Death in Vineyard Waters Read Online Free Page A

noted that I’d taken him with metal and rigged up with the same. As I got the lure out of his mouth, I saw a rod bend, then another as the long casters began to reach the school. I put the fish in the shade of the truck and went back to try for another one. I fetched another on the second cast, and after that, in spite of the pilgrims, we had some good fishing until the rip flattened. I hardly had time to think about Zee at all.
    But as I gutted the fish at the Herring Creek, I had time. I dropped all of the fish but one at the market on my way home, keeping the last one as a gift for John Skye and company. Then I went home and showered and shaved, wondering once again whether I should grow some hair on my face. From the looks of it, it wouldn’t hurt to cover it up a bit. Maybe I’d start a beard tomorrow. It would save shaving time, if nothing else. Besides, it might serve to give me a new personality. I felt like I could use one.
    I had a beer and then it was time to go to John Skye’s farm. I checked my clams in their bucket of salt water, where they were dutifully spitting out sand in preparation to being eaten tomorrow. They were hard at it. Good old clams.
    For my visit, I wore Vineyard cocktail party clothes: sandals, faded red shorts (it was too warm to wear my faded red pants), and a blue knit shirt with a little animal over the pocket. Very stylish and almost new from the thrift shop. I thought that I would fit right in.
    I arrived fashionably late and went into the kitchen, where I deposited the bluefish on the counter and kissed Mattie Skye, who looked lovely as usual.
    â€œHere,” I said. “I know you and John can catch all thebluefish that you can eat, but I thought maybe the learned doctors could use one. When are you guys headed west?”
    â€œIn a few days. Here.” She put a tray of hors d’oeuvres in my hands. “Take this out and put it on that table beside the one with the booze. Then fix yourself a drink. We should still have some Mount Gay if you didn’t drink it all the last time you were here. Dinner will be coming along later. No, I don’t need any help yet.”
    Through a window I could see Zee talking to John Skye and Marjorie Summerharp. No Ian McGregor in sight. Hmmmmm. I went out the door as one of Mattie’s twins came in.
    â€œHi, J. W.,” she said.
    â€œHi, whichever one you are,” I said. “Where’s the other one of you?” I simply could not tell them apart, no matter how easy it is to do so, according to John, their mother, and the girls themselves.
    â€œOh, she’s showing Ian the chicken coops. She’s such a flirt, it’s disgusting.”
    â€œWell, Jen, that’s the way Jill is,” I said.
    â€œI’m Jill,” she said.
    â€œWell, Jill, that’s the way Jen is,” I said.
    â€œHmmmph,” said Jill and went inside. I carried the hors d’oeuvres out to the table, tried a few, and found the Mount Gay. I poured a nice double slug over ice and looked around. Ian McGregor was still not in sight, but there were a couple dozen other people standing around, glasses in hand, carrying on cocktail conversations. I went over and joined Zee, John, and Marjorie Summerharp.
    â€œHi,” I said. Zee looked terrific in a white dress that made her dark beauty even more startling than usual. “You look terrific,” I said.
    â€œHi,” she said. “Thanks. You’re looking quite Vineyardish yourself. Very stylish.”
    â€œPeople come from miles around to ask me my opinion of haute couture. I owe it to them to always be perfectly attired.”
    She smiled. Wonderful teeth. Then her glance left me and went toward John Skye’s barn. I turned and saw—what else?—Ian McGregor and Jen, flirtatious and disgusting sister of Jill, coming out. Jen was smiling up at McGregor and chattering on about whatever it is that teenage girls say to handsome older men