CHAPTER 16
A right off West Tisbury Road put me on State Road headed to Chilmark. Twenty minutes later, a hundred feet past a row of seventeen mailboxes, I turned left on Quenames Road. Forty-five years ago, during the planning stages of the housing development, it was decided there would be no street signs, house numbers, or family names posted so that residents could be assured of privacy. So Quenames Road was known only to the inner circle. It was a one-lane dirt road you would never find or know the name of if you were not privy to the secret directions.
Granted, the secret directions did often leave visitors who could not identify the third telephone stump, second “big rock,” or third pullout, lost in the maze. And, after dark, the prospect of finding a destination was nothing short of a miracle, should one succeed.
A few hundred trees in, I swerved into a pullout to allow an oncoming car to pass. The unspoken rule, the person on the way out has the right of way. Another unspoken rule, you must wave to passersby. I pulled back out to the road and continued to the next landmark—the first telephone stump.
I bit my tongue hard enough to draw tears, having miscalculated the circumference of a rut in the road that scraped the undercarriage of the car. Depending on the season, the road was hard and dusty or wet and muddy and rutted enough to force a ten-mile-per-hour speed limit. I bumped along to the second telephone stump, veered right, drove past four houses, turned left, and drove five hundred feet down a pebbled driveway. The trees gave way to a large clearing, where our family summer house, a two-level, three-bedroom cape, was set, center field.
I pulled in short of the front yard and parked beside an unfamiliar blue Toyota Camry parked off to the side of the graveled driveway.
With all the windows and curtains closed, the house looked abandoned. Tree branches and other debris were strewn across the dead grass that made up the front yard, along with several empty soda and beer cans and other trash.
The grass crunched underfoot as I made my way to the front porch, which ran the length of the house. The wooden steps groaned under my weight. Sneaking around the house was not happening. I knocked, called Nareece’s name, and tried the doorknob. Another shout out also settled on a deafening silence. I backtracked down the stairs and walked around to the side of the house. In the flowerless flower bed a lockbox was attached to the foundation with a spare key. The combination, 8926, Dad’s old registration number, popped the lock and the key dropped out. When I stood up, I noticed the curtain moved in the window above my head. Nareece was watching me. At least I hoped it was Nareece.
The door creaked when I pushed it open. When I stepped inside, a cool, stuffy air, dense with particles of mold, attacked my nostrils and threw me into a sneezing fit. The door slammed shut behind me. I spun around to Nareece hunched in attack stance, wielding a two-by-four. She dropped the piece of wood and plowed into me.
“You came. You found me.”
Sneezes jerked me forward and broke her hold. She ran down the hall and came back with a wad of toilet paper, ran out again and brought a glass of water and a wet facecloth. All the while, sneezes hammered me. Through teary eyes, I saw Nareece’s freaked-out expression. Her arms captured her body like a straitjacket as she swayed back and forth from one foot to the other. I thought, God, don’t fail me now and leave this child to her own.
I finally had the sense of mind to go outside. The fresh air eased my sneezing, but lack of oxygen from the attack made me woozy and weak. I sat on the bench built along the circumference of the porch. Nareece followed me out and joined me on the bench. Neither of us said a word for what seemed a long time. I noticed Nareece looked pale and puffy-faced, puffy-bodied, too, way more than I had ever seen her. I decided not to comment.
With my breathing normalized and my senses regained, I opened the conversation. “What’s wrong with you? Coming at me with a two-by-four? Don’t you know your own sister?”
“I guess I was too scared. I tried to peek out the window, but I didn’t want you or whoever was out there to see me. I wasn’t really scared. I mean, nobody knows about this place but us.” She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself rather than making a firm statement. “How’d you know to come here?”
I got up and walked the length of the porch. “Where else? Like you said, nobody else knows about this place, although I’m not so sure about that anymore. I really think we need to get off the Island and go back to Philly as soon as possible. The Island Queen is the only boat operating right now, so I couldn’t get a reservation until tomorrow morning, first boat, so we’re stuck here for the night.”
“He’s dead, M. He’s dead and I killed him,” she said just above a whisper. Nareece hung her head and wept. I slid in beside her and draped my arm across her shoulders. She snotted, then said, “They’ll try to kill the girls, too.”
“The girls are safe.” I held her shoulders, one side in each hand, and twisted her around so we were face-to-face. I hesitated, because Reecey can act the fool one minute and seem like she’s brain-dead the next and shut down. “Reecey, what’s your connection to Jesse Boone?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about all that right now. I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.” She pulled away.
