Vineyard Shadows: A Martha's Vineyard Mystery - Softcover

Craig, Philip R

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0380820994 ISBN 13: 9780380820993

Publisher: Avon, 2002

Synopsis

J.W. Jackson abandoned Boston for the tranquil pleasures of Martha's Vineyard, hoping to leave the violence of the big city behind. But when the past comes looking for him in the guise of two brutal thugs, the former cop knows it is time to put down his fishing pole and start opening doors he'd hoped were closed forever. And when the man the hoodlums were searching for -- a face from Jackson's yesterday -- turns up seeking help, J.W. realizes that personal revenge should be the least of his concerns. Because the shadows darkening the island are longer and deadlier than he ever imagined. And if he can't stem the dark tide lapping at the shores of his beloved Vineyard, the new life he loves and everyone in it will be changed forever.

About this title

About the Author:

Philip R. Craig grew up on a small cattle ranch near Durango, Colorado, before going off to college at Boston University, where he was an All-American fencer. He earned his M.F.A. at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop. A recently retired professor of English at Wheelock College in Boston, he and his wife Shirley now live year-round on Martha's Vineyard.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One

I got the details by talking with the survivors, since I wasn't at the house when it happened. Instead, I was on the clam-flats in Katama with my son Joshua. When we came home, there was a cop at the head of our driveway and an ambulance was pulling out and heading toward the hospital in Oak Bluffs. I turned into something made of ice.

The cop recognized my old Land Cruiser and waved us in. I drove fast down our long, sandy driveway. The yard was full of police cars and uniforms. Sergeant Tony D'Agostine met me as I stepped out of the truck.

I was full of fear. "Stay here," I said to Joshua, and shut the truck's door behind me.

"There's been some trouble," said Tony.

"Where's Zee? Where's Diana?!"

"Take it easy," said Tony, "it's all over."

"Where are they?!" I pushed him aside, and went toward the house. He followed me, saying something I wasn't hearing. I saw what looked like blood on the grass. Jesus! Cops stood aside as I came through them.

That was the beginning of it for me.

The day had started earlier, of course, and had seemed like any other day. School was out, so the pale June people were already on the island, trying to brown up on the beaches before going back to their mainland jobs. Parking places were getting hard to find on the main streets of the Vineyard's towns, and the harbors were beginning to fill with boats. Another summer season was under way.

That morning, after breakfast, Zee had had a date with Manny Fonseca down at the Rod and Gun Club, where she would practice her pistol shooting under his sharp eye in preparation for an upcoming competition.

"I'm taking Diana," Zee had said. "She's been on my case for weeks. She wants to watch, and I guess this is as good a time as any."

Competitive pistol shooting was an odd recreation for Nurse Zee, because she was a healer who basically disapproved of firearms; but, as she had discovered to her surprise and sometimes consternation, she was what Manny called a "natural" with a pistol. Worse yet, she had found that she enjoyed competitive shooting. These facts notwithstanding, she scorned Manny's NRA clichés about the benefits of gun possession and was ever ill at ease about having a couple firearms of her own, including the custom .45 that she used in competition.

"Just remember what Shane told Marian," I told her when she got into one of her antifirearms moods. "'A gun is just a tool. It's as good or bad as the person using it.'"

"It may be a tool for Shane," said Zee, "but for me it's a toy. That makes it even more stupid and immoral."

"Target shooting isn't stupid or immoral," I said. "It gives you pleasure. Pleasure is good. Ask any hedonist."

"Guns are dangerous. We'd be better off if no one had any!"

There were times when I thought that myself, of course. But although I almost never used them, I still kept my father's 30.06 and shotguns in the gun cabinet, along with the old .38 I'd carried when I was a Boston cop.

"Maybe," I said, "but people do have them. I have them. You have them. They're not going to go away. It's better to know how to use them safely and to enjoy them than to wish there weren't any."

"I know. But I don't always like it."

That morning I'd just said, "Well, make sure the girl child has her earplugs and glasses. I don't need a deaf daughter."

"What's deaf mean, Pa?" Diana the Huntress, who spent a great deal of time looking for food, had asked.

