Dead in Vineyard Sand (23 page)

“I'm talking about Heather Willet's death that night at the beach. Biff was one of the last people to see her alive. It wouldn't be too hard for a savvy prosecutor to make a case for him being the very last one.”

“That was no murder; it was an accident!”

“Don't be so sure of that. The girl was found naked, with bruises on her head that may have been caused by blows with a rock. Biff, here, swam out into Vineyard Sound while Heather was still with the two Highsmith kids, and he didn't show up again until some time after Heather had left them. The Highsmiths say they were together after she left, but nobody knows where Biff was.”

I looked at Biff. “I want to know where you were when Heather ran away from Gregory and Belinda Highsmith. What were you doing? What did you see? What did you hear?

Biff 's voice lost its coolness. “I was swimming! I was far out. It was dark. I couldn't see anything. I didn't hear anything. When I got tired, I came in. Heather was gone. We looked for her but we couldn't find her, so we called the police. That's what happened! I told all this to the police!”

“Leave him alone,” said Jasper.

“You must have been able to hear something,” I said to Biff. “Gregory and Belinda said they could hear you calling for them to come out and join you, so you should have been able to hear them when they answered. And if you were close enough to shore to hear them, you were close enough to see Heather take off her bathing suit and go to Gregory. Did you see that? Did you see Gregory push her away? Did you see Heather run off alone?”

“No! I didn't see that! I couldn't see much. Maybe I heard them shout something. Maybe I caught a glimpse of Heather . . .”

“The police will wonder whether you followed her down the beach. She was a pretty girl and she was naked and you were all drinking, and the police will think it's possible that you wanted to have sex with her and she resisted and you hit her with a rock.”

“No!” he blurted. “That never happened! I wasn't interested in Heather! I was interested in Belinda!” He looked at his stepfather, then at me, wishing, I suspected, that he'd curbed his tongue but knowing it was too late. He smiled a bitter smile. “I wanted Belinda to come swimming with me. I didn't care about Heather. It was Belinda. I've been after her for two years. What a joke.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jasper. “What do you mean?”

The boy looked at him almost scornfully. “You know those times we had Gregory over to play golf here and Belinda got invited because it made her unhappy to be left home while her brother came over here?”

Jasper nodded. “Yes. I remember. I thought you boys were pretty good about having a thirteen-year-old trail along after you.”

“Well, she was the one I was interested in, not Gregory, and I've kept being interested in her even though she wasn't exactly trailing along with Gregory and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she didn't want him out of her sight. Remember the time I asked Bitsy Farkin over so we'd have a foursome when we played?”

“I remember. I always thought Bitsy was a nice girl. I've wondered why she never came again.”

“I can tell you that. When Bitsy saw Gregory she got the hots for him in about ten seconds, and when Belinda saw that she almost sprouted fangs and claws. She wouldn't let Bitsy get within ten feet of Gregory. Bitsy couldn't get away fast enough afterward.”

My ears were standing up like a wolf 's. “So Gregory and Belinda both play golf,” I said.

Biff nodded. “That's right. Their father didn't approve, so I imagine they never told him, but they played. Especially while they were on the Vineyard and he was back in New Haven.”

“And at the beach that night, you were still interested in Belinda and not in Heather?”

“That's right.” He sneered at himself. “I'm a slow learner.”

Little gears were turning in my brain. “What did you really see that night?”

He took a breath and let it out. When he spoke I had the impression that he was glad to rid himself of a burden that had been weighing on him. “You really want to know? I'll tell you, then. Dad, you're not going to be happy about this. It wasn't Gregory who pushed Heather away, it was Belinda. And when Heather was gone, Belinda and Gregory went down onto their beach blanket together and started taking off their bathing suits.” He gripped his golf club hard with both hands and gazed at us with the cynicism of disillusioned youth. “I couldn't take it, so I swam out and stayed out as long as I could. When I came back they were in their suits again.”

