A Deadly Vineyard Holiday (20 page)

“Jesus, is that why you pulled that stunt? To find out that I'd die to protect Debby? It's my job to protect her, for God's sake! It's what I do! It's what the Secret Service does. It's what we all do. We protect the president and his family!”

“Not all of you,” I said. “Somebody in your outfit is working for Shadow.”

Silence hung between us for a time. Then she said coldly, “You can't be sure of that.”

“I'm sure enough,” I said. “And so are you.”

More silence. I broke it. “And because I'm sure, I didn't know who to trust.”

“You can trust Walt Pomerlieu!”

“You trust him. I don't know him. As a matter of fact, I don't know if you should trust him, either. That's why we have to move Debby out of here. We don't know who to trust.”

“Psychiatrists probably have a term for people like you!”

“Probably. And you're probably right about trusting Walt Pomerlieu, but I don't know him, so I'm taking him with a grain of salt. The same goes for Ted Harris and Joan Lonergan. Where did they come from, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they were working for some other agency before they came to the Secret Service. What was it?”

“I'm sure I don't know. What difference does it make?”

“They wouldn't be old IRS people, would they?”

She made a snorting noise that was almost a laugh. “Internal Revenue people? I doubt it. They don't seem to be the type to collect taxes.”

She obviously had never had her returns audited, but I decided not to point that out.

“How about the International Research Service?”

She turned from the screen and looked toward my voice. “The what?”

“You never heard of the International Research Service?”

“No. What is it?”

“I don't know much about it. Can you find out where they worked before they joined your outfit?”

“Why?”

I hesitated. Good grief, I was getting as secretive as
the very people I criticized for being overly secretive. Was I actually a closet only-if-you-need-to-know guy? To prove I wasn't, I told her almost everything I'd been thinking. But not everything. I rarely tell anybody absolutely everything.

When I was done, she was silent for a while, then said, “So Ted Harris and Joan Lonergan know their way around the woods, and you want to know why.”

“Yeah.”

“Because the IRS screwed up the operation that cost that poor little girl her face, and because if they worked for that outfit, maybe there's a tie-in between them and the threat to Cricket.”

“Debby is her name. Yeah, I think that's possible.”

“And if that's the case, then having Ted and Joan out there in the woods guarding this place may be like having the fox guard the chicken house.”

“Yeah.”

“But if it's not Ted or Joan or both of them, it's somebody else on the inside.”

“Yeah. Or at least maybe.”

“But you don't know who.”

“No. The only one I'm pretty sure about is you.”

She made another of those sounds that was almost a laugh. “Because I might have killed you. Thanks a lot.”

“So I think it's time to get Debby out of here.”

“And you don't want anybody to know where she goes. I'm afraid I can't go along with that. I have to stay with her, and I have to let Walt Pomerlieu know where she is, too. If I don't, I'll not only lose my job, I might be lucky to stay out of jail.”

I finished my beer. Delish, as always. The God-as-a-brewer idea seemed likelier than ever. Did that mean that heaven was a pub? I'd read less likely descriptions.

“I've been thinking about that,” I said, “and I may know how to keep everybody happy, more or less.”

“Start with me,” she said skeptically.

“All right, here's the plan. Early in the morning, we all set out together to give Debby two days of island fun, doing one thing after another. When we're away from the house, and a guy I know is up and about, I'll borrow his car, which is a four-by-four with beach stickers. I'll also borrow a couple of portable telephones and make arrangements for us to stay at a safe house for the next night or so. We keep one of the phones in the borrowed car and take the other one with us when we're not in the car. You can keep in touch with Walt Pomerlieu by phone, and he can always get in touch with you the same way, any time he wants to. But even though you two can communicate to your hearts' content, he'll never really know exactly where you are unless you tell him. Okay so far?”

“Go on.”

