The following Monday, after I put Brady and Christa on an early-morning boat, Zee and I were having a late breakfast and sharing the Boston Globe, which was still carrying Celebration stories. I had the sports page and was reading an analysis of the Red Sox’s latest loss.
“I see here,” said Zee, “that as the result of close cooperation among federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies, a plot to kidnap the child of an unnamed celebrity was thwarted during the Celebration for Humanity.”
“That’s sort of true, at least,” I said. “Any mention of a hundred antipersonnel mines set to blow up a significant number of our nation’s most famous politicians and entertainers, to say nothing of a few thousand ardent fans?”
Zee shook her head. “Not a word. Only official praise for the high level of security during the event.”
“That’s probably wise. No need to scare people after the fact. Besides, it would be bad for the island’s image if people found out that all really awful things don’t happen on the mainland side of Vineyard Sound. Any remarks about the five dead people?”
“Yes, indeed. Let’s see if they all get a mention here. It says that Dyer and Sullivan, the guy Brady nailed, were two of the kidnappers. Dyer was shot by an FBI man to be named later, maybe—that’s you—and ballistics tests have revealed that Sullivan was killed by the gun of a local police officer who was working in close cooperation with the FBI. Drummand died heroically in a confrontation with the kidnappers, and Ogden Warner was killed by the kidnappers before he could interfere with their plot. Poor Princess Ishewa died in an ironic accident; a seer who didn’t see her own death.”
“Spitz told me that the latest theory is that Dyer killed Warner because he was afraid Warner would get him fired.” I looked at my watch. “Brady and Christa should be on the road to New Hampshire by now. I hope things work out for the girl and her parents.”
The previous afternoon Zee and I and the kids had gone off to the beach, leaving Brady snoozing on the couch and Christa conked out in the guest room. Before loading the last of our beach gear into the Land Cruiser, I’d said, “Do you think I should go in there and invite Brady to join us? Maybe I could tell him that the fish are running. That’ll get him up in a hurry.”
“You leave him alone,” said Zee. “He and Christa were explaining things to the cops until almost eight this morning. They both need their beauty sleep.”
True enough. After the Celebration, and after hours of questioning, a policeman had finally brought Brady and Christa to our place and both of them had collapsed and stayed collapsed.
I’d had some sleepless hours myself. A few minutes after I shot Dyer, the West Tisbury police, alerted by a passing motorist who had understandably ignored my frantic efforts to wave him down, had arrived at the crash site. They took Janie and me to their little police station by the mill pond. There, after they grilled me, looked skeptically at my FBI ID card, and exchanged telephone and radio calls with security people at the Celebration, I learned that there had been no explosion and Evangeline learned that Janie was safe with me.
The highways had been so jammed with cars exiting the Celebration site that the eastern sky was brightening before a West Tisbury cop managed to drive Janie and me home to our families.
At the Skyes’ farm, Evangeline, Janie, and I had shared embraces and the wet eyes that sometimes come after a close shave. At my house a few minutes later, Zee and I had done the same.
It had been a morning for tears, but I’d shed not a one for Dyer.
The Sunday skies had been filled with departing planes bearing the rich and famous back from whence they’d come. One of these was Evangeline’s chartered jet carrying her and Janie home to Scotland.
On the way to the airport, she’d stopped to say a whispered good-bye so as not to waken Brady, to leave us her photo inscribed with thanks and words of affection, and to invite us to come and visit her and Janie at their castle. Diana, in particular, thought the last was a splendid idea since she had a high opinion of princesses living in castles. Zee and I had limited our replies to thanks and good wishes.
“By the way,” Evangeline had said, “I talked with my people at Cragmoor about an hour ago, and they tell me that the strangers who’ve been asking questions about me in the village have all disappeared. They evaporated after news of the successful Celebration and the thwarted kidnapping got to Britain. Bad news, from their point of view, at least, travels fast.”
Now, Zee put her paper aside and found my hands with hers. “I’m so glad we got through this. It could have been horrible! I get goose bumps when I think of what almost happened.”
