“Ma.”
“What, Diana?”
“Pa says it’s fine with him.”
“That means it’s fine with both of us.”
“Oh, good!” Diana and Joshua exchanged satisfied glances.
“But now we have to find out if it’s fine with Janie and her mother,” said Zee. “They may have other plans.”
“Can I telephone her and find out?” asked Joshua, pushing away his empty cereal bowl.
“Yes. Talk with her mother, too, and tell her that your father and I will be glad to have Janie come over for the day.”
I finished my coffee as he climbed off his chair. “And tell Mrs. Price that I’m on my way over there right now. If Janie gets permission to come here, I’ll bring her back with me.”
“Your day is starting early,” said Zee, flicking her eyes at the wall clock.
“Man works from dawn to setting sun.” I carried my breakfast dishes to the sink, kissed Zee, and pointed a forefinger at Brady. “Try to stay out of trouble,” I said.
He placed a hand upon his chest. “Who? Me? Get in trouble? Unimaginable. I’m a lawyer. Lawyers are the epitome of morality.” He gave Zee a lascivious look and put a long arm around her shoulders. “Well, I can’t see any reason for you to delay your departure, J.W. And don’t rush home.”
I got into the Explorer and drove to the Skyes’ farm. It was going to be a warm day. The pale dome of the August sky was without a cloud and the morning sun was already hot. No one seemed to be following me.
Janie met me at the door. “Mom says I can go!”
“Good. Take your bathing suit and don’t forget your sunscreen. You still look pretty pink to me.”
She led me into the house and left me at the breakfast table with the elder Skyes and her mother, while she headed for her room to collect her gear.
“You’re sure this isn’t an imposition?” asked golden-haired Evangeline, and I thought again that she was one of those women who, like Zee, Ayesha, and Helen, would be beautiful all of her life.
“It’s my kids’ idea, so they should be fine together,” I said, “and looking after one more won’t bother Zee a bit.”
“Well,” she said, “it’s very convenient for me today because I want to pick up some things at the house, then track down Flurge and some other people and arrange a rehearsal time. If we’re going to have half the world watching us on Saturday night, we’d better have some idea about what we’re doing.”
“Your limo awaits, madam.”
The three of us drove to chez Jackson, where the children melded and disappeared around the corner of the house toward the big beech tree.
“You’re sure we’re not exploiting you?” asked Evangeline.
“I’m sure,” said Zee. “I figure they’ll wear themselves out by noon, and then we’ll head to East Beach for lunch. If you two are free before midafternoon, come and join us. I’ll make sure Janie doesn’t overdo it in the sun.”
I put my arms around Zee and gave her a kiss and then whispered in her ear, “I don’t think you’ll need them but keep your cell phone and your pistol handy.”
She leaned back and frowned thoughtfully up at me. “I love you, too, Jefferson. Have a careful day.”
“I will.”
Evangeline, in her dark wig and glasses, thanked Zee again and we drove away.
No car began tailing us when we came out onto the highway. No helicopter beat its blades above the road.
“The house first,” said Evangeline. “Then we’ll find Flurge.”
I was driving toward Vineyard Haven. When I got to Airport Road I took a left.
“We need to talk,” I said. “Three people have died in the last couple of days and that’s a lot of coincidence. I think you’re in the middle of it all, somehow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Hale Drummand was killed by somebody watching your house. I mean that Ogden Warner was director of the Celebration and an ex-friend of yours. I mean that a woman who died in a supposed accident yesterday had been talking with a friend of mine who’s looking for a girl down here who has a tattoo of the Eye of Horus on her left hip, just like you do. Three deaths, and there’s a shadow on every corpse that looks like yours.”
She hadn’t gotten where she was by being fragile. She stared ahead through the windshield saying nothing while she thought.
“I’m not a killer,” she said finally. Her voice was icy.
“I believe you, but somehow you’re in every picture I can paint. Tell me about the tattoo.”
She thought some more, then came to some agreement with herself. “Alain Duval has his women do that. There are laws against branding, but none against tattoos. It’s his mark. I got mine a long time ago, when I was pretty young. I’ve kept it as a reminder not to put myself in anyone’s hands like that again.”
“Are you suggesting that he’d actually have branded you if he thought he could get away with it?”
“He joked about it, and I suspect that some of his girls would have allowed it. They’d have seen it as a sign of undying love and devotion between them.” Her voice became colder. “Some people are born to be slaves. It took me time to realize I wasn’t one of them, but when I finally saw things as they were, I left him.”
“But two days ago you went back and apologized for not saying good-bye.”
She nodded. “I don’t like sneaks and I don’t like cowards, but I felt like both after I left him because I waited until he was out of the country on one of his so-called spiritual journeys to India and the Middle East to do it. By apologizing I got clean. Does that make any sense to you? No matter. I’ve felt better ever since.”
“Do your fans, your girl fans in particular, know about the tattoo? Do they get themselves the same tattoo because you have one?”
She gave me a quick, ironic glance. “A lot of people think they know more about me than they actually do. The tattoo is a private penance. I was careless when I let you see it. It’s never gotten into the media.”
