First Light (29 page)

“I'll be back later,” I said. “Call me if Brady takes a bad turn.”

Eliza nodded, but she was already back to eyeing Brady. As I went out, I thought she had a slightly predatory look on her face.

The heater of the Land Cruiser didn't work too well, and I was wet and cold, but before going home I drove down to the beach and collected my rod and waders. I stood there in the wind and rain and looked out at the rocks. The waves now slapped above the spot where Brady's head had been not long ago. He had come within a whisker of drowning.

That thought gave me another kind of shiver as I drove home.

Zee took one look at me as I came into the house and said, “What happened?”

I told her while I stripped, and then I climbed into the shower and let the warm water wash the chill from my bones. When I came out, Zee had clean clothes laid out on the bed. I got into them.

“Maybe I should go up to the Fairchild place,” said Zee, handing me a cup of coffee. “I have the day off, and Brady could probably use a nurse.”

“The doctor should be there soon, and Eliza acted like she was never going to leave Brady's side again, so he should be in good hands. But I'll take the kids with me if you want to go. I'm going out again as soon as I give Dom Agganis a call.” I told her about my recollection of Frankie Bannerman's remarks about Kathy playing tennis.

“It's another link between her and Molly, isn't it?” She made up her mind. “You're probably right about
Brady having all the help he needs, so I'll go with you. I played a little tennis when I first came down here. Maybe I can show you some courts you don't know about. You make your call, then let's take my car. It's got a heater that works.”

“I don't have high hopes that we'll learn much.”

“A long shot is better than no shot at all,” said Zee.

So I made my telephone call, then we loaded Joshua and Diana into the backseat and, with Zee driving and me riding shotgun, we started the hunt.

There are a lot of tennis courts on Martha's Vineyard, some open to the public, some belonging to clubs, and some belonging to individual families. I couldn't guess where Kathy Bannerman had played— somewhere up-island, maybe, since that was where she'd lived—but it seemed most likely to me that both she and Molly had played on public courts and least likely that they'd played on family-owned ones, although that was always possible. At the club courts, members could bring guests. Molly and Kathy could very well have met somebody who belonged to a club and been invited to play there.

Since Molly lived in Edgartown, we started at Katama, and, with Zee as guide to the island's tennis domains, we worked our way through Edgartown.

Our big problem was quickly established. The courts were generally empty of players that rainy day, and most of the pros who had given lessons all summer were, after Labor Day, now plying their trade in warmer climes.

Still, we visited every court we knew of, on the off chance that someone useful would be there.

The Katama courts were empty. There were two rainproof women playing between the puddles at the Edgartown public courts out by the Boys' and Girls' Club, but neither of them recognized Molly Wood or Kathy Bannerman when I showed them their pictures. Neither did the groundskeepers at the Edgartown Yacht Club courts. There were some family-owned courts in town, but not one of them was being used as we drove by.

Next we headed for Oak Bluffs. “Your forehead is wrinkled,” Zee said. “What are you thinking about?”

I unwrinkled. “I'm trying to remember something, and can't. And when I'm not doing that, I'm thinking about everything else. Molly going missing, the tennis link, if there really is one, Brady almost drowning, Myrtle Eldridge's drug-using friends, your slashed tire, the note. Everything. The problem is, all my thinking is doing no good for me or anybody else.”

“I've been thinking about Molly's black bag,” said Zee.

“It could be anywhere,” I said. “In fact, it's not a bad bet that one of the local druggies is involved with Molly's disappearance. That black bag would have looked like a gift from the gods to him. Did Molly ever talk to you about any addicts she may have met while she's been down here?”

“No, but I see a lot of the local users when I'm working in the ER. They're a pretty forlorn bunch. I don't think any of them would kill someone.”

“Anybody will kill under the right circumstances.”

“I don't believe that. What about Gandhi? What about Jesus?”

