Death on a Vineyard Beach

by Philip R. Craig

“Not quite,” said Zee. “It’s only incorrect for men to talk about manly things when their women want them to talk about something interesting instead. The woman-to-woman part is entirely okay, if that’s what the women want to do. If they don’t want to do that, they don’t have to.”

  Begay looked at me. “With this wife, I think you’re going to have your hands full, buddy.”

  I leered at Zee. “I certainly hope so.”

  “One other thing you might want to know,” said Begay. “Linda found out about Wally Madison and his pal trying to work you over. I hear she tracked them down and gave them such hell that they both went to the mainland just to get away from her.” He laughed.

  In Friday’s Gazette we found our names in the weekly summary of the derby results, and read that Luciano Marcus, of Gay Head and New York, had died in Boston. I thought of stupid, amoral Vinnie. If he hadn’t gotten greedy and had just waited a few weeks, he’d have had his inheritance and been alive to spend it. Life is quirky some times.

  Then, for some reason, I thought of Aristotle Socarides, the PI over on the cape who never answered his phone. Did Aristotle read the Gazette? Did he know his onetime boss was dead? A lot of lives had been changed because of silly, venal Vinnie Cecilio: Roger the Dodger and Benny White and Vinnie himself had been touched hardest, but Zee and I had been affected, too, as Jason Thornberry had been, and the Marcus family, and Gordon R. Sullivan, and the Edgartown cops, particularly the chief, and the Dings, and the Vanderbecks, and God only knew who else. The tree of evil throws a long shadow.

  December. The wind was cold, Main Street in Edgartown was decorated with Christmas lights, and Zee and I, bundled in our down coats, were window-shopping along the almost empty street, when the chief pulled over beside us, stopped the cruiser, and rolled down his window.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  “And to you.”

  “Are you two trying for the red nose championship of the island? All of the sensible people are inside by their fires.”

  “We’re fearless in the face of howling winds and driving snow,” I said.

  The chief shook his head, and put an envelope into Zee’s hand. “Here,” he said. “A Christmas present.” He rolled up his window, and drove on.

  Zee opened the envelope. It was her license to carry.

  “Oh, good,” she said. “And Manny will be very happy, because now I can’t be arrested for carrying weapons. Did I tell you that he wants me to go with him to some competitions?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he does.”

  “When you win the gold medal, you’ll be able to protect me better than ever from scary things. Not that I’m ever scared, of course. I’m as brave as a barrel full of bears.”

  “Me, too,” said Zee. “I chase lions down the stairs.”

  “I’m like a tiger in a rage.”

  “I’m even braver than that.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Anything. A million dollars.”

  “You don’t have a million dollars.”

  “I don’t need it. I’m going to win.”

  “No, you’re not. What else do you want to bet?”

  Zee thought about that. “We can’t bet money, because it wouldn’t mean anything since all our money goes into the same account.”

  “How about the grab of your choice? The winner gets to grab the loser wherever he or she chooses. How about that?”

  “You’re on!”

  “All right. You win, I lose. I admit defeat. I was lying about being brave. You’re the bravest. Grab away.”

  Zee looked up and down the street. “Right here?”

  “Hey, you’re the winner.”

  “I’m not sure this is fair. You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes…”

  “I’ll wait till we get home and I take some of them off,” I said. “And I guess I should warn you that I might grab back.”

  “I think I’ve window-shopped enough for today,” said Zee, flexing her hands.

  We headed for the Land Cruiser.

  Early in January, Toni and Joe Begay arrived for supper. I was serving chowder, which I figured was just right for a cold winter’s night.

  While the women talked in the living room over mugs of mulled cider, Joe came into the kitchen, carrying a mug of his own.

  “You know all that business about trading some Wampanoag land up on the Lobsterville side of Marcus’s place for a cranberry bog and another little hunk of land Marcus owned down on the Squibnocket side?”

  “Yeah. Luciano wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Well, it seems that Angela Marcus, who’s gotten to be good friends with Bill, and maybe more, some say, what with Linda turning him down and all, has decided that she’ll make the trade after all.”

  I looked at Joe, and raised a brow. “No kidding. Well, that ought to make Linda Vanderbeck happy. Does this mean that someday you might not only have a shaman for a brother-in-law, but a mafioso widow for a sister-in-law?”

  “These are exciting times,” said Begay. “Anything is possible.” He sipped his cider.

  We could hear the women’s voices in the living room. Suddenly Begay put up a hand.

  “I do believe I just heard some mention of babies,” he said. “Do you think we should go in and get involved in the conversation?”

  My heart made a little jump. “I think we should,” I said.

  I took a quick taste of the chowder. Delish! Then Joe and I walked into the living room.