Текст книги "Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding"

Автор книги: Lea Wait

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 33

Rip Van Winkle at the Village Tavern.Wood engraving from Harper’s Weekly, September 20, 1873, by Felix Octavious Carr Darley (1822-1888), who usually signed his work F.O.C. Darley. He was the first well-known American illustrator and provided pictures for books by Cooper, Irving, Dickens, Hawthorne, Poe, Stowe, among others, during the first half of the nineteenth century. This engraving is based on one he did earlier for Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle. It shows shiftless Rip, beer mug in hand, being routed out by Dame Van Winkle. Other patrons of the tavern include an obese gentleman smoking an extremely long clay pipe, a boy reading a newspaper, and Rip’s dog, Wolf, his tail between his legs, who knows it’s time to head for home. 9 x 11.75 inches. $75.

The Lazy Lobster was not only open, it was full. Of course, Maggie remembered. Fishing boats were not out. Harbormasters had required them to be dry-docked yesterday.

The storm was closing in, and most men in the Lazy Lobster had either finished storm-proofing their homes and those of their neighbors, or were taking a quick break before returning to their tasks.

One flat-screen TV above the bar was tuned to the Weather Channel. The other was focused on NECN, New England Cable News. Both stations alternated weather maps and scenes of crashing surf, trees bent over in the wind, and scrolling words warning that Hurricane Tasha was moving steadily northeast, and had diminished very little in power.

“Table today?” said a pert young woman who hadn’t been visible during Maggie’s previous visit. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore her white LAZY LOBSTER T-shirt proudly, and scooped low enough to hint at barely hidden cleavage.

“We’d prefer the bar, if there’s room,” said Maggie.

“You don’t usually like to sit at the bar,” Will said, as they followed their hostess to two stools at the far end.

“I like this one,” said Maggie. “We can see the weather reports better from here,” she added, guilelessly.

“Right,” said Will. “How could I forget your new-found addiction to the Weather Channel?”

“A girl can never hear too much about the weather. Especially when there’s a hurricane in the offing.” Maggie smiled.

“Nice to see you again, Maggie from New Jersey,” said Rocky. “What can I get you today? Another Sam Adams?”

“Sounds good. And the fried Wellfleet oysters,” said Maggie, pointing at the menu behind the bar.

Will ordered a Narragansett and a blue cheeseburger, extra rare, with bacon.

“You just ordered a coronary,” Maggie pointed out.

“Your fried oysters aren’t the healthiest choice in the world,” Will retaliated. “Especially since you added fries to your order when you thought I wasn’t listening. Now, what are we really here for?”

“I’m not sure,” Maggie said, under the noise of the crowd. “But Dan Jeffrey worked here sometimes. And Bob Silva, the guy who owns the hardware store, said the bartender here knows a lot about what happens in town.”

The waitress slid their lunch plates in front of them with a quick “Enjoy!”

“Speedy service, anyway,” said Will.

“Notice anything unusual about this place?” said Maggie.

“You and the waitress are the only females in here?”

“Right. And everyone’s a waterfront sort. No lawyers or bankers, at least by the look of them.”

“I’d say you’re right. Wide age spread, too. I’d guess from about sixteen—too young to be legally drinking and probably should be in school—up to the old guy in the corner. Maybe in his eighties?”

“Today schools may have closed early. But the afternoon I was here some high school kids came in, too.”

Will frowned. “Not a good sign. Even if kids aren’t ordering alcoholic drinks, towns usually frown on them hanging out in dives like this. Most proprietors throw them out. They don’t want to get in trouble with the parents or police. We had a place like this near the school where I taught in Buffalo. Ended up being closed down.”

“Because?” said Maggie, taking another bite of her oysters.

“The kids weren’t there to buy the beer and pizza. Or even just the pizza. The owner had another business going on the side.”

“The kids were buying drugs with their pizza.”

“Bingo.”

Maggie looked around. “What do you think about that possibility here?”

Will looked at her. “I have no idea. But if that’s even a small possibility you don’t talk about it here. You finish your oysters and fries, you smile, you leave a nice tip, and you get out.”

