island tour

“Take a busman’s holiday, Bobby. Let’s go on an island tour. I can’t abide being at the crime scene one more minute.”

     “OK, Merry. Hop in. We can talk as well in the car as anywhere.”

     “Better, because we don’t have to stare at each other.”

     He turned around next to the barn that held Meredith’s red ‘68 Mustang and her more recent model Jeep and headed down the dirt track, turning down the Neck towards the North Light. They cruised in silence. Old rock walls lined Corn Neck Road, spotted now with daffodils and forsythia. Spring comes late to Block Island. They passed very old houses like Merideth’s and new minimansions that had little in common with their forebears other than graying shingles. Some landscapers had tried to blend in, but the newly built rock walls didn’t look at all authentic.

    “A lot of houses for sale,” said Merideth finally.

    “The perils of prosperity,” said Bobby. “They don’t even live in them. They come out for a couple weeks and then put them on the market.”

    “And a lot of building, considering how much is for sale. There’s all that construction near me. I’m no early riser, and now I can’t sleep a wink after eight o clock.”

    “Not supposed to start til nine.”

    “I know, but they do anyway. Sounds like a bunch of machine guns going off!”

   “Maybe it was,” said Bobby.

   “Let me think,” said Merideth. “I was on the mainland. Anybody on the island could have told them that. Opportunity!”

    “Motive,” said Bobby.

    “I expect it’s the usual. Money. Sex. Fear.”

    Bobby lifted a finger from the steering wheel to wave at the oncoming pickup. The man waved back.

   “On Block Island, they know you even if you don’t know them. And you damn well better wave before Memorial Day and after Columbus Day,“ he said. “Used to be before July the Fourth and after Labor Day. Now with the longer tourist season, my index finger is getting sore.”

    “After tomorrow no one will wave to each other,” she said. “Are you still working at the Bakers’?”

    “No. I finished the job the other day. Wanted to be clear for season. They may even come out this weekend.”

     “Who knew you had finished?”

    “Well the Bakers did. I told them. But they’re off island.”

    “They have friends here. How about Greg? He’s had a crew on that new house next to the Bakers.”

     “I didn’t tell him I was done, but he can see for himself by looking across the field.”

     “Are you friends? Can you find out who and when his people were working yesterday and the day before?”

      “Sure. I can pretty well count on running into him at the post office around noon. Regular in his habits, Greg. As I’ve gotten to be, thanks to the ferry schedule. Does Joseph know where the killing was done?”

     “They must by now. They’ve been all over the place this morning. I’ll find out.”

      Bobby stopped the van next to Settler’s Rock. The names of the 1661 English settlers were engraved on a plaque. Merideth had relatives among them—probably more than she knew due to inbreeding on the island. They looked out over the surf. Gulls from the bird sanctuary wheeled around the North Light. Piles of balanced stones sprouted from the rocky shore, manmade stalagmites.

    “I hate those things,” said Merideth. “The rocks are more beautiful the way God placed them.”

     “And I like dirt driveways, not like that paving stone obscenity near your place. Do you know anything about those people?”

     “Never seen hide no hair of them. Place was finished a year ago. Workman come and go all the time, but I have no idea what they’re doing in there. I’ve heard that the folks have houses all over the world.”

    “Maybe they’ll show up now they have a security system.  I gave directions to the alarm guys who came over on the boat last week.”

     The road went no further. Bobby turned around and headed back up the Neck. “This would happen right before Memorial Day weekend.” He glanced at Merideth.   I’ll talk to Greg. You talk to Joseph. And somebody is going to have to talk to Young Earl.”

     “I guess that’s going to have to be me.” Merideth sighed.  “And somebody’s going to have to talk to Catherine Adams. And Malcom’s daughter, Kate.”

     “I guess that’s going to have to be me.”