Free Vineyard Shadows by Philip R. Craig

“You know where he lives?”
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œNo reason. You think you can find out?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œLet me know, if you find out.”
    We got into the old Toyota and found a McDonald's.
    â€œWhy don't you eat decent food?” complained Quinn, as I worked my way through a Quarter Pounder with cheese, big fries, and a small Coke. “You cook like a dream at home but whenever you get on the mainland you pig out on fast food.”
    â€œYou don't know how good you've got it,” I said. “You can eat like this anytime you want to, but over on the Blessed Isle we repelled the Big Mac Attack when they tried to build in Vineyard Haven a while back, so now we don't have any McDonald's or Taco Bells, or KFCs, or any place to get decent, cheap, fast, dependable food. So when I come across the sound to America I eat as muchof this stuff as I can.” I waved a fry. “The whole world can't be wrong, Quinn. The U.S.A. makes the most popular fast food on the planet, for God's sake. Wise up. This is manna from heaven!”
    Quinn gave me a sad look.
    I took him back to his office building, and thanked him for his time and his help. “I hope this doesn't put you in wrong with Sonny,” I said.
    â€œWell, it might not have helped, but it probably didn't hurt. Sonny never said anything incriminating. I could have taped the whole thing and I'd still have nothing worth writing about.”
    â€œHow about AGGRIEVED HUSBAND CONFRONTS GANGSTER IN CHARLESTOWN BAR. That's a story.”
    â€œYou want that in the paper?”
    â€œNo, no, and no.”
    â€œYou going to tell me why you want to know where Pete McBride lives?”
    â€œSure. So I can track him down if I have to. I want his address. And his phone number, if you can get it. And find Graham, while you're at it. For the same reason.”
    â€œYou're something else,” said Quinn. He walked into the building and I drove to Jamaica Plain.
    The Riminis lived in a big house on a quiet side street. I could see how a couple of schoolteachers might have a hard time paying the mortgage on a place like that.
    I parked and went up to the door. The lawn was newly mowed, and there were flowers under the windows and on both sides of the walk. I knocked. The door opened and I was looking into the eyes of the woman I'd loved and married long ago. My heart seemed to hesitate then start again.
    â€œJeff!”
    â€œHello, Carla.”
    â€œOh, Jeff, I'm so glad to see you.” She put her arms around my neck and pulled my lips down to hers. They were warm, familiar lips and they held mine for a long kiss. Then she put her head on my chest and began to cry.

— 9 —
    Her body fit against mine as though it was made to be there. Her arms were now around my waist and her soft hair drew my face down so I could inhale the scent of it. My arms were around her and I noticed that my hand was caressing her back. It was a gentle movement, like that I gave to my children when they were sad or hurt.
    Abruptly she pulled away and brushed at her eyes. “You must think I'm a complete idiot! Come in.” She reached for my hand, then pulled her own back. She turned and I followed her into the house.
    She waved me into a chair. “I'll bet you could use a beer!”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œSome things never change.” She tried a smile that didn't quite work and went into the kitchen. The beer she brought back was the light kind, but I sipped it anyway. If God wanted us to drink light beer, She'd have made light grain.
    Carla sat on the couch. “It's so good to see you again. You haven't changed much in fifteen years.” She picked at something imaginary on her sleeve. Her skin looked tight and her eyes were those of a spooked deer.
    â€œA lot of water's gone under the bridge,” I said.
    â€œYes.” She leaned forward. “I read about what happened. That PILOT DOWNED AND TRUCKER