Jesus had been pretty rough on those moneylenders, I thought. “Neither of them was a drug addict, as far as I know,” I said. “Anyway, the cops can investigate the drug users and pushers. They already know who they are and where they live.”

We drove along the road with Sengekontacket on our left and Nantucket Sound on our right. The rain was beginning to let up, and there was brighter sky over above Cape Cod. The morning was reaching toward noon.

The Oak Bluffs public courts were empty, and Molly Wood and Kathy Bannerman were unknown to anyone at Farm Neck or at the other private courts where we found players. My voyage of discovery was a trip to nowhere.

“Pa.”

“I know. You're hungry. Okay, we'll stop and have lunch.”

“Oh, good! Can we have ice cream afterward?”

“Sure.”

Small arms circled my neck from behind. “Thanks, Pa.”

“Hey,” said Zee. “Don't I get any hugs?”

She got two.

We ate beside Oak Bluffs Harbor and looked at the boats. The lovely little Folk Boat that I always admired was out there on her mooring. Several Folk Boats have circumnavigated the world, usually piloted by single-handers. Once I'd given thought to making such a trip, but I'd never gotten around to it. Now my mind was on other things.

We got ice cream, then climbed back into the Jeep. It was after one in the afternoon.

“You three don't have to keep this up,” I said. “We can go home and I'll keep going alone, if you'd rather.”

“We wouldn't rather,” said Zee. “We still have four towns to go, and we have nothing better to do. Besides, we can go by the Fairchild place and see Brady when we start looking around up-island.”

In Vineyard Haven, we visited several courts in vain. Eventually we came to the Chappaquonsett Club courts, out toward the entrance to Lake Tashmoo, where some people were working in the office and on the grounds. One of the people in the office was an athletic man in whites who identified himself as the club pro.

“You're just the guy we're looking for,” I said, digging my photos out of my pocket.

“Your timing is right.” He grinned. “This is my last day here. Tomorrow I'll be in Atlantic City for the fall season.”

I handed him the photos. “You ever see these women playing here?”

He looked first at Molly's picture, but Eliza had been right about Molly not being a member of the Chappaquonsett Club. And she'd apparently not been a guest either, because the pro never hesitated. “Nope. Never saw her in my life.”

He looked at Kathy's photo and shook his head again. “A year ago, you say? Well, maybe she was here a year ago, but if she was, I don't remember her. Sorry.”

We thanked him and drove away.

“I don't know about this plan,” I said. The afternoon was wearing on, and we were no wiser than we'd been when we'd left the house that morning.

“There's a place out near Mink Meadows,” said Zee. “I played out there a couple of times. It's a private club, but nonmembers can play for a price.” She found Franklin Street and headed north.

There were a lot of places on Martha's Vineyard where I'd never been, and this tennis club was one of them. It was tucked back in the trees at the end of a narrow, sandy road. You'd never have known it was there unless you knew it was there.

There was a handsome young man alone in the clubhouse. He gave me a very friendly smile. “Hi,” he said.

“Maybe you can help me,” I said.

“I certainly hope so. My name's Larry. I'm the club pro.”

“I'm J. W. Jackson.” I glanced at Zee. She was standing off to one side smiling a wide, amused smile. I showed Larry Molly's photograph. “Have you seen this woman? She plays tennis.”

His hand touched mine as he took the photo. “Why, yes,” he said. “I certainly have.”

“Was she here with a partner?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“When did you last see her?”

“I don't know. Five or six days ago, maybe. She was here more than once.”

“Was she with a man?”

He smiled a perfect white-toothed smile. “She certainly
was. She has hair like the sun. Looked natural, too. They came together. He's the reason I remember her, in fact. He's a handsome fellow. On the other hand, he apparently prefers good-looking, fortyish blonde ladies. Worse luck, darn it.” He returned my photo.

“Do you know the man's name?” I asked, tucking the photo back in my pocket.