I grabbed her shoulders again. “Reece, this is not a game. John is dead. I need to know why someone would want to kill him. Why Jesse Boone would want to kill him, because that’s who I think did it. I saw a picture of you with him and a guy named Frank Mann at your house, for chrissakes! We’re talking Mafia shit, Reecey. Drugs, money, the whole nine.”
“Muriel, I can’t talk about this right now!” She pulled away again and went and got into the car.
It was going to be a long night. During the drive to Linda Jean’s in Oak Bluffs, one of the few eateries on the Island open year-round, Nareece jabbered about store closings, new store openings, Mad Martha’s ice cream, Harbor Festival, and how we should vacation together this summer with the twins and Travis. I listened for something in her voice that even leaned toward fear or sadness about John. We parked in front of Mad Martha’s ice cream place and walked the few hundred feet to Linda Jean’s. Nareece babbled the whole time about how wonderful the Vineyard was. In the restaurant, she stopped talking only to order waffles, a cheese and broccoli omelet, and sausages. I ordered a cheeseburger and fries.
“I forgot how much I love this place,” Nareece said. “It’s so peaceful and different from anywhere else on earth. I’m really happy Mom and Dad never sold the house. The twins love the beach and everything else here, too. They love running around Ocean Park, chasing the birds, playing on the beach, and the carousel. Oh God, do they love the carousel. John . . .”
She stopped and looked at me, her eyes filled with tears. She sniffed and went on, diverting her gaze. “John loves coming here, too. He says it’s like nowhere he’s ever been. He did a lot of work on the house, painted the bedrooms, put new cabinets in the kitchen, and refinished the wood floors. He’s planning to paint the living room this summer.”
“Nareece, stop.”
The waitress saved me, or rather, saved Nareece. For the next half hour we sat in silence wolfing down the food and slurping hot chocolate and Coke. The silence continued through the ride back. When we arrived back at the house, I stayed out on the deck while Nareece went in to open windows, cover the furniture with sheets, and start a fire.
An hour later we were nestled on the sofa watching the fire dwindle.
“I’m sorry for all this, M,” Nareece said in her whiny voice. I had her cradled in my arms like she was a little girl. The room darkened except for the firelight that made the graying living room wall paint look new again.
“I really did hate coming here with Ma and Dad. I should’ve been grateful they wanted to give us a good life, get me away from all the stuff I was into.”
“I know that’s right. You made everyone miserable.”
“I did my own thing.”
“And exactly what was your own thing?”
She twisted around to face me. “What do you care? You never paid any attention to me. You didn’t care.” She turned back around and pouted. “Not until . . . Ma and Dad . . . died.” She picked at her fingers. I noticed her nail beds were scabbed over from biting them, even worse than mine.
“I’m sorry, Nareece. You dropped into the world, and all of a sudden everything revolved around you. Before your dad and you, it was just me and her.”
“Dad loved you.”
“I know that, and I loved him. But before they got married, me and Mom talked a lot and did things together. All that just about stopped when they got married and it completely stopped when you came along. Hell, I was an impressionable and very needy thirteen-year-old, and my whole life changed because of you, this cute little baby. I guess they couldn’t help themselves.” I chuckled lightly. I shifted my position so she faced me.
“Nareece, we need to stop dancing around this whole thing. You need to tell me what’s going on and why you’re here. You haven’t even asked about the twins.” She tried to turn away, but I held her shoulders.
“M, I’ve been trying to tell you . . . I thought everything was done, ya know?” She started sniveling, which grated on my already-frazzled nerves.
I silently prayed for patience before speaking. “What was done?”
She snapped around. “Will you listen, M? For once, listen to me. Don’t say anything until I’m done talking.” She got up and went to the fireplace. She stood to the side, staring into the flames. “Remember the night . . . when . . . after Mom and Dad . . . I was the reason they died. They didn’t die in an accident. They were murdered. Killed because of something I did.”
I started to speak, but cleared my throat instead, minding her request.
Nareece walked back to the couch and sat beside me. “Dad was trying to save me. He . . . he . . .” She whimpered and snorted. “Men came to the house and threatened Mom and Dad because of something I did. Dad told them to go to hell, said he’d go to the police.” She hesitated, more whimpering and snorting. “He asked me about it and I lied. I lied, Muriel. Told him I didn’t do anything, but I did. They killed Mom and Dad to shut Dad up. They wanted to punish me. They wanted me dead, too, but you came home.” She took my hand and held it against her cheek. “You saved me.”
