facing the bulkhead. Tourists strolled past, viewing the boats; they stopped to talk with boaters sitting on deck chairs in cockpits, drinks in hand, bare feet propped up on transoms.
“Some of the boats that stay here have come a long way.” Elizabeth stopped to let a couple wheeling a baby stroller cross the road. “Bermuda, the Caribbean. They come from all over. They go up to the Harbor House with their toilet-article kits and towels, wanting a hot freshwater shower, and have to pay a fee, on top of what they pay to keep their boat here.” She started up again slowly, watched out for a boy and a girl wobbling next to the road on purple-and-pink bikes. “It's a rip-off.”
On the left side of the road, a row of gingerbread houses faced the harbor, their window boxes full of flowers that matched the pastel trim. Guests sat in rockers on the big front porches, drinks in hand, watching tourists walking along the bulkhead past the boats, watching boaters with their drinks in hand watching them on their porches. Teenagers sat on porch railings, sandy bare feet swinging, sunburned faces, arms, and legs bright against sleeveless T-shirts and faded cutoff jeans. Guests rocked and talked. The women wore floral-print sundresses; the men sported slacks embroidered with whales.
Beyond the row of gingerbread houses, the Harbor House stood by itself, a sprawling gray-shingled Victorian hotel with cupolas, archways, carpenter's lace, balconies, and wraparound porches. Banks of bright blue hydrangea, yellow marigolds, and red salvia lined the front walk.
As they passed the hotel, Victoria said, “Remember how he spoke to that woman? Said he was sick of the females in Oak Bluffs telling him how to run his business.”
“I remember.” Elizabeth slowed the car to let a truck pull out of the parking lot next to the Harbor House.
“And he pointed at all the women there, each and every one of us, including me, and I hadn't said a thing.”
“As I recall, you were carrying a sign that read JAIL, NOT BAIL,” her granddaughter said.
Victoria ignored her and went on. “Chief Medeiros was standing next to him, grinning like a baboon.”
After they passed the Harbor House, they came to the far side of the harbor, next to the liquor store.
“Want to go the long way, around East Chop?” Elizabeth asked, her foot on the brake. “We can eat our sandwiches at the lighthouse.”
“Maybe we can stop by the yacht club's dock, where all the action was.”
“I thought so.” Elizabeth looked over at her grandmother, saw the eager look in her hooded eye. Victoria's nose lifted, as if she would find the perpetrators by sniffing them out.
“It's hard to believe it was only two nights ago,” Victoria said. “It seems longer. There was nothing in the Enquirer.”
“You wrote it up for your column, didn't you?”
“Yes, but Skelly called, said it was Oak Bluffs, not West Tisbury, and edited it out.”
“They don't want to print anything that might mar the luster of this paradise, the president's vacation isle.” Elizabeth turned onto East Chop Drive. The harbor was on their right. “Seems to me that's pretty important West Tisbury news, that the West Tisbury columnist for the Enquirer witnesses a murder.”
“I don't know that I witnessed anything.” Victoria looked straight ahead, her face shaded by her hat, the black-eyed Susans drooping. “I heard a scream, then a car or truck start up.” Victoria looked over at Elizabeth. “I told them that at the police station when they took my statement.”
They turned right onto the sandy road that led to the dock. “You'd think this would be roped off with yellow tape as a crime scene, the way they do in movies.” Victoria sat up straight in her seat. “I forgot to tell the police I thought I heard an outboard motor right about the same time.”
“You told Domingo, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“They've finished doing whatever they think they needed to do here.”
“Some of the boats that stay here have come a long way.” Elizabeth stopped to let a couple wheeling a baby stroller cross the road. “Bermuda, the Caribbean. They come from all over. They go up to the Harbor House with their toilet-article kits and towels, wanting a hot freshwater shower, and have to pay a fee, on top of what they pay to keep their boat here.” She started up again slowly, watched out for a boy and a girl wobbling next to the road on purple-and-pink bikes. “It's a rip-off.”
On the left side of the road, a row of gingerbread houses faced the harbor, their window boxes full of flowers that matched the pastel trim. Guests sat in rockers on the big front porches, drinks in hand, watching tourists walking along the bulkhead past the boats, watching boaters with their drinks in hand watching them on their porches. Teenagers sat on porch railings, sandy bare feet swinging, sunburned faces, arms, and legs bright against sleeveless T-shirts and faded cutoff jeans. Guests rocked and talked. The women wore floral-print sundresses; the men sported slacks embroidered with whales.
Beyond the row of gingerbread houses, the Harbor House stood by itself, a sprawling gray-shingled Victorian hotel with cupolas, archways, carpenter's lace, balconies, and wraparound porches. Banks of bright blue hydrangea, yellow marigolds, and red salvia lined the front walk.
As they passed the hotel, Victoria said, “Remember how he spoke to that woman? Said he was sick of the females in Oak Bluffs telling him how to run his business.”
“I remember.” Elizabeth slowed the car to let a truck pull out of the parking lot next to the Harbor House.
“And he pointed at all the women there, each and every one of us, including me, and I hadn't said a thing.”
“As I recall, you were carrying a sign that read JAIL, NOT BAIL,” her granddaughter said.
Victoria ignored her and went on. “Chief Medeiros was standing next to him, grinning like a baboon.”
After they passed the Harbor House, they came to the far side of the harbor, next to the liquor store.
“Want to go the long way, around East Chop?” Elizabeth asked, her foot on the brake. “We can eat our sandwiches at the lighthouse.”
“Maybe we can stop by the yacht club's dock, where all the action was.”
“I thought so.” Elizabeth looked over at her grandmother, saw the eager look in her hooded eye. Victoria's nose lifted, as if she would find the perpetrators by sniffing them out.
“It's hard to believe it was only two nights ago,” Victoria said. “It seems longer. There was nothing in the Enquirer.”
“You wrote it up for your column, didn't you?”
“Yes, but Skelly called, said it was Oak Bluffs, not West Tisbury, and edited it out.”
“They don't want to print anything that might mar the luster of this paradise, the president's vacation isle.” Elizabeth turned onto East Chop Drive. The harbor was on their right. “Seems to me that's pretty important West Tisbury news, that the West Tisbury columnist for the Enquirer witnesses a murder.”
“I don't know that I witnessed anything.” Victoria looked straight ahead, her face shaded by her hat, the black-eyed Susans drooping. “I heard a scream, then a car or truck start up.” Victoria looked over at Elizabeth. “I told them that at the police station when they took my statement.”
They turned right onto the sandy road that led to the dock. “You'd think this would be roped off with yellow tape as a crime scene, the way they do in movies.” Victoria sat up straight in her seat. “I forgot to tell the police I thought I heard an outboard motor right about the same time.”
“You told Domingo, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“They've finished doing whatever they think they needed to do here.”
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