analyzed.â
âLetâs hope that they find nothing.â
A consummation devoutly to be wished, but one I didnât expect. âIâll let you know what I learn.â
I drove to John Skyeâs farm and found him and his wife Mattie over coffee. They were early risers. The twins, Jen and Jill, were, as college students will, sleeping late.
âI thought you might be up,â I said.
âYou must be bored,â said Mattie. âZee and the kids will be home in just a few days, if you can hold out that long. Have some coffee.â
âThe bachelor life is not the life for me,â I said, putting the can on Johnâs desk as Mattie went to fetch another cup.
âWe donât have a cat,â said John, eyeing it.
âIf you did, I wouldnât give you this stuff,â I said. âAs I recall, you have a pal up at Weststock whoâs a toxicologist. Is that right?â
âNot all of us professorial types are in the liberal arts,â said John. âYes, my colleague George Faulk is in love with poisons. Why, is this cat food full of cyanide?â
âI donât know, but I want to. Do you think your friend will test it for me? The quicker, the better.â
John eyed the can, then eyed me. âTell me your tale.â
I told him of the earlier vandalism and then described how Iâd seen the prowler put the can on the ground beside the cabin, but I didnât mention names or tell him anything about what had happened on the trail beside the stream.
Mattie returned with my coffee cup just as I ended my narrative.
âNow you can say everything again,â she said, pouring. âJohn filters stories sometimes and I want the original.â
So I repeated myself and when I was through she said, âDonât these people you work for have names?â
âThey do,â I said, âbut I canât tell you what they are. Call it client confidentiality.â
âYouâre not a lawyer or a doctor, J.W. You canât claim confidentiality.â
âHow do you know Iâm not a lawyer or a doctor? Maybe Iâm just too modest to have mentioned it before.â
âHa!â
âMaybe Iâll tell you someday. Meanwhile, Iâd like to have the contents of this can analyzed.â
âWhy donât you take it to the police?â asked John. âIt seems to me that theyâre the ones to do the test. If somebodyâs trying to poison a cat, they should know about it.â
âMy client doesnât want the police involved.â
âWhy not?â asked Mattie.
âAsk my client.â
âHow can we ask your client if we donât know who your client is?â
I smiled at her.
John tapped his forefinger on the table. âSay, I think Sam Myers is driving up to the Kittery Trading Post today. Iâll bet I can get him to drop this off at Weststock on the way. All I have to do is tell him itâs a suspected poisoning. Thatâll catch his interest.â He looked at his watch and got out of his chair. âIâll call him and George right now and tell them the situation.â
He went into the house and Mattie looked at me. âYouâre infuriating sometimes,â she said.
âAnd youâre gorgeous all the time,â I said. I tried fluttering my eyelashes, but all I got was a laugh.
A while later John returned, smiling. âWeâre in business,â he said.
5
Carole Cohen worked at Gull Realty, one of the countless real estate companies that kept busy buying and selling property on the Vineyard. The two growth industries on the island were building mansions and selling property so more could be built; Carole was in the right profession.
I found her in her office, poring over papers while she talked on the phone with a client. She waved a manicured hand at me and pointed to a chair. Her desk was piled with papers, many adorned with photos of houses, and her