Bloodroot

by Cynthia Riggs

  Smalley looked, too. “Damn that guy. I told him to wait.” Smalley reached into his pocket for his phone, looked at the display, and flipped it open. “State Police, Smalley.” He frowned. “Ambulance on the way?” He glanced over at Killdeer. “Be right there. Ten minutes.” He closed up the phone. “So much for the beer. Just fished some woman out of the harbor.”

  “I’ll take a rain check on that beer,” said Killdeer. “Enough action around this place. Be back before long.”

  “I hope not,” said Smalley. “Not that I don’t like seeing you around.” He climbed into the passenger seat of the cruiser and Tim drove to the Oak Bluffs harbor.

  * * *

  “Everything happens at once,” grumbled Smalley in the cruiser. “We’re full out with the presidential visit. His daughter’s wedding makes it twice as complicated. And now this. Unexplained death and a woman pulled out of the harbor.”

  “Dead, sir?” asked Tim.

  “Probably.” Smalley gazed out the window at the state forest on either side of them.

  When they reached the liquor store, the first person Smalley confronted was a soaking wet and bedraggled Roosevelt Mark. “Seems to me I just saw you at the dental clinic.”

  “A million years ago,” said Roosevelt, shivering.

  A group of people had gathered by the harbor, watching while EMTs tried to resuscitate Vivian. The EMTs loaded her into the ambulance and took off toward the hospital, siren going.

  As Smalley questioned him, Roosevelt was wet, filthy, and shivering.

  “Afraid I can’t tell you much about Vivian,” Roosevelt said. “I’m disoriented without my glasses. All I can see are indistinct images.”

  “Where does she live?” Smalley looked up from his notebook.

  “Oak Bluffs off Wing Road somewhere. I offered to take her home in her car. She was too upset to drive.”

  “Understandable,” said Smalley.

  Roosevelt hugged himself. “I wanted a drink. She didn’t. So I stopped here to get a bottle of Scotch for myself.”

  “Go on,” said Smalley.

  “The liquor store was crowded and it took me a while.” Roosevelt’s dark skin showed through his translucent wet sleeves. “When I came out, I didn’t see her. Figured she’d gotten a ride home with someone else. I delayed. And, well…”

  Smalley turned to the trooper standing by. “Call the clinic and get her address. Killdeer is probably still there.”

  “Maybe they cleaned out their address records, too,” Tim said, and added, “sir.”

  Smalley turned back to Roosevelt. “She married? Children? Next of kin?”

  “I don’t know much about her. She’s from the Island. That’s all I know.” Roosevelt shivered. “Sad. I don’t know if she’s married or single, gay or straight. She’s a private person.”

  Smalley continued write. “She socialize with anyone?”

  Roosevelt shook his head. “The others hardly notice her, since she’s only the receptionist.” He touched his mustache, picked out a bit of seaweed, looked at it, and dropped it to the ground. “At office parties she sits at her usual place behind the desk. I’m the only one who talks to her.” He looked up at the tall sergeant. “Afraid all I can see of you is a blob of a face in a blue garment.”

  “That about describes me,” said Smalley, with a grim smile.

  CHAPTER 6

  Once she got home, Victoria took off her shoes to ease her sore toe, and sat by the cookroom window, watching cardinals and blue jays at the feeder.

  After she’d rested for a few minutes, she remembered that Casey had said something about the presidential visit. But when she called, the police station phone was busy. So Victoria put her shoes back on, slung a gray moth-eaten cardigan over her shoulders, collected some dried bread crusts and put them in a brown paper bag, picked up her lilac wood stick, and set off for the police station. She could use a walk to rid herself of the mental image of the episode from this morning that kept running through her mind. And the ducks, geese, and swans that lived on the Mill Pond would like the bread.

  When they saw her coming, the fowl gathered around. She shook out the last crumbs from the paper bag before she went up the steps into the station house.

  Casey was still on the phone, and she wiggled her fingers at Victoria while she talked. “I need to know the number of guests and their names. Home addresses and contact information, too.” A pause. “Yes, I know. I agree.”