I snatched my hand away and got up. “Who is ‘they,’ and what did you do that was so bad someone would kill Mom and Dad and come after you? Did it have something to do with drugs or money? Because those are the only two things I can think of that would make someone want to kill someone else. And I can’t see you involved with either. I say that, but then I see a picture of you with Jesse Boone . . .” I immediately chastised myself for sounding judgmental.
She bent forward and covered her face with both hands. She talked through her fingers, which distorted her voice, giving it a mannish quality. “I wanted Jesse Boone to feel pain, like the pain he put on me and the other girls. I thought he really loved me. All he wanted me to do was be a whore, a prostitute for him. After he made me sleep with some old guy and beat me because the guy said I wasn’t good enough, I took his stupid heroin and money.”
“You were dating Jesse Boone?” It came out screechy. I was dumbfounded. Shocked. Wrecked. My mouth dried into desert quality.
Nareece stayed silent.
“You and Jesse Boone.”
“Yes, Muriel, me and Jesse. I was sixteen, and to me he was God.”
I relived snippets of Nareece at sixteen, going out and coming in, dressed like a hoochie mama, glamour makeup, arguing with me when I was home, cussing at me.
“How much, Nareece? How much heroin and money did you take from him?”
“A pound of heroin and two million dollars. I flushed the heroin and hid the money at the old house—behind the bins Daddy built for us.”
“How did he find you?”
“I don’t know, Muriel. He just said there was no place in the world I could’ve gone where he wouldn’ta found me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you just give him the money back?”
“I wanted to, but when I told John about it, because I was worried that Jesse would hurt the girls if I didn’t do what he said, John said not to. He said he would take care of Jesse so I would never have to be afraid of him again.”
“So what did Jesse tell you he wanted you to do?”
She uncovered her face and stared at the wall. My frustration went haywire. I grabbed her chin and squeezed. “Nareece, John is dead, for crying out loud. Talk to me!”
She popped up like a jack-in-the-box and stumbled backward, her body zombied out, face drained. Her lips quivered, and a line of drool slipped from her open mouth. She made a gasping sound and collapsed. She would have whacked her head on the stone floor in front of the fireplace, or worse, fallen into the fire, but for my quick reflex. I dragged her to the couch, laid her out, and rubbed her cheeks and hands.
“Quit playing around, Nareece.” She remained unresponsive.
I began to panic. “I’m sorry, Nareece. Don’t do this. Wake up. Think about Rose and Helen. They need you.”
Her eyes opened wide. She stared as though in a trance, no brain sparks, her pupils dilated.
“Nareece, you have to talk to me,” I pleaded. I reached my arm under her shoulders and tried to make her sit up. She flopped like a dead person. I laid her back and checked her breathing and pulse, which was slightly elevated. I covered her with a throw and went on the hunt for medications. I checked the bathroom medicine cabinet, her purse and suitcase. An inside pocket of the suitcase held a small folded piece of paper containing colorful pills and an amber prescription bottle. I surmised she had been using whatever they were for days, or weeks even, to keep her going. The bottle was mostly full, so it didn’t seem likely she had overdosed.
I went back to the living room, sat at the end of the couch, and stared at her, feeling quite helpless and willing her to wake up. Unsuccessful, I couldn’t decide whether to shake her, slap her, or leave her be.
I went into what used to be my parents’ bedroom and called Dulcey. I sat on the bed that was half made up with a sheet and blanket spread over the top of the plastic-covered mattress.
“Did you find her? Is she all right?” Dulcey squealed loud enough to damage my eardrums.
“Dulce, remember when my parents died and Nareece was acting the fool and I was never at home to keep a check on her, working my last chance to stay on the force? You remember, I had just started with the forensics unit? Well, Jesse Boone had his hooks in her back then.”
“What do you mean, ‘had his hooks in her’? She was just a baby then.”
“Yes, she was. She was one pissed-off baby at some point, because she stole a lot of drugs and a lot of money from him. And I bet it was Jesse Boone who raped and beat her half to death all that time ago and now he wants his money. She says that’s why John is dead. I’m sure he wouldn’t give up her location, so they, Boone, killed him. I have to get Reece back to Philly to the FBI.” I hesitated and took a deep breath. “Damn, I need Laughton right now.”
