A Vineyard Killing

by Philip R. Craig

  “You’re sure he hit the wrong guy?”

  “I’m not sure of anything, but most people would guess that Donald Fox was the target. A lot of people hate his guts. But maybe Paul Fox has been sleeping with somebody’s wife when he was off duty.”

  Agganis grunted. “You sure the guy used a pistol?”

  I shrugged. “It didn’t sound like a rifle, and the slugs I saw looked to be about nine millimeter or so.”

  “The lab will check that out. So the shooter is mad enough to take a crack at Donald Fox with a pistol, but not so mad that he’ll walk right up to him to do it, right?”

  “Maybe. Not so mad he wants to get caught, I guess. How do you figure he knew where Fox would be?”

  Agganis rubbed his big jaw. “Could be he followed Fox, saw him go into the E and E, and waited for him to come out.”

  “Could be, I guess. If so, he knows enough about the area to have an escape route.”

  “Yeah. Local boy or girl with a grudge and a gun?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “Shooter popped Paul, not Donald. Pretty bad shooting.”

  “Maybe he just wanted to kill a Fox. Any Fox.”

  “You mean like those people who gallop across the countryside in England yelling, ‘Yoiks’? Could be, I guess, but you figure it out. You’re the cop, not me. I gave all that up a long time ago.”

  “Look who’s coming.”

  I turned and saw Donald Fox and the man with the cane walking toward us.

  “I’m Donald Fox.” Fox put out his hand.

  I took it. “J. W. Jackson.” We had a little squeezing match and called it a draw.

  “Damned gutsy of you to come out to give Paul a hand. I appreciate it.”

  “The gunner was gone, and your brother probably got away with no more than bruises or maybe broken ribs.”

  “I never dreamed anybody would take a shot at me. Thank God Paul was wearing that vest. He’s been after me to wear one, but up to now I thought it was nonsense.”

  “The car wasn’t nonsense,” said the man with the cane. “You have to be careful.”

  Fox put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You saved my life, Brad. I’ve not forgotten it and I won’t. Gentlemen, this is Brad Hillborough, my colleague. Two years ago a woman tried to run me down with her car. Brad shoved me out of harm’s way and took the hit himself. They don’t come better than Brad.”

  Hillborough reddened slightly and shook hands. “I don’t like this shooting,” he said. “I can’t save Donald from a bullet.”

  Fox turned to Agganis. “My brother is lucky to be alive. I want you to get the person who did this.”

  His last statement was voiced like an order, but Agganis didn’t take orders from civilians, even a multimillionaire civilian with a reputation for tough business practices and for stepping on people who stood up to him.

  “We plan to do that,” said Dom without expression.

  “Put every man you can spare on the job. I want that person caught!”

  Agganis nodded and turned back to me. “What about John Reilley? You say he left the deli just before Mr. Fox’s party went out. Did you see which way he went?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him.” He turned to Fox.

  “You ever do any business on the island with a man named John Reilley?”

  “Reilley? I wouldn’t know. I have several agents working for me here and I don’t know the names of all the people they’ve contacted. I’ll check and get back to you.” Fox looked at me. “Was Reilley the old man who was at the counter when we came in?”

  “That was him.”

  “If he wasn’t the gunman himself, maybe he saw someone.” He put his hard eyes on Agganis. “Make sure you talk with Reilley.”

  Agganis never changed expression. “He’s on my list. And speaking of lists, Mr. Fox, I’d like a list from you of all of the landowners your agents have contacted since they’ve been on the island. It’s possible that one of them may know something useful.”

  “I’ll talk with my people and give you whatever information seems relevant. I dislike making my business dealings public.”

  Agganis met Fox’s flat stare with one of his own. “The more I know, the faster I can work. How many people knew you were going to be here for lunch? Who decided where you’d eat?”

  Brad Hillborough frowned. “It was my idea. The food is good. The service is fast.”