Jasper was incredulous. “Are you saying they were incestuous? Are you sure?”

Biff looked at him with cynical affection. “Maybe you could call it being siblings with benefits,” he said almost gently. “Their parents knew about it. They were going to send Belinda to a special school in Switzerland this fall. She and Gregory didn't like that idea at all, but there was nothing they could do about it.”

“Jesus,” said Jasper, looking at Gabe. “I can't believe it.”

Gabe shrugged and said nothing.

“And you never saw Heather again that night?” I asked Biff.

He shook his head. “I can't prove I didn't, but I didn't. I swam out as far as I could, and stayed out there as long as I could. I can't prove that, either, but that's what happened.”

“Well,” said Jasper, looking at me. “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything,” I said, “but Biff should tell the police what he just told us. As for me, I think you can take me back to the airport.” I looked at
Biff. “Tell the police. It might help them.” Growing up can be hard, and I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for the rest of us too, and thought of Margaret and Golden-grove unleaving.

I was back on the Vineyard again before noon, full of questions and speculations. My first stop was at the
Gazette
offices, where I found Susan Bancroft at her computer, energetically typing with two fingers.

“What's new?” she asked, without stopping her writing.

“Not too much,” I said. “I just came by to find out if you know how Abigail Highsmith is doing.”

Her flying fingers flew on. “This morning's report is that she's improving. Are you still on that case? If so, and if you learn anything, you'd damned well better give it to me before you give it to any other reporter. You owe me.”

“I don't know anything worth printing,” I said.

“Then thank you for nothing and good-bye. If you do learn something I want first dibs.”

“How many old yellow SUVs would you say are on the island?”

“How in blazes should I know? You ask some odd questions, McGee.”

“I'm an odd guy,” I said. “Type well.”

I went out and drove to Dom Agganis's office, but it was Dom's turn to be out and Olive Otero's to be at the desk. Inwardly, I groaned.

But Olive was unexpectedly friendly. “Just the man I want to see. Ever since you mentioned
Tarzan and the Leopard Woman
I've had an itch to watch it again. I
loved that movie when I was a kid, but I can't seem to find a copy of it anywhere. You know where I can get the video?”

Taken by surprise, I said, “I've got the only video I know of. I'll loan it to you.”

Both Olive and I then stared at one another in silence, stunned by our own words.

Olive seemed to recover first. She shuffled some papers on her desk and cleared her throat and said, “That will be fine. Thank you. Now, what brings you here? Something about the Highsmith case, if I know you.”

My voice sounded flat: “You should be able to get these same stories from Jasper Jernigan and his stepson, a boy named Biff Collins, but in case either one of them changes his mind about that, here's what they told me today.” I told her what I'd been told on Nantucket.

Olive got out a tape recorder and said, “Do you mind repeating that?”

I didn't mind, and when I was through, Olive put the tape machine back in its drawer.

“I want Dom to get that straight from you instead of filtered through me,” she said. “He's already planning to interview Jernigan and Gabe Fuller again. I don't know if what the Collins boy told you has any importance to the case, but it sounds like Dom will want to talk with him again too. Maybe we can put the screws to them all and learn more.” She stared at me. “You got anything else?”

“Yes. I don't know what to make of it, but maybe it's important.” I told her about the Shelkrotts' sudden departure from the Highsmith home.

She made a note and looked down at it. “I think Dom will be interested in this too, although it may
mean nothing.” She lifted her eyes. “You have any ideas?”

“Just the obvious ones: they're on the run from the law or they can't take the pressure in the household and decided to pull out before the stress kills them.”

“Do you think they're on the lam?”

I felt myself frowning. “When I talked with them they didn't seem the kind of people who would just cut and run. They'd been with the family for a long time, through thick and thin.”

“What, then?”

“I don't know. I think it's very odd.”

“There are a lot of odd people in the world. In this business we meet more than our share of them. If the Shelkrotts are still on the island, maybe we can find them. If they went back to the mainland, maybe we can find out where. You got anything else to put on my plate?”