“It won’t get in because of me.” I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring glance.
We came to the Edgartown–West Tisbury road and I turned left. When we passed the driveway down which Joe Callahan, the now ex-president of the United States, used to drive to his vacation cottage, I pointed it out.
“He’s a fan,” she said, seemingly pleased. “I hear he and the family are coming to the Celebration.”
“I don’t think the current prez is planning to attend.”
“He prefers country-and-western and bluegrass, I think.”
Prez and I agreed about one thing, at least. I said, “Tell me again about Ogden Warner. I know you and he were close once.”
“I cut my first record when I was fifteen. It made number one on the charts. It was just called Evangeline. Maybe you remember it.”
“Sounds familiar,” I lied.
“Sure it does. I saw your tapes when I was at your house. All C-and-W and classical stuff. I saw that inscribed picture of you and the Callahans on the wall, too.”
“You have sharp eyes. Tell me about Warner.”
“This will probably raise your eyebrows. I met him at the Temple of Light in California. He was already a Follower and I was a new convert.”
My brows did rise. “Warner was a Follower?”
She nodded. “In those days a lot of people in Hollywood were Followers. Alain was all the rage. Guru of the rich and famous, idol of boys and girls who thought themselves spiritual but misunderstood. I should know. I was one of them. I had a ton of money and I was famous but something spiritual was lacking. Alain seemed to offer it. Of course with him, body and soul were the same, so he traded one for the other, at least with the girls. Ogden swept me away first, but it wasn’t long before Alain offered more. It was sort of like going from an apostle to the messiah himself, if that makes any sense.”
“I can see how it could happen.”
“Then, just about the time that I went to Alain, maybe be
cause I went, Ogden left the temple. From then on he bad-mouthed Alain every chance he got. He couldn’t stand anything associated with the temple and made no bones about it.”
A reformed drunk is often the most strident and unforgiving teetotaler. “Born-again people are pretty common,” I said, turning into her driveway and flashing my nifty FBI ID card at the young cop guarding the entrance before driving on.
“Looking back,” said Evangeline in a musing voice, “I think Ogden left at the high point of Alain’s popularity. By the time I left Alain a year later, he’d definitely begun to be less fashionable, and that decline has continued.”
“According to what I hear he still has plenty of influence.”
“He’s still a power but he doesn’t have the prestige he had before. He’s beginning to preach the vengeance of God upon sinners along with his meditations on love and the oneness of all things. This Celebration is important to him. He’s been pushing it from the beginning. If his PR people work it right, he could be back on top again.”
“Once again the spiritual leader of democracy and the arts?”
“I don’t know if he actually thinks of himself as God’s Chosen One or if he’s just playing the role.”
“Leaders don’t have to believe what they say, they just have to have followers who believe it.”
“He’s still got plenty of those!”
We came to the courtyard in front of the Carberg house. I saw nothing unusual. I turned the Explorer so it was facing the driveway.
“Can you drive?” I asked.
“Of course I can drive.”
I stepped out of the car. “Give me your house keys, then slide over here into the driver’s seat. I’m going to check things out before you go in. If something happens to me, I want you to get out of here in a hurry. Understood?”
She wasn’t naive. “Got it,” she said. She handed me the house keys and slid behind the steering wheel.
I walked around the house and garage, then went inside and entered every room. Nothing. No sign of anyone having been there recently. The garage looked the same as before. The boats by the pier looked the same. I studied the point of land where the watcher had smoked his or her cigarettes but could see nothing unusual. Then I went out through the front door and called Evangeline inside.
She was very efficient as she collected clothing and other items and packed them into suitcases. When the suitcases were full she opened a closet and brought out a guitar case. For my benefit she opened it and revealed a Space Age instrument that looked nothing at all like my old Martin.
“I’m not quite Jimi Hendrix,” she said, “but I can actually play this thing.”
“Very impressive.”
“I should make you come to the concert. Maybe I won’t pay you unless you do!”
“I understand that tickets are impossible to get.”
“Not for me. I’ll be giving some VIP seats to the Skyes and to you and Zee.”
“Maybe I can scalp mine. Then I won’t need my wages.”
“You’re a musical snob, J.W.”
No one had ever called me that before.
“I liked the Eagles. Does that count?”
“No. Everybody liked the Eagles.”
“All right, all right,” I said. “I’ll come to your danged concert. Are we through here?”
“I’m through. But now I have to talk with Flurge. He and the Tars have taken over a B and B in West Tisbury.” She got out her cell phone.
While she talked I looked some more at the point of land where the watcher had watched. When she hung up, she told me that Flurge had agreed to meet her at the stage, so we drove there.
The field was as filled with busy folk as it had been on my last visit. A new director had been flown in from Hollywood, Harry and Frank Dyer were at work with their sound system, and the fireworks people were still tinkering. Added to the scene were several uniformed police officers. I suspected that there were also some in plainclothes and wondered if any progress was being made in solving the murder of Ogden Warner.
A man about my age with longer than average hair met Evangeline as we walked toward the stage. She introduced him as Ian Bell, aka Flurge.