  She set the phone down. “You wouldn’t believe the details we have to check.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “We’re supposed to know who’s visiting and where they’re staying and their life histories.” She leaned back in her chair.

  “He is the president of the United States,” said Victoria.

  Casey sighed. “And the West Tisbury police force is only me and three guys.” She sat up straight. “You should have called. I’d have picked you up.”

  “You have the president to worry about,” said Victoria. “How can I help?”

  “I wish,” said Casey. “Everyone connected with this visit has to have some kind of security clearance that you don’t have. I’m stuck with making these stupid phone calls.” She leaned back in her chair. “I ought to be spending my time taking care of our town’s problems.”

  “I’ll think of some way to help,” said Victoria.

  * * *

  While Victoria was at the West Tisbury police station, Roosevelt was at the Oak Bluffs harbor trying to answer Sergeant Smalley’s questions. All he wanted was to retrieve his dropped clothing and get home. Shower. Find his pair of spare glasses. Put on clean, dry slacks and shirt, and pour himself a drink. He thought of the sound and smell of his bottle of Glenlivet smashing on the asphalt paving. He sighed.

  Smalley shut his notebook and put it into his pocket. “You said you drove her car here?”

  “The gray Suzuki.” Roosevelt patted his wet pants pocket. He still had her keys. Not likely to slip out, with the Mickey Mouse hands, feet, ears, and tail sticking out like a burr. He handed them to Smalley, who took them.

  “We’ll take care of her car. Where’s yours?”

  “At the clinic. I can’t see to drive.”

  Smalley nodded. “I’ll give you a ride home in the cruiser.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll get the seat dirty.”

  “Not a problem,” said Smalley.

  On the way to Roosevelt’s house, the cruiser’s radio crackled on and a voice announced something cryptic.

  “Ten-four,” answered Smalley, and hung up the mike. He turned to Roosevelt in the backseat. “Afraid the lady you rescued from the harbor didn’t make it. Dead on arrival.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sam Minnowfish and Ophelia Demetrios sat at a small table next to the window at the Tidal Rip.

  Both had changed out of their clinic whites into something more suitable. Ophelia had on skinny black pants and a bright scarlet silk shirt with a necklace of large red and orange beads and dangling earrings to match.

  Sam lifted his sweating beer mug. “Cheers. You look pretty good in civvies.” Sam was wearing an L.L.Bean chamois shirt.

  “And you are quite handsome in that Native American attire.”

  “Wampanoag, not that PC Native American shit. We didn’t come up with the name America.”

  Ophelia lifted her glass of Chardonnay. “Cheers to you,” she said, “you big handsome Indian.”

  “What a morning.” Sam took a swig of beer and set his mug down. “I can’t remember when anything tasted better.” He blotted his mouth with a paper napkin.

  “What do you think of Jane and Horace?” Ophelia ran her finger around the rim of her glass making it squeak.

  “What about them?”

  “She called out, ‘Horace,’ in that little-girl-hurt voice?”

  “Didn’t notice. There was too much going on,” said Sam.

  “Would you please order something for us to nibble on, Sam, potato chips or nuts? It’s past lunchtime and
I’m hungry.”

  Sam got up and returned shortly with a bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. He glanced out the window before he sat. “Wonder where he’s going.”

  “Where who’s going?”

  Sam set the chips and salsa on the table between them. “Arthur Morgan just drove by.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was taking Jane home to Vineyard Haven about the same time we left,” said Sam, and shrugged.

  “Perhaps he forgot something at the clinic,” said Ophelia.

  “With the police still there, he won’t get in.” Sam sat down again. “You were saying about Horace and Jane.”

  She leaned toward him. “When Jane fainted Horace rushed to her side.”

  Sam swigged his beer and set the glass down again. “Someone faints, you help.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that.” She sat back and sipped her wine. “You know, Horace recommended Jane for the job. To work with Aileen. He knew Jane from before, I am sure.”

  “That figures. He must have known her if he recommended her.”

