The Kills (41 page)

Seconds
later, the doe and two small deer followed him, trailing off through the woods
on my neighbor's land.

I drove
on to my house and parked the car. Usually, my caretaker came ahead and lighted
the entrance and living area for me, cutting flowers in summer to place around
the rooms and stocking the refrigerator with basics. This time, because he had
already left the island, I was faced with a dark, cold shell that seemed strangely
unwelcoming.

I
unlocked the side door and walked quickly into the kitchen and small parlor
beyond, flipping on every light switch. I rested the bag of food on the
countertop, opened the cabinet to grab a glass, and filled it with ice. In the
living room, I pressed the CD player button for random select. By the time I
poured some Dewar's, Simon and Garfunkel reminded me that I was fakin' it, and
as I was well aware, not really makin' it. I clicked the remote, content to
wind up on the bridge over troubled water.

Mike
Chapman's home number was on my speed dial. I settled onto the sofa with my
drink and waited for him to answer.

"Hello."

"Val?
It's Alex. Is this a bad time?"

"No,
no. It's fine. How've you been?"

"Good,
thanks. Just came up to the country to prepare for the storm." I didn't
know whether to mention that Mike had told me she hadn't felt well lately.
Before I could decide what to ask, he had taken the phone from her hand.

"Etymology,
blondie. Whaddaya know about it?"

I was too
disinterested to answer fast enough.

"Me?
I thought it was bugs. I'm fat on bugs-figured I would have cleaned up on you
tonight. Who knew it was about words?
O.K.,
you know, the initials? Know what they stand for?"

"Count
me out, Mike. Look-"

"From
the
Boston Morning Post,
1839.
Some cellist from Ottawa won fourteen grand on this. An editor who couldn't
spell right used it back then to mean 'oll korrect.' Get it? 'All correct' gets
muffed into
O.K.
"

"Riveting.
I called to tell you the latest snag in the case."

"Can't
you give it a rest, kid? Don't go snapping at me. I got my jammies on, about to
have my nightcap-"

"Fine.
Call me in the morning. The next dead body can be on your conscience."

Mike's
tone changed and he snapped into business mode. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's
up?"

"Funny
stuff with Tiffany Gatts and her lawyer," I said.

"How
funny? Laugh out loud?"

"Not
exactly. She's willing to squeal on Kevin, but says if she does, her life's in
danger. Someone's going to kill her mama, too."

"Better
be bringing a cannon for that job."

"Helena
Lisi's just a front," I said.

"For
what?"

"For
the brains behind the operation, I have to think. Somebody else is paying the
legal bills, but doesn't want to be connected to the courtroom. You've got to
find out who that is. Yesterday."

"You
don't think Lisi will tell you, if you ask nice?"

"I
can hear her start to whine before I even pose the question. I could try to
subpoena her to the grand jury, on the theory that there's a criminal
conspiracy, but she'll move to quash and we'll be arguing that one till
doomsday."

"Lawyer-client
privilege?"

"Even
the Supremes let us get into some disclosures about fees in certain
circumstances, but I'm counting on you to beat the clock. Maybe you start with
Mrs. Gatts. See what she knows."

"So
there's a new lawyer?"

"Shadow
counsel. A stupid artifice that could undermine the whole case, and certainly
toss a conviction, if we get anywhere close to one. If we nail Kevin-or someone
else for Queenie's murder-this schmuck just becomes part of a fraud that
greased the wheels for Tiffany to slide right into our laps, without any real
representation."

"Got
it."

"Thanks,
Mike. We'll talk in the morning."

"Deal,"
he said, as I started to sign off. "Coop? You okay up there? You're not
alone, are you?"

"We're
fine," I said, misleading him with the plural pronoun. "Promise.
Speak to you tomorrow."

I hung up
and hit the number of Jake's cell phone. "Hey," I said as he came on
the line. "Can't believe I got you on one ring."

I
stretched out on the sofa and cradled the phone against my shoulder.

"Where
are you?" he asked.

"Home.
The Vineyard." Jake knew it was the one place in the world where I was
most content. The tension sloughed off my shoulders within half an hour of my
arrival here, even in the worst of circumstances. "And you?"

"Didn't
Laura give you the message? I'm trying to get up there, too."

"I
haven't even checked the machine. I-I just needed to hear your voice."

"I'm
at Reagan National. Nothing's flying out at the moment. The wind has increased
and the first bit of the storm is about to hit."

The
Vineyard weather was anywhere from twelve to eighteen hours behind D.C.'s,
depending on the speed the system picked up along the way. I could expect
Hurricane Gretchen to reach our shores by tomorrow afternoon.

"Go
back to the hotel. The airport here has probably shut down already."

"That's
not a problem. I was planning to fly to Logan and get down in the morning if I
had to. Till I had a brainstorm."

"What's
that?" I smiled, pulling a throw over my legs and stirring the ice cubes
in the glass with my finger.

