Deadout Read online

  “A vibe?”

  “Yeah, on the island. Like there’s something going on. Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched.”

  I didn’t know what to say about that, and Moose could tell. He followed it up with an awkward smile and a shrug.

  Moose was just swapping out the hard drives on the monitoring stations, no heavy lifting, so he didn’t need my help, but I went with him anyway. I was relieved at first not to encounter any bees, but then I noticed an eerie quiet, a distinct lack of buzzing, from bees or any other insects, that made me anxious.

  I felt a vague sense of relief each time we got back into the truck and drove off. After the third stop, Moose turned on the radio. It was James Taylor, almost as ubiquitous on the island as the fieldstone walls. He left it on anyway.

  At the last stop, Moose looked up at me as he was swapping out the hard drives and told me that the land we were on was part of Teddy’s property.

  “Really?” I said, surprised. “I didn’t think we were that close to the farm.”

  “We’re not.” He looked up at me. “It’s a big property.”

  * * *

  The car rental place was in a tiny compound of low-slung buildings next to an airport with two small runways and a fence that seemed mostly decorative.

  Moose offered to wait with me, but I could tell he was antsy to get back to work, so I sent him on his way with tentative plans to get together when Nola was done work. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about the whole Teddy Renfrew thing. Depending on how that conversation went, we might not be much in the way of company.

  Steve at the car rental place was a little too happy to see me, like a people person who wasn’t seeing enough people. We had a longer-than-anticipated conversation about what type of car I was looking for, especially considering he only had eight cars on the lot. They had a convertible Mustang and a Mini Cooper, and Steve thought they were both a great idea, but they seemed a little ostentatious. I already stuck out among the young idealistic farmer types. The cars were also expensive. I decided a Jeep would have more street cred, or off-road cred, or whatever cred was relevant up here.

  The Jeep was fun, especially compared to the Impala. I felt strangely not tired, and it was turning into a nice day so I took the scenic way home, State Road through Chilmark. A sign pointed to Aquinnah and the Gay Head Cliffs. I’d missed them the week before, so I figured that was as good a place to go as any. I had the roads pretty much to myself, and I thought maybe Steve was right about the Mustang.

  Gay Head Lighthouse sat back from the cliffs. But up the steps from the parking area was a cluster of gift shops and a snack bar, then a path leading to a cliff-top lookout surrounded on three sides by expansive views of the water. The wind was stiff and steady, and the cliffs were high enough that the waves seemed to be rolling in slow motion, crashing over the boulders that dotted the surf. It was an impressive sight, but it seemed to me the cliffs were something to be looked up at, not down from.

  I got back in the Jeep and tried to find my way to the beach below. The place seemed designed to keep you away from the beach, which made me that much more determined. Finally, I parked in a small lot a quarter mile down the hill. After a hundred yards of sandy scrub, the beach came into sight, a broad swath of deserted yellow sand dotted with boulders that looked even more impressive up close, especially with the red, gold, black, and brown cliffs behind them. I walked along the beach for a while, then plopped down on the sand, my back against one of the boulders, and watched the waves for a while, mesmerized, squinting against the sun, the tiredness creeping up on me. I knew that if I didn’t get moving I was going to fall asleep on the beach, and I was just getting to my feet when I saw a flash of long dark hair and curves in a jogging suit.

  “Doctor Paar,” I called out.

  She turned with a start and stumbled against her momentum. There was fear in her eyes and a can of mace in her hand.

  I put up my hands. “Don’t shoot!”

  “Doyle!” she exclaimed with a laugh that was on the far side of nervous. “Oh God, I’m sorry.” She slipped the mace into her pocket.

  “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” I said. “Expecting trouble?”

  She laughed dismissively, but her eyes flickered with the fear I had seen in them earlier.

  “Sorry. My imagination gets away from me sometimes.”

  “What are you imagining?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, her composure returning.

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  “Well, lately, sometimes I feel like I’m being watched.”

  Just what Moose said. “By whom?”

  She laughed nervously and shook her head. “Who knows? The boogeyman, a crazy ex-boyfriend … Maybe a crazy eco-warrior, like your friend Moose, or some eco-terrorist, like Teddy, who thinks I’m working for Stoma.” Then she turned serious. “Maybe Stoma. I’ve been feeling like that at work ever since they bought us.”

  “Really?”

  “We were pretty hard on them before the acquisition. Maybe they’re following up on me, spying to see if my research is going to implicate them in any of this. Or to intimidate me. I don’t know.”

  She looked up at me, waiting for a reaction that would tell her if I thought she was crazy or if I thought she had something to worry about.

  “Moose said something similar,” I told her. “About the vibe on the island, and feeling like he’s being watched. He thinks maybe it has something to do with the bees, but he’s pretty freaked out by the whole bee situation.”

  She let out a deep sigh. “I’m a little freaked out about it, too.”

  “Huh.” It shook me a little that a trained scientist was as concerned about the bee situation as an environmental activist with a tendency toward the melodramatic.

  She looked up at me and nodded, as if that summed it up. “I should get going,” she said, pointing back down the beach, “finish my run.”

  “I’ll see you around,” I said.