“Okay. While you're reassuring him that everything's fine, you won't actually tell him your location. Instead, you'll tell him stuff like, for instance, I'm taking you and Debby on a tour of the island, or I'm taking you for a nature walk up-island, in the Menemsha hills, maybe, or I'm taking you out on a fishing boat, or off to do some surf casting, or some such thing as that. But since you don't know exactly where we'll be, you can't tell him that.”

“He won't buy it!”

“Maybe not. But if he's worried about little Debby, I'll have her talk to him or to her folks whenever he wants. In fact, I think it's a good idea to have her talk with Mom and Dad every day, so they don't fret about her. She can tell Walt and her folks what she's been doing and that she's fine and having fun, and that they don't need to be anxious. Of course we have to try to make
sure that she is actually fine and having fun. I don't need any grumpy Cricket Callahans on my hands.”

She didn't like it very much. “The portable phones let us stay in touch without being located. And by using a borrowed car, we can move around without being spotted. And as long as nobody knows where we are, nobody can hurt Debby. Right?”

“You're a fast thinker for a government employee. Debby can have a good time and be safe from Shadow while she's doing it; Mom and Dad will be in touch with her whenever they want; you and your boss can talk whenever you want to, so he won't have any reason to throw you in jail; and the good guys will have a couple of days to lay their hands on Shadow. It's a perfect scheme.”

Well, not quite perfect, maybe. But, as they say, life is what happens when you plan something else.

About half past midnight, a car came down the driveway. As its lights came into the yard, I saw Karen outlined against them. Her hand was on her hip, under the tail of her shirt.

“It's Zee,” I said, having recognized the sound of her little Jeep's engine.

The car stopped, its headlights went out, and darkness flowed back into the yard. It occurred to me that although it was Zee's car, it might not be Zee. Moreover, after looking at the headlights, I was now blinded by the night. I felt foolish and angry.

But it was Zee. She came up onto the porch, and I said, “Hi.”

She found me in the darkness and put her arms around me. I felt the old electricity from her touch. “How come the guards at the gates?” she asked. “And how come no lights?”

“I guess we can have lights,” I said, and put them on. “How are things in the hospital biz?”

“They were fine when I left, and now they're somebody else's responsibility, because I'm taking a few days off to prepare for the presidential visit.” Zee gave me a kiss, then looked at Karen, then back at me. “How come those guys are up at the head of the driveway?”

I told her about the bugs and the bomb, and her eyes got huge.

“A bomb? Under our house?”

“It's gone now. Everything is all right.”

“All right? What do you mean, all right? It doesn't sound all right to me!”

“Anyway, maybe it wasn't really a bomb. In any case, it's gone and so are all the bugs.”

Zee lifted her eyes to mine. “A Secret Service guy came into the ER and told me he'd looked for a bug on my Jeep but didn't find one. Do you know about that?”

“I had him go up there. He didn't find one, you say?”

“No.” Zee studied me. “You have that look on your face. What's up?”

“What look?”

“That look. The one that says you think you know something or that you've decided to do something. What is it you think you know or you've decided to do?”

“Are you telling me I should abandon my hopes for a career as a poker player?”

“Not if I get to play against you. Talk.”

So I told her about my plans for tomorrow.

“I think that's a good idea,” she said, when I was done. “You're not the only one who's getting a little tired of bombs and other people messing around with our lives whether we like it or not. Tell you what: You find an ORV for us to use, and I'll get the portable phones we need. I know some people I can borrow them from. I'll get them in the morning after I go shooting. I also know a place where we can stay for a couple of nights.”

“You're shooting with Manny tomorrow?”

“At eight o'clock. We'll be done by nine, so Manny can get back to the shop.”

I ran times through my head.

“Okay. I want the rest of us to get out of here about five. Shadow might be asleep by then, but even if he
isn't, it'll be hard for him to follow us without being spotted.”

“Where'll you go at five o'clock in the morning?”

“Out toward Wasque. I'll take a couple of rods so it'll look like we're going fishing, just in case anybody's looking. Shadow will need a four-by-four to follow us.”