  “Horace and Jane have something intimate going on between them, Sam. Aileen didn’t want to work with Jane, but had no choice. You know that, don’t you?”

  “She could have let Jane go after a trial period.”

  Ophelia dipped a chip into the salsa and munched it. “Oh, my! Hot!”

  “Want some milder stuff?”

  Ophelia shook her head. “No, I like it.” Her eyes were watering. “Our Greek cuisine is not so spicy.” She wiped her eyes. “I was about to say, Aileen is not able to let Jane go.” She fanned her mouth with her hand. “Jane works hard. Patients like her. Aileen dislikes her because of Horace.” She took a sip of wine and added after a pause, “Jane knows more about dentistry than this girl from what they call Haa-vahd.”

  “Now, now,” said Sam. “But you’ve got the pronunciation down just right.”

  The waitress, a thin woman in her forties, stopped by. “Need anything, folks?”

  Sam held up his mug. “Refill for me. Want more wine, Ophelia?”

  Ophelia looked up. “Please. When I finish this.”

  The waitress stuck her pencil behind her ear. “Beer, Chardonnay,” she said, and left.

  Ophelia sipped her wine.

  In a few minutes the waitress returned with drinks and picked up the empty glasses. “You folks want to order something to eat?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sam. “What’ve you got besides chips?”

  “Pizza, four-cheese, pepperoni, and de-luxe.”

  “Any good?” asked Sam.

  The waitress shrugged. “Not really. Frozen and nuked.”

  Sam looked at Ophelia, who shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  The waitress left.

  “Jane lives in a house on the Vineyard Haven harbor,” said Ophelia. “Why does she work at a clinic where she makes so little money when she lives in such an expensive house? Does she have money?”

  “She inherited her grandmother’s house.” Sam started on his second beer. “Doesn’t mean she has money. Who knows why she works.”

  “Perhaps it is to keep an eye on Horace.”

  “Keep an eye on him? She doesn’t even seem to care much about our Dr. Mann.”

  “Appearances are deceiving,” said Ophelia.

  “With a house on the water she probably has to work to pay the taxes,” said Sam. “That is, unless she inherited a fortune to go with the house.”

  Ophelia lifted the fresh glass of wine. “He is at least fifteen years older than she is.” She took a sip.

  Sam laughed. “Mann’s a year or two older than me, and I’m forty. She’s mid-twenties, I’d guess.”

  “She is twenty-five,” said Ophelia. “I thought Aileen and I were going to be rivals over his affections. I didn’t know he liked such very young women.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  Ophelia thought for a few moments. “You know, Sam, this Island is like towns in Greece. Different social strata. Native Islanders don’t mix with the rich and famous visitors, summer people don’t mix with new residents. I don’t know anything about Horace’s life. Was he married at some time?”

  Sam laughed. “He’s damned careful about not giving away his secrets. He’s been married to the same woman for twenty-some years.”

  She set her glass down. “He is married?”

  Sam nodded. “Sure is. Two kids, sons.”

  “He wears no wedding ring.”

  “Dentists and doctors don’t usually wear wedding rings. They work around too many implements that might get caught on the ring.”

  “He doesn’t act like a married man.”

  “He married his high school sweetheart,” said Sam. “She was in my class. They got married right out of high school. Like I said, they have two sons. He went to college and she worked to put him through dental school.”

  “His wife did? I had a feeling his family was wealthy.” Ophelia turned her wineglass around and around. “I thought our Dr. Mann had money.”

  “You don’t know our Dr. Mann.” Sam drained his glass and set it down. “His adoptive parents disowned him because of some college scandal. Boys will be boys. Even married boys. Ready for another? You need to catch up here.”

  * * *

  In the house overlooking Vineyard Haven harbor, Jane told Abigail, Davina’s nanny, about Mrs. Wilmington’s collapse and death.

  Outside, the little girl stood up in her sandbox and lifted her arms toward the house.

