A vineyard spring, p.5
A Vineyard Spring, page 5
Lexi’s face echoed her surprise. “I haven’t heard you say you were interested in anyone in a long time.”
Isabella shrugged and stepped back into the dressing room. “Maybe it’s finally time to do something with my evenings. I don’t know.” After a pause, she added, “My mom wouldn’t have been happy that Dad and I just hang around the house like losers.”
“She would have understood,” Lexi insisted. “Your mother had more empathy than most people.”
At the counter, Lexi reduced the price of the dress until it cost a whopping two dollars and fifty-seven cents.
“You won’t be able to stay in business if you charge that much,” Isabella protested.
“Come on,” Lexi sighed as Isabella pressed another twenty into her hand.
“I know this dress retailed for sixty,” Isabella said. “And I know your mother put you in charge of this place. It’s your bread and butter now. I won’t be the reason you go under.”
“You’re too good to me,” Lexi said.
“Right back at you.”
Isabella meandered downtown after that, killing time until her date at seven, at which time she and Rhett had decided to meet near the carousel and grab drinks and dinner. In her black dress and full makeup, she felt overdressed for five p.m., as though she was an extra in a James Bond movie. As a way to hide from the roaming tourists and locals, she ducked into The Blue Spoon again to grab a cup of tea and continue to read her mother’s diary. She hoped her mother’s voice would give her confidence for the night ahead.
January 11, 1996
Based on the recent accounting I did for Mr. Butler, I can say for certain he had a wonderful time over the holidays— more than most.
Over the span of December 22-26, he spent more than fifty-thousand dollars. Isn’t that extraordinary? I can’t believe how naive I was to think one hundred thousand a year was a great deal of money to make. Now, he’s asked me in very soft and round-about terms to ensure that money is shown to be purchases of goods and services for the Butler Company.
I have been asked to hide fifty thousand dollars.
Honestly, it’s kept me awake at night. I don’t know how to discuss it with Steve, and I’ve kept it to myself. He senses something is wrong with me, and he’s worried it has to do with the baby. He asks me frequently if I’m stressed about the baby and if I’d like to see a therapist. But I tell him no. Steve and the baby are my two sources of joy right now. They are distractions from this horrible man.
January 14, 1996
I interviewed for a job this evening. It was for an accounting firm in downtown Oak Bluffs, not far from home. Had I gotten the job, I could have even walked there, which would have been so dreamy.
Unfortunately, just days ago, we told Kerry Montgomery news of the pregnancy… and apparently, that news has already found a way into the nooks and crannies of this island.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t have told anyone about the pregnancy until after I’d secured a new job. Now, it’s out there— and it will taint everything.
Naturally, the men at the accounting firm were kind to me, but they said it wasn’t a good time to hire anyone new. That was a lie, obviously. They just don’t know how to deal with a woman and her needs around pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, and time off. It’s too much for their little minds to handle.
I was quite devastated and didn’t go home right away. I couldn’t face Steve because I’m angry with his mother, and I didn’t even want to be. She’s a terribly kind woman, and she already loves this baby so much. It’s just that I still want to feel like my brain is worthwhile, even as my body grows a baby. That’s difficult for some people to understand.
As I walked downtown, I noticed a familiar vehicle parked outside of one of the swankier hotels on the island. It was Mr. Butler’s Lamborghini, of course. I even recognized the license plate, as I’d seen the car on his property a number of times.
My alarm bells rang. I realized this was it. This was another night wherein he planned to spend upward of five thousand dollars. I burned with curiosity. Who was the woman he was with tonight? Idiotically, I decided to wait, just to catch a peek.
I knew it was risky.
I lingered outside the hotel for the better part of an hour, staring at the front door. That door opened and closed for a number of beautiful people, all of whom stepped into fancy cars or smoked very long cigarettes or adjusted fur coats over their shoulders. None of them was Mr. Butler or his young mistress, not yet.
