Sometimes, the day before a hurricane reaches the Vineyard there is an odd, yellowish color in the sky and a curious quieting of winds and normal sounds. It’s the famous calm before the storm.
Thursday was such a day. Compared with the earlier part of the week, things were abnormally quiet. It was as though the gods were napping before they awoke for the weekend activities. Janie and my children went off with Mattie and John to the beach and I took Evangeline to a rehearsal with Flurge and the Bristol Tars. I didn’t see Spitz or Dyer, and even the preparations at the site of the Celebration seemed muted. Nothing notable happened all day and that night Janie again stayed at our house.
I didn’t sleep well and imagined odd sounds all night long. But no boogeymen appeared, no Simon Peters came in through the windows. Beside me, Zee slept the sleep of the good. I awoke feeling oppressed. After breakfast I took Janie with me when I went to pick up her mother. As I drove, my eyes flicked between the road ahead, the sky above, and my rearview mirror. There were no planes or helicopters in sight, and though every car I saw got a serious look, none seemed to be following me when I turned into the driveway of the Skyes’ farm.
While Jill or Jen Skye—you’d think I could tell them apart by now—took Janie to the barn to admire the twins’ horses, I told Evangeline what Zee had seen and done the evening before.
“I think someone may know Janie’s been at my house,” I said. “I’m going to stay close to her today. Keep your own eyes open.”
Her eyes grew worried and hard. “I never should have brought her with me!”
“No one will get her if I’m with her,” I said, putting confidence in my voice even as I was thinking that there was only one of me just as there had been only one of Hale Drummand.
She ran a hand through her golden hair. “You stay close to her. Tomorrow night, when you’re watching the show, I’ll get someone to stay with her in my dressing room.”
“I can stay with her. Zee wouldn’t miss the show, but I can get along without it.”
“A musical snob to the very end, eh? Well, let’s collect Janie. Flurge and I have one last rehearsal this morning.”
We drove to the performance site, and while Evangeline was rehearsing behind the closed curtain, Janie and I strolled and took in the final preparations for the Celebration.
At the sound truck Harry and Frank Dyer were at work. Harry gave us printed programs for the two nights of song, dance, and speeches and introduced Dyer and Janie to each other.
Dyer said, “Your mother is a wonderful singer. I’m very happy to meet her daughter.”
His glasses prevented me from seeing if his smile reached his eyes.
Behind him was a panel filled with dials, buttons, and switches. Harry followed my gaze and grinned. “Frank’s taken on half my work and more. Won’t even let me touch that panel. Says I got more than enough to do handling my own. He’s right, too, and he’s done a great job with the mikes and speakers. We’ve tested every system and they couldn’t be better. I’m trying to talk him into going back to California with me when this gig is over. What do you say, Frank? You coming with me?”
“It’s tempting, but I don’t know,” said Dyer, grinning. “I like living here on the island.”
“He’s a tough guy to convince,” said Harry, “but I’m going to keep after him.”
“A good man is hard to find,” I said, trying and failing to catch a fleeting memory.
“You got that right,” said Harry.
Janie and I moved on. The field had been prepared for an audience of thousands. The cables and wires had been covered, the lights were up, the huge speakers surrounded the grounds, and the TV and camera platforms were already in use because, I guessed, some creative characters were filming the preparations for the show as part of a future film. Security was everywhere, both in civvies and uniforms.
By midafternoon lucky ticket holders would be coming in and spreading their blankets on the ground as near to the stage as they could get. They would bring food and drink and secreted booze and drugs, and in the morning it would take an army of workers to clean up in preparation for the Saturday performance.
When Evangeline’s rehearsal was over, she donned her wig and dark glasses and I took her and Janie to lunch at Nancy’s, where we could look at the Oak Bluffs harbor while we ate. Around us there was much talk of the upcoming Celebration by people who didn’t know that one of its stars was seated at the next table. You often don’t see what’s right under your nose.
That evening I hesitated before leaving them at the farm.
“We’ll be fine,” said Evangeline. “John, here, has shotguns for all, if we need them.”
John nodded. “Every spare cop on the island is working security for the Celebration, but I think we can handle anything that might come up here.”
Fortress Skye.
“I don’t think anyone knows that you and Janie are staying here,” I said to Evangeline, “but keep your eyes open and if anything unusual happens, call the cops and then call me. Don’t play hero, John.”
“I don’t play a hero,” said John, lifting his chin. “I am a hero.” Then he smiled and said, “Don’t worry. If I hear a single twig snap I’ll be on the phone.”
So I left and went home. At cocktail time on the balcony, Brady and I traded tales of our day and thought about what we’d seen and heard. I felt I should be doing something decisive and suspected that Brady felt the same. But thought, the cosmic foe of action, caused us pause.