“When you coming back?”
“Got a six a.m. reservation. So we’ll be on the road and home by noon, one o’clock.” There was a moment of meditation between us.
“Dulce, I think you should take the girls to your sister’s house. Jesse Boone is a psychopath. There is no telling how far he’ll go or how far his reach is. As comfortable as I am that he could never find this place, I’m not. He found Nareece.”
“I got these babies covered. You just make sure you cover your behind.”
A rustling noise under the window made me flinch. I threw the phone on the bed and grabbed my gun off the dresser. I flicked the light off and stood against the wall listening. I looked in the living room to check on Nareece. She had not budged. I peeked out the window. More rustling. Dulcey yelled my name in the phone. I tiptoed over to the bed and picked up the phone. “Shhhh, Dulcey. I think someone is sneaking around outside.”
“Muriel, you’re scaring the hell outta me.”
“Shhh.” I put the phone down and went to the living room, hugging the wall and peering out the windows into the thick blackness. I stopped and listened more. Silence. Nareece remained as still as a body in a casket.
I hastened back to the bedroom and picked up the phone. “Probably a skunk or a deer or some other forest creature. Black as black can be out there. Someone would have to be familiar with the area to find us in these woods.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
The nervousness in my stomach lingered long after Dulcey and I hung up. Over the years, I’d learned to heed the grumblings.
Nareece lay on her back with her arms crossed and resting on her stomach, her lips slightly pouted as though molded for viewing at her wake. I got the blanket off the bed and covered her, then I settled in an upright position at the opposite end of the couch. I made sure I had my purse and my gun was in its holster.
“Wake up, Muriel.” I pretended I didn’t hear Ma’s
whisper in my ear. “Get up now, Muriel!” she yelled.
whisper in my ear. “Get up now, Muriel!” she yelled.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and took in a deep breath that threw me into a coughing fit. I tried to open my eyes, but they burned and I couldn’t see anything. The realization that smoke filled the room propelled me to action. “Nareece. Nareece!”
I reached forward and shook her, but she did not respond. I slid to the floor and pulled my purse and Nareece down with me. She hit with a thud but still did not respond. I crawled along the floor, dragging Nareece and my purse behind me. When I got to where I thought the door was, I reached up and rattled the doorknob until it opened, but there was no air, only more blackness. I inched farther along the floor, staying close to the outside wall, dragging Nareece behind me. Rest a minute. Need to get out before the smoke . . . I lay on the floor and closed my eyes from the burning.
Next thing I knew, a fireman was carrying me away from the house and handing me off to an EMT, who carried me to the back of an ambulance where they labored over Nareece. I knocked away an oxygen mask one of the EMTs tried to corner me with, as another EMT called, “Clear,” and zapped Nareece. He rechecked her pulse and rubbed the paddles together. “Clear.” He checked her pulse again. “I got a pulse,” he announced and pulled an oxygen mask over her face.
“She’s fine, right?”
“For a minute I thought we lost her, but . . .” He lifted the stethoscope from his neck and listened to Nareece’s chest. “She’ll live,” he assured me.
An EMT helped me into the ambulance and sat me on the cot next to where Nareece lay. “Miss, you need to wear this for a while,” he insisted, now on full attack with an oxygen mask.
I pushed it away, taken by the scene—red, orange, and yellow flames boogied skyward against a black easel, embers dancing like disco lights.
The EMT followed my gaze and came at me again. “Miss, please.”
I fell back and surrendered.
The siren sounded off in the distance and sputtered to silence, as we pulled into the emergency entrance of Martha’s Vineyard Hospital. An EMT rattled off stats to the attending nurse until we reached a treatment area.
“You two are lucky.” He squeezed my hand and headed out.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. “What about my car?”
“Call the fire station in the morning, they’ll know.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my purse. The attending nurse snatched it back. “Now, young lady, you lie down,” she said, guiding me to a lying position, objection not an option. She took my blood pressure and pulse and said the doctor would be in shortly.
I was uncertain how much time had passed when the doctor woke me.
“Your sister is going to be fine, but we’re going to admit her and watch her overnight. She’s got quite a bump on the back of her head,” he said.
“She banged her head when I pulled her off the couch trying to get out.”
“Good thing you did. Better a bump on the head.” He lifted my eyelid and flashed a light, then listened to my lungs and heart and checked my pulse. “I’m admitting you for the night, as well. You’re clear but better to be safe.”