But finally, there he was. He wore a regal-looking overcoat, and he walked alongside a gorgeous blond woman with legs about a mile long each. She laughed at something he said, and he smiled that dangerous smile of his. At that moment, my hatred was equal to my fascination with him. But a second later, they disappeared into his Lamborghini and took off elsewhere.
This left me to take my tired, pregnant body home, where I had to tell Steve I hadn’t gotten the new job. I decided not to tell him why. I also didn’t mention Mr. Butler and the young woman, as it felt gossipy and stupid. What do I care what Mr. Butler does with his time? I’m on my way out of there, anyway.
Isabella met Rhett at the carousel at seven o’clock sharp. As they approached each other, they couldn’t help but smile flirtatiously, overwhelmed with apprehension. Isabella’s black skirt fluttered around her ankles, and the March breeze caught against Rhett’s overcoat. Because they weren’t sure of what else to do, they hugged each other for the first time.
“You look stunning,” Rhett told her.
“You look pretty good yourself.”
Rhett palmed his neck, clearly nervous. “I thought we could grab dinner. I made a reservation at that Italian place just off of Ocean Avenue.”
Rhett and Isabella walked toward the vibrant Italian place, where white tablecloths shone beneath vintage-looking chandeliers, and Italian-born waiters greeted guests with “ciaos” and “buenoseras.” One of them led Isabella and Rhett to a corner table, upon which a candle flickered.
“I thought Italian would be perfect for you,” Rhett explained. “Because of your name.”
Isabella blushed. “I think my mother had a little bit of Italian in her. Maybe that’s why they chose it.”
“It’s a gorgeous name,” Rhett told her, his voice serious.
“I like yours, too. I was obsessed with Gone with the Wind as a teenager,” Isabella told him. “Rhett Butler has to be the hottest guy in all literature.”
Rhett’s face broke open with excitement. “My mother loved it, too, obviously. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never read it. I’ve seen parts of the movie, though.”
“Clark Gable is the perfect man for the role,” Isabella said. “You sort-of look like him.”
Rhett dropped his head back with laughter. Isabella blushed, embarrassed. Had she really just compared her date to one of the most classically handsome actors of the twentieth century? Why was she coming on so strong? Was she that desperate?
The server arrived to take their orders. Isabella decided on a glass of merlot and a plate of anchovy pasta, while Rhett went with a glass of chianti and lasagna. After their wine was poured, they settled into their date, and both warmed up from plenty of laughter and teasing. Unlike last time, they wouldn’t speak of the dark events that lurked in their pasts. It was time to start anew.
Although Isabella had never met anyone who’d been in jail before, she was surprised to find Rhett was so well-read, educated, and informed about essential things like world politics and geography. Their conversation traipsed from one end of the universe to the other— they never had to search for something to say.
Once, when Isabella paused for air and a sip of wine, Rhett beamed at her from over his plate of lasagna.
“What?” Isabella asked.
“I’m just having a really good time,” Rhett told her. “Thank you for coming out with me.”
Isabella blinked back tears. It was a rare thing for men to be so open with their feelings. Perhaps Rhett was just a different sort of man.
After Rhett paid, he asked Isabella if she wanted to go for a short walk and maybe grab a nightcap before they parted ways. Outside, stars twinkled in an inky black sky, and early-season tourists roamed the streets, probably on the hunt for nightcaps of their own. For a little while, Rhett held Isabella’s hand, which made her feel open-hearted and wild with optimism.
“This place isn’t too bad,” Isabella said, pointing to a little dive bar. But just as she approached the door, she noticed someone familiar in the window.
It was her father.
“Oh my gosh!” Isabella stopped and stared at him. Rhett followed her gaze.
“That’s your dad, right? Who is he with?”
