Roosevelt looked up at him and smiled. “Well, maybe a bite or two.” He folded his hands on the table and said grace.
“You think it was accidental?” asked PJ, opening his napkin.
“Mrs. Wilmington? Or Vivian?” Roosevelt looked down at his plate. “If I hadn’t lingered so long in the liquor store—”
“Don’t go there,” PJ warned.
“That’s what the police officer told me.”
“He was right.”
“She was upset.” Roosevelt smoothed his napkin on his lap. “I should have taken her directly home.”
PJ pointed the tines of the fork at him. “Stop that.”
Roosevelt nodded.
“Eat up,” said PJ. “I put half the herbs in the garden in. Not sure I can duplicate it. Did you have any lunch?”
“I didn’t feel like it.” Roosevelt chewed. “Thyme? Lemon?”
PJ nodded. “And salt and pepper. But back to your drowning victim. Could someone have given her a push?”
Roosevelt set his fork down and patted his chest. Swallowed a mouthful of water. “On purpose? Why? She was an inoffensive woman. Quiet.” He cleared his throat.
“The quiet ones are sometimes the deepest ones. Still waters, you know.” PJ leaned his elbows on the table. “Two people from the same office, same day, dead under less than normal circumstances? I don’t believe it.”
Roosevelt cleared his throat a few more times. “Mrs. Wilmington apparently had heart problems.”
“From your description her reaction doesn’t sound like myocardial infarction,” said PJ, jabbing his fork into the broccoli. “Someone poisoned her. The number one motive is money. Did she have any?”
“She lives, lived, in Chilmark, the big house overlooking the Atlantic. Yeah, she had money.”
“Uh-huh.” PJ nodded. “Any children?”
“Grandkids,” said Roosevelt.
“Grandkids are more likely to be desperate for money than their parents. And they figure Granny has lived long enough.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “You can’t think Mrs. Wilmington’s death is connected with Vivian’s.”
PJ set his fork down. “Damn right that’s what I think. One of those grandkids poisoned her and one of those grandkids gave your receptionist a push, for some reason. Won’t be the first time.”
“What reason would they have for killing Vivian?”
“She knew something,” said PJ.
Roosevelt sipped his wine. “People are frightened of dentists. Couple that with a weak heart. Mrs. Wilmington died a natural death.”
“How long were you in the liquor store?”
“About half an hour.”
“Plenty of time. Vivian got out of the car and went to the harborside for a breath of air. Someone was following you. That someone saw an opportunity and gave her a shove.”
“I can see her getting out of the car,” agreed Roosevelt. “But I can’t see someone pushing her. Too much of a coincidence.” Roosevelt scraped up the remaining grains of rice. “Maybe it was an accident. The wind was splashing water up on the bulkhead. She could have slipped and fallen.”
PJ pushed away from the table. “Dessert, anyone?”
CHAPTER 10
It was the morning after the incident at the dental clinic and even though it was early June the day was warm enough to put the top down again on the convertible, a top held together, like most Vineyard cars, with duct tape. Elizabeth had taken the morning off and this was the day they planned to pay their respects to Mildred Wilmington’s four grandchildren.
Elizabeth dressed in somber black slacks and a black turtleneck topped by a white blazer that helped to break the solemnity. Victoria had on the green plaid suit she usually wore to church.
“You’d better bring a heavy sweater,” Victoria cautioned her. “Chilmark weather can be chillier than West Tisbury’s.”
“Right,” said Elizabeth.
According to Victoria’s definition of weather it was a typical Vineyard day. The sky was an intense, almost fluorescent blue. The air was scented with wild roses and honeysuckle and the light breeze carried the smell of the salt sea. Ira Bodman was haying the Doane’s field across the lane from Victoria’s pasture and the sound of his mower waxed and waned as he drove up and down the rows.
“The morning is too lovely for such a sad errand.” said Victoria. “A dripping sea fog would be more suitable.”
“They’re probably rejoicing. Those Wilmington kids are pit vipers,” said Elizabeth.
“What is it you have against those children?” Victoria had put on a straw hat she’d taken from a peg in the entry. She’d tied a scarf around it to keep it from blowing off and was holding both ends of the scarf. “They seemed perfectly fine to me when we went to the reception. It doesn’t seem as though it was only three days ago that we were with Mildred.”
