He smoked a cigarette, judging his options. Then he returned to the patrol car and set off for Springs.
Joe was seated at a table in the creeping shade, fiddling with a bunch of engine parts laid out before him. He looked up briefly as the patrol car entered the boatyard, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Even when Hollis wandered over and removed his cap he wasn’t sure if Joe knew who in the hell he was.
‘A word of advice, bub—never get yourself a Marine Spark outboard.’
‘Having problems?’
‘Near on thirty years now. Shoulda named this thing
He grunted in defeat, his arthritic fingers discarding the two bits of metal refusing to mesh. ‘I’ll have you yet,’ he said.
He wiped his hands on a rag and looked up at Hollis. ‘You come by to thank me for last weekend?’
Hollis didn’t reply.
‘Didn’t think so.’ Joe levered himself to his feet. ‘You want a beer?’
‘I’m on duty.’
‘What do you know,’ said Joe. ‘Me too.’
Hollis stood on the veranda looking out over Accabonac Harbor while Joe busied himself inside. The wind came in light gusts, rippling the surface of the water, the reeds and rushes bending in obeisance.
‘Garden of Eden, bub,’ said Joe, joining him at the rail and handing him a beer. ‘Everything a man needs lies right out there. Ain’t nowhere like it. And that’s from folk what’s traveled some, men of good word.’
‘It’s very peaceful.’
‘It’s changing fast. There’s artists and all sorts moving in now.’ He pointed straight across the water. ‘City fellow bought just in back there, hard drinker, calls hisself a painter, but can’t hit the canvas for shit. I put a stove in for him. You should see the floor in that studio. And the walls. Just tosses that paint all over. What lands in the square, he sells. Now that’s a way to earn a life,’ he chortled, ‘not fiddlin’ with the guts of a bastard old outboard.’
He scanned the harbor, a rueful look in his eyes.
‘I guess it don’t matter who’s got it. The Montauketts took it off the Accabonacs with spears—butchered the whole lot of ‘em one evening—we took it off the Montauketts with a pen, the city folk takes it off us with their checkbooks. Men does as men is. It don’t matter, just so long as who’s got it looks after it. How’s Mary?’
‘Er…she’s fine,’ said Hollis, caught off guard by the swift change of subject.
Joe’s eyes searched his face. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘last week we buried old Underwood from over Molly’s Hill there. He were well along in years, that crazy old he-goat. Worked the big clippers most of his life, seen and done more’n enough for ten men.’ He took a swig of beer and smiled. ‘The priest, he’s a young ‘un from up island, he asks around, and he’s got all these stories to tell of Underwood this and Underwood that, how Underwood done pretty near everything save beat Columbus to the Indies. And we’re sitting at the back of the church, me and some others what knew him going back aways, and Ted Durrant says in that voice of his, “Underwood, Underwood…well he is now.”’
Joe erupted in laughter. ‘It got out, you know, around the church, got handed along till the whole place is just heavin’. You shoulda seen the face of that priestling, bub. If he sees out the month…’
Hollis was beginning to fear for the old man’s sanity, when Joe finally composed himself.
‘I guess I mean we’ve all got us a box waiting for us. I know Underwood went to his with no regrets, and that’s a life well lived in my book.’ He paused. ‘They don’t come better than Mary. I were fifty years younger I’d want her for my bride, fight you or any man for her, I would. Don’t screw it up.’
‘It’s good advice,’ said Hollis, ‘it just comes a little late.’
‘Don’t bet dollars to doughnuts on it. Nothing you done to her comes close to what that other one done.’
Joe eased himself into the old spring-rocker.
‘I’ll stop my preaching now, and you tell me why you come all the way out here.’
Hollis hesitated. ‘Lizzie Jencks.’
‘Young Lizzie…’ said Joe wistfully.
‘You knew her?’
‘Her folks is from Springs. They was married right here, bought a little patch down Amagansett, been skinnin’ fleas for their fat ever since. Sure, I knew her. Damn shame what happened.’
‘I think I know who killed her.’
Joe stopped rocking. ‘You think?’
‘I can’t prove it,’ said Hollis. ‘There’s more. Another killing. I can’t prove that either.’
‘Sounds like one heap of killin’ and not much proof.’
‘It is. That’s why I need your help.’
‘
‘I need to know what Lizzie was doing out at that time of night. It doesn’t make sense, it never has.’
‘You talk like you think I know.’
‘Her mother knows; she’s not saying.’
Joe scrutinized him. ‘Even if I did, you think I’d go against a mother’s wishes?’
