Deadout (25 page)

Jimmy shrugged. “He says he thought he was burning up the GMO bees. That much I believe, because just before I came out here, I told him they were Pete Westcamp's and he fell apart.” Pete's honeybees were the last real ones on the island. And Teddy had just incinerated them. “Kid's in there crying worse than Pete did, talking about what people are going to think about him.” He shook his head. “I still don't understand how someone could get so attached to some goddamned bugs. But anyway, I told him I don't care whose bees he thought he was burning up. He destroyed Westcamp's property. He committed a crime. Maybe he meant to commit a different crime, but he still committed a crime. I don't see how it changes things. And there's still going to be arson charges.” He took a sip. “And I think he's full of shit about his secret eco-army. He says the Environmental Liberation Brigade is this big organization, but no one I asked has ever heard of it, not even Google. All I see is one asshole screwing up a stupid prank and getting in trouble for it on his own.”

“He did have help, at least one guy, maybe two. And I'm pretty sure I know who, a big muscly hard-core mercenary type with a mean face and a knife tucked in his boot. I'm pretty sure that's who tased me. Teddy's been sneaking around to all these secret rendezvous. I'm pretty sure it's been with the same guy.”

“So, what, you've been watching him?”

I shrugged. “I've been keeping an eye on him.”

“That's what you've been doing for the old man?”

“Not anymore. Anyway, I was watching when his pal dropped him off. Then, when Teddy ran in there to do the deed, they took off. Left him there high and dry.”

“So, what, you're saying they set him up?”

“How'd you get there so fast? And the fire department?”

He sighed. “Anonymous tip. I guess that would explain the phone calls.”

“What's that?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing really. Just that when we let him have his phone call, he couldn't get through to the number he was dialing. I could hear it from where I was sitting, ‘This number is not in service,' with the little tone and everything. But he kept calling, same number, same result, over and over. Must have called it ten times. Got pretty worked up about it, too. Finally we told him he got one more try, he needed to call someone else.” He sipped his whiskey and looked me in the eye. “He called your friend Nola Watkins.”

“How'd that go?” I said, my voice flat.

Jimmy shrugged. “I think she told him to call his dad. He said he didn't want to. Then he asked her to call someone else for him.” He snorted. “Gave her a bunch of instructions on how to take care of his chickens.”

I drank some of my whiskey. Then drank some more. “So you believe someone else was involved.”

He shrugged. “I don't see how it changes anything for Master Renfrew in there.”

I shook my head. “Me neither. Lock him up and throw away the key, I say. Make an example out of him. And frankly, I wouldn't mind it if you found someplace a little less pleasant to keep him. But if there's other assholes working with him, they should be in there, too.”

Jimmy drained his cup. “Well, you run into those friends of his, you let me know and I'll lock them up with him.”

 

43

Renfrew had said he watched the sunrise from the front of his house every morning. The next morning before dawn, I was waiting for him.

I wasn't working for him anymore, but I felt an obligation to tell him about Teddy. Mostly, though, I wanted to see his face when I told him, see if he already knew.

Jimmy had wondered how someone could get so worked up over a bunch of insects, and I did, too. But knowing those were the last real honeybees on the island felt like a punch in the gut. If it was part of some bizarre family grudge on Renfrew's part, I wanted to know.

Annalisa was right about the Wesley, but by the time I left Jimmy, it was too late to go anywhere else. So I'd spent the night tossing and turning, thinking, worrying, and checking the chair wedged against the door. Not very restful, but at least it had been brief. When I left, I packed up my stuff and brought it with me. I didn't check out, though. If someone came looking for me, it was worth the nightly rate to keep them from figuring out I was staying somewhere else.

The sky had gone from deep blue when I got there to pale pink and then gray. It seemed now to be getting darker rather than lighter, and in the gloom I could see the lights on Archie Pearce's yacht.

The predawn cold and damp were working their way into my bones, and I was starting to think maybe Renfrew had been telling tales about his morning regimen when I heard the patio door slide open behind me, followed a few seconds later by the
shush, shush, shush
of footsteps in the wet grass.

Renfrew stepped around the chair next to me and eased himself into it without looking over. “A pleasant surprise, Mr. Carrick,” he said, raising his coffee to take a sip. “Had you called ahead I would have poured you a cup.”

I wished I'd called ahead. The coffee smelled incredible, and I couldn't tell if it was because it was cold and damp and five in the morning or if it was some special rich-guy coffee.

“Teddy's in jail,” I told him.

He let out a soft grunt. “Teddy's an idiot.”

“He incinerated Pete Westcamp's bees. Doused them with some kind of chemical and set them on fire.”

Renfrew shook his head. “That doesn't sound like Teddy. Maybe if he had hugged them to death.” He laughed. “Or if he had set light to me instead.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

Renfrew let out a deep sigh. “I know Teddy has a track record of big, messy, stupid mistakes. And usually they end up biting me in the ass.” He gave me a sour look. “I try to take precautions.”

“I think he might have been set up.”

“By whom?”

“By the people he thought he was working with. They left him stranded at the scene. And someone tipped off the police.”

He looked thoughtful and maybe concerned for a moment. Then he held up his hand and pointed out at the water. The sun was just appearing over the horizon, a thin sliver of molten orange under a thickening blanket of clouds.

We watched for a moment. Then he slurped his coffee loudly and I wondered if he was doing it intentionally, just to spite me. “Doesn't look like you're in for much of a show this morning.”

His phone buzzed and he sighed in annoyance, but looked puzzled when he read the display. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he said distantly, putting the phone to his ear. “What is it?” His voice sounded like he wanted to snap but was withholding judgment. He listened for a few seconds, a deep furrow creasing his brow. Then he stood and turned away from me.

