Vineyard Deceit (31 page)

She put her book on her knees. “We went through this yesterday, remember? The way I see it, you and Tare in this together, but if you don't want me at your house, I'll stay in my own. I have no intention of hiding out at Amelia's.”

“You are a very stubborn person.”

“I'm stubborn? You're the stubborn one!”

I lay down and put my hands behind my neck and looked at the sky. Those little lines and squiggles that you can see when you do that floated in their watery way on the edges of my vision.

“That Friday night when I dropped you off at Amelia's, the night you were kidnapped. What were Amelia and Willard Blunt talking about when you sneaked up to the door and listened. You thought it might be romance, I remember. What was it really?”

“What a question. It wasn't the romance I thought it might be, I remember that. Let's see. Something to do with Willard Blunt's nephew or grandnephew. Oh, I remember.
They were making a present for him. A surprise. I thought it was a cute idea.”

“What was it?”

“A book with a hollow place in it. The little boy would get a pretty dull-looking book, but when he opened it he'd find something really nice. One of those superhero wristwatches. It would be the boy's first watch. He and Amelia were pretty excited about it.”

“That was it?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing more?”

“No.”

“For Blunt's nephew or grandnephew? You're sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. Why do you ask?

“What happened next?”

“I put on the dress, and Aunt Amelia and I worked on fitting it. Willard went into the den and worked on the book. I think he watched the Sox on the tube.”

“Did he make a phone call?”

“He could have. There's a phone in the den. I guess he must have, if he called those young people who grabbed me.”

“We can check that out. We know the number of the telephone at the house the Sarofimian kids lived in. The phone company will have a record of calls from Amelia's house. Did Blunt say anything about anything that might have had to do with the theft?”

“Nothing I can remember. He worked on the book while Aunt Amelia and I worked on the dress. Then we all went out to dinner. And, no, Mr. Blunt didn't say anything then, either. He was just charming and sweet and sophisticated. Unlike some people I know who like to ask questions but don't answer them.”

“I'm pretty charming myself,” I said. “I'll prove it. You can stay with me. See how charming I am? But I want you to know that it's only because of your primary and secondary zones.”

She put down her book and came over and sat on my belly, her knees on either side of my chest. “You don't have zones,” she said. “You have zone. You're all one big zone. It will be the death of you.” She leaned down. There wasn't much cloth between her and me. I put up my arms and pulled her close against me. Her skin was hot. She had a great laugh.

27

When we got back to my house in mid afternoon, the Rod and Gun Club shootists were still at it.

“Must be a competition coming up,” I said, when Zee raised a brow.

“Dibs on the shower!” She grabbed her beach towel and was gone in a flash. I took the cooler inside and unpacked it and hung the bedspread on the line. Then I leaned my Remington twelve gauge against the wall by the front door and went outside.

“You're next,” said Zee, coming inside while she dried her hair. “I even left you some hot water.”

“You're a sweetheart.”

“You don't know the half. When you get out, you'll find an Absolut martini waiting for you up on the balcony.”

I did. She'd also brought up some cheese, crackers, and smoked bluefish pate. Paradise enou. Zee was in jeans and sweatshirt and was brushing out that wonderful long blue-black hair so the wind could help dry it. She was watching two of the Bad Bunny Bunch trying to find a way into my garden.

“Wretched Robert Rabbit and Horrible Harry Hare,” I said. “Wretched Robert is the one with the floppy ear, and the one with the dark spot on his shoulder is Harry. They're
the two easiest ones to identify. The others all look a lot alike, so it's hard to make a case against them. These guys are the gang leaders, I think. Bold as bears. Look at them. Hey, get out of there! See? No respect for my property.”

“I'm surprised you don't sit up here with your shotgun and blast them. You're a sportsman.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I'll do just that. I'll use my twelve gauge. Be nothing left but a bunny tail and maybe an ear. You want to join the shoot? I mean, it's your idea.”

“No thanks. What were you thinking about on the way home? What was on your mind?”

“Just you, my love.”

‘No. I was on your mind when we left the beach, but by the time we got here you were thinking of something else. What?”

“The case.”

“I thought you gave your badge back to the Chief. Look there. I think Harry's thinking of digging a hole under the fence!”

“Get out of there, Harry!” I threw an ice cube, which Harry ignored. “Damned rabbit! Maybe I will get my shotgun.” I started to get up. It was a feint that worked.

“No you don't,” said Zee. “I'll run them off. Get out of there, you two!”

She went down the stairs and out to the garden, martini glass in hand. The bad bunnies watched her approaching, then slowly hopped away.

“They're fleeing in terror,” I called. “Would you consider taking a job as a scarebunny? All you have to do is stand in the garden.”

Zee looked up at me. “This is my golden chance. I'm going to follow these guys and see where they live. Want to come?”

“I'll watch from here. My interest in rabbit burrows is not as highly developed as my interest in martinis and hors d'oeuvres. But do carry on, by all means.”

“When I become a famous writer about rabbits, you'll
remember this opportunity and weep.” Harry and Wretched Robert hopped reluctantly into the woods, and Zee went after them. For a while I could see her moving erratically through the oak brush, ducking under branches and around thorns. Then she was gone.

