Read Online Vineyard Enigma by Philip R. Craig - Free Book Online

Brownington, was a notable art dealer. Dan and I went way back, all the way to Yale. He died just last December, as you may know. Auto accident. A tragic loss. Matt lives in West Tisbury. The East Coast rep for the firm, as it were. I’d go see him, if I were you.”
    There was a rap on the door and Rose Abrams came in just as I said, “I’m afraid Matthew Duarte won’t be telling me anything. He’s dead.” I glanced at Rose, saw the color fade from her face, then looked quickly back at Mauch. His eyes were wide. I hesitated, then added, “Apparently it was murder. He was shot in the head.”
    Behind me, Rose gave a small cry. I turned, then leaped up and ran to her just in time to keep her from slipping to the floor. I half carried her to my chair and eased her down into it.
    “I’m afraid I’ve given her a shock,” I said. “Where’s your kitchen? I’ll get some water.”
    “Down the hall to the left.” Mauch began to massage her hands. He looked at me. “She’s not the only one who’s shocked! Hurry with that water.”
    I went down the hall into a large, modern kitchen, found a glass and filled it from the faucet, and came back to the study, where I heard Rose Abrams say, “I’m all right, Charles, really.”
    I handed the glass to him and he put it to her lips.
    “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be fine. It’s just that…”
    Mauch looked angrily at me. “You might have been discreet, man! Did you have to blurt it out like that? Before a woman?”
    His, apparently, was an old-fashioned chivalry, wherein women were perceived as delicate creatures who needed to be sheltered from the hard realities of the world.
    “Sorry,” I said to Rose. “I should have stopped talking when you came in.”
    She reached down into herself and found strength and will enough to straighten herself in her chair. “It’s not your fault, J.W., I…” She paused, then looked at Mauch. “I almost forgot. Mr. Harper from the Smithsonian is on the phone. You wanted me to put him through if he called. Oh, dear, how long has he been on hold?”
    “Never mind that, Rose. Harper can wait a few minutes. How are you feeling?”
    She sipped more water and took the glass in her hands. “Much better. Please talk with Mr. Harper. I’ll be fine.”
    “You sit there, then,” said Mauch. “I’ll take the call in the bedroom. Stay with her if you will, Jackson. I’ll be right back.”
    He strode from the room. I looked down at Rose and thought that she wasn’t as all right as she’d said. Her face was snow-white and the water glass was trembling in her hand.
    “I’m sorry I shocked you,” I said. “I take it that you knew Matthew Duarte quite well.”
    “I worked for Matt when I wasn’t working here.” She looked at me with stunned eyes. “He was murdered?”
    “It looks that way.”
    “Shot?”
    “Yes. In his own living room.”
    I caught her as she slumped forward and carried her to the couch. The glass had fallen from her hand.

9
    At home I thought about things while I set the supper table and got the house straightened for the evening’s guests. Then I called Al Butters’s number and had a stroke of luck, because Barbara answered. She’d been out of the room when Al had declined to give me any names, and there was a chance he hadn’t told her about his refusal.
    After we’d exchanged hellos, I said, “I’ve just finished having a talk with Charles Mauch up in Vineyard Haven. While I was there I told him about Matthew Duarte’s death. Mauch’s assistant, Rose Abrams, was there. She fainted when she heard the news. Do you know her?”
    “That bitch!” said Barbara in a voice like a snake’s hiss.
    I immediately thought I knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway: “Why would Rose Abrams have had such a strong reaction?”
    “Because she’s been breaking up Connie’s marriage! During the past year that witch Rose Abrams has been sleeping with Matthew Duarte more than Connie