The next morning, while we read the Globe at breakfast, Zee agreed to drive me in the Land Cruiser over to the Carberg house so she could bring back my rusty vehicle for Brady’s use after she installed him in our guest room.
“I’m delighted to assist you in the performance of your obligations to the world’s most famous pop star,” she said.
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. The fact that she’s one of the richest, most famous, sexiest, and most beautiful women in the world has nothing to do with my dedication to my work.”
She looked toward heaven. “Save me, Lord!”
A guy I know says that in California people don’t just belong to one out-of-the-mainstream spiritual or medical system or sect, but to at least two and sometimes to more. They pray, meditate, exercise, and eat according to several different disciplines at the same time. Oriental and Native American rituals and healing rites are particularly popular. California, the guy says, is the navel of the New Age.
If so, the New Age has two navels and Martha’s Vineyard is the second one. One of its year-round industries is catering to seekers of cosmic comfort and alternate medical cures. If you open any island newspaper or magazine you will find ads and sometimes articles concerning Buddhist meditation, aromatherapy, kung fu, hypnotherapy, acupuncture, alternative psychotherapies, tai chi, past-life regression, Black Elk’s vision, sun worship, yoga, animal communication, holistic medical practices, dance therapy, medicine drum therapy, writing therapy, art therapy, palm reading, card reading, tea ceremonies, and other mystical and magical arts and procedures.
One of the most fashionable of such practices was centered at what its adherents called a Temple of Light, more humbly referred to by its founder, Alain Duval, as simply “the ashram.”
I had never seen the ashram, and if I’d seen Alain Duval I didn’t know it, but I’d certainly heard of both.
Duval, according to his critics, had amassed a fortune by offering dubious spiritual counseling and guidance to a vast number of people from all walks of life. He was also said to have accepted or expected or even demanded sexual favors from the more attractive of his women followers. His enemies took pleasure from recent gossip that the master was beginning to fall from favor, and were quick to circulate and expand upon that and all other negative rumors concerning Duval.
Such criticism and hearsay surrounding leaders both sacred and profane are not unusual, of course, and don’t necessarily have any foundation in fact, although it is far from unknown for persons of lofty reputation to have feet of clay and to fall from favor.
According to Duval’s aficionados, known to themselves as the Followers of the Light, or simply the Followers, he lived a modest, almost saintly life, and had given all money donated to the ashram to the poor and needy. His personal needs, they said, were few and simple, and to meet them he literally depended on whatever alms were dropped in a bowl at the ashram’s doorway. Any donations not needed by Duval that day were passed on to those in greater need, and no woman ever experienced more than a purely spiritual love from the master.
Duval, I’d read in the local papers, was a principal instigator of the Celebration for Humanity. He was not only a religious figure, but was also known to wield influence in the political, the economic, and the entertainment worlds. Who better, in spite of rumors of his decline or womanizing, to persuade the great and the powerful to come together in an unprecedented gathering to dramatize Western civilization’s refusal to bow before the world’s terrorists, and indeed to promise the inevitable triumph of democracy and freedom?
Heady stuff, but I didn’t even know where the ashram was located other than what I’d heard yesterday from Evangeline while driving up and down Indian Hill Road. It was a price I paid for being spiritually undeveloped, not to say irreligious. I only went to church when a good musical program was on the bill.
But you don’t have to be religious to find a church, so I made a phone call to Father Joe Gould, who kept track of the island’s other religious activities when he wasn’t tending to his own.
“You’re interrupting my breakfast,” said Father Joe. “I suppose you know that.”
“You shouldn’t sleep so late,” I said. “I’ll make this quick because I know it’s unwise to get between a priest and his orange juice and omelet. How do I find the Temple of Light up in Chilmark?”
“Why? Are you planning on abandoning your sinful way of life and becoming a Follower? If you are, I can offer you a church that’s a lot older than Alain Duval’s hodgepodge.”
“I thought all religions were hodgepodges.”
“His is messier than most. A tidbit from India, a symbol from China, a prayer from the Middle East. All very mystical, but not of a piece. If you want consistency, come to St. Elizabeth’s.”
“Spend more of your money on good music and I might. Where can I find Mr. Duval and his ashram?”
“I believe that’s Master Duval, not Mister Duval. His Vineyard shrine is off of Indian Hill Road on the old Exeter estate. I think the whole place has been turned over to Duval and his ashram. Why can’t I get a deal like that? Is it because nobody calls me the Truth and the Light, like they do him?”
“That could be it. But how can you ask for more? You already have church ladies waiting on you hand and foot, cleaning your house, cooking your meals, treating you as though you actually know what you’re doing.”