“Well, you must be wrong about that,” he said, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. Then his tone hardened. “That can't be. You heard what they said yesterday. They can't … What do you mean they can?”

Renfrew turned to look out over the water, his eye beginning to twitch. When I followed his gaze, I saw Pearce's yacht, the lights seeming suddenly brighter as the dark clouds swallowed up the rising sun. Together we watched as a small cluster of the lights rose away from the others. Pearce's helicopter was lifting off.

“This is bullshit, Stan,” Renfrew said, his voice defiant but thin. “They made a goddamned commitment. They can't fuck us like that.”

As the helicopter rose into the air, the sound of its rotors made its way across the water, that same deep
whump, whump, whump
I could feel in my chest.

Renfrew got to his feet, his eyes blazing. “
No!
No … Bullshit, Stan. You tell them—” His voice trailed off as he listened to what Stan was saying. The anger in his eyes was doused with fear. “No,” he said quietly, almost pleadingly, one hand wrapped across his forehead.

The helicopter was flying straight at us. Without a word, Renfrew turned and walked back toward the house, away from me. He looked over his shoulder, but he was oblivious to my presence. His eyes were on the helicopter, his feet quickening like he was scurrying to get inside before it reached us.

It was coming in fast, the rotors losing their low punch but growing louder and louder all the same. The breeze picked up as the helicopter banked low, right overhead, as if I could feel the wind from its rotors. Then it was gone.

As Renfrew went inside, I heard him saying, “Well … what am I going to do now?”

 

44

I was faced with the same question myself. Coffee was the first order, since that's just how it is. I stopped at a place called the Art Cliff Diner. They seemed to be doing a good breakfast trade, and the business smelled justified, but breakfast had to wait. Coffee was like that sometimes.

I took my coffee back to the Jeep and got out my phone.

I needed to call Nola, Moose, and Annalisa. Moose was the least urgent, but the only one where I knew where I stood. I was about to call Nola, but then a call came in from Annalisa.

“Doyle!” she said, scolding but relieved, her voice oddly hushed. “I was so worried about you. Are you okay? Why didn't you call?”

“Well, I—”

“Just tell me, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, but it was a long night—”

“Good,” she said. “I'm glad you're okay. I can't really talk. I'm at work.”

I looked at my watch. “It's quarter after six.”

“I know. I came in early.” Her voice sounded tight, and she took a deep breath and let it out. “I need to talk to you. Can you meet me for lunch?”

“Sure. Are you okay?”

“How about noon. Do you know the Oceanview?”

“Okay, great, I'll—”

“I'll see you there.” Then she was gone.

I sat there staring at the phone for a moment, wondering what was going on. She sounded stressed, but not frightened. I thought about going over to her lab, but I knew she wanted to talk far away from there.

I let a few more seconds tick by. Then I called Nola.

“Doyle?” she said tentatively.

“Yeah.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Sorry. I was going to call but we got finished pretty late last night. Plus, I figured you already knew what happened, since Teddy called you and all.”

“Yes, I was surprised by his call as well … and to be hearing what happened from him, instead of from you.”

“I was surprised by that, too.”

“Look, we should talk. Things are crazy here right now. They were already crazy, but now I'm in charge until Teddy gets back.”

“Why are you in charge?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well, you're the new girl, and…”

“Because, Doyle,” she said, a little testy, “I'm the only one with a masters in horticulture and the only one who had run a farm of their own.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I'm taking a break at noon for lunch. Can we meet then and talk in person?”

Part of me was cursing inside, but part of me was glad to be able to say no. “Actually, I can't, I have to meet someone.…”

“I see … Well, I guess we'll talk later.”

I was relieved she didn't press me on my plans. “I can come over now,” I offered, but she said no.

“So he told you what he did?” I asked.

“Yes, he told me. He thinks it's an important statement, and that it might give the native bees a chance to recover. I told him they're just going to bring more GMO bees in. But he wouldn't listen. He's so misguided, but he really does mean well.”

She didn't know what had happened. Teddy had called her before he knew he'd killed Pete Westcamp's bees. “So, there's some parts of last night I might still need to tell you about.”

“Okay…”

“After you asked me to stop him, I did find him at the industrial park, loading chemicals into a portable tank of some sort. I tried to talk him out of doing whatever he was planning, but he was his usual friendly self, and then one of his friends tased me from behind.”

“Tased?”

“Shot me with a taser.”

“You mean like a stun gun?”

“Kind of like, yeah.”

“Oh, my God! Are you okay?”

“I recovered in time to follow them, and I caught up with them on their way to Edgartown. I got there in time to see Teddy get out of the van with the chemicals. Then he ran around behind the shipyard building. The sky lit up from the fire, and immediately, his friends took off and left him there, and the police showed up right away. Anonymous tip.”

“A tip? Do you think he was set up?”

“Looks like it. Plus, well, he killed the wrong bees.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean those weren't the evil Stoma Corporation bees that he destroyed. They were Pete Westcamp's last remaining hives. Pete was getting them off the island, taking them to Chappaquiddick, where he hoped they'd be safe. Teddy killed the last regular honeybees on Martha's Vineyard.”

*   *   *

Nola had been upset about the bees.

Moose was angry.

“What a fucking asshat!” he yelled when I told him what Teddy had done. I love Moose. “Stupid fucking idiot. Well, now we're truly screwed. Well and truly. Even if he'd killed the
right
bees, it would have given credibility to every bullshit stereotype Archie Pearce and his type say about anyone who protests when some mega corporation tries to make a few billion dollars off the destruction of something they don't own. But now, in addition, he's made those goddamned GMO bees all but necessary around here. People who were carrying pitchforks two days ago, ready to run Stoma off the island, they're going to be lining up for a chance to get GMO bees onto their farms.” He finished with an unintelligible growl.

“Any word from Benjy?”