“You are such a smart man, Will Brewer,” said Maggie. “These are really good oysters, by the way. Nice and fresh. Want a bite?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 34

Trouble Somewhere.James Montgomery Flagg (1877-1960) illustration, 1900. Woman sitting alone and aloof in expensive car of the period, as man in fur coat stands, defeated, head down, by the side of the road. The hood of the car is raised, exposing the engine, and Cupid is standing on the car’s wheel, looking into the motor and holding a wrench. James Montgomery Flagg sold his first illustration when he was twelve. By the time he was fifteen he was on the staff of the original Life Magazine, published from 1889-1936 until it was purchased by Henry Luce. Other illustrators saw their jobs as stepping stones to fine art. Flagg wanted to illustrate, and did so all of his life. He’s best remembered for the World War I poster he did of Uncle Sam pointing at the viewer, saying, “I Want YOU for the U.S. Army.” 12 x 17 inches. Price: $60.

“The burger and beer were fine in that place,” said Will, as they drove out of the Lazy Lobster’s parking lot. “But your oysters were definitely the best choice. I also could have done without everyone’s staring at us and wondering why we were there. Especially since I wasn’t sure myself. Now, where to? And what’s all this sudden interest in drugs?”

“Last spring, a boy here, the teenaged son of the owner of the hardware store where we bought the plywood yesterday, died of an overdose. The town pretty much freaked out. Everyone blamed everyone else.”

“Did they find the dealer?”

“No. But the boy’s father blamed Diana’s father. His rationale was that Dan was new in town and he helped out with one of the kids’ baseball teams. It got to the point that there was a fight—in the Lazy Lobster. The police broke it up, and after that Dan Jeffrey didn’t work at the Lobster, or at any of his other local jobs.”

“Pretty hard for the guy if he lost his jobs, especially if he wasn’t to blame for the drugs.”

“Right. And no one was ever arrested, so I’m assuming there wasn’t proof to charge him. Or anyone else.”

“Are the drugs still around?”

“Not so much. Or they’ve learned to keep it quieter. But drugs never go away, do they?”

Will grimaced. “They go underground.”

“Exactly.”

“What does all this have to do with Diana and Cordelia?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Maggie hesitated. “But I’ve run out of places to look. I can’t exactly go up to someone and ask if they’re dealing in drugs.”

“Good. Glad you see it that way.” Will reached over and patted her knee.

“It would have to be someone who could be with the kids and not arouse any suspicion, right?”

“Right. But I thought you were concerned about Diana, and about the deaths of her father and her cousin. The boy at the high school who died last spring doesn’t have anything to do with them.”

“I’m not sure, Will. I have a feeling that somehow all three deaths are connected. I just don’t know how.”

“Maggie, be realistic. It’s about,” Will glanced at his watch, “one in the afternoon. What time do those parties start tonight?”

“Seven.”

“So at seven tonight you and I will be heading out, in the middle of a hurricane, let’s not forget, to attend separate parties. Which I certainly hope don’t run late, because I’m considerably over the age of eighteen and I don’t get a real thrill out of being out in a storm with a bunch of drunk guys I don’t know. Or of thinking of you out somewhere else with some crazy cousin of Gussie’s who thinks she’s a witch. Tomorrow morning there’ll be wedding preparations, and early tomorrow afternoon your best friend in all the world—which is how you usually refer to Gussie—is marrying someone who’s a pretty nice guy. Plus, Maggie, and I do not say this lightly, the man you love, who you are rarely even in the same state with, is here. Now. With you. A situation which will exist for only another, say, forty hours.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Maggie asked, trying to look innocent.

“Lady, sometimes you have your priorities really messed up.”

“Stop at the hardware store again. Please. I’ll be really fast. I promise.”

Will sighed. “Let me guess. You want to get some candles in case the electricity goes out tonight.”

“I was thinking of flashlights. But candles might have to do if they’re sold out of flashlights,” she said as he pulled in. She leaned over and kissed him lightly before opening the car door.

Winslow Hardware looked as though the storm had already hit. Most of the supplies she’d seen there earlier were gone. Few customers were in the aisles. She suspected everyone was hunkering down at home before the storm. Any supplies they didn’t have now they’d do without.