“Millions of TV watchers would have seen a live massacre, if there is such a thing, bloody enough to gladden the heart of every America-hater on the globe, but thanks to Brady, it didn’t happen.”
“John and Mattie feel just terrible about letting Dyer go off with Janie.”
“How were they to know what he was up to? He knocks on the door and says hi to Janie. She says hi back because she’s met him already. He says her mom wants her onstage for the grand finale and tells John and Mattie to go around front so they can see it. All three of them believe him. Dyer was pretty slick. He fooled a lot of people, including Duval.”
“And you think he planned to get ransom money from Duval.”
“Who else? Duval is her father, he’s rich, and he would be alive and well in California, whereas Evangeline would be very dead on Martha’s Vineyard. Dyer wasn’t going to get any money from her. The way I see it, the kidnapping idea probably came first. That accounts for the strangers scouting in Cragmoor village. I figure Dyer saw it as a way to finance his political activities.”
“Kidnapping for ransom is a popular fund-raiser for revolutionaries in parts of South America, I understand.”
“Then the Celebration was announced and Dyer saw an even better way to advance the cause.”
“But he didn’t see any reason to cancel the kidnapping. A double hit on the corrupt West.”
I nodded. “That’s my take on it. Of course, Dyer isn’t going to be making any statements about his plans.”
“Because you and Brady stopped him, and you saved Janie.”
“Yes. Just barely.”
“How do you feel about what happened?”
“You mean about shooting Dyer?”
“Yes.”
I had given that some thought. “I don’t feel much except gratitude that I killed him before he could kill me. I was lucky. If he hadn’t been dazed from the crash, I don’t think he’d have missed me. It was like a duel in a telephone booth.”
She squeezed my hands. “I’m so glad you were lucky. And I’m glad you don’t feel bad. Dyer was a horrible person.”
I looked into her deep, dark eyes. “I think he probably thought of himself as a good person. He was going to rid his decadent country of some of its most unethical people, then he was going to extract money for himself and for his private army of Simon Peters, from another rich, corrupt person who didn’t deserve his wealth. I think most terrorists feel very moral.”
“You’re the one who should feel moral. You and Brady.”
“You’re my morality,” I said. “You and the kids. You make me feel good. That’s morality enough for me.”
She grinned. “If Brady was here, he’d be saying, ‘Spare me from this sentimentality.’”
I could hear him saying that.
When we’d come back from the beach, Brady was coming out of our outdoor shower wrapped in a large towel.
“Your couch has lumps in it,” he said.
“The kids offered you the tree house,” said Zee.
“The shower compensates for the couch. I love outdoor showers. I’m going to try to figure out a way to build one at my place.”
He went into the living room to dress, and while he was gone, the rest of us took turns in the shower. We all loved our outdoor shower. It was big and airy and you never had to clean it. Brady was right to want one in Boston.
“Pa.”
“What, Josh?”
“How much longer before school starts?”
“It won’t be long now. Are you ready to go back?”
“Yes. I was glad when summer vacation came, but now I want to see my friends at school.”
I could remember feeling the same way when I was a kid. “You’re right,” I said, pleased that some things never change in the ever-changing world. “It’s good to go back to school in the fall.”
“Pa.”
“What, Diana.”
“Do we have anything to eat?”
“I imagine we do.” I went to the kitchen counter and got leftover breakfast bran muffins from the cooling rack on the kitchen counter. I always make a lot of muffins.
Their mother and I watched our children eat. I was happy.
The next morning, early, I had driven Brady and Christa to the boat. Brady and I shook hands.
“Try to make it down for the derby,” I said.
“I can probably manage that,” he said.
“Not a working vacation, just fishing.”
“You got it.”
I watched them go up the gangplank and into the ferry.
Above me the sky was a blue dome. There was a light wind from the southwest. The sea was dark blue, the beaches were pale yellow, and the trees were green. The island was an emerald surrounded by a golden band, lying on a bed of rippling sapphire-colored silk. It was a microcosm of the larger universe, totally beautiful and totally indifferent and meaningless.
I drove home feeling blessed.