Shooting At Loons Part 14

"What about Andy Bynum?" I asked suddenly.

She made a dismissive motion with her slender hands. "Another who enjoyed power. He could stand in the door of his fish house and take or reject whatever a waterman offered him. He liked running that Independent Fishers Alliance because it gave him a forum to impose his will on the rest of us. Or to try."

Her pager went off. She frowned at the number displayed, glanced at her delicate gold watch, and said, "Too bad. I wanted to hear about you and Levi Schuster, but it seems I have to go now."

"Nothing to hear." I gave a dismissive motion of my own. "We used to be together a zillion years ago."

"Last night meant nothing?"

"We might've stirred some old ashes," I admitted.

"And found a few hot coals?"

I shook my head.

("Liar!" whispered the preacher.) "Then you will not mind if I-?"

"Would it matter?"

She laughed. "Probably not. Still..."

"Be my guest."

("You're gonna be sorry you said that," warned the pragmatist.) a a a As it turned out, there were so many requests for continuances in the afternoon session that we were finished for the day a few minutes before three. I quickly adjourned and headed back for Harkers Island. Dark clouds were rolling in from the west and rain that had been predicted didn't seem far away.

By the time I got to the church where Andy's funeral was to be preached, it was nearly packed to the brim. There were Sunday school cla.s.srooms on either side of the main sanctuary, though, and folding panels slid back so that another fifty people could be shoehorned in. I was among them. People who came even later had to stand along the back walls.

The casket was closed before the family entered-Andy's two sons, their wives, five grandchildren, and a handful of people who could have been brothers and sisters or cousins. Seated on the side as I was, I had a good view. The daughters-in-law had red-rimmed eyes and the boys looked as if they'd done their share of mourning, too. An older woman cried silently through the whole service.

Chet and Barbara Jean sat amid a group of members of the Alliance. Or so I a.s.sumed, since at least half of them, including Barbara Jean and Jay Hadley, wore white carnations in their lapels. Two teenagers sat beside Jay. The girl looked to be seventeen or eighteen and was a younger, prettier version of her blonde mother. I'd heard the boy was only sixteen but he had a man's growth and was darker of hair and eyes.

The choir sang "Rock of Ages" and "Safe in the Arms of Jesus," then the preacher called for prayer. He was on the charismatic side and got so carried away with such a huge audience that, at one point, he seemed to think he was conducting a revival instead of a funeral. As he spoke of repentance and salvation and exhorted us to save our souls ("For ye knoweth not the hour when the Lord shall call ye home"), I almost expected him to issue an invitation and for the pianist to break into "Almost Persuaded."

At the last minute, however, he restrained himself and settled into an earnest detailing of Andy Bynum's goodness and virtues and the legacy of love and respect he was leaving behind, "a monument not carved in stone, my friends, nor writ in water, but indelibly etched on the hearts and lives of people he touched."

Near the end, he alluded to the manner in which death had come and said, "Andy's boys, Drew and Maxton, asks y'all to search your memories of last Sunday. If anybody pa.s.sed Andy out there near the banks, if anybody saw someone else out there-if you don't want to tell the sheriff, at least find it in your heart to tell one of them."

A final hymn, a prayer, then we rose and followed the casket out to the churchyard where a blue tent protected three rows of folding chairs and the open grave. The casket was rolled into place and the family was seated while the rest of us stood quietly and hoped the rain would hold off a half hour longer.

After another homily and another prayer, the preacher shook the hand of each family member and they went back inside the church to wait until the casket had been lowered, the dirt shoveled back in, and the wreaths arranged to cover the raw earth.

The congregation sort of s.h.i.+fted away from the graveside, too, as if it weren't quite good manners to stand and stare while this was going on. Car doors slammed as some people left immediately. Most, though, lingered in small groups to shake their heads over Andy's murder and to wonder aloud what would happen to the Alliance now. I saw Telford Hudpeth talking to Barbara Jean and Jay Hadley. Chet was in deep conversation with someone I didn't recognize.

Detective Quig Smith was there with Deputy Marvin Willitt, who was in uniform.