  “Who else knew?”

  Fox and Hillborough exchanged looks and shrugs.

  “We’ll try to find out and we’ll let you know,” said Fox. He turned back to me. “You risked your life for my brother. I thank you again for that.”

  “There was little risk.”

  “I’m going to the hospital now to check on his condition. You’ll hear from me later.” We shook hands once more, again running a quick strength test, then he turned and walked away.

  “Lucky you,” said Agganis. “You’re going to hear from him again.”

  “And lucky you,” I said. “You have someone to tell you how to do your job.”

  “It’s hard for me to warm to Mr. Fox.”

  “They don’t call him the Savannah Swordsman for nothing. He was an Olympic champion and he’s still a slasher and a gasher.”

  “I’d better go to work,” said Dom, and walked away. I went to join Zee, John, and Mattie in the deli.

  “Here,” said Zee, handing me my handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but I meant it.”

  I pulled her against my chest. “I know. I’m sorry I worried you.”

  Her hair was sweet beneath my lips. “Let’s go home and start a fire,” I said. “It’s chilly out. You guys, too. I’ll mix us up some hot toddies and we can look at the whitecaps in the sound while we’re warm and snug inside.”

  “An excellent idea,” said John.

  March is Zee’s least favorite month, because it holds the promise of spring but rarely delivers. The worst of winter is past but the sea and its winds are still bone chilling, and the trees are still bare ruin’d choirs. You can walk the beaches, but you usually have to wear your woolies and down jacket when you do, and there are no bluefish or keeper bass to be caught. Zee was tired of being cold, and ready for warm weather that wouldn’t quite come.

  So sitting with friends before a warm fire was the proper thing for us to be doing that early afternoon, as we sipped toddies and digested our noon meal. We speculated about which of Fox’s many enemies had shot his brother by mistake, if indeed it had been a mistake, and whether the assassination attempt would have any effect on Fox’s island activities.

  “The problem,” said John, giving his drink an appreciative sip, “is the same one we’d have if some professor got killed in the faculty office building: too many suspects.”

  “Well, nobody’s gotten killed yet,” said Mattie.

  “And let’s hope nobody will be.”

  “Some people deserve to be killed, dear,” said John mildly. “Everybody knows that. The only argument is about who it should be. A lot of people would say that Mr. Donald Fox is a worthy candidate.”

  “At least one person apparently agrees with you,” replied Mattie with a sigh.

  The phone rang and Zee answered it. After a moment she said, “He’s right here. Hold on.” She gestured at me. “It’s for you. It’s Donald Fox.”

  3

  I put the phone to my ear. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fox?”

  “You can come up to the hospital so my brother can thank you in person.”

  “No need. I didn’t do anything special.”

  “You took a big chance. He owes you for that, just as I do. We’d appreciate it if you’d come. Just for a few minutes.”

  I didn’t want to go. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes, but it’ll just be a quick visit.”

  “They’re keeping him overnight as a precaution, but he’ll be fine.
We look forward to seeing you.”

  He rang off before I had a chance to say another word.

  I looked at my buzzing phone and hung it up.

  “Well?” said Zee.

  “His brother wants to thank me in person,” I said. “I couldn’t figure out how to keep him from doing it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Maybe Fox will reward you with a large check,” said John.

  “Or with one of the properties he steals from someone whose ancestors never triple-checked their land title,” said Zee.

  “Or both,” I said. “Anyway, this won’t take long.”

  “Just don’t take the rum with you,” said John.

  I got into my winter coat and my Chinese rabbit-skin hat, climbed into my rusty old Land Cruiser, and drove to Oak Bluffs.

  The Martha’s Vineyard hospital constantly runs in red ink but somehow manages to stay open. Zee, who works there as an ER nurse, has seen about everything a nurse can see, from skinned knees to ODs to bullet wounds. Moped and bicycle accidents are especially popular catastrophes during the summer, but the other ER business occurs year-round. Paul Fox was one such piece of work.