That night, while Zee and Brady joined the thousands at the Celebration site, Joshua, Diana, and I watched a bit of the show on our little black-and-white TV. It was an event wrapped in the flag and full of sound and patriotic oratory. Washington notables ranging from ex-president Joe Callahan to the current vice president gave speeches between the acts of apparently famous musical groups and stars whose names I’d never heard of. The audience loved it all, but it wasn’t enough to keep me or my children from going to bed not much later than usual. I left all of the outside lights on and kept my pistol under my pillow, and was still awake when Zee slipped into bed beside me.
In the morning I was up at my usual time and was well into the Globe before Zee and Brady showed up at the breakfast table. I waited until they were halfway through their first cups of coffee, then said, “Well, are you both ready for round two tonight?”
“Damn right,” said red-eyed Zee, whose face lit up with caffeine and the promise of more fabulous music. “It was great! Evangeline’s tickets were for VIP chairs. Best seats in the house! Tonight’s show should be even better.”
“Not for me,” groaned Brady. “I’ve had as much of that kind of culture as I can stand. Those speakers will blow your ears off. I’m meeting Christa at the end of the show, but I’m staying out of earshot until then. Do you happen to have any aspirin?”
“What a pair of wimps you are,” said Zee, bringing aspirin from the bathroom and setting the bottle in front of Brady. “I’m going back tonight even if you guys aren’t. I’ve already arranged for Josh and Diana to spend the night with the Duncans. I’ll bet Madge Duncan will be glad to use our extra ticket and go with me while Frank babysits. Madge is a little more in tune with the musical times than some people I know.”
According to the Globe, the first night of the Celebration for Humanity had been a noisy success with only a few arrests of rowdy fans. Duval had been the first celebrity speaker. He’d welcomed the audience and had gotten them to observe a minute of silent meditation for peace before the Gits appeared onstage as the opening act and had blasted meditative silence into distant memory.
I wondered if Christa had been in the sound truck with Dyer last night. I thought about Charlie McDevitt’s comments about Duval and the changing character of the Simon Peters. I wondered why Dyer made more money than the other Simon Peters. Was Duval a straight shooter, as McDevitt suggested? A womanizing straight shooter, perhaps, but a straight shooter nonetheless?
McDevitt believed that Dyer, unlike Duval, was capable of anything.
Memories were dancing on the margins of my mind. I tried to capture them and almost succeeded.
Brady and I drove to the Skyes’ farm and took Evangeline and Janie to Menemsha Hills, where we walked down to the shore of Vineyard Sound. A gentle morning wind hushed through the trees, and the sun was climbing through a clear blue sky. We seemed far removed from evil, but I watched our backs anyway.
I thought about the dead fortune-teller. I thought about the late Ogden Warner. I thought about Hale Drummand. I thought again about Dyer.
We lunched on sandwiches and soft drinks at the Chilmark Store, then walked to Wascosim’s Rock.
Everyone I saw looked dangerous before I looked again and saw that they were not.
When we got back to the farm Evangeline spoke to Mattie Skye, then the two of them came to us and Evangeline said, “Go home, J.W. Have a drink and eat something. Mattie and John are going to stay with Janie in my dressing room while I’m onstage.”
I kept my voice calm. “I thought I was going to be in your dressing room.” Brady nodded.
“A car came into the yard this afternoon,” said Mattie. “The two guys seemed nice enough and as soon as they found out they weren’t where they thought they were, they left. But…”
“So plans have changed,” said Evangeline. “You two go have some supper, then come back here. Those men were probably innocent as doves, but if they weren’t and if they come again tonight, I want you here waiting for them. Janie will be with Mattie and John in my dressing room. They’ll keep the door locked and John will have his shotgun.”
I ran that plan through my head. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have a better one, under the circumstances.
“All right,” I said. I took my .38 from my belt and gave it to Mattie, who looked at it with dismay. “Take this just in case John runs out of ammunition. If you need to shoot anybody, just point it at them and keep pulling the trigger as long as it keeps shooting.”
“Good grief!” said Mattie, but she kept the revolver.
At home, Zee kissed us both. “The kids are gone and there are leftovers in the fridge. I’m out of here. Madge and I are headed for the Celebration!”
We ate and I got Zee’s .380 Beretta 84F out of the gun cabinet. It had been her pistol of choice before she’d switched to the .45 Colt. It held thirteen slugs, which, I figured, should be enough. If I missed my target thirteen times, I probably wouldn’t hit it on the fourteenth try. I put the gun in my belt and we drove back to the Skyes’ farm.
No one was there. The Skyes’ SUV was gone and there was a note from John and Mattie on the kitchen table saying they’d give us a report of their adventures when they saw us next.
As the evening turned to night, no one came into the yard. No twigs snapped under the trees. We watched the Celebration on TV. With the sound turned down it was tolerable. We took turns going out and circumnavigating the grounds. We didn’t talk very much.
“I don’t trust Dyer,” said Brady, out of the blue. “If Duval isn’t involved with the bad business that’s been going on, then Dyer is the guy who’s left.”
“There may be someone we don’t know exists,” I said.