"It means you can't hear. Like when you put your fingers in your ears. Shooting is very noisy, and the noise can hurt your ears, so you always wear earplugs when you shoot. And you wear shooting glasses in case something hits you in the eye."

"Oh." Diana had put her fingers in her ears, and smiled up at me. Then she had pointed and said, "Can I have that piece of toast you didn't eat?"

"Sure."

I had gone to the tide chart that was taped to the refrigerator. "Well, since you ladies are going shooting, I guess I will go clamming. If I leave right now, the tide will be just right down-harbor." I had looked at my growing son. "You want to come, Josh?"

"Yes, Pa."

Joshua liked to do what his folks did. Such a manly little chap. Just like his dad.

So he and I had collected our gloves and clam baskets and driven to Katama, full of innocence, not knowing how our lives were about to be changed.

Back at home, Zee packed her shooting gear into the flight bag she used to tote her stuff, washed and stacked the breakfast dishes, and, just before ten, headed out the door with Diana.

As she reached her little Jeep, she heard a car coming down the driveway. She put the flight bag on the hood of the Jeep and turned, thinking it was me, coming back early for some reason.

But it wasn't me. It was a black car with tinted windows. Zee didn't recognize it. The car stopped and for a while nothing else happened. Then doors opened and two men got out. They wore slacks and loose summer shirts that hung down over their belts. Dark glasses covered their eyes. One was a normal-sized man. The other one was the size of a large refrigerator.

Zee stepped forward to meet them. Diana came, too, and took Zee's hand.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"I'll bet you can," said the refrigerator. A little wind caught his shirttail and lifted it slightly, giving Zee a brief glimpse of a pistol holstered on his belt. His black glasses seemed to eat her up.

"We want to see Tom Rimini," said the other man.

"I'm afraid you've come to the wrong house," said Zee. "I don't know any Tom Rimini."

"You Mrs. Jackson?"

She nodded, feeling uneasy.

"Then we're at the right house. We don't want no trouble, so you better just have him step out." Somehow both of them had gotten very close to her.

She pulled Diana nearer to her. "I just told you. I don't know anyone named Tom Rimini."

"That's not what we hear," said the refrigerator. He put out a huge hand and took hold of the collar of her shirt. "Don't get yourself hurt for him. It won't do no good."

She jerked herself away from him and felt the shirt tear. She was both angry and frightened. "I don't know who you are, but you'd better get back in that car and get out of here right now!"

"Oh, a feisty one," said the refrigerator. "I like feisty ones, Howie. Nice tits, too." He laughed.

"This your little girl?" asked Howie. "Come here, dearie."

He swept Diana up into his arms before Zee knew what he was doing.

"Ma! Ma!" cried Diana.

Zee reached for her, but the refrigerator stepped between her and Howie.

"Ma! Ma!" he said, grinning and spreading his arms. Zee ducked, but he was expecting her move and caught her. "Hold it, Ma."

But Zee didn't hold it. She stamped her foot on his shin and brought her knee up hard. It was as though he could read her mind. He turned slightly and the knee glanced off his thigh. Then he slapped her across the face and her ears rang. He slapped her again and she felt sickness rise up in her. She twisted in his arms and this time he let her go. She almost fell.

"Give me my daughter!"

"Take it easy," said Howie. "And you take it easy, too, Pat. We don't want any trouble, Mrs. Jackson. We just want Tom Rimini. We get him, we go away. Just like that."

She felt so light-headed that she could hardly stand. "I tell you he isn't here. I've never heard of him."

"Go look in the house, Pat," said Howie.

"Keep an eye on Ma," said Pat. "She may jump you when I'm gone."

"I don't think so," said Howie. He held Diana against his chest with his left hand and dipped his right hand under his shirt. The hand came out, and there was a click, and the hand was holding a knife with a long, thin blade. He laid it on Diana's cheek. "You won't jump me, will you, Mrs. Jackson?"

She stepped back. "No. Please take the knife away. I'll do whatever you want, but d

About this edition

• Publisher: Avon
• Publication date: 2002
• ISBN 10: 0380820994
• ISBN 13: 9780380820993
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 256