Beyond her, the Rod and Gun Club shooters continued their target practice, shooting up God only knows how much money. The bunched shots, two two two then silence, then two two two and silence again, suggested that the shooter was still triple targeting.

I ate crackers and cheese and bluefish pate and thought about Amelia Muleto and Willard Blunt. I was still on my first martini when I heard a car coming down my driveway. I was down the stairs and standing in the front door when the car came into view. One of the Damon fleet, I thought. The car stopped, and a small, brown, elderly man got out. He peered at me through thick glasses.

“Mr. Jackson? Mr. J. W. Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“How do you do? I am Dr. Mahmoud Zakkut. May I speak with you?” His English was a bit guttural, and I remembered that he had studied medicine in Germany. I looked into the car. He was alone. He put out a thin hand. I came outside and took it.

“I recognize you, Doctor. I saw you last Saturday night at the Damon party.”

He peered around and nodded. “Yes. Much has happened since that night, as you no doubt know. This is a very pleasant place, Mr. Jackson. May we sit outside?”

“Sure.”

We walked out onto the lawn. He seemed none too steady on his feet, so I took his arm. He thanked me. I sat him in my best repainted Big D chair, and I sat in Archie Bunker's chair. He looked out across Anthier's Pond toward the far road where the beach people were collecting their umbrellas and children and going home for the night.

“Very lovely. Sailboats. Like butterflies, don't you think?”

“I like the view.”

“It is a most attractive place, this Martha's Vineyard. I can now well understand its fame as a resort.”

“You'll be leaving soon, I'm told.”

“Yes. On Monday. It will be good to be home again, for though Sarofim is nothing like your island, it has beauties of its own which endear it to its citizens. You understand.”

“Yes.”

We looked out across the water. The pistols popped at the Rod and Gun Club.

“Well, to business,” he said at last. “I am here as a representative of His Highness Ali Mohammed Rashad, the Padishah of Sarofim. His Highness feels he has suffered a grievous injury from you which he cannot allow to go unpunished. You are an American, so I will not expect you to understand the sensibilities of a monarch such as His Highness. As His Highness's political advisor, I have counseled him to forget the indignation he feels, but I have been unable to influence him. Thus, here I am as his agent.” He peered at me through his glasses. “Do I make myself clear?”

“To tell you the truth, I was expecting Colonel Nagy.”

“Of course. And your expectations were correct. Look behind you, sir.”

I did, feeling a sudden chill. Nagy stood in the doorway of my house, punching shotgun shells out of my twelve gauge. He nodded.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson. You will appreciate the fact that we needed to distract you so as to gain this advantage over you. It is your territory, after all, and you could be expected to defend yourself.” He put the shells in his pocket and leaned the shotgun against the wall. Then he dipped his hand under his shirt and produced the pistol I'd seen in his room. “Please stay right where you are, sir. Dr. Zakkut.”

The doctor elevated himself with difficulty from his
chair and walked slowly to his car. The Colonel came forward. “As you can now guess, I came through the trees while Dr. Zakkut drove down your road. A simple, but effective tactic. Although a frail, old man such as Dr. Zakkut seems no threat at all to a strong young man such as yourself, he can, however, be distracting. While you talked here and looked out at this lovely view, I took the opportunity to enter your house by its back door and search it. Mrs. Madieras is not there. Too bad. I'd hoped she would be. She was not at her own home earlier today, either. Do you have any idea where she is?”

“At work.” I willed her deeper into the woods.

“No, not at work. A nurse's uniform is in your dirty clothes hamper. I imagine it is hers.”

“Yes. She left it here earlier in the week.” I had an almost irrepressible fear that Zee would come walking out of the woods at any moment. I could not bear the thought.

“Of course. No matter. We'll find her later.”

Zakkut was walking slowly back, carrying a small black bag. I had time to wonder if every doctor in the world had a small black bag. Zakkut put the bag on the table and opened it. He brought out a roll of duct tape and put a pair of scissors in the pocket of his jacket. Nagy cocked his pistol and pointed it at my head.

“Don't move, sir. Dr. Zakkut is going to tape you to your chair. Please don't struggle. I assure you that we are taking this measure only to prevent you from attempting some violence which you might regret later. We have no intention of harming you or anything that belongs to you. But I have my orders and I will shoot you if I must. Please. Sit still.”

“If you have no intention of harming me, why do I need to be tied up?” I spoke loudly, so Zee could hear me and know not to come into view. Nagy frowned and let his eyes roam around the yard before they returned to me.

“It will become clear to you, sir. For now, please allow the doctor to do his work.”

I judged the distance between us. Too far. Zakkut came around so that I was between him and Nagy. He wrapped the heavy gray tape around and around my arm and the arm of the chair. When he had wrapped enough to satisfy himself, he cut the tape with the scissors. He then knelt and taped my leg to the leg of the chair. He and Nagy then circled and changed places, and Zakkut taped my other arm and leg. That done, he went to the table and put the tape and scissors into the bag, and Nagy put his pistol away under his belt.

“Thank you very much,” he said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”