A Beautiful Place to Die Read Online Free

Cape Pogue lighthouse.I stopped the Landcruiser and climbed out of my Gralites. Zee also shed her waders and we stashed both pair in the back.
    â€œGuess what you don’t look like any more,” I said.
    â€œGosh, mister, you really know how to sweet-talk a lady. Do you realty mean it?”
    â€œUs Jacksons are noted for our silver tongues.”
    We drove toward the lighthouse. “What shall I call you, Mr. Jackson?”
    â€œYou can call me Jackson’ or J.W.’ or Jeff or none of the above.”
    â€œIs that ‘Geoff with a G or Jeff with a J ?”
    â€œIt’s J as in Jefferson.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what the W stands for. Did your mother have a thing about presidents, or what?”
    â€œShe never explained.”
    â€œDoes anybody ever call you ‘Wash’?”
    â€œNo one living.”
    We hooked left off the beach just before the lighthouse and drove through the seagull nesting grounds up to the tower. George’s Wagoneer was parked there. You could see Cape Cod fading off toward Chatham across the Sound, and the Oak Bluffs bluffs to the northwest. Beneath us, the cliff fell down to the beach, where jeep tracks formed a sandy road. It’s one of my favorite spots. Someday when I win the lottery I may buy one of the lonely houses out there.
    â€œHow do these people get supplies?”
    â€œBy four-by-four or by boat. There’s Edgartown, over to the west. By water it’s not too far. By car, the way we’ve just come, it’s a long haul. This is the place for people who like to be alone.”
    â€œDo you like to be alone?”
    I thought about it. “I’m alone whether I like it or not.”
    She gave me a long look.
    George had his binoculars out and was looking toward Edgartown, trying to spot the Nellie Grey coming out. She was his boat, a nice thirty-foot fishing toy for the man who could afford such toys. She had clean lines and a wide cockpit with three chairs for trolling. She was the kind of boat I’d want if I didn’t prefer sail.
    From the north I saw another boat coming. A long black expensive job with outriggers and a pulpit, the sort of boat you could take a long way out with no trouble at all. She was on a course that would take her a half-mile or so east of us. I guessed she was on her way to the swordfishing grounds south of Nomans or maybe even farther. She was not the sort of boat that hung on the Wasque rip trolling for bluefish. I thought maybe I’d seen her in the Oak Bluffs harbor or in Vineyard Haven, but I wasn’t sure.
    Beyond her, other boats were coming out. How did they know the bluefish had arrived?
    â€œThere she is,” said George, looking through his glasses. “I hope they don’t have any more trouble with that engine.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Daddy,” said Susie, “the yard checked it out and I did, too. I took her out yesterday afternoon and everything was fine.”
    I must have had a question mark on my face.
    â€œGas leak,” said Susie. “One of the lines in the engine compartment. You could smell the fumes sometimes, so we took it in. Just a bad connection, but out of the way so it was tricky to find. But they found it and fixed it, and yesterday I took Nellie halfway to Falmouth and back. No problem.”
    Now the Nellie Grey was in sight, moving smoothly outwith mild following waves, the wind at her back. She came past the lighthouse and we could see Jim and Billy. They waved and we waved back, and they went on out beyond the shallows that reach east from Cape Pogue. Beyond the Nellie Grey the long black boat altered her course to hold outside the Nellie’s turn as she swung south beyond the shallows to follow the beach toward Wasque.
    â€œCome on,” said George, lowering his binoculars, “let’s go back to Wasque so we can watch them fish the rip. The east tide will be running and there may be something