Isabella hurried around a bush as her heart pounded dangerously in her ears. From there, she could fully analyze the woman across the table from her father. She had a brunette bob haircut, and she wore red lipstick and thick eyeliner. She seemed to be in her early forties, maybe, and her skin glowed beautifully in the candlelight of the bar. Just then, the woman’s face opened up with laughter at something Isabella’s father said, and Isabella burned with rage.
Who did this woman think she was? Why was her father on a date?
“Hey. Are you okay?” Rhett had noticed a shift in Isabella’s mood.
Isabella forced herself to turn around. Her eyes to the ground, she breathed, “I’ve never seen him with another woman like that. I hate it.”
Rhett strung his arm around her waist and pulled her into a hug. “I can’t imagine what that feels like. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Isabella lied. “It’s just that I’m not anywhere near letting her go, or getting over what happened, or forgetting her. I figured my dad was in the same place.”
After that, the silence stretched between them. Rhett seemed conscious there was nothing to say that would make the situation easier. Again, Isabella strung her fingers through his, and slowly, they walked away from the dive bar toward home. To Isabella’s surprise, Rhett walked her all the way to the porch yet demanded no conversation and no performance. On the porch, he hugged her and told her he was there for her and to have a good night. Upstairs in her bedroom, Isabella’s heart ached with the tenderness he’d shown her. He seemed to be a very rare breed.
Chapter Eight
Steve was having a better time on this not-date than he’d expected to. True to what he’d asked for, Rina had kept everything friendly and easy, which had allowed him to be himself— a rare thing since Laura’s death. He and Rina had met at a burger place, both wearing jeans, and chatted about things like sports, bands they’d grown up listening to, and whether or not anyone could ever replace Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones. Their consensus: no way.
Now, Steve and Rina sat at a dive bar and sipped local craft beers as a basketball game played on the television that hung from the wall. Impossibly, it was March Madness, and Steve had forgotten to fill out a bracket that year. This made him realize just how outside of himself he’d been. He was a foreigner in the world.
This was their second beer. Rina had gone with a pilsner, and Steve had opted for a stout. This had led Rina to talk about a work trip she’d taken to Ireland once when she’d drunk her weight’s worth of Guinness as she’d tried to find someone who’d gone missing.
“Who was this person?” Steve asked.
“He was the son of a very rich businessman,” Rina explained. “He stole loads of his dad’s money and disappeared in the blink of an eye. He was pretty sure he would get away with it because he had fake IDs and passports and all that. Unfortunately, he also drank quite a bit of Guinness and had a habit of telling his new friends about what he’d done. The rumor mill in Dublin was very easy to crack. I handed his address to his father in only a few days.”
“Impressive,” Steve said. “I cannot imagine doing what you do.”
“Right now, I can’t imagine doing something as easily as that,” Rina explained, disgruntled. “I’m still losing my mind about the Mandy Dolores case.”
Steve held the silence, unsure of what to say. It broke his heart that Mandy’s parents still had no idea where she was. The pressure on Rina was extraordinary.
“I’ve been losing sleep,” Rina admitted. She looked disappointed in herself. “Mandy’s parents call me every morning for answers, and I have very little to share with them.”
Rina’s eyes were glazed. On the television, a basketball player shot a three-pointer, and several people at the bar roared with excitement.
“Steve, do you mind if I try something?”
“What is it?” Steve locked eyes with Rina.
“Sometimes, if I talk about the case out loud, I notice new things about it. It’s a way of untangling all the facts I have in my head.”
“By all means,” Steve said. “I should warn you that I’m not sure I’ll be able to help at all. I was never very good at that game, Clue.”
Rina laughed and sipped her beer. Did she actually think he was funny? Or was she just tipsy?
“Okay. Here are the facts.” Rina placed her palms together. “Mandy Dolores arrived on the island of Martha’s Vineyard on the afternoon of February 22. At the time, she’d told her parents and her boyfriend she planned to rent a hotel room on the island, where she wanted to finish the second draft of her historical fiction novel. Phone records indicate she’d been in consistent contact with someone who probably had a burner phone. The number has been disconnected and was never associated with any name or address.”
