“The one who didn’t get any dates.”
“Well, I didn’t have my own car, so I couldn’t crash into anyone.” Not a great joke, but we both laugh anyway.
A companionable pause as we look out toward the water together. A yacht, an unexpected sight this time of year, is just motoring out, moving much too fast, but boat owners are like that. Few of the houses are showing any lights. Most are closed for the season. The promised storm never quite arrived, and the night sky is clear and cold and perfect.
The need to take Maxine in my arms has been creeping up on me all afternoon, and is suddenly very strong. I cover it with a shower of pointless questions.
“You don’t have much of an accent for somebody from the South.”
“Oh.” She nods but does not turn toward me. “I was educated in France, too, and I think I’ve said enough about that, thank you.”
Suggesting the need to propose a different subject. I feel like an incompetent gigolo at a cocktail party.
“So how did you get into this business?”
Maxine eyes me sideways again. “What business is that?”
“You know. Following people around.”
She shrugs, glancing at me in irritation, upset, perhaps, that I have broken the mood. Sometimes spouses must protect their marriages from their own baser instincts. “Please don’t think of it as following, Misha. Think of it as helping.”
“Helping? How are you helping?”
Maxine lets go of my jacket and turns to face me. “Well, for one thing, I can tell you when other people are following you.”
“Other people? You mean, like Colin Scott?”
“That’s correct.”
I think this over for a moment, then toss out the obvious objection. “But he’s dead.”
“Correct,” she agrees, then adds the most chilling words possible: “But, remember, he had a partner.” The silence resumes. We are walking back toward the Wesley again, an unspoken decision having turned us around, in more ways than one. Then Maxine raises the stakes higher still. “And there could be others, too.”
“Others?”
She points up the hill the way we came. “The same man passed us twice on a bicycle while we were back there. Maybe he was just riding up the hill and back down. Or maybe he was following us. No way to tell.” She turns and points back toward Vineyard Haven. “And there was a dark brown Chrysler minivan parked a block from the restaurant. Another car of the same description is parked down at the harbor, right now. It isn’t the same car, because it doesn’t have the same license plate and there was a nice little dent in the bumper of the one at the restaurant. You can change the plates, you can put in dents as a disguise, but it’s really hard to take them out that fast. So it isn’t the same car. But it easily could have been. Do you see what I mean? You won’t notice things like that. You’re not trained for it. I am.”
This viciously detailed recital has left me dizzy. Does Maxine suppose that she is reassuring me? I look out toward the water, where the yacht I noticed a moment ago is rounding the point. One rarely finds boats in the Oak Bluffs harbor once the Island shuts down, and I wonder whose side this one is on.
“What are you saying? Are we supposed to be a team?”
“I’m just showing you how I can help.”
“And so you’ll be watching my back?” I do not quite manage to hit the superior tone I am attempting. “Keeping me safe from all the bad guys?”
Maxine does not like this at all. She turns toward me, grips my shoulders once more in her strong hands. “Misha, listen to me. A lot of people might be interested in what arrangements your father left. And not all of them will settle for bumping into your car and taking you to lunch. They can’t do anything to hurt you. But they can certainly scare you.”
We both wait for this to sink in.
“Is my family in any danger?” I am thinking, Jamaica, call Kimmer and tell her to take Bentley and go stay with her relatives in Jamaica.
“No, Misha, no. Believe me, nobody is going to hurt you. Nobody is going to hurt your family. Mr. Ziegler has guaranteed it.”
“That’s all it takes?”
“In my world, yes.”
I knew this, of course. I just never quite believed it before. It is one thing to read about Uncle Jack’s power in the newspapers; it is something else to feel it in action, a protective cocoon around me and my family.
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“It’s the information that’s dangerous, Misha.” The conversation has returned to its starting point. “If it falls into the wrong hands-that’s the danger.”
“Which is why you think I should give it to you-whoever you are-instead of to Jack Ziegler.”
“Yes.”
“Do you work for… well, the government?” She shakes her head, smiling. “No, that’s right, you work for the good-but-not-great guys.”
“In a contest between us and Jack Ziegler, nobody is going to Heaven, but, yes, that’s still about right.”
“Except that you’re following me surreptitiously, and Uncle Jack is protecting me.”
“Maybe he’s following you too. Maybe I’m protecting you too.”
“I haven’t seen any sign-”
“Remember how he acted in the cemetery, Misha? Was that the way a man behaves when he has no stake in the outcome?”
“In the cemetery? You weren’t at the cemetery-”
“Yes, I was,” Maxine smiles, delighted to be one up on me again. “I was at the funeral too, sitting in the back row with a bunch of your relatives. They all thought I was somebody’s cousin.” The smile dims a bit, and I sense weariness now: she is tired of playing a role, tired of flirting, tired of the job. “You even hugged me over by the grave,” she adds softly. “It was a nice hug.”
I am a little surprised, as Maxine means me to be. But I am also undeterred.
“You still haven’t given me a reason to give the… the information to you. That is, if I ever find it.”
“You won’t take my word for it? I mean, I did buy you crab cakes.”
“And wrecked my car.”
“Just the bumper. And I offered to pay for it.”
When I remain silent, Maxine stops walking and grabs my arm again. We are in the parking lot of a tiny store that sells just about everything, from breakfast cereal to fine wine to the little stickers that allow you to put your trash at the curb for collection.
“Listen to me, Misha. I am not your enemy. You have to believe that. I told you that the people I’m working with aren’t saints. You might not invite them to dinner. But believe me when I say that, if they get their hands on what Angela’s boyfriend knows, whatever it turns out to be, they will destroy it. If Jack Ziegler gets his hands on it, he will use it. It’s as simple as that.” Her eyes seem to glow in the darkness. “You have to go back and find it, Misha. The clues are all there. It’s just that nobody else can figure them out. I think your father thought you would know right off who Angela’s boyfriend was. Your father was an intelligent man. A careful man. If he thought you knew, then you know. You just don’t know what you know.”
I shake my head in frustration. “Maxine, I have to tell you, I don’t have any idea what my father was talking about. I think he made a mistake.”
“Don’t say that! Don’t you ever say that!” Maxine seems fearful, looking around as though she expects to find somebody is listening in. “You do have an idea. Your father did not make a mistake.” Almost shouting as she corrects me.
I remove her hand from my wrist. “I’m too tired for all this. I think I might… I’ve been thinking of giving up the search.”
Her eyes grow wider and, if anything, more alarmed. “You can’t stop now, Misha. You just can’t. Nobody else can figure out the arrangements but you. So you have to do it. You have to. Please.”