"I'm
about a concourse away from the row of rental booths. I figure I'll get a car,
turn the music up loud, drive up to Woods Hole-even if it takes the better part
of the night-and be there in time for the first ferry. Nothing cozier than a
great storm. We can stay the whole weekend and-"

I sat
bolt upright and swung my legs to the floor, tangling myself in the mohair
blanket. I shrieked into the receiver, "You can't do that, Jake.
Please
don't do that."

Didn't he
remember what had happened to Adam Nyman, my fiancé, on the night before
we were supposed to be married? Driving to the Vineyard from Manhattan, he'd
been killed when his car had been sideswiped on the turnpike and had crashed
down onto a riverbed below.

Jake
clearly didn't connect the urgency in my voice to that tragedy. "Darling,
either Mike's right about the fact that you're entirely too controlling,"
he joked, "or you're stowed away up there with some other foul-weather
aficionado who doesn't want me in the neighborhood. C'mon, babe, the all-night
drive'll make me feel like I'm in college again."

The
static on his phone was masking the panic that had seized me.

"No,
no, no, no, no," I kept repeating, until I could break into his response.
"Don't you understand, Jake? It's-it's about Adam. It's too painful to
bear. Ten hours of highway driving, half of it bound to be in a blinding
storm?"

"It's
not raining yet, Alex. The roads are-"

"You're
missing the point. I'm begging you not to do this, Jake. I'd never forgive
myself if anything happened to you on your way here. Wait till the front passes
and fly up if you want, for the weekend. Just swear to me you won't try to
drive it."

His tone
chilled. "There's probably a good reason you don't want me up there with
you. I'm sure you'll tell me when you're ready."

I tried
again to make him see it from my perspective, but he was still clipped when we
said our good nights.

I picked
up my glass and wandered into the bedroom. I felt more alone than I had in a very
long time. I turned the steam unit on in the shower and set the temperature at
ninety-nine degrees, letting it warm up while I undressed.

The phone
rang but I ignored it. There was no point in arguing with Jake, so I opted to
let the machine record the message while I listened.

"You
there, Coop? You outside baying at the moon?"

"Just
screening, Mike," I said, grabbing the receiver from its dock. "You
forget to tell me to have pleasant dreams?"

"Val's
a whiz with the computer. Got me onto the website for Lisi and Lisi, the
husband-and-wife law firm, so I'd have a head start in the morning."

"I
didn't mean to get you riled up on Val's time, Mike. Tomorrow is fine."

"Forget
Helena. What do you know about Jimmy Lisi?"

"Former
Legal Aid. Pretty decent guy."

"Interesting
bio, Coop. Born on the other side. Very proud of his roots."

"Why
not?" I could see the steam misting on the glass door of the shower, and I
ached to get inside and relax.

"Generalissimo
Lisi, Jimmy's pop. Know anything about him?"

"Tell
me."

"Jimmy
was born in Rome. His old man rose through the ranks, wound up as head goombah
in the Italian Secret Service. Puts him right near the kitchen where they
cooked up some potent
pasta e fagiòli
for Farouk the night he croaked back in sixty-five."

"I
like it," I said, putting down the scotch and picking up a pen and pad.

"So
I did the same kind of check for the other lawyers in the case. Unfortunately,
the law firms that those guys are with don't do the same kind of family sagas
on-line, like the Lisis. Just have their fancy degrees and the alma maters
listed."

"C'mon,
Mike. I can tell you found something else that tweaked you."

"So
Jimmy Lisi gets to college-Yale, by the way-and ends up in the same frat as a
guy whose old man was also a spook in Rome, for the Brits, at the very same
time Lisi's dad was doing spy work."

"I
see where this is going. Forget about Josh Braydon and his shadow counsel role.
We need to find out who's pulling the strings behind Helena Lisi."

"Maybe,"
Mike said, "the man Tiffany Gatts is afraid of is actually Peter
Robelon."

The view
from my bedroom's French doors out over the lawn that sloped down to the pond
was a muted palette of grays and greens, moistened by a steady rainfall. Trees
and tall grasses seemed colored by a dull assortment of Crayolas, and the pale
sky hung heavily overhead. Only the whitecaps in the distance suggested that
this calm before the storm would kick up and show its stuff within a few hours.

I drove
to the Chilmark Store for coffee and the
Times,
and to reassure myself that there were plenty of people I
knew who wouldn't be all that far away if Hurricane Gretchen packed her
anticipated wallop.

"I'm
running low on candles and flashlight batteries," Primo said. The owner
was restocking his shelves with storm supplies. "Better take plenty while
you're here, Alex. I'm closing early."

I picked
up a fistful of C batteries, extra matches, boxes of candles, and rolls of
masking tape and took them to the checkout counter. "Can you put this on my
tab?"

"Sure.
Need a hand with anything out your way?" Primo asked.

"I'm
all set, thanks. This should do it. Would you save me a newspaper in the
morning?"

"If
they get to the island, Alex. Steamship Authority's gonna stop the ferries if
the swells get real big."