  I was directed to his room and found him in bed, with big brother Donald and Brad Hillborough standing alongside. Donald and I tested handshakes for the third time and once again called it a draw. I wondered if he used that powerful grip to establish dominance over whomever he met.

  Brad Hillborough also shook hands. “Nice to see you again,” he said. He showed his teeth in what I presumed was his version of a smile. He had keen blue eyes under slick black hair. He limped back a few steps, using his cane. Aside from his bad leg he had the look of an athlete, and I thought he had probably once been a graceful man.

  I looked at Paul Fox. He seemed much younger than I’d taken him to be when I’d seen him earlier. He was pale and I thought he was still in shock or pain or under the influence of some medication. Or all three.

  “I’m told you’re going to be fine,” I said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  His smile was real. “Me, too. I’m glad they invented Kevlar. I want to thank you for helping me. You couldn’t have known that the guy would be gone. You took a big chance. I’d like to pay you back somehow.”

  I shook my head. “I figured he’d have shot some more if he was still there. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. You’re in a dangerous line of work.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I never had this happen to me before, though.”

  “Getting shot once is enough for a lifetime.”

  “You can say that again!” He laughed then grimaced as his bruised ribs protested.

  “I hear that it’s happened to you more than once, Mr. Jackson,” said Donald Fox. I looked at him. “Everything is written down somewhere, if you know where to look,” he explained. “I pay a lot of people to know where to seek information. They tell me that you were wounded in Vietnam, shot in Boston when you were on the police force there, then shot again several years ago by a young man here on the island.”

  It hadn’t taken him long to dig up that dirt. If he knew that much, he probably also knew I now had no steady job but brought in money by fishing, care-taking houses, and doing a bit of this and that.

  “I’ve gotten out of the target business,” I said.

  “Now I live a quiet life.”

  “You can do me one more favor,” said Paul Fox. “Persuade Don here to wear some Kevlar. Next time, the bullets might hit the man they were meant for.” He put out a hand to his brother. “You know I’m talking sense, Don.”

  “I’m sending Paul back to company headquarters in Savannah,” said Donald Fox. “I’d have done it before if I thought anyone would actually shoot at me. Most people are cowards, as you know. They rant and rave but they’re all talk. Some of them push and shove or perhaps even swing a fist, and I don’t need Paul to handle people like that. He’s my only brother and I don’t want him shot.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Paul. “We’ve never talked about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s decided. When you get out of that bed you’re going back to Savannah. You can work in the office there.” Donald Fox turned from his brother to me. “Paul may be right about me needing some protection. I’m thinking of hiring a bodyguard. I’ve checked you out and you seem like the man for the job. The pay is excellent.” He mentioned a figure that was excellent indeed.

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “I want someone who knows the people on this island, someone who knows the crackpots. You were a policeman. You know the kind of people I mean, and you can handle a gun.”

  “I don’t take money to shoot people.”

  “You killed that thief in Boston who shot you.”

  “I left the Boston PD and came down here to get away from all that.”

  “I owe you a debt. I’d like to pay it. It’s a short-term job, if that makes any difference to you. I’m not asking you to go with me when I leave this island.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  He studied me. “Why not? The money’s good. Better than you can make fishing and taking care of other people’s houses.”

  So he knew about that, too. I said, “I won’t work for you because I don’t like your business.”

  He smiled coldly. “It’s all legal.”

  “No big corporation’s activities are all legal. The bigger it is, the more lawyers it needs. You have a lot of lawyers.”

  His face hardened. “I see that we can do no work together.”

  “If you want to reward me for doing nothing, you can go away and leave the Vineyard alone.”

  “I think I’ll not do that. This is Treasure Island. In a few years the land I’m buying now will be worth ten times as much. I can afford to hold it until someone meets my price.”