  “About time for her nap.” Abigail gathered up the skirt of her muumuu and stood. “I’ll bring her in. Maybe a snack first. You’ll want a few minutes with her, Missy.”

  “Thank you. I do.” Jane stood and started to collect the tea things. She cocked her head. “I hear someone at the door.”

  “You get your baby, I’ll see who’s there,” said Abigail.

  Jane set down the tray, slid open the back door that led onto the beach, and picked up her sandy daughter. The baby stuck a thumb into her mouth and laid her head with its red-gold hair on her mother’s shoulder as her mother went back into the house.

  “It’s all sandy, Davy,” said Jane, tugging the thumb out of Davina’s mouth. The baby started to wail. “You can have it back as soon as I wipe off the sand you haven’t eaten.” She was intent upon brushing off the small thumb and didn’t notice the caller at first. Thumb released, Davina popped it back into her mouth and nestled her head against her mother again.

  Jane looked up with a start. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Did you, now.” Jane stroked her daughter’s back. “Why the sudden concern?”

  “It’s been a rough day.” He held out a hand. Jane backed away. “Please, Jane, don’t be like that.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help, Horace.”

  “You called out my name.”

  “That was inadvertent. A mistake.” She snuggled the baby tightly against her pink blouse and a scattering of sand fell onto the floor.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Mann. “A redhead. Don’t you think it’s about time you let me get to know her?”

  “No, Horace. I don’t.”

  “She’s mine, too.” Mann moved toward Jane, hands reaching for the baby.

  Abigail, who’d been standing quietly to one side, arms folded, stepped forward.

  Jane, holding the baby tightly, turned away. “You have no claim to my daughter, Horace.”

  “She’s got my hair, my coloring. Her genes are mine.”

  Abigail said, “Time for her nap, Dr. Mann.” She pried Davina gently out of Jane’s arms and disappeared.

  “Be reasonable, Jane. I have my rights.”

  “No, you don’t.” Jane folded her empty arms over her chest. Another dusting of sand dropped onto the floor. In a distant room she heard the crooning of a lullaby. “Get out, Horace.”

  “If you hate me so much,
why did you take the job?”

  “That’s why,” said Jane, with a smile.

  Mann laughed. “Working with a dentist you can’t abide and who can’t abide you, either. Assisting with patients like Mrs. Wilmington who demean you. Working with creeps like Arthur who lust after you? You’ll do that to get even with me?”

  Jane turned her back on him and faced the window overlooking the sandbox.

  “Please, Jane. All I want is to see my daughter occasionally. Be a part of her life.”

  Jane swung around, her ivory face no longer pale. “Be a part of her life? You?” Her voice rose. “How can you possibly be so arrogant, so egocentric, so blatantly stupid?”

  “I accept all that.”

  “You, promising me we’d have a life together, and I believed you. Marriage. A honeymoon on a chartered yacht. And all the time you had, and still have, I believe, a wife and two children. And then I find out your wife put you through dental school. I never suspected you were such a monster. And here I was, wondering why you kept putting off our wedding.”

  “Jane,” said Mann, holding up his hands to stop her flow of fury. “Please, calm down.”

  “Calm down!” sputtered Jane. “You, who went ballistic when I told you I was pregnant? Who insisted I get an abortion? Arranged for the abortion despite my protests? Paid in advance, tried to shanghai me to the doctor’s? How can you possibly lay claim to my daughter. Or to me? I vowed to make life miserable for you, and, by God, I will.” She strode past him, flinging over her shoulder, “Your poor wife. Does she know what you are?” She went to the door and slid it open with a flourish. “Get out. Don’t you ever show up again at my daughter’s and my house.”

  “Jane—”

  “In thirty seconds I’m calling the police. One…”

  Mann backed out of the door, and Jane slammed it shut so hard it bounced in its track.

  “Baby’s asleep,” said Abigail, coming back into the living room. “Nice chorus you and the doctor were singing.”

  “Oh, Abigail!” Jane threw her arms around her nanny and burst into tears.

  “There, there,” said Abigail, patting her on the back, “There, there. Sit down, Missy.”