A Vineyard Killing by Philip R. Craig Page A

figured I had as much room as I needed.”
    â€œYou scatter the dirt out there in the woods?”
    He nodded. “It took a lot of time and effort. I’d fill a gunnysack and haul it off and spread the dirt thin, then come back and do it again. I don’t recommend it as a way to build yourself a house. You want some coffee? I’m about to brew some.”
    â€œSure.”
    He went into his kitchen and soon the smell of fresh coffee filled the air. He came back with two cups.
    I took mine and said, “I’d guess that one problem was hauling the wood and other stuff in here without being seen. There’s a lot of traffic out there on Airport Road.”
    He nodded. “It was easier in the winter because there weren’t so many people around. I couldn’t do much in the summer unless I waited till late at night when the moon was bright and I could move through the woods without killing myself. It was slow going. I did better off-season.” He sipped his coffee and looked around the room. “And now that the place is finally in shape, here you are and I’ll be moving along.”
    â€œNot necessarily,” I said. “I’m guessing that you must have used that Vineyard Haven apartment to get your PO box and any other papers that required a street address.”
    â€œThat’s right. Once I got the papers, all I needed was the PO box. How’d you know I lived in that apartment?”
    â€œBecause I went to the apartment looking for you. I got the address from a friend.”
    He looked down into the coffee cup. “Are you some kind of cop, J.W.? Why were you looking for me?”
    â€œI’m not a cop. Somebody asked me to find you, that’s all.”
    â€œWho? Why?”
    â€œI may tell you later, after we talk some more.”
    â€œHow’d you find me, anyway?”
    I told him and he shook his head. “It serves me right. I’ve been careless lately. Too cocky, too casual. A year ago I would have been watching my back. A year ago you wouldn’t have found that tire track.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have found the track today if I hadn’t been looking for it, but you’re probably right about getting too sure of yourself. It’s pretty common for people who drop out of sight to be very careful at first but then begin to make mistakes as they relax. I think you’d better pay more attention to your security if you plan to keep living here.”
    He brightened, but it was a careful brightening. “You mean to say you don’t plan to spill my beans?”
    â€œI didn’t take this job to blab about where you live. I took it to find out something about you.”
    He sipped his coffee and studied me.
    â€œYou’re sure you’re not some kind of cop?”
    â€œI used to be on the Boston PD, but that was a long time ago. Now I live here and I’m no kind of cop, but you’re a mystery somebody wants solved, and I got talked into trying to be the solver.”
    The brightening in his face went away. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œYou might start by telling me why you live here instead of in a house like everybody else.”
    â€œI’m antisocial.” His stare was steady and he didn’t smile.
    â€œYou’re not so antisocial that you don’t get along well with the people you work with, and you’re not so antisocial that you don’t visit your friends.”
    He raised a brow. “Like who?”
    â€œLike Dodie Donawa, for one.”
    â€œAh,” he said, nodding slowly. “So that’s what this is about. Dodie Donawa.” He smiled a small, crooked smile.
    â€œIt’s about Maria, actually,” I said. “She doesn’t want her mother hurt. She likes you but she doesn’t know enough about you to trust her mother to you.”
    The smile stayed. “Role reversal, eh? Daughters, lock up your mothers; the Vietnam vets are in