Bob Silva was behind the counter. “Maggie, we’re getting to be old friends. What have you forgotten? I’m afraid we’re out of most hurricane supplies.”

“Flashlights?”

“The large ones are gone. I still have a few small ones, over there.” He pointed at a display of camping gear.

Maggie selected a light so small the entire case fit in the palm of her hand. “Are these any good? I mean, will they light a path in the dark?”

“They’re not exactly torches,” said Silva, “and I wouldn’t try to read with one, but they’ll be better than nothing. People put those in glove compartments or pockets so they can see a map or find a keyhole.”

“I’ll take two,” she said, reaching for her wallet. “And I’ve been thinking about what you said about your son’s death. Would you mind if I talked to a couple of the other boys on his baseball team?”

Silva stopped making change. “I don’t think it’ll do any good, Maggie. Either those boys don’t know anything, or they won’t talk. Ike Irons tried several times last spring. And you’re not from here. Why would they trust you?”

Maggie shrugged. “They might not. But maybe they’d talk to me because I’m not from here. And the situation has changed since last spring. If Dan Jeffrey was involved, they might say something now that he’s dead. I’d like to try to talk with them. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll give you stubbornness, Maggie Summer. I hope this Hurricane Tasha isn’t as persistent as you are. I hear it’s made a mess of the Connecticut shoreline. Here.” Silva reached for a pad and scribbled down two names. “These are the names of two of my boy’s best friends. If any of the kids on the team talk, they would. When do you think you might try to see them?”

“Will they be at home this afternoon?”

Silva paused. “Likely. Everyone’s home today because of the storm. Schools let out at noon. I’m going to close up here at two o’clock. Tell you what. Those boys probably wouldn’t talk with their moms and dads hovering over them. But they’re kids. They like to eat. The pizza place in town is staying open until four o’clock. I just sold my last sandbags to the guy who owns it. Let me call their moms and tell them you’re here for Gussie’s wedding. You’re a college professor, right?”

Maggie nodded.

“I’ll tell ’em you’re doing research on the effects of drugs on kids. You’d like to talk to their boys about how they feel about what happened to Tony, and you’ll buy the boys pizza if they meet you at two o’clock. No moms or dads. Just half an hour with you, and the kids get pizza.”

“Bob, that’s a fantastic idea! I love it!”

“I don’t know if it’ll work. But I’ll try. Sean Jacobs and Josh Sewall. Be at the pizza place at two o’clock and we’ll see if they show. Give me your cell number. If both families say ‘no way,’ I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you; thank you so much,” said Maggie, scribbling down her number.

“No one’s asked about Tony in months,” said Bob Silva. “You care. I don’t know why. But you do. If you can find out anything, I want to help. Let’s hope your idea works. If it doesn’t?” He shrugged. “Nothing ventured.” He turned. “I’ll make those calls now.”

Will didn’t look happy when Maggie got back to the car. “I was about ready to come in after you.”

“I got flashlights for us, for tonight,” said Maggie, showing him her purchases.

He picked one up. “Not exactly super-strength, are they?”

“They were the only lights left. A couple of hours before a hurricane you don’t have a lot of choices.”

“Not surprising,” said Will. “And now, back to Six Gables?”

“Yes,” said Maggie. “But I’m going to have to go out for a short time in about half an hour.”

“Where are we going then?” asked Will, his voice very calm. “More sleuthing?”

“Just me this time,” said Maggie. “I’m going to meet with one or two of the boys who played baseball with Tony Silva, the boy who overdosed last spring.”

“You’re what?” said Will. “I thought we were going to have a quiet afternoon. Resting. Spending time together. Saving our strength for the craziness of whatever this evening brings.”

“We will! I promise. You’ll just start your rest a little before I start mine. I won’t be long. The boys are only going to be at the pizza parlor for half an hour. That’s what we’ve promised their parents.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?”

“Bob Silva is calling their parents now, trying to convince them to talk with me.”

“And, let me guess. You’re bribing them with the pizza.”

“They’re teenagers. Of course I am.”

Will didn’t answer. He turned the key in the ignition, and headed the car back to the B&B.