“I do know what I’m doing. Right now, for instance, I know I’m trying to have a quiet breakfast while I watch the morning news.”
“No wonder they say that the church is in decline. I leave you in the hands of God.”
“It’s a good place to be.”
When Zee drove me to the Carberg house, another young Edgartown cop had replaced Marty at the head of the driveway. I showed her my nifty new ID card and she waved us by. At the house, Zee dropped me off and gave me a kiss.
“Do your manly duty, however painful.”
“I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.”
“Lovelace would be proud. Brady and I will see you tonight for cocktails if you’re not too busy with your pop star to join us.”
“You might like her if you met her.”
“But I haven’t met her.”
As Zee drove away in my Land Cruiser, Evangeline came out of the house. Behind her, Hale Drummand stared broodingly after her then went back inside.
“Right on time,” she said to me, smiling. She was wearing a different wig, different dark glasses, and casual clothes that failed to disguise a figure that I found very fine. She looked after the departing Toyota. “Who was that?”
“That was my wife. My own truck won’t be available for a few days, so I’ll be taking this Explorer home at night if that’s okay with you.”
“That will be fine. Hale has a car of his own if we should need it after you’re gone in the evening.”
“Thanks.” We got into the white Ford. “What’s your pleasure today? I can take you to Alain Duval’s ashram, if you want to go there.”
“That’s fast work. How’d you locate it?” The pleasure in her voice sounded forced to me.
“I have friends in high places. Shall we?”
She hesitated, then said, “Yes, but later. First, take me to the stage. I want to see the setup and talk with people there about the program, and especially about the sound system. I don’t want to work with bad sound.”
“You haven’t been down there?”
“No. I just got here the evening before we met. Do you know the way?”
“I know about where it is. It won’t be hard to find. The road will be the one protected by the First Airborne Division.”
In fact, it wasn’t guarded by the 1st Airborne but by a couple of police cars, some island cops, and some civilians who looked just like federal agents.
I showed my valuable ID card to anyone who wanted to see it while Evangeline sat beside me pretending to read a movie fan magazine. If any of the guards recognized her, none of them said so.
Finally waved through, we drove down the long paved driveway that led to Peter Fredericks’s eighty acres of prime Vineyard property. From time to time we passed other security people, who eyed us as they held their cell phones to their ears. If anyone managed to smash through the security at the front gate, he’d still never make it to the stage in the sheep pasture.
When we came to the pasture and its towering stage, we found a lot of busy people doing things. Carpenters were hammering and sawing, wires were being strung, a crew from the electric company was rigging temporary power lines in from the highway, and another crew was working on a huge generator at the far end of the field, just in case the power lines failed.
Sound people had set up speakers, light people were rigging strobes, and what I guessed was a group of pyrotechnicians was standing by a truck decorated with pictures of fireworks, calculating the best way to detonate the grand finale without starting a forest fire.
The scene reminded me of an anthill. Every person seemed to know what he or she was doing, but I hadn’t the slightest idea how to make sense of it all.
Evangeline, on the other hand, knew exactly where to go and whom to see. I followed her as she went through the many busy people directly to a middle-aged man wearing a tennis cap. He was sitting in a small van totally filled with electronic equipment. A large glass window in front of him looked toward the stage. Beyond him a younger man with glasses and a ponytail was doing something with the dials on a panel.
“How’s it going, Harry?” Evangeline swung lithely up into the van. There didn’t seem to be much room for anyone else inside, so I stood guard by the open rear doors.
Harry looked up, squinted, and said, “Sorry, lady, but no civilians allowed.”
She whipped off her dark glasses and smiled. He squinted some more, then grinned. “Vangie! Is that you, darlin’? Give us a kiss!” She did that and he returned it. “I heard you were coming, kid, but I thought you were still across the briny in that castle of yours. Say, did you hear your pal Flurge and the Bristol Tars are going to be here, too?”
She nodded. “Why do you think I came? Flurge asked me to. The Bristol Tars and I are the last act on Saturday. We’re gonna do our thing together and then get everybody else up onstage to join in. People will be dancing in the aisles and screaming so loud they won’t even be able to hear us or the fireworks going off. It’s going to be something nobody’s ever seen before!”
“That’s what they say. Beamed around the world.”
She peered deeper into the truck. “Where’s Scott? I thought you two were joined at the hip.”
Harry shook his head. “Scott tied one on and drove his car into a tree just a couple of days before he was supposed to come east and hook up with me here. Busted himself up pretty good. Just lucky for me that Frank, here, came by about that time looking for work. Let me introduce you two.” Harry gestured at the man beyond him. “This is Frank Dyer, Ev. This is the one and only Evangeline. Say hello.”
Frank had to stare for a moment before he got his hello out.
