Vineyard Deceit

Vineyard Deceit

by Philip R. Craig
Vineyard Deceit

Vineyard Deceit

by Philip R. Craig



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In this addition to the Martha’s Vineyard Mystery Series, an ill tide carries desperate men with murder on their minds to the idyllic island, suddenly threatening everything J.W. loves dearly.

A Middle Eastern potentate and his entourage are descending on Martha’s Vineyard—and chaos is in the salt air.

Ex-Boston-cop Jeff “J.W.” Jackson would rather be fishing with his lady Zee, but the island’s overtaxed police force needs his help to control the madness their visitor’s arrival has stirred up—especially since the great man will not leave before ceremoniously reclaiming an emerald necklace stolen from his nation a century ago.

But when both the jewels and Zee vanish, J.W. is quickly transformed from rent-a-cop to frantic investigator as he races to rescue the one person he truly cares for.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781501153556
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Publication date: 02/13/2024
Series: Martha's Vineyard Mysteries , #3
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 210
Sales rank: 45,938
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

Philip R. Craig grew up on a small cattle ranch near Durango, Colorado, before going off to college at Boston University, where he was an All American fencer. He earned his M.F.A. at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop. Craig was professor emeritus of English at Wheelock College in Boston before retiring with wife Shirley to Martha’s Vineyard, where he is well-remembered for his acclaimed Martha’s Vineyard Mystery series.

Read an Excerpt

Vineyard Deceit

A Martha's Vineyard Mystery
By Philip Craig

Harper Collins Publishers

Copyright © 2003 Philip Craig All right reserved. ISBN: 006054290X

Chapter One

The first time I saw the Padishah of Sarofim was the morning when he nearly killed Zee and me with his cigarette boat.

It was just after the change of the tide in the Cape Pogue Gut when Zee hooked a fish. We were drifting in my dinghy and had the gut all to ourselves.

"Hey," said Zee, "there's life in the sea, after all." She hauled back her rod and reeled down and hauled back again. "This is a good-sized fish or else a fighting little fool."

It was the only hit we'd had since we'd putted over from Edgartown to seek the wily blues, so I reeled in and watched her work the fish.

It wasn't hard to watch Zee. She was wearing her short shorts and a shirt with its tails tied around her waist and the blue bandanna she liked to wear around her hair when she fished. She was sleek as an otter.

"Maybe it's a bass," I said.

"No, it's not a bass," said Zee. "It's a bluefish. I know a bass when I have one on."

"Do you want me to help you land it? Fishing is man's work, after all."

"Pardon my repressed laughter. Where's your fish?"

"I'm deliberately not catching any so you'll have an improved self-image. Bad self-images are no-no's these days."

"My self-image is just fine,thank you. Gosh, this guy really is giving me a tussle."

True. The dinghy was being towed across the slow tidal current. I got interested.

From the other side of John Oliver Point rose the rolling thunder sound of a powerful engine as a fast boat came up from the south end of Cape Pogue Pond. I hate and fear overpowered boats being driven too fast. They're a danger to their riders and to everyone else in sight.

Around the far end of the point came a shining cigarette boat, throwing a spray of white water behind and riding a roar of sound. The boat curled along the inside of the Cape Pogue Elbow and came full speed into the gut, straight at us.

Jesus Christ! I grabbed the starter rope of my little Seagull outboard and gave a yank. The trusty motor kicked right over, but it was far too late. Before I could swing the dinghy away, the cigarette boat was on us. Zee's mouth moved, but her voice was lost in the roar of the boat's engines.

At the last moment the helmsman altered course a trifle. The boat missed us by a yard, severing Zee's line. A second later the wake capsized the dinghy and dumped Zee and me into the water. When I came up I looked for Zee. She was treading water, still hanging on to her rod. The dinghy bobbed upside down beyond her. We were all drifting slowly out into Nantucket Sound on the falling tide.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. You?"


Beyond the gut, the cigarette boat slowed and swung around and came back. There were three men aboard. They eased up near us.

"Are you all right?" This from the dark-eyed helmsman. There was a British intonation overlying an accent I didn't recognize.

"You missed us by at least a foot, you stupid man!" Zee was furious.

The helmsman darkened even more, and his mouth tightened. An olive-skinned man with a hatchet face frowned. A blond young man dropped a ladder over the side. "Come aboard," he said, leaning down and putting out a hand.

"I don't want to ride with a maniac," said Zee, coughing. "Get away from us before that fool at the wheel really does kill us both!"

"Please," said the blond man.

Zee waved her fishing rod at the helmsman. "I had a good fish on, you dunderhead! You cut him off! People like you shouldn't be allowed to drive! My God!"

The helmsman glared, and the man with the hatchet face spoke to him in a language I didn't know.

The water was warm, but we were still slowly being carried out to sea. I swam to the cigarette boat and climbed aboard. "Awfully sorry," said the blond man, giving my hand a fast shake. "Please, miss, come aboard."

I reached down a long arm. "Come on, Zee."

Spitting water, she swam over and handed up her rod, then climbed the ladder and glared at the helmsman, dripping.

"Just to make sure I've got the right man," she snapped, moving toward him, "it was you who nearly cut us in two, wasn't it?"

The helmsman lifted his chin and looked first at each man on the boat and finally at her. "It was indeed, madam. And what were you doing there, anyway?"

"You incredible jerk! I was fishing there, but this is what I'm doing here!" And before he or anyone else could move she hit him in the nose with her fist.

He gasped and raised his hands to his face.

"There, you wretched man!" cried Zee.

He staggered back. His legs hit the side of the cockpit and he went overboard backwards. Zee looked slightly abashed. The man with the hatchet face looked suddenly deadly. His hand dipped under his light summer shirt and came out with a flat semiautomatic pistol. He was very quick. He swung the pistol toward Zee, and I barely had time to step between them.

"No, Colonel!" The blond man's voice was loud, but he did not step in front of the pistol.

The Colonel did not shoot, but neither did he lower the pistol. It was lined up on my solar plexus. Long before, I had been shot just a bit south of that spot and I still had the bullet nestled up against my spine ...


Excerpted from Vineyard Deceit by Philip Craig
Copyright © 2003 by Philip Craig
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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