The silence in the car would have been even denser if it hadn’t been for the winds that were picking up and swirling leaves and small branches on the roads and lawns. A few larger branches had already fallen. Will swerved around one that blocked part of the road.

When he pulled into the parking lot at Six Gables he turned to her. “Maggie, I don’t want you to go. The roads are getting worse.”

“I told you, Will. I’ve already made plans. I won’t be gone long. This is important.”

“More important than listening to me? More important than being with the man you love?”

“I love you, Will. You know that.”

“If you love me, why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“I do listen to you.”

“Then why don’t you ever take anything I say seriously? You always do exactly what you want to do, without thinking about how it might affect someone else. About how someone else might worry about you. About how someone else might have a legitimate idea sometime.”

“But I—”

“You get involved in one of these missions of yours to help someone, or to solve some crime, and there’s no stopping you. Sometimes I love you for it, Maggie. But I need you to make time in your life for me, too. I don’t want to spend my life waiting around for you to have an extra minute for me, when no one else needs you.”

He got out of the car, closed the door carefully, and went up the stairs into Six Gables, leaving Maggie alone in the front seat of Aunt Nettie’s car.

Chapter 35

The American Base-Ball Players in England—Match Between The Red Stockings and The Athletics, Prince’s Ground, Brompton.Wood engraving (black and white) full-pageillustration from Harper’s Weekly, September 12, 1874. View of field from behind catcher, where bats have been flung. “Boston” is clearly visible on the shirts of both the player at bat and one player waiting his turn. The Cincinnati Red Stockings became the first all-professional baseball club in 1869. In 1871 a pro club was organized in Boston. It hired away half the players from Cincinnati and called itself the Boston Red Stockings. That club eventually became the Boston Braves. Today’s Boston Red Sox was established in 1901. Early baseball prints are rare. 10.5 x 15.5 inches. $250.

This was not the way Maggie had intended the weekend to go.

She wanted to follow Will into the B&B and explain. He didn’t get it. This was something that had to be done, and no one else was doing it.

Damn. It wasn’t as though no one else could do it. She wasn’t that egotistical. But no one else was. And there was a chance. Maybe a small chance. But still a chance, that she could help figure out who’d killed one, or two, or maybe even three people.

She refused to throw that chance away. Not even for Will.

She stalked over to her own van. After all, the hurricane wasn’t here yet. She wouldn’t be in any danger. She was only going to talk to a couple of high school kids. And she’d be back in, what? Thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes, tops.

She’d spend the rest of the weekend with Will.

If he couldn’t cope with that, then no wonder he didn’t want to be a father. He’d never be able to share her attention with a child. It was a good thing she’d found that out now.

She was pulling into the pizza parlor before she’d finished talking to herself. Only a few cars were there. Most people in Winslow were spending their afternoons at home, not ordering pizza.

A tall man came out of the restaurant carrying three pizza boxes, put them in the back seat of his car, and drove off.

Except for those who planned to nosh on pizza while waiting out the storm.

Almost two o’clock. Bob Silva hadn’t called. That should mean Sean and Josh were coming. Good for Bob; he must have been convincing. She’d been afraid the boys’ parents wouldn’t want them to come.

A man and a woman were standing at the restaurant counter, waiting for orders. Only one table was filled: a mother and pre-teen daughter starting on a veggie pizza. The girl was carefully picking the mushrooms and onions off her piece. The mom watched her for a minute, and then took the discarded vegetables and put them on her own slice. Neither of them spoke.

Would she be that way with her daughter? Had those two argued? Or were they so comfortable with each other they didn’t need to speak? Were they waiting for someone to join them? That large pizza looked like a lot for only two of them.

The restaurant door behind her opened.

“Are you Dr. Summer?” The young men who came in were both taller than Maggie; the taller of the two had an acne problem he’d tried unsuccessfully to cover with medication. The other had a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm. “The college lady?”

“I am. You’re Sean and Josh?”

They nodded. Josh was the taller one.

“What would you like on your pizza?”

They agreed on an extra-large pepperoni, meatball, and sausage pizza and large Cokes. And a large bag of barbecue-flavored Cape Cod potato chips to hold them until the pizza was ready. Maggie ordered two bags of the chips. She’d take one bag back as a peace offering for Will. For privacy, they sat at a table as far from either the cook or the mother and daughter as possible.