"Gentlemen," I said.

"Ma'am," said Deputy Willitt and immediately cut out.

"Was it something I said?" I asked.

Smith grinned. "Nah. He's supposed to be directing traffic."

"Really?"

"Okay, and asking a few questions, too. Making himself available in case somebody takes to heart what the preacher was saying." He glanced over to where two laborers from the funeral home were shoveling dirt. "You ever been to New Orleans?"

"That's an odd question."

"I was just thinking about the difference in water tables. How they have to bury their dead above ground. Not like here." He shook his head. "Going to be hard keeping developers out of this place. Too much high ground over here."

It looked pretty flat to me, but I suppose these things are relative.

We were standing at the edge of the crowd, two virtual outsiders. As long as we were alone, I felt free to say, "From what the sons are asking, I gather that there's been no progress toward finding Andy's killer?"

"Wouldn't say that exactly. We've been up and down the island asking questions, especially houses on the sound side. People can be right vague about what they've seen."

"But somebody did see something?"

He rubbed his chin. "Now, Judge."

As we spoke, his denim-blue eyes roved the crowd and he nodded courteously whenever anyone made eye contact. "You're staying in that little yellow house behind Clarence Willis, right?"

"Yes. It belongs to my cousins."

"They ever have anything stolen?"

"Not that I-well, maybe a couple of spinner reels. A tape player, stuff like that."

"He file a report?"

"No. He figured he knew who took it and it was never all that much."

"Mickey Mantle Davis, hmm?"

"He did use to be right bad for taking stuff that wasn't nailed down," I admitted.

"Still is," said Smith with a slow smile that told me he'd heard about a hand puppet accusing Mickey Mantle of bicycle theft.

"But that's from off-islanders, and once my cousins got some decent window locks, it pretty much stopped. Mickey Mantle would never bust a window on them."

"How long you known the Winberrys?" he asked abruptly.

"You do jump around, don't you? Is this relevant to something?"

"Just wondering. Somebody said you went to a party with them the other night. I guess judges hang out a lot together though."

"No more than sheriff's deputies," I said.

As if to disprove my point, Chet picked that minute to walk over and ask if I'd like to ride in to Beaufort with them for dinner. "One of us could run you back across by boat later."

"Thanks, Chet, but it looks like rain and I think I'll make it an early night tonight," I told him.

As he walked away to collect Barbara Jean, who seemed to be having a strategy meeting with several of her colleagues, I saw that Quig Smith was smiling again.

"What?" I asked.

"Just thinking about late nights and such. How well you know Kidd Chapin?"

I grinned. "More to the point, Detective Smith, how well do you know him?"

"He's a catbird, ol' Kidd. But I'll say this for him: he's a fine lawman. Real big on conservation, too." He gave me a considering look. "I bet you're not married either."

"That's it," I laughed and turned toward my car, but Smith fell in step beside me.

"The first road through the island was paved with seash.e.l.ls," he confided. "You wouldn't believe the pile of sh.e.l.ls used to be off Sh.e.l.l Point."

"Where Indians used to come to the island every spring and pig out on oysters and clams," I said. "I know. I've heard the stories."

"They say there were so many sh.e.l.ls it was like they were trying to build a causeway out to the cape." He kicked at the pavement consideringly. "Been better off to've kept this road in sh.e.l.ls. Runoff from asphalt's something awful. We ought to pa.s.s a law that for every twenty-five parking s.p.a.ces, parking lots've got to have at least one deciduous tree. Because even if it's clean rainwater-which it never is-too much fresh water can be just as bad for estuarine life as polluted water."

"Well," I said heartily when we reached my car, "it's certainly been nice talking to you and-"

He leaned closer. "Kidd said if I saw you to ask if you like black olives or green peppers on your pizza."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Kidd said-"

"No," I interrupted. "I heard that part. You tell Officer Chapin that I said No way, Jose."

Smith rubbed his chin dubiously. "Well, I'll tell him, but you know what's going to happen, don't you?"

"What?"

"You're probably going to get olives and peppers."