  She gave me a smile. “I hope so.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was sending me signals, or if that was just the vibe she gave off. Some women are like that, and they don’t even know it.

  Before I could figure it out, she turned and started jogging, picking her way through the rocks that dotted the beach. I stood there watching until she was very small, part of me glad she didn’t turn around and see me. Part of me disappointed.

  When I got back to the Jeep, I realized I was still smiling. I told myself that flirtation from a beautiful woman was a legitimate justification for a smile, even if you were in a serious relationship. But thinking about that relationship made the smile go away. Serious. Was that its level or its condition, like serious but stable, only without the stable? Day to day the days were up and down, but they seemed to be trending rockier. Acknowledging it made me feel old inside.

  As I drove off, I thought of Annalisa, and I smiled again, just for a second.

  15

  On the advice of an old lady speed-walking on the side of the road, I got a lobster roll at a place called Menemsha, a scenic little harbor not far from Gay Head. The sandwich was as overpriced and overrated as every lobster roll I’d ever had, but it was nice sitting on the edge of the dock, listening to the water.

  The tiredness started to creep back in, and I decided to head back to the cabin, catch a couple hours of sleep before Nola got done work.

  On the way back, I got turned around. I was trying to regain my bearings at a little rural intersection called Beetlebung Corner when Teddy Renfrew drove by in his truck. On a whim, I fell in behind him, telling myself he was probably headed back to the farm and I could just follow him there. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, but I didn’t want to tailgate, either, so I gave him some space. Just to be civil.

  Unfortunately, the jackass behind me wasn’t showing me the same civility. When I looked in the rearview, I recognized the two ex-cops from the Alehouse, the two suits who had been sitting quietly in the
corner watching everyone else.

  They seemed exasperated, and as I watched, their Buick LaCrosse disappeared from the rearview, pulling out into the other lane and inserting itself snugly into the reasonable distance I had left between myself and Teddy’s truck.

  I took a deep breath. Nola would have suggested that maybe they were going to visit a friend in the hospital or a pregnant spouse, maybe they were trying to catch an important ferry. So I gave them the benefit of the doubt and I hung back even more, hoping some other jackass didn’t pull the same maneuver.

  They pulled up close behind Teddy, but even on a long straightaway, they didn’t pass him. They seemed content to ride up his ass and stay there. For some reason I found it fascinating.

  Some guys are artists at tailing people, and I’m not one of them. But there are basic moves that everybody knows, and these guys weren’t even trying.

  Teddy made a few halfhearted attempts to lose them—sudden moves, dicey left turns—but the Buick stayed on his bumper. I kept tailing them, using my Junior Investigator Handbook techniques.

  After a while, on a long stretch of country road, Teddy slowed to a stop, and I wondered if he was going to get out and cause a scene, goad these idiots into making a move. Instead, he put on his turn signal, and I realized we were back at his farm. He slowly turned into the entrance and then drove up the driveway.

  The suits stayed where they were, sitting in the middle of the road. I was intrigued as hell, but it got to the point where it would be weird if I didn’t honk, so I gave them a little toot. They pulled over onto the grass, and I drove on. I didn’t want them to get a good look at me so I pretended to be picking my nose, hiding half my face behind my hand and giving them a nice incentive to look somewhere else.

  I turned up the first side street after the road curved out of sight. Then I waited, letting a few cars and a few minutes go by before I went back. The Buick was still sitting there, engine running, both occupants staring at the driveway. I’d hoped they’d be gone, but I didn’t really care all that much, so I turned into the driveway, too, scratching the side of my head as I did.

  Halfway up the driveway, I came to a place where I was no longer visible from the road but not yet visible from the big house, and I let the Jeep coast to a halt. After a few seconds, I took my foot off the brake and crept along the driveway. As I rounded the house, I put it down again. Teddy was trotting down the back steps and heading down toward the compost heap, looking around him as he did. Skulking, I thought. I coasted the Jeep up next to Nola’s cabin and parked. Then I followed him on foot.

  The compost piles were forty yards behind the cabins, and by the time I could see them, I could see Teddy hurrying past them, toward the woods. I hung back, watching from behind the compost pile as Teddy made his way through the trees. There were four piles, with fresh scraps and rotten vegetables at one end, rich, dark soil at the other end. I hovered near the middle piles, and discovered they were the smelliest.

  It was early enough in the spring that the brush was thin, but I was still starting to lose sight of Teddy as he moved through the trees. Then he stopped.

  I could see someone standing with him, talking, hands gesturing. I couldn’t see what the two were doing, but I could see that they were suddenly doing something different. I was leaning forward and squinting when I recognized the pattern of movement: Teddy was headed back, and he was getting close.

  I ducked down low and took off, back toward the cabins, not even knowing why I was running. Rounding the front of the cabin, I almost tripped on the small step up onto the porch. Darting inside, I pulled the door almost closed behind me. I stumbled over the bed, which practically filled the tiny cabin, and moved back as far as I could into the shadows.

