’s inviting Kevin Turner and Kate Ballinger to come down to the Rod and Gun Club and watch Manny Fonseca give her her shooting lesson later this afternoon.”

  “That’s great. They must all be getting along pretty good, then. Hey, that’s really something about Connie Berube, isn’t it? Who’d have thought it?”

  Who, indeed? I told them about the defense fund for Connie and got some money from most of the guys there. I asked them to spread the word, and they said they would.

  I looked at my watch. I had just enough time to get my fish into the freezer before I had to pick up Kate Ballinger. “See you later,” I said. I loaded Joshua and our gear into the truck and headed for home.

  Back at the Navigator Room, now open for business once again, I handed Joshua to his mother.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Five takes,” said Zee. “I thought it was right the first time, but what do I know?” She put her finger under Joshua’s chin. “You catch any fish, cute stuff?”

  “Cute stuff and I got three fish,” I said, and told her where and how. Then, without mentioning my encounter with Zack, I told her about the defense fund.

  “Good,” said Zee. “But next time, you can be in the movie and Josh and I will go fishing. Oh, hi, Kate.” “Hi,” said Kate, coming up to us.

  “Well, I’ll be running along,” said Zee. “See you later, Kate. Five o’clock at the shooting range?” She kissed me and walked away. I watched her. Dynamite bod. Madonna and bambino; Caravaggio would have loved to pose her.

  “Come on, Jeff,” said Kate, “you’re supposed to be payi
ng attention to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I looked down at her. “Where shall I drive you?”

  “To distraction,” she said, with some snip in her voice.

  But instead she took me to lunch at a new place where I had never been before. The food wasn’t bad at all, and they had beer.

  “This is the fashionable place to eat, I’m told,” said Kate as she nibbled on her salad.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t you come here?”

  “This is an historic first.”

  “Well, do you like it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “We could come back in the evening, after we leave the shooting range.”

  “You and Kevin and Zee and Joshua and me?”

  “I was thinking of just you and me.” She touched my hand with her cool fingers. It felt good.

  “Where would you like to have me drive you?”

  “How about to my place?”

  I understood why Odysseus had himself tied to the mast. “I go with the Explorer,” I said. “If we can get the car into your bedroom, it’s a deal.” My voice sounded thin.

  Fortunately, she laughed. “You are the most frustrating man! What should I see that I haven’t seen?” There was a pause, and her laughter became a crooked smile. “Besides your body, that is.”

  I took her on two walks. First through the Menemsha Hills down to the beach near the old brick factory, and then along Fulling Mill Brook, between Middle Road and South Road.

  It was half past four when we got back to the Explorer, and Kate was tired but exhilarated.

  “Beautiful! I never would have known those places were there if it wasn’t for you!”

  “Local knowledge. That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.”

  “I knew there must be some reason.” She looked at her watch. “What kind of clothes do I need to take a pistol-shooting lesson?”