Vineyard Enigma by Philip R. Craig Read Free Book Online Page B

yours.”
    So I told him about the call I’d gotten from Stanley Crandel and about meeting Mahsimba and about the previous day’s conversations and events, including the discovery of the body.
    “Matthew Duarte, dead?” Barbara put a hand to her lips. “I can’t believe it. Why, we saw him at Charles Mauch’s party just last week! I must call Connie! Are you sure it was murder?”
    “The medical examiner will make the official decision, but I’d say so. Who’s Connie?”
    “Matthew’s wife. She told me at the party that she’d be over on Nantucket this week, visiting friends. She may not even know about what’s happened to Matthew. I should tell the police where she is.”
    She rose and hurried from the room. Al Butters looked into space for a long moment then met my gaze. “Connie’s heart may not be broken by the news. The gossip mill has it that Matthew’s been talking divorce.”
    “Another woman?”
    He made a small gesture with one hand. “Matthew liked the ladies and they liked him. Connie is his second or third wife.”
    On Martha’s Vineyard it sometimes seems that everyone has been married to everyone else at one time or another. Maybe it’s a result of the empty winters, when people have too much time to be bored with their own spouses and to fantasize about their neighbors’ husbands and wives.
    Al went on. “You say you think there may be a tie-in between Mahsimba’s e-mail and Matthew’s death?”
    I shrugged. “I think it’s possible, but it’s a police case and they may think differently. Anyway, my situation is that I’ve agreed to help Mahsimba while he’s here on the island, but I don’t know where to start. I’m here today because you know African art and you may know other people who share that interest. If the eagles are really on the island, one of those people may know something about them.”
    He frowned. “I don’t think I know any art thieves or murderers, J.W. And I’ve not heard one word about the two eagles you’re looking for.”
    “I’m not investigating a murder, and I’m not sure the eagles can be considered stolen art. The killing and the eagles may not have anything to do with each other.”
    “But you think they might.”
    “I think it’s possible,” I said. “If there is a link, the police will probably find it anyway. All I’m interested in is locating the birds, but if you want to know the truth, I doubt that they’re on the island or ever have been.”
    “But you still want names.”
    “Yes. Of people who know about art, especially African art. Maybe one of them knows something or has heard something I can use. Probably not. I’ve told Mahsimba that I’d nose around.”
    He rubbed his jaw. “I’ve heard that murder victims are often killed by people they know. You were a policeman. Is that true?”
    “It is as far as I know.”
    “So Matthew might have been killed by an acquaintance. Someone he knew.” He hesitated. “And someone I might know.”
    I held his gaze. “There was no sign of a break-in at the house.”
    My impression was that Al’s sense of morality was pushing him in ways he didn’t want to be pushed, toward a decision he didn’t want to make.
    He frowned. “Barbara and I know a lot of island people involved in the arts, and most of them knew Matthew Duarte. I can’t imagine any of them being criminals, and I’m reluctant to give you their names. I’d feel like an informer. Does that make any sense to you?”
    “Of course it does, but I have no reason to think any of your friends is a killer or a thief. I’m just trying to get a line on the two stone eagles.”
    He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, J.W., but I just can’t do it. You don’t remember Joe McCarthy, but I do. If I give you names I’ll feel like one of those people who played rat in front of McCarthy. I won’t do that to my friends.” He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his brow.
    Joe McCarthy was before my time, but I’d read