“No, but I wish I did. He's in his late twenties, early thirties, I'd say, and he has a sort of semi-Southern accent. You know, one of those accents a Northerner gets when he moves South and then comes back North again. I've heard him talking about golf and his beach and about Hilton Head. I was inspired to think I might go down there this winter and see if I can find some work.” He tilted his head to one side and smiled. “What would you advise?”

“I've never been to Hilton Head,” I said, “but if you decide to go down there, I'll bet things will work out for you. You said the man apparently likes fortyish blonde women. What do you mean?”

“I've seen him before. He plays here every year.”

I felt a little rush of excitement and handed him the photo of Kathy Bannerman. “This woman was on the island last year. Do you remember her?”

“Sure,” said Larry. “He brought her here several times. How could I forget?”

I was suddenly aware of the clean smell of him. “Is that Enchanté that you're wearing?”

He smiled. “Yes, it is. Do you like it?” He leaned forward so I could sniff.

“It's very nice, but not my style, I'm afraid.”

“Too bad. Say, I'll be back up here again next summer. Do you play?”

“No, I don't.” I nodded toward Zee. “But my wife does. Maybe you can give her lessons.”

“I'd love to.” He smiled at Zee almost as broadly as she was smiling at me.

“Is this man still around?” I asked.

“He was around a few days ago.”

“If he shows up again, try to get his name. If you can't manage that, get the license-plate number of his car, and then give me a call.” I scribbled my name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

“What's he done, Mr. Jackson?”

“Maybe nothing. It's the women I'm interested in.”

Larry sighed. “I should have known. All right, I'll give you a buzz if I see him.”

The Jacksons got into the Jeep, and Zee drove west toward the Fairchild house.

“I think you're Larry's type,” she said. “Maybe you should take up tennis. You need a safe sport.”

“You're my type, and I believe I'll stick to fishing.”

I sat back, thinking about what Larry had told me and feeling excited by the first solid link between the missing women. Both had played tennis with the same man. Dom Agganis was going to want to talk with Larry, that was for sure.

I felt good. Answers seemed not far in the future.

Zee drove fast and well over the still-damp asphalt as the setting sun broke through the clouds and painted the island with the lovely slanting light of late afternoon.

And as the light danced on the hood of the Jeep, a
little memory also danced into view. When Frankie Bannerman had mentioned the man her mother was dating, she didn't remember much, but she did remember that they'd gone to his beach and played tennis.

His
beach, she'd said.

And Larry had just put the same words into the blond man's mouth.

E
liza combed her fingers through her hair, smoothed her gown over her hips, gave Nate and me a quick smile, and followed Patrick out of my bedroom.

Nate was standing there, his thick arms folded across his chest, staring at the doorway. He sighed, then turned to me, and a smile spread across his face. “Maybe you oughta get dressed,” he said.

Eliza had undressed me for my back rub. I was sitting there on the edge of my bed, stark naked.

“Good idea,” I said.

“I gotta get the hell outta here,” mumbled Nate, and he turned and left.

I picked up my underwear, which Eliza had tossed onto the floor, found a clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, and took them across the hall to the bathroom. I still felt a bit light-headed, but aside from general stiffness in my joints and an assortment of aches and pains, I decided I was pretty much back to what passed as normal for me.

I stood under the steamy shower for a long time, letting the wet heat seep into my pores, and I thought
about what I had witnessed. “Family business,” Nate had called it, without a hint of irony.

I gathered from Nate's reaction that Patrick's attack on Eliza wasn't all that unusual. I remembered a few days earlier when she'd worn sunglasses to hide the discoloration around her eye.

It had looked to me as if Patrick was trying to kill her.

I decided to talk with Eliza, explain her options, offer to help her.

She'd say it was none of my business, of course. Abuse victims generally did. They blamed themselves, defended their abusers, and believed that they deserved it.

You could separate a woman from her husband or boyfriend. Dealing with a mother and her adult son would be trickier. But something should be done.

I felt less achy after my shower. I toweled myself dry, wiped the steam off the mirror, dragged a razor across my face, got dressed, and went downstairs.