“A nickname I got when I was younger,” he explained.
“I’ve tried to forget the nicknames I had,” I said.
“You might resurrect one if you ever go into show business,” said Flurge. “The wackier the better.”
“Come on,” said Evangeline, “let’s talk business.”
They walked up onto the stage and ducked behind a giant curtain that had not been there on my last trip to the site.
While they were gone I surveyed the scene. Most of the people looked absolutely normal. Maybe show biz was like any other biz, with ordinary people doing most of the jobs and a few stars getting all of the publicity.
Zee had once made a brief appearance on the silver screen and had since been assured by a good many Hollywood types that she was born for the camera. She’d liked most of the motion picture people she’d met, but wasn’t interested in being one of them. Me, neither. Of course, I hadn’t been offered the opportunity.
Jake Spitz appeared at my side.
“Anybody find out who kacked Ogden Warner?” I asked.
“Not yet, but it had to be somebody with entrance to the grounds.”
“That should limit the suspect list to only a few hundred. You check out the fireworks guys? If you’re right about somebody having a plan to do something big and bad here, they’d be on the top of my checklist because they make a living from explosions.”
“We’ve triple-vetted the pyrotechnic people,” said Spitz, “and they’re as pure as the Virgin Mary. Unlike some people I know.”
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I work for the FBI. I’m untainted in body and mind just like J. Edgar Hoover.”
“Call me if you need me.” He walked away.
In time Evangeline reappeared, gave Flurge a friendly good-bye-for-now peck on the cheek, and joined me. I looked at my watch. “If we leave right now, we can probably get a table at the Newes,” I said. “Good beer and bar food. The pubbiest pub on the island.”
“I’m starving. Let’s go.” We walked to the Explorer under the hot sun, and Evangeline donned the day’s wig.
The Newes From America is the best pub in Edgartown, but if you get there before noon you can usually find a table. I ordered the large Red Tail Ale and was pleased when Evangeline did the same. Ah, an honest, beer-drinking woman, just like Zee. She ordered fish and chips and I ordered fried calamari. Two good choices. Both delish. By the time we were finished, the place was full.
“Your tab,” I said when the bill arrived. “You’ve got the big bucks and I’m just a hired hand.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m a lady. Gents pay when they take ladies to lunch.”
I dug out my wallet. “No wonder the rich get richer while the poor get poorer. What next, Mrs. Midas?”
“Give me a plan. And don’t make such a fuss over paying the bill. I’ll tack it on to your fee.”
“How about joining our children on the beach?”
“Excellent.”
I drove to the Skyes’ farm, then to my house, then, in our bathing suits, we drove to East Beach, where we found Zee and the children right about where I thought they’d be.
I studied Janie’s face when she came running to hug her mother, telling her she just had to get into the water right away because it was wonderful and the sun was so hot.
“I think there’s room for you here on the blanket,” said Zee as I walked her way.
There was, and I lay down in the bright, warm sunlight.
We alternated swimming and lying in the sun, and a time came when Evangeline and I were both in the water at the same time. She was laughing and splashing like a little girl. I moved close to her and said, “You forgot to tell me one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That Alain Duval is Janie’s f
ather. She’s got those pale blue eyes of his, and when you know what you’re looking for, you can see his bone structure in her face.”
She said nothing at all, but her laughter stopped.
“It’s important,” I said, “because if he’s the kind of man you say he is, the people who were watching your house and who probably killed Hale Drummand might have been working for him. They might be planning to snatch Janie.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brady
I woke up before the sun. Outside the window of the Jacksons’ guest room, the sky had that pewtery look it gets before a cloudless summer morning dawns.
I lay there for a few minutes. My mind was whirling with scenarios and possibilities, and when I decided I wasn’t going to go back to sleep, I slid out of bed and got dressed.
When I wandered into the kitchen, the electric coffeepot had already been turned on. J.W. was a notoriously early riser, and I figured he’d headed off to the store to pick up his morning Globe. So I poured myself a mug of coffee and took it up to the balcony, where I could watch the sky grow lighter.
It promised to be another pretty Vineyard day. The birds were chirping and swarming around Zee’s feeders, and off toward the horizon a brisk breeze was blowing whitecaps on the ocean. My feet were propped up on the railing and my coffee mug sat on my chest. I’d awakened with Mike and Neddie Doyle on my mind. I’d been debating whether to call them and report that I thought I was getting close to finding Christa. It would make them happy, I thought. It might give Mike a few good days.
But it would be cruel to get their hopes up prematurely. Perhaps I should wait until I had something more substantial to report than the word of a tattoo artist and J.W.’s uncertain memory.
A few minutes later I heard a car pull into the yard, and then J.W. came out onto the balcony with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
“You’re up early,” he said.
I shrugged. “Places to go, people to see.”
He gazed off toward the sea. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Bad habit,” I said, “thinking.”
“I can’t help it,” he said. “It’s a curse.” He sat beside me. “I’ve been thinking that you should stay away from Alain Duval until I can go with you.”
Second Sight Page 15