  A few seconds later, Teddy emerged from between the cabins, walking at a fast clip. He was crossing the commons when he stopped and his head whipped around. At first I thought he had seen me. Then I realized he wasn’t looking into my cabin, he was looking next to it. He’d seen the Jeep. Even from inside the cabin, I could hear it ticking and cooling. He turned slightly, squinting at the window for a moment. Then he looked around once more and hurried off.

  I didn’t know who the suits were who had been following him, and I didn’t know who he had gone to meet. But it seemed like he was up to something and somebody was onto him.

  I realized I’d been holding my breath, and I exhaled as I sat on the bed. I also realized I was exhausted. I lay back onto the bed, and I closed my eyes.

  16

  I awoke to the sensation of a slight weight on the bed next to me. It was getting dark, a few blades of orange slicing through the blue shadows that darkened the trees. In the dim light from the window I could see Nola sitting beside me on the bed. She had a complex smile on her face, but at least it was a smile. I wasn’t sure if I was going to give her one back yet.

  Before I could say anything, or decide not to, she said, “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to be working for Teddy.”

  She put her hand on my stomach, rubbing gently. I rested my hand gently on hers.

  “I just … I know you don’t like him, and I figured you wouldn’t want me to come up here in the first place. I didn’t want to make it any worse.”

  Before I could ask her when she had been planning on telling me, she said, “I was going to tell you once I got up here.” She looked down. “So you’d be over it by the time I got home. But then you drove me up, and I couldn’t tell you then, not while we were stuck in the car for six hours. Then Moose picked me up, and then we were here.”

  We looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, hers blue, almost luminous in the disappearing light. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement outside the window. Nola followed my gaze.

  “They’re getting ready for dinner,” she said. “Apparently, when it’s warm, they set up tables and have dinner outside. It’s kind of nice.”

  I nodded.

  She tilted her head. “Did you rent a car?”

  I nodded again. “A Jeep.”

  She gave me an exaggerated frown. “There’s plenty of bikes,” she said, disapprovingly. Then she reached up to caress the side of my face. “You hungry?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, just feeling her hand. “Sure.”

  * * *

  By the time I’d splashed some water on my face and made my way outside, dinner was well underway. A big folding table with a few lanterns, a couple of bottles of wine, salad and pasta, a platter full of rolls, and eight or ten people.

  Everyone else was seated when Nola led me out. We took the last two empty seats, all the way at the end of the table. Nola was to my right. To my left, an under-deodorized kid with a mustache-less beard was putting the moves on the small woman with the braid we’d seen that morning. She seemed like she might be interested. Maybe it was the pheromones. At the other end of the table was Elaine, who had taken Nola out into the field.

  Teddy was sitting at the center of the table, holding court, like maybe he was putting out some pheromones of his own.

  “Hey, everyone,” Nola said as we found our seats. “This is Doyle.”

  A few of them looked up or waved. A few mumbled some kind of greeting. I mumbled one back.

  As we sat, Nola introduced me to the woman with the braid. “Doyle, this is Gwen.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, giving my hand a firm shake.

  “You, too.”

  “Gwen and I worked together this afternoon,” Nola explained. “She showed me the ropes.”

  Gwen laughed. “I think I learned more from you,” she protested.

  Nola laughed, too. “Oh, please,” she said. “Using two Q-Tips was brilliant. I’d never seen anyone—”

  And they’re off, I thought, my ears glazing over as they dove deeper and deeper into the minutiae.

  Teddy was in the middle of a war story about some protest he’d been on, getting locked up for a cause. The women on either side of him were hanging on every word.
I thought about the poor cops who’d had to deal with him.

  He didn’t turn his head as we sat, but a couple of seconds later, his eyes hit me and stayed on me. Nola was dishing up salad and chatting with Gwen.

  As Teddy stared at me, I gave him the stupidest, friendliest smile I could muster. He looked away, but I don’t think he was buying it, at least not the friendly part.

  The meal was simple but tasty. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. As we ate, the farmers traded stories about their day. The main topics were adorable tales about Paula, Georgia, Ringo, and John—the chickens—and tips on different techniques learned during the first day of hand-pollinating the crops.

  All the farming talk gave me plenty of time to partake of my newest hobby: trying to figure out what was up with Teddy Renfrew.

  Toward the end of the meal, Teddy pushed himself from the table, drawing everyone’s attention like he was going to make a speech, but he just said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  A few minutes later, he appeared at my elbow, placing a bottle of wine on the table in front of me.

  “This round’s on me,” he said to a smattering of cheers and clapping, placing a second bottle at the other end of the table. Half an hour later, a few people had left, but the ones who remained were getting louder to make up for it.

  Teddy seemed as caught up in the buzz as everyone else, but I noticed he kept checking his watch, and as the motion grew more frequent, it was followed by a glance at me. I’m a trained surveillance professional and I can be pretty sneaky, but I figured I’d better put his mind at ease. I yawned and stretched and put my hand on Nola’s back as I got up. She turned and looked up at me.

  “I’m going to head in,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes sweeping my face.

  I smiled and then she did, too.

  “I’m going to hang out for a while.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m just beat.”

  As Gwen and I said our goodnights, I snuck a glance at Teddy sneaking a glance at me. He looked relieved to see me going, a reaction I am not unfamiliar with.