“Thanks for coming,” said Maggie. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. We were vegging out at Sean’s place anyway, since they canceled school this afternoon,” said Josh. “Free pizza’s good.”

Maggie smiled. Whatever worked. Pizza seemed appropriate under all circumstances in Winslow. “Mr. Silva told me you were friends of his son, Tony.”

The boys looked at each other. Sean shrugged.

“I’m not going to tell Mr. Silva anything you tell me. And if I tell anyone what we talk about, I won’t say who it was told me. Okay with you guys?”

Sean nodded. “It’s just that, Tony was okay and all. And we were on the same team, sure. But we weren’t exactly the closest.”

“Got it,” said Maggie. “Did Tony have any close friends?”

Sean looked at Josh and shrugged. Josh shook his head. “Not really. He wasn’t exactly the most with-it kid around.”

His dad had played baseball, and said Tony was getting better. “Could he play baseball?”

“He stunk,” said Josh bluntly. “Mr. Costa, the coach? He didn’t put him in too often. Tony struck out, and he couldn’t run fast. Part of it was, he had asthma, and he had to stop to use his inhaler. You can’t play baseball when you have to stop to breathe.”

“He was supposed to play left field. But most of the time he couldn’t catch fly balls, and when he did, he dropped them,” added Sean.

“His dad was always at the practices, yelling at him to try harder, and telling Coach to put him in, to give him another chance. But Tony was a disaster.”

Their pizza arrived and the boys lost no time digging in.

“He played baseball because his dad wanted him to?”

“For sure. He hated it. Some of the guys made fun of him for even trying.”

“Who wouldn’t hate being the reason we’d lose games?” added Josh, wiping tomato sauce off his chin. “He was an embarrassment.”

“What about the drugs? If you guys wanted to get drugs, where would you go?”

The boys looked at each other.

“I’m not asking if you use, or if any of your friends do. But in most schools, or towns, there’s a place or a person where you can go. I’m from Jersey; I don’t know Winslow. Where would someone go in this town? If a person were interested.”

Sean glanced around, as though someone else were listening. “You said no one would know what we said, right?”

“Right. I’m telling you straight. Did you know Dan Jeffrey?”

“Sure. Friend of Coach Costa. Helped with team equipment last year.”

“I heard he got killed a week ago,” said Josh.

“He did,” said Maggie. “Tony’s dad said Dan Jeffrey was the one who gave Tony the pills that killed him.”

Sean looked sideways at Josh. “Tony’s dad got that wrong. I never heard of anyone getting anything from Mr. Jeffrey. He was just a nice guy who liked baseball. He used to give us tips, sort of like a second coach. He helped me with my fast ball. He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Tony.”

Josh shook his head. “Mr. Jeffrey used to talk to Tony about his asthma. Once I heard him tell Tony’s dad not to go so hard on him; to let Tony drop off the team and do something he was better at. Mr. Silva got real mad. He told Mr. Jeffrey to mind his own business.”

Sean said quietly. “It wasn’t Mr. Jeffrey who had pills.”

Josh elbowed Sean.

Neither of them said anything more. They both focused on their pizza. They didn’t look at Maggie or each other. No one said anything for several long minutes.

Then Maggie asked. “Who was it, then? Who had the pills?”

“We can tell her, Josh. It don’t make a difference anymore,” said Sean.

“I guess.” Josh didn’t look as sure. “But you won’t tell our parents? ’Cause Sean and me, we didn’t do pills. Honest.”

The two of them looked so young and so scared Maggie was almost certain they were telling the truth. But they knew something. “I won’t tell your parents. But I won’t lie to you. I might have to tell the police.”

“Just don’t tell our parents you heard it from us. It could have been a lot of people who told. Everybody knew,” bargained Sean.

“I promise,” said Maggie, hoping no one would else would break her promise.

Sean took a deep breath and looked around. Then he lowered his voice. “Maybe there were other places in town to get stuff, but kids I know got pills from that deaf lady who came to watch the games. Miss West.”