The next morning, before I left the hospital, I checked on Nareece. She was resting peacefully. I thought about waking her, but decided more sleep would serve her better.
I took a taxi to the Edgartown Police Station. An officer drove me to the impound yard to pick up my car, then I drove out to the house. When I turned into the driveway, I gasped at the sight of charred objects strewn over the lawn. Only the foundation of the house remained. Its confines trapped a black hole.
I got out and walked the perimeter. A charred refrigerator and dishwasher and the scorched remains of an electric floor-sanding machine stuck up from inside the black hole. I remembered that Nareece had said John refinished the wood floors.
An unscathed soccer ball rolled along the property edge. I retrieved the ball, tossed it in the backseat of the car, and got in. While I was backing out, a car pulled in and blocked the way. My heart leaped before I recognized the man exiting the car as Mr. Galloway, our closest neighbor since we were kids. We were separated by a block of woods.
“Nareece, that you?”
“It’s Muriel, Mr. Galloway.”
“Muriel, girl, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. How are you, young lady? You’re all grown-up, that’s how you are.” He didn’t wait for me to answer before offering his condolences. “Sure is a sorry sight. Good thing no one was hurt, though, and they kept it from spreading”—he waved his arm in an arc to indicate the entire wooded area—“or we’d all been in trouble.” He searched the scene with his eyes. “Nothing left. Not a thing. Shame.”
“Nothing that can’t be replaced,” I offered with the conviction of an ant.
“Will you rebuild?”
“I guess.” I struggled not to seem anxious to leave.
“How are those little ones doing? They are something else.” He chuckled and bent down to rest his arms on the car, so he was on my level, head to head.
“They’re fine. Growing up,” I said, pulling back a bit to allow more breathing room between us, though his breath smelled of spearmint.
“There were two cars here early this morning. It wasn’t Lambert’s truck, though. Lambert’s the fire chief. Bret Lambert. I think one was blue and the other gray. I was out for my morning walk. They were leaving as I approached from the right, so I didn’t get a good look at who was inside. I did see that there were two men inside. What started it, anyway?”
“Actually I’m on my way to the fire station now.”
“I won’t keep you then,” he said, straightening up and moving back from the car. “Don’t mind if I nose around a bit, do you?”
“Not at all, but be careful.”
“You take care. Tell Nareece and John—nice fella, that John—tell them I came by and asked after them,” he said on his way back to move his car. He got in and pulled alongside my car. “Frances and I will support her and John any way we can if they decide to rebuild.”
“Thanks, Mr. Galloway.”
I did not tell him John was dead. More questions would arise that I did not have answers for. I drove away wondering about the two visitors.
When I arrived at the West Tisbury Fire Station 2, Chief Lambert ushered me into his office and offered me a seat. “Good thing your neighbor called. We would have arrived sooner, but it’s hard getting down those roads.” He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together in a prayerful fashion. “I’m glad you and your sister got out in time. We suspect arson, but we’re still investigating. I’ll know more in a few days.”
I flashed back to the noise I’d heard outside the window while I was talking to Dulcey.
The chief sat back in his chair. “Ms. Mabley, you know anyone who’d want to hurt you and your sister?”
Chief, to be honest, I am investigating a suspected murderer named Jesse Boone. I came down here to get my sister, who is in fear of her life from Boone. Didn’t think anyone would find us. But I did hear some rustling around the house last night. Brushed it off as some animals.
“Who knew you were coming?”
“That’s just it, nobody. Neither of us told anyone we were coming here. It was an unexpected trip, and what’s more, nobody even knows about the place down here.”
“Might be that someone sure the hell does,” he said.
I got up to leave. “I’m hopeful that when you finish your investigation, the findings will change.”
“I hope our findings change, as well. We’ve never had a problem with arson before, not as long as I’ve been chief, which will be forty years this August.”
I dug in my bag for a card and handed it to him. “Please let me know what you learn.”
I drove to the Vineyard Haven dock, checked the boat schedule, and rescheduled our reservation for 5:00 p.m. that afternoon. When I returned to the hospital, the nurse stopped me on the way to Nareece’s room.
“She’s gone.”
I gasped and stumbled forward. She caught my arm.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. Your sister checked out, as in left the building. She went with some fellas who said they were her cousins. She said she was meeting you and would check in with her primary physician on the other side.”