Free Vineyard Deceit by Philip Craig

me over there. Right now she was very busy, so goodbye. Click.
    What do women do during these primping sessions?
    I poured vermouth in a cold martini glass, sloshed it around and poured it out again, got the Absolut out of the freezer, and filled the glass to the brim. The perfect martini. Just enough vermouth. I had heard about an atomic scientist, out in Nevada in the bomb-testing days there, who had tied a bottle of Noilly Prat Dry to the bomb tower before the detonation and thereafter claimed to get exactly the right amount of vermouth from fallout. I preferred mine not quite so dry.
    I drank my martini in elegant solitude, and when I was finished it was time to drive to Chappaquiddick.
    The On Time ferry, so called, some say, because it has no schedule and is therefore always on time, carries three or four cars at a time and runs back and forth between the Edgartown town dock and the Chappy landing. After four o’clock the beachers were headed for home, so there were a lot of cars coming off Chappy and only a few going back. I drew a curious look from the ferry captain, who had never seen me looking so splendid.
    â€œDare I ask?” he asked.
    â€œThe Damon party,” I said, glancing at my nails.
    â€œYou’d better park your car where nobody can see it, then.” He brought the ferry smoothly into the Chappy landing.
    A lot of people were picking on my car lately. I drove it right up to the Damon gate, showed the guard my badge and ID, and parked behind the barn where the rest of the help had parked their cars. Ms. Johanson could park her car down the road if she wanted someone to park there.
    Inside the house I came face to face with JasonThornberry. He was suave and comfortable in his tux. He’d come a long way from wearing blue on the Boston PD.
    â€œJ. W. Jackson, isn’t it?” He put out a hand. I took it. His was still a strong one. “I thought your face was familiar when I saw you this morning. I remember offering you a job a few years ago, just after you retired from the force.”
    â€œMaybe I should have taken it.”
    â€œThe offer is still open. Thornberry Security can always use a good field man.”
    â€œI spend more time on the beaches than in the fields these days.”
    â€œBut here you are on security detail.”
    â€œTomorrow I plan to be canning tomatoes.”
    His sharp eyes looked me up and down. “You wear formal clothing well. The same cannot be said for many agents. You have police experience, you have a college education, you were well thought of by your superiors on the Boston PD.”
    â€œYou’ve done some digging.”
    He nodded. “I’m in the business of finding things out. Thornberry Security can offer a man of your qualifications excellent opportunities for interesting and remunerative work.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind.”
    â€œDo. Good to have you working with us, Jackson.”
    He moved off, a tall, sophisticated figure with sharp eyes examining once again the physical layout of the house and the people who were responsible for house security. He had been one of the most youthful captains in the history of the Boston Police Department and had had a reputation for being honest, ruthless, and politically astute. Probably you had to be ruthless and politically astute to become a youthful captain in the Boston PD. I wasn’t so sure about honest. I did know that a lot of people on the shady side of Boston life had breathed easier when heleft the force to form Thornberry Security, Inc. Some of the remaining PD brass had not been as pleased when he siphoned off several of their best men to work for him.
    I walked on into the house and into the ballroom. It was large, high ceilinged, and like the library, was hung with crystal chandeliers. At its far end, doors opened onto a veranda that overlooked the northern part of Katama Bay. Next door, also with doors opening out onto the veranda, was the