“No, but there's a chance you can help me. How many old yellow SUVs do you think there are on this island?”

“I have no idea. Do you?”

“No, but I know that Heather Willet's parents own one. It's parked up in their barn.”

“How do you know what's in their barn?” Her eyes narrowed a bit.

“Because I saw it there when I went to talk with them.”

“The Willets are in Michigan, as far as I know.”

“I know that now, but I didn't know it then.”

“Why the question about old yellow SUVs?”

I told her about the yellow SUV that Joshua had seen.

Olive listened politely, then said, “So what? Guy probably just stopped at the wrong mailbox. Didn't
steal anything, so there was no crime. What's your beef?”

It was a pretty feeble beef, when looked at objectively. “An old SUV ran Abigail Highsmith off the road, according to Joanne Homlish, and Joanne says it looked like mine, but it wasn't. The one Joshua saw was yellow, but Joshua says it looked like mine otherwise.”

Olive counted on her fingers. “So you have two cases of old SUVs that look like yours but aren't, and you have another old yellow one up in the Willets' barn. Is that it? There are dozens of rusty old SUVs on this island, J.W. Go home and get out that video for me. Is it okay if I come by and pick it up?”

“Come any time,” I said, getting up from my chair. “I'll leave it out for you, in case I'm not there.”

But I didn't go home; I drove to the Willet place, parked in front of the barn, and peeked through the window. The old yellow SUV was there, but it didn't seem to be quite in the same place as before.

I backed off and studied the gravel drive. There, faintly, I could see what looked like indentations made by tires that led to the big barn door.

I went to the barn door and looked closely at the padlock. It was a heavy lock snapped onto a hasp that looked strong enough to resist Samson.

I went to the house and knocked on the front door, then circled the house, calling hello to anyone who might be there. No one was. I returned to the barn and circled it, calling some more but finding no one. I looked up at the field on the slope behind the barn, where the trail led to the Highsmith place. No one was in sight.

I got out my lock picks and was inside the barn before you could say rubber baby buggy bumpers.

The barn was an echo chamber, magnifying every sound. It was clean, as barns go, and was being used mostly to store the sort of stuff that you have but rarely if ever use, but don't want to get rid of just in case you or someone you know might want or need it someday: furniture in need of paint, boxes, tools, outgrown toys and games, and farm implements, including a plow, a harrow, and a riding lawn mower. And the old yellow Mitsubishi Pajero SUV.

I went to the truck and tried the door. Unlocked. I climbed into the cab and found the ignition keys in the glove compartment. The Willets apparently trusted the big padlock on the barn door and presumed that local thieves lacked both lock picks and crowbars.

A lot of Vineyarders are even more trusting, including me. I almost never lock either my car or my house doors, although I do make it a policy not to leave my keys in my car. Those islanders who do leave their keys in the ignition usually believe that since they live on an island, there's no place to go in a stolen car and therefore no reason to fear car thieves. They get their cars stolen just often enough to make the rest of us feel intelligent, usually by some kid or drunk or by someone who, just for thrills or laughs, drives it into a tree or into some pond.

I got out of the truck and left the barn, locking the big door behind me. I picked the lock on the kitchen door of the house and went into the kitchen, where most people keep keys behind a closet or cabinet door. I found the Willets' supply in the broom closet and took them back to the barn, where I quickly found the one that opened the padlock. I relocked the padlock, returned the keys to the closet, and took a quick tour of the house. On the second floor, overlooking the front
porch, I found what looked like a teenage girl's bedroom. Heather's room.

I spent a half hour carefully looking in bureau drawers, under the mattress, under the bed, in the closet, and behind mirrors and framed prints of fatigued-looking young people I presumed were rock stars unknown to me. I found nothing of interest and left, leaving everything as I had found it. If Heather had ever had a photo of Gregory Highsmith, it was no longer in evidence. Neither was a diary detailing her sex life.