“Who could this person be?”
“We’re not sure, but it’s clear Mandy and this person was pretty close. They spoke about three times a week for a full two months prior to her visit,” Rina explained. “Whoever this was didn’t want to be found or traced. That means it’s likely that whoever made those phone calls has something to do with her disappearance. And for some reason, that person led her here. To Martha’s Vineyard.”
Steve felt very stoic. Fear overtook him. Was it possible that Isabella was in conversation with someone she shouldn’t trust? He didn’t know everything she did or everyone she talked to.
“How could she have met someone from Martha’s Vineyard? I mean, she isn’t from here,” Steve pointed out.
“I don’t know. The internet, I suppose. But her laptop isn’t at the hotel. There is a charger, which indicates she had used her laptop there previously.”
“She’s a writer,” Steve repeated.
“Right.” Rina sighed and drank her beer. “I spoke to the boyfriend about these phone calls. He had no idea who she was talking to. Apparently, every time Mandy spoke with whoever this is, her boyfriend was either with friends or at work.”
“So, Mandy didn’t want anyone to know about this person,” Steve said. “And she came here explicitly to see them. It sounds like an affair.”
“It does, doesn’t it? One that clearly went awry,” Rina muttered. “And then, there’s the issue of the car. Nobody has reported seeing it.”
“What is the make and model?” Steve asked.
“It’s a light-yellow Porsche,” Rina said. “You’d think people would have noticed that.”
Steve’s jaw dropped. As his heart hammered in his chest, he felt the world tilt off its axis. On the television, the crowd at a faraway basketball court screamed and cried as the game went into overtime. He wasn’t sure what was real.
“Steve? Are you okay?” Rina’s eyes widened with fear. “Steve?”
Steve sputtered. “I’m sorry. Did you say a light-yellow Porsche?”
Rina wrapped her hand around Steve’s wrist and squeezed hard. Her hand was soft against his gruff skin. He blinked into her eyes.
“Have you seen a light-yellow Porsche?” Rina was rapt with attention.
“I have,” Steve said. “I can’t believe this. A young man in his twenties brought a car like that into the auto shop. He needed an oil change.”
Rina leaned far over the table. Her face had changed— it was more angular.
“Do you think that young man had something to do with Mandy’s disappearance?” Steve breathed, conscious that Rina now wanted him to whisper.
“Let’s not talk any more about it here,” Rina said.
Steve nodded. His blood pressure had spiked. “I have records back at the auto shop,” he explained. “We can go there immediately and get the guy’s name.”
Rina leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and did a brief little dance in her chair. When she opened her eyes, she sipped her beer and said, “You’re really something, Steve Montgomery. You know that?”
Nobody had said Steve was anything more than a lump of grief in many months. Yet in Rina’s eyes, he felt like “really something,” all right. It ignited him.
Steve tried to pay for their beers, but Rina put her card directly in the server’s hand and said, “It’s on me.” Steve blushed, unaccustomed to such forward women. “You’re helping me so much more than you know,” Rina explained. “You’ve seen the yellow Porsche, for goodness sake!”
The auto shop wasn’t far from downtown Oak Bluffs. Together, the two of them walked on the sidewalk as a pregnant moon shimmered in the night sky. Around them, men and women roamed in thick coats with their hands latched together as they scoured downtown for a good time. It felt bizarre yet beautiful to Steve to be out in the ruckus. He’d assumed the world had turned its back on him, just as much as he had to it— yet here it was, waiting for him.
Steve hadn’t been at the auto shop at night in quite some time. It reminded him of the first few years after he’d opened the place when he’d said yes to every client, every repair. This had caught him in a horrible cycle, wherein he had very little free time. When Steve had to work hours into the night, Laura stayed with him, reading or working in the main office. After Jonathon had been born, he’d used the office as his after-hours playground.