He nodded, but stuck to his guns. “It’s guesswork, I admit, but it’s not all guesswork. Let’s add up what we know about Dyer.”
“All right,” I said, and I ticked off the bits of information I had.
“You left something out,” interrupted Brady. “Before he joined the Followers he tried other religions and he hung out with militia members.”
“Maybe he’s a true believer and he’s finally found his belief as a Follower.”
“Could be. We also know he makes more money than most of the Simon Peters and that since he became one himself, the old Simons have dropped out and a new bunch has taken their place. Military types who carry guns at least part of the time. What does that sound like to you?”
“Like Dyer’s got a gang of trained killers and Duval, though he may not even know it, is paying its freight.”
He nodded. “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Spitz is afraid of terrorists, three people are dead, somebody is apparently after Janie, you and I have been coshed and locked up, Christa wants to split but is afraid to do it openly, and everywhere I look, who do I see? Frank Dyer and the Simon Peters.”
He glanced at his watch and that caused me to look at my own. The Celebration was nearing its end and it was time for us to go to the site and help Christa liberate herself from the Followers so she could go home to her dying father and start life anew.
Start life anew. The phrase triggered the memory that had been eluding me. “Come on!” I said, getting up and heading for the door.
Brady didn’t hesitate. “What is it?” he asked as we climbed into the white Explorer.
I drove fast through the flowing darkness. “It’s Dyer,” I said. “He told Harry the soundman that he lives on the island, but he doesn’t. According to the records, he lives in California and only came here after Harry’s regular assistant got himself smashed up in an automobile accident out there. When Dyer showed up at the sound truck here looking for work, Harry thought he was a gift from God, but it wasn’t God’s work, it was Dyer’s.”
“And according to Harry, he’s wired the whole sound system,” said Brady. “What in hell’s he got in mind?” He gripped the handle above his door. “Put the pedal to the metal, J.W.!”
I did that, and in our headlights the highway raced toward us. We came to the driveway leading to the Celebration and I flashed my FBI ID card at the guards. They waved us through.
We’d almost reached the parking area when a dark Land Rover flicked on its headlights and started toward us. The road was narrow and I pulled off to the side to let the car pass. As it did, the parking area lights shining through the Rover’s clear windows gave us a plain view of the driver and of a passenger in the rear seat.
“Dyer and Janie!” exclaimed Brady.
I gunned onto the parking area and threw a fast U-turn. Brady was out of the truck in a flash. “You go after them!” he said. “I have to find Christa!”
I spun sand and raced after Dyer.
At the highway I saw headlights going toward West Tisbury and followed them. I felt like a tin man, empty of all emotion other than a cold fear that I might be pursuing the wrong vehicle.
The Explorer had plenty of zip and I closed rapidly until, to my relief, I saw that the car ahead of me was indeed the Land Rover.
I accelerated past Dyer, pulled in front of him, and slammed on my brakes. The Land Rover smashed into the rear of my truck and both vehicles slewed off the road and stopped.
My neck hurt, but I climbed out and ran back to the Land Rover. Steam boiled from its smashed radiator but its headlights were still on. I yanked the rear right-hand door open and found Janie, dazed, held safely by her seat belt. In the driver’s seat, Dyer, his door ajar, also seemed stunned. I reached in and unsnapped Janie’s seat belt and pulled her to me.
“You’ll be all right,” I said.
“Where’s Mommy? He said he was taking me to Mommy!”
“She’s fine,” I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. “I’ll take you to her.”
I looked up and saw that Dyer had not only unsnapped his own seat belt, but was brandishing a pistol. He twisted and swung it back toward me in a clumsy arc.
“You’re not taking anybody anywhere,” he mumbled.
I pushed Janie down and dropped to my knees as he fired. Window glass exploded above my head and Janie cried out in fear.
Time seemed to slow down. I dug the Beretta from my belt as Dyer fired again and I imagined that I heard the slug whisper by my ear.
Then I straightened fast and shot him four times and he dropped his pistol and fell out of his open door onto the ground.
“Stay right here,” I said to Janie.
I walked around to where Dyer was lying. There was blood coming out of his mouth, but he was still alive.
“You’re pretty quick,” he said in a bubbly voice, “but you won’t be taking the girl to Mommy.”
“Lie still,” I said. “There’s a cell phone in my car. I’ll call for an ambulance.”
“Too late for that,” he said in a weakening, watery voice. “Besides, all the ambulances are going to be busy.”
There was something near amusement in his tone and it gave me a chill. “What do you mean?”
I had to put my ear next to his lips to hear his reply. “I mean that Mommy and the pols and the movie stars and all the fucking fans are going to get more of a grand finale than they expect. When the first fireworks go up, there’ll be an even bigger bang, and the whole crowd will go up, too, in pieces. Nothing you or anybody else can do about it.”
His failing voice choked and ceased, and as I looked with horror back toward the site of the Celebration, I saw a thin trail of sparks rise over trees and the first starburst of the fireworks fill the sky with diamonds. All I could think of was Zee.