A Case of Vineyard Poison Read Free

hundred thou was the first unusual thing that happened that week. It wasn’t the last.

— 2 —
    On Sunday morning Zee got a receipt from yet another ATM and still had her hundred thou. But by Monday morning it was gone. The Vineyard Haven National Bank informed her that she had just her fifteen hundred in her checking account.
    â€œSic transit gloria mundi.” She sighed, as she told me this over the phone. She was at work in the emergency room and had just called the bank and gotten the bad news.
    â€œDid they give you any explanation?”
    â€œThey said they’d been having trouble with some of their machines.”
    â€œI told you you should have withdrawn the money while you had a chance.”
    â€œYou did not. Oh well. No French Riviera again this year.”
    â€œRiviera schmiviera. You’re already on the blessed isle of Martha’s Vineyard. The Riviera holds no comparable charms. Besides, I’m here, not there. Think about that.”
    There was a silence at the far end of the line. I hummed into my phone. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” she said, laughing. Then, “Oops, there’s some business coming through the door. It has the appearance of the first moped spill of the day. Gotta run.”
    She hung up.
    Another fortune slipped through our fingers. Oh well.
    It was a lazy day, warm and sunny. I was wearing shorts and Tevas, my usual at-home garb during the summer. I put on my shades and went out to the garden and weeded and watered flowers and veggies for an hour. The lawn needed mowing, so I put in some more time doing that. By then it was time for the day’s first beer, so I got a Sam Adams from the fridge and had that on my balcony, while I looked out toward the beach on the far side of Sengekontacket Pond, where the cars belonging to the June People were already lining the highway between Edgartown and Oak Bluffs.
    The beach beyond the highway is a favorite one for young families, because the parking is free, the prevailing offshore wind and gently sloping shore create safe waters for small children, and the water is only a hundred feet or so from the road, making it easy for Mom and Dad to tote their armloads of gear and children from car to seashore.
    On the beach, the bright umbrellas were up, and in the water beyond the sand the surf sailors were riding their multicolored sailboards back and forth across the gentle southwest wind. In the air, kaleidoscopic kites were flying. Although I could not see them, I knew the young mothers had their beach chairs facing the water so they could watch their children playing on the edge of the water. Their babies’ cribs were beneath their umbrellas, their beachbags were stuffed with towels and toys, food and drink, sunscreen and lotions, diapers and books. Their husbands were flying the kites or reading or letting themselves be covered with sand by their children.
    My Sam Adams was so good that I had another one, accompanied by some bluefish pate, cheese, and crackers. Life was not bad. The sky was pale blue, and in thewoods around the house the birds were talking. More birds were at the feeders I had hanging here and there. I wondered if they’d still come after Zee moved in and brought her cats, Oliver Underfoot and Velcro. I gave that some thought and decided that I could probably rig the feeders so Oliver and Velcro couldn’t get at them. Of course the birds would have to watch out for themselves, cats being cats, but that was okay since both were God’s little creatures. I wondered once again whether there were birds in cat heaven or cats in bird heaven. Once again, I really couldn’t guess.
    At eleven-thirty I phoned the Vineyard Haven National Bank and asked to speak with Hazel Fine.
    Hazel’s voice sounded musical as always.
    â€œLet me take you to lunch,” I said.
    â€œWell, thank you, but I imagine that Mary has already fixed something at