A Vineyard Killing by Philip R. Craig

comes by and she even loaned him her car when he still owned the old Toyota and it went on the blink. But Rick isn’t ready to settle down, so when Paul asked me out I said yes. When he showed up at our door the first time, Mom was just as nice as pie. Then later, when she found out his last name, she blew her stack and you know what happened after that.”
    â€œPistol-packing Momma got sent to the county pen.”
    She nodded. “Exactly. Gives you some idea about how her feelings can get between her and her brain. The same thing happens when John Reilley shows up. She gets all mellow and fluttery and stops thinking.”
    â€œWhat advice do you want from me? I don’t write a column for the lovelorn.”
    She looked at me. “I know. I guess I don’t really want advice. What I want is somebody to find out what kind of guy John Reilley is. If he’s as nice as he seems, that’ll be fine. But if he isn’t I want to know about it right now, before he and Mom get too close.” She hesitated, then said, “I’d like to hire you to investigate him.”
    I sipped my tea while I thought about that idea.
    â€œI can give you the name of a good private investigation agency,” I said. “They’ll do the job better than I can.”
    â€œI don’t need his life story. I just want to know enough to be sure that my mother isn’t hooking up with some questionable character.”
    â€œA private investigator is your best bet.”
    â€œI want somebody who has Mom’s interests at heart. I don’t want to hire some stranger. I don’t even know where John Reilley lives, for crying out loud.”
    â€œZee and I just mentioned that the other day.”
    â€œYou, too? Don’t you think it’s funny that none of us know where he lives?”
    â€œI don’t know where most people live, but it’s generally not too hard to find out. The easiest way is just to ask him or look in the phone book.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have a phone, but Mom says he told her he lives just over the West Tisbury line, off North Road.”
    â€œDon’t you believe him?”
    â€œI drove up there and couldn’t find a mailbox with his name on it.”
    â€œA lot of people don’t have mailboxes. He probably gets his mail at the PO.”
    â€œThen I went up to the town hall in West Tisbury. They don’t have any records about him. He’s not on the tax rolls or the voting rolls or anywhere else.” She frowned over her cup of tea.
    â€œIt sounds like you’re already doing what you want me to do.”
    â€œI have to work and, besides, you can do it better. You were a policeman.”
    â€œI wore a uniform. I wasn’t a detective. If you want to know what sort of guy he is, you should talk with the people he works with and with his friends.”
    â€œI don’t know his friends or where he works.”
    Just to be sure, I got up and got the phone book. There was no John Reilley listed in the book. I called directory information and learned that the operator knew of no listing for a John Reilley.
    A minor mystery. I felt my curiosity rise as I listened to the rain. Maria’s face showed genuine worry.
    â€œI can pay you a little,” she said.
    â€œNo, you can’t,” I said, making my decision. “All right, I’ll see what I can dig up. I know John well enough to talk to him. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
    She looked only barely less worried than before, but put a smile on her face. “Thank you. I just want to be sure that Mom isn’t going to get hurt.”
    There is no avoiding hurt. To live is to suffer, as the Buddha observed.
    â€œWe’ll try to keep that from happening,” I said.
    She got into her wet raincoat and went out into the storm, running to her car as the wind tugged at her umbrella.
    When she was gone I thought about John Reilley. I’d once