Evangeline gave him her hand. “Hi,” she said. “I always like to stay on good terms with my soundmen.”
Frank retrieved his hand and I had the impression that he was never going to wash it again.
“Frank’s local talent,” said Harry. “Knows his stuff and everybody on the island, so something breaks or we need something, he knows how to get it in a rush. Don’t have to fly it in from the city.”
“A good man to have.” She smiled at Frank, who seemed hypnotized. Then she looked out the window. “I came by to check out the sound system. I’m pretty damn picky, as you know. You want to go over it with me?”
“Sure. You’re gonna like what we’re doing. No expenses being spared. There’s a lot of big money behind this show, and whatever I’ve asked for I’ve got, no questions asked. Right, Frank?”
“Right,” said Frank, who had gotten most of his voice back.
Harry and Evangeline stepped out of the van and Evangeline introduced us. “You in the business?” he asked.
“No. I’m a fisherman.”
“He’s my driver,” said Evangeline, putting on her glasses.
“You should have professional security,” said Harry, frowning. “It’s not good for you to be wandering around without a pro.”
“I have a pro at home looking after Janie. J.W.’s my security outside the house.”
“Is he, now?” Harry looked at me thoughtfully, then nodded. “Well, lemme show you what we have.” And apparently he did that, although the language was Navajo to me. Talking steadily, he gestured at the contents of the van first, then led her, with me following, to the stage and around the edges of the field, where speakers had already been installed and others soon would be.
When he was through, Evangeline smiled. “Looks great, Harry. I knew it would be, with you running things, but you know me; I like to see for myself. When I was a kid I had enough sound system fuckups to last me for my whole career.”
“That’s what happens when you’re starting out, kid, but it won’t be happening here. This is the best stuff I’ve ever hooked up to.”
“There’s sure a lot of it.”
“Most I’ve ever seen for one show. Frank’s been worth his weight in gold. Don’t know if I could have done it without him. Knows these speaker systems better than I do and set up all of them by himself. When I retire you better hire him. You could do a lot worse.”
“You’ll never retire, Harry. Say, I want to see Ogden Warner. You seen him around?”
He frowned. “I thought you and Ogden were on the outs. Ever since that fuss with—”
She interrupted. “That was personal. This is business. He’s directing this show and I want to talk to him.”
“Okay, Vangie, if you want him you’ll find him over yonder in that RV. He’s made one end of it into his office. But I warn you: He works at his desk this time of day, and he doesn’t like being interrupted.”
“Too bad. He give you any grief on this job?”
Harry scowled then grinned. “Does he ever not give people grief? He took one look at Frank and told me to get rid of him. Wouldn’t say why, of course. I’ve seen him do that before: ax somebody he didn’t even know just to prove he’s boss. But he can’t have a show without sound, and I’m the best there is, so I told him I did my own hiring and if he didn’t like it I was on my way home. He didn’t like that at all, but he walked off.”
“Good for you, Harry. Ogden can be a real pain in the ass, all right, but he’s like you: the best in the business.”
“Yer right, kid, but don’t let him pull any fast ones on you.”
“That’s why I want to see him. To make sure he doesn’t. I want my act done the way I want it, and I’m not interested in Ogden’s opinion. If you’re in touch with Scott, give him my regards and tell him to get well soon. Come on, J.W., let’s continue your musical education.”
I followed her to an RV parked near the edge of the field. Beyond it, rising above the trees, I could see the top of what looked like a fair-size hotel. I presumed it was Peter Fredericks’s famous house. My own house was just barely too big to fit inside one of its chimneys.
Evangeline knocked on the rear door of the RV. There was no response. She didn’t hesitate but pushed open the door and went in. I followed.
She stopped just inside and shook her head as she looked at a man seated in a swivel chair, his upper body lying motionless on a desk fronting the chair.
“So that’s the kind of work you do at your desk, eh? How can you sleep like that when there’s so much to do and all this commotion outside? Hey, Ogden, wake up! Time to go to work!”
But Ogden didn’t wake up.
I looked at him, then put my hands on Evangeline’s shoulders.
“Stay right here,” I said.
I went to Warner and put a finger on his throat. There was no pulse. His eyes were wide and empty. There was a bloody mark around his throat. I went back to Evangeline. She was staring at the man.
“Go to Harry,” I said. “If there are any medics around, have him get them over here. Tell him to call the cops, too, and have them bring an ambulance. I think you’ll be needing a new director. This one is dead.” I kept my gaze level and my voice calm. “I’ll wait here until the cops come. Walk, do not run. No reason to get people excited ahead of time.”
She never said a word. Instead, she nodded, went out the door, and walked toward the sound truck.