  “All right, if you won’t leave the island, you can call your dogs off Dodie Donawa. She’s old and her house is all she has.”

  “I see that you’re a sentimentalist. I don’t know this Dodie Donawa, but if her title is not valid, it’s no fault of mine.”

  “One of your people, a guy named Albert Kirkland, also came to see me. They’re after my place, too.”

  “It’s only business, Jackson. Nothing personal.”

  “It’s bad business, and some of those crackpots you mentioned may think it’s very personal.”

  “We’ll see how tough they are in court. Or if they prefer an old-fashioned way of dealing with me, they can challenge me to a duel. Duels are quite illegal, of course, but arrangements could be made. I’ll have choice of weapons, naturally, and the choice will be sabers.”

  He stepped back and assumed an on-guard position with an imaginary blade in his hand. Then, quick as a striking snake, the hand snapped forward toward my face and returned to the guard position. “Head cut,” he said. “Touché. The conflict is resolved and honor is satisfied.”

  I had jerked away as the hand had come toward me, but I would have been far too slow if it had contained a weapon. I was both impressed and angry.

  “There aren’t many swords on Martha’s Vineyard,” I said, “but there are a lot of shotguns and some deer rifles. I think that the local duelists would use those weapons and that the encounter probably wouldn’t take place at dawn beneath some giant elm.” I glanced at his brother. “Paul, here, is lucky that whoever took that potshot wasn’t a hunter. So are you.”

  “The would-be assassin was a coward,” said Fox.

  “I have no fear of cowards.”

  “Cowards have killed many a man.”

  He looked at me with contempt. “You killed a woman. What does that make you?”

  A thief I’d shot in Boston had indeed been a woman. I hadn’t known that before she’d shot me and I’d shot back, but it would have made no difference if I had, since when people shoot at you their gender becomes irrelevant.

  “It made me a fisherman instead of a cop,” I said, “but it didn’t make me into someone like you.”


  His eyes blazed but I turned away from them and looked down at his brother. “Go back to Savannah and get into some other line of work,” I said. Then I nodded to Brad Hillborough and walked out of the room.

  I drove home feeling a slight tremble in my hands as they held the steering wheel. By the time I got to the house the trembling had stopped.

  Inside, the living room was bright and cozy in the dancing light of the fire, and Zee, Mattie, and John were relaxed and in good humor. Life as it should be rather than as it often is.

  “You weren’t gone long,” said Zee. “What happened?”

  “I was offered a job.”

  She frowned. “What kind of job?”

  “The high-paying kind. I declined with thanks.”

  “Stop making a long story short and tell us everything,” said John. “Sit down and I’ll pour you a toddy. We’ve gotten ahead of you.”

  I sat in Archie Bunker’s chair, accepted the drink, and related what had happened.

  “You were right about it being a high-paying job,” said Mattie, giving a whistle. “I didn’t know bodyguards got such good salaries.”

  “I think Fox was trying to kill two birds with one stone: he needed a bodyguard and he wanted to do me a return favor for helping his brother. He’s also the kind of guy who likes to be known as rich enough to overpay.”

  Mattie turned to her husband. “Say, maybe I should volunteer for the job. We can use money like that!”

  “You’ve already got a job guarding my body, dear.”

  “But the salary is awful!”

  “I’ll double it tonight.”

  She fluttered her lashes. “It’s a deal.”

  Zee looked at me. “Maybe I’ll ask for a raise tonight.”

  “A pun, a pun! My purse, such as it is, will be open.”

  The next morning, Zee and I were having a last cup of coffee as we watched the cats, Oliver Underfoot and Velcro, have a pretend fight on the floor. It was apparently Velcro’s turn to win because Oliver Underfoot suddenly scrambled to his paws and raced away into the living room. Velcro was deciding whether to chase him when the phone rang. It was Manny Fonseca, the island’s most vehement gun fanatic and Zee’s pistol-shooting instructor.