"You tell Kidd Chapin that if he shows up at my place, I'm going to turn on every light and blow a horn so that everybody in the neighborhood knows he's there."

"Generally they ring a church bell," Smith chuckled. "You hear a church bell ringing on a weekday in the spring, you can bet there's a game warden on the island."

a a a Back at the cottage, I waved to Mahlon and Guthrie, who were still out working on the boat. Considering that Mahlon hoped to hold the Bynum boys to Andy's promise of that truck engine, I was surprised he'd skipped the funeral. I slipped off my dress and got into jeans and a slouchy sweats.h.i.+rt, thinking I'd go over and watch, but a car pulled up outside and I heard the door slam.

It was Jay Hadley, still dressed for the funeral in a soft navy suit and red-and-white spectator pumps with a red purse. A far cry from the s.h.i.+rt and shorts she'd worn on Sunday. She carried a bulging manila folder.

When I went to the door, she said, "Sorry to bother you, Judge, but I need a little advice, if you don't mind."

I invited her in and offered her something to drink, but all she would take was a gla.s.s of ice water.

"You see, Judge-"

"Please. Call me Deborah."

Until then, she'd been business-like. Now she looked downright shy. "And I'm Jay."

That out of the way, I asked how I could help and she laid the manila folder on the couch between us.

"These are some of Andy's papers. See, the Alliance wants me to act as interim president and I said I would. Andy's boy, Maxton, brought me over a big stack of stuff last night and when I was going through it-" She hesitated. "I don't know if Barbara Jean Winberry's told you how much Andy hated Linville Pope?"

"I gather they didn't get along very well, but I don't know any details."

"Andy's had it in for her ever since she wrecked his honey pot over on North River about a year ago."

I couldn't help smiling as I remembered Andy talking about his honey pot.

She gave a sad smile back and pushed away a lock of sun-bleached hair that had fallen into her eyes. "When there were no other oysters around, when n.o.body could find a half-box of crabs, Andy'd go progging around a place on North River and always bring home a nice mess for supper. Linville Pope helped develop a stretch right slam on his honey pot and that was the end of that. He was iller than a channel crab over it, and after that, seems like he was always out to get back at her."

I could understand. From what I've heard most watermen are secretive and protective of their special good luck places.

"Anyhow, 'bout a week ago, or maybe two weeks, Andy said he'd finally got the goods on her. 'She's built her house on sand,' he said, and he was going to blow it down."

"He was that vindictive?"

"Andy Bynum was one of the decentest men on the island and he did everything by the rules, but if you ever got on his bad side, he'd use the rules to get you back." "He didn't tell you what the goods were?"

"No, but I know he spent a lot of time at the courthouse, messing in the public records. That's what this is," she said, patting the file folder. "His notes, the copies he made of her permits, newspaper stories and a bunch of other stuff. The thing is, I've been through it and if there's something there, I can't see it. You're a lawyer. Maybe you could spot it."

"For what purpose?" I asked.

"Linville Pope's getting to be very strong in the area," Jay said frankly. "She doesn't mind cutting corners to get what she wants. And what she wants is all commercial fis.h.i.+ng out of the sound. I think it'd be good if we could clip her wings just enough to even things out."

Much as I was starting to come down on the side of the watermen, I wasn't easy about blackmail and coercion. On the other hand, if Linville really had done something illegal, why should she profit by it at their expense?

"Okay," I said, taking the folder. "We'll see if she broke any of the rules."

"Thanks," she said. "Deborah."

"You're welcome, Jay."

a a a The rain finally set in for real around dark and it rained so hard for a couple of hours that I had to go around closing windows.

I only meant to just leaf through the folder and then go find something to eat, once the rain slacked. But I got absorbed in all the land deals Pope Properties had been involved in, and the next time I looked up, it was nearly ten P.M.

Every eating place on the island would be closed by now.

I'd left a side window cracked for ventilation and realized that somewhere, someone was cooking something that smelled luscious. Something with olive oil and garlic and- A low voice outside the window said, "Your pizza's here."