The Shadow Box (12 page)

Chapter 9

Three
more
weeks had passed on Martha's
Vineyard.

March had rolled into April, Easter had come and gone.
The whole island was a soft green. A mild winter with a
lot of rain had caused the flowers of spring to come early. They came in a profusion unlike any that Fallon had ever
seen. Showy white flowers, called shadbushes, bloomed in
great cascades on every street, along every road. There
were tulips and jonquils that had been forced in green
houses and other wild flowers called beach plums. There were chirping little pond birds called pinkletinks. Michael
liked the sound they made almost as much as the name.

The whole of Edgartown smelled of paint and sounded with the banging of hammers.
It seemed that all at once,
every house in town was getting a clean, fresh coat after
a winter of wind-driven salt. Every boat was being scraped
and caulked. Fallon felt reborn.

He was no longer lonely because, aside from Brendan Doyle calling once or twice each week, more of the locals
were seeking him out.

Even Doyle had lightened up. Moon still hadn't called
but Doyle thought he understood
why. All it was, he sug
gested, was that Moon had too much pride to let anyone
see him while he was less than a hundred percent. He
didn't want people, even family, offering him chairs and
watching his hand shake while he eats. That, Michael
agreed, did sound like Moon.

Doyle had also determined, through discreet inquiry, that the New York police were no longer interested in
finding him. No warrant, no nothing. They had been un
able to match a name to his description and had gone on
to other matters. The racial issue, advanced by city hall, had been mere political rhetoric that had barely survived
the press conference. Al Sharpton won't be marching on
Edgartown either.

What made him more attractive to the locals was that
he told Millie, the real estate lady, that he was ready to
look at those houses and maybe some local businesses. A
restaurant, perhaps. A hardware store. Maybe he'd breed
and raise pinkletinks.

Steady, Michael.

But he had definitely decided to settle here. Live in
Edgartown year-round. Great place to raise a family some
day. The trick was to find something that would keep him
occupied for more than just the summer.

She asked him for a price range. He said that price
would be no problem.

Millie Jacobs was married to Dr. Emil Jacobs who was
the first-string local dentist. Fallon learned, in short order,
that the only gossip mill that is more efficient than a real
estate office or a dentist's office is a combination of the
two. Within days, everyone in Edgartown knew that Mi
chael had recovered from his broken heart, had a pot of
money in the bank, was a serious buyer, and was definitely
on the lookout for a wholesome, sincere, Martha's Vine
yard sort of woman.

Kevin, the bartender, confided that Millie's Nantucket
niece was a bowser. His own niece, however, had won a
Miss Lobsterfest pageant; came with a ready-made family,
two cute little girls from the prick she divorced; and was
still a size seven. The grocer had a piece of land that had
a water view. Millie said forget it. It's where the gallows used to stand and it's nowhere near the sewer. The barber
had a jeep for sale. Four-wheel drive. Can't live on this island without one, he said.

“That Kraut car of yours is nice for saying I got mine,
but it ain't worth a damn after a half-inch of snow. Any
way, out here we buy American.”

“
Michael
. . . ”

“
Wait a second. ”

That was another thing. He was feeling less of a need
for his telepathic therapy sessions with Dr. Sheldon Greenberg. The price was right—hours of them for the
cost of one book—but as long as it was all in his head,
he would just as soon talk to Uncle Jake. Besides, the
Greenberg thing showed signs of getting strange. The other day he asked Greenberg what he thought of the idea. Buy
ing property here. Settling here. Greenberg answered that
he was
“
on the fifteenth hole at Sea Pines, two strokes
down, playing a ten-dollar Nassau. Don't bother me
now. ”

Fallon took that- to mean he was getting better.

He also learned something about real estate people.
Other, that is, than that telling one a secret is cheaper than
placing an ad. He learned that the minute you suggest that
you're ready to buy, and they think they have your price
range,
guaranteed,
a house will come on the market at an
unbelievable steal of a price. But you must act now. Wait
a day and it's gone.

One such house did appear. Millie called it a miracle.
The hand of God and the luck of the Irish combined.

“This isn't just a house,” she said in hushed tones.
“This is the
Taylor
House.”

“Michael
. . .
think long and hard.”

“Are you kidding? It's gorgeous.”

“It's an inn, Michael. You're not an innkeeper.”

“All the help said they'd stay. The place even makes
money. Millie says it's been fully booked for years.”

“
All the same . . . ”

“
And people who come to inns are nicer, by and large,
than people who go to hotels. They'll cut me some slack
while I'm learning. ”

“Quoth Millie Jacobs?”

“Doc . . . you never did anything crazy?”

“
Sure. But I was sane at the time.
”

“
Now you're being a shit.
”

“
Good luck, Michael
.”

The Taylor House wasn't just any inn, either. Fallon,
on his walks, had stopped to admire it many times. Espe
cially at night. He would stand and look in the windows
at the carved woodwork and the antique furnishings inside.
You could do that in Edgartown without someone calling
the cops.

The Taylor House stood high on North Water Street
looking out over the harbor. An absolutely prime location. The architecture was Federal style, solid and square but
softened by a graceful baluster along the roof, arched fan
lights, and a columned portico entrance that had its own
little balcony on top. It was three stories tall, painted white
with black shutters, and it had a widow's walk on the
roof. There was a small formal garden in front and a larger
one in back. The front garden was all boxwoods and
clipped yews, enclosed behind a delicate white fence at the edge of a red brick sidewalk.

Captain Isaac Taylor was a nineteenth-century whaling
ship captain who, having made his fortune, decided noth
ing was too good for him. He brought carpenters and ship
wrights all the way from Boston, had wallpaper shipped
from France, fabrics from Italy, and furniture from En
gland. Spend two or three years chasing whales, Fallon
supposed, and you want something nice to come home to.

Built in 1829, the house became an inn shortly after the turn of the century. It had six large rooms that were strictly
for guests, a dining room, and a library, plus two smaller
rooms for seasonal help. All the rest of it was private. The
master suite took up most of the third floor.

The wife of the present owner, one Polly Daggett, had
been crippled in a hit-run accident during a visit to Boston. She would need long-term care and a hip replacement, said
Millie Jacobs, which was why they had decided to
sell.

Fallon placed a call to Brendan Doyle, who agreed with
Sheldon Greenberg. It sounded nuts. But Fallon had al
ready put a binder on the house, using most of his cash
and travelers checks, and Doyle, in the end, relented. He would liquidate some of Michael's securities and advance
whatever else was needed until the will was probated. He would transfer sufficient funds to the Main State Bank of
Edgartown and would have the title search done through
a Boston law firm.

“Michael . . . you're sure you want to do this?”

“You know who used to stay there? Jimmy Cagney.”

“U
m
. . . relevance, Michael?”

He knew damned well what the relevance was. Brendan
Doyle was a lifelong Cagney fan. Had his picture taken
with Cagney once. It's hanging in his office. And Cagney
did stay at the Taylor House before he bought a place of
his own in Edgartown.

“You can have his room if you come up.”

Silence.

“Sit on the very same toilet.”

“Michael . . . why do I hear your heart thumping?”

“Because
I'm
psyched about this.”

“And your voice is up an octave. I make note of these
things, Michael, because this is the way you've sounded,
all your life, when you've tried to put something over on
your elders.”