“And what if he has a four-by-four?”

“I'll lose him on Chappy. I know the place and he doesn't. If he stays on the beach to keep us from getting past him, we'll come home on the ferry. If he covers the ferry, we'll come home on the beach.”

“And if there's two of him?”

“You know Acey Doucette.”

“What about him?”

“He doesn't know it yet, but Acey is going to loan me that Land Rover he's been trying to sell me for the past year. He'll be glad to let me test-drive it for a couple of days so I'll know how wonderful it is compared to my old Land Cruiser. When we come off of Chappy, it'll be in the Land Rover, and Shadow won't even know it's us. He'll be looking for the Land Cruiser, if he's there at all.”

“All he'll have to do to see you is look in through the windows.”

“He might try, but Acey Doucette's snappy Land Rover has those dark, tinted windows that let you look out but don't let people look in. Very fashionable in some circles, and just what we need.”

Zee nodded. “Okay.” She looked at Karen. “You agree to all this?”

Karen nodded reluctantly. “For the time being, at least. If it doesn't work, we can change our minds.”

Pragmatic Zee nodded back. “You'd better pack us whatever you and Debby will need for a couple of days, then. The same goes for us, Jeff.”

I gave her a kiss. “I'll take one last look around, then see you inside,” I said.

Outside, the sounds of night seemed normal: the sigh of the wind, the distant barking of a dog, the cry of a night bird. I walked fifty yards up the driveway and back, listening, then circled the yard, moving, then pausing to listen some more, then moved again. I saw and heard nothing unusual. Walt Pomerlieu's agents were not showing themselves.

Our bedroom light was on, but the curtains were drawn and I could see nothing inside. I stood beneath the big birch tree for a while longer, then went into the house. Zee was already in bed. She watched me undress and set the alarm, then held up her arms and pulled me down.

“I'll be glad when we're alone again,” she whispered. “I miss making the loud noises.”

“Me, too. But I'll bet we can do this in mime. What do you think?”

She flicked off the light. The last thing I saw were her dark, burning eyes. Then she came to me.

The alarm went off at four, and by five I had rods and quahog rakes on the Land Cruiser's roof rack, and our other fishing and personal gear packed inside. While I worked, I thought about Joe Begay's advice and decided to take my old police .38, so I stuck it under the front seat. Just in case.

Since Zee didn't have to be anywhere until eight, she was cook, and produced the full-bloat breakfast: bacon and eggs, toast, juice, and coffee. Classic high-cholesterol morning cuisine. Whoever first thought of the combination should be enshrined in the chefs' hall of fame.

“I'll meet you in front of Manny Fonseca's shop,” said Zee.

“Make sure you lose anybody who's following you.”

“I will. Be careful.”

Wide-awake Karen, sleepy Debby, and I got into the old Land Cruiser and pulled out through the brightening, predawn morning. It had not been many days before, on such a morning, that I'd first seen Debby coming along South Beach, bent on escape from what she deemed excessive constraints on her liberty. And look at us now: fleeing both Shadow and the Secret Service. So much for the classic choice between freedom and security; we had both and neither.

At the end of our driveway, the two agents peered into the truck.

“We're going fishing,” I said. “Last two hours of the falling tide.”

The men frowned.

“It's okay,” said Karen, flashing her ID. “I'm going along, too.”

“I'll call in and let them know,” said one of the men. “Where are you going?”

“South shore,” I said.

“Well, okay.” He stepped back and his partner moved their car aside.

We pulled out and turned toward Edgartown.

Karen actually laughed. “South shore, eh? I thought you only used that one during derby time.”

“What do you mean?” asked Debby.

“They say that you hear it all the time during the bass and bluefish derby,” said Karen, smiling. “Somebody comes in with a giant fish and everybody wants to know where he got it, so he says ‘south shore' or ‘north shore,' which means absolutely nothing because each of them is about twenty miles long.”