“Gram, those kids are all self-centered and disagreeable. You don’t know them the way I do.”
“Their grandmother took them in after their parents died in that tragic car crash. They must have been grateful to her.”
“Well they weren’t grateful at all. Mrs. Wilmington was a controlling, resentful woman who didn’t understand kids. Susan was her pet, so the others picked on her. Heather was a handful as a teenager, and Mrs. Wilmington was nasty to her.” Elizabeth tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “I hated going to their house. They were always bickering. The very air was hostile.”
“We needn’t stay long,” said Victoria.
They drove on, both silent.
After passing Alley’s they continued on South Road into Chilmark. The gently rolling fields of West Tisbury gave way to low hills clothed with oak and beech. The hills, a jumble of rocks and boulders covered by a layer of soil, were a reminder of the glacier that had formed the Island twenty thousand years ago. Sheep farmers had cleared stones from their fields to form walls to fence in their animals and mark the boundaries of their land.
Victoria broke the silence. “I love seeing the different styles of stone walls,” she said. “You can tell that each farmer had his own distinctive way of putting one stone on top of another.” She pointed to one of the stone walls they were passing. “Some are almost too tidy. You can just imagine a farmer thinking of a creative way to deal with the stones he’d cleared out of his field.”
“Now it’s an art form,” said Elizabeth. “Isn’t there a Vineyard poet who builds lace stone walls?”
Victoria nodded. “He’s in one of my poetry groups. He told me the openings let the breeze blow through.”
Shortly after they passed the Chilmark cemetery the view of the Atlantic opened up across the fields of the Allen Sheep Farm, a brilliant, breathtaking blue touched with bright sparkles of sunlight. Elizabeth slowed. White, brown, and black sheep grazed on the June-green grass.
Victoria took a deep breath to absorb as much of the beauty as she could hold.
“Only a half mile farther,” said Elizabeth.
“Let’s stop at Chilmark Chocolates and buy a box of candy to take with us,” said Victoria.
At the small shop, they luxuriated in the fragrance of chocolate and spices. They picked out a selection of chocolates for their gift box, ones Victoria liked herself.
The dirt road leading to Mildred Wilmington’s was only a short distance from the chocolate store.
Victoria opened the white cardboard box to examine their purchase. “Why don’t we each have a small piece. I don’t think two pieces will be missed.”
The road to the Wilmington house meandered between low banks of huckleberry brush and ended a half mile later at an open field. The house, a large, rambling gray-shingled building, was situated on about fifty acres of land with a view of the ocean from a wide front porch. Elizabeth parked along with several other cars on the cropped grass, and they walked around to the front of the house and up the steps onto the porch. The door was open. To their right the front parlor hummed with quiet talk.
; Scott, the eldest of the four grandchildren, greeted them. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed. “Mrs. Trumbull. Elizabeth.”
“Our condolences,” said Victoria. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Trumbull.”
“Where are your sisters and brother?”
“They have a sort of receiving line in there. Lots of good food.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Excuse me, more guests arriving.”
They made their way through the crowded parlor where they’d had tea a few days ago, solemnly nodding to friends and neighbors.
Victoria greeted a stout man in his eighties with a mane of white hair and a tidy goatee. “Good morning, Fred.”
“Victoria. Always good to see you. You, too, Elizabeth.” Fred bit into a watercress sandwich, his pinkie extended delicately. He pressed a napkin to his lips. “I hear you were at the clinic when it happened, Victoria.”
“I’m afraid so. Tragic.”
“You’ve got police connections, Victoria. Any idea what killed her?”
“They won’t know for several days,” said Victoria. “The autopsy will be performed off Island.”
They chatted about the neighborly turnout and then back to Mrs. Wilmington’s untimely death.
Elizabeth stood silently next to her grandmother.
“Rumor has it her death was no accident. Have you heard anything?” He took another nibble.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Victoria. “I try not to listen to rumors.” She smiled to take the sting out of the rebuke.
“Somebody stands to benefit from her death, not mentioning names, of course.” He finished the rest of his sandwich and wiped his hand on the napkin he’d been holding.
Victoria said, “Elizabeth, shall we say hello to the other children?”
Fred crumpled up the napkin. “I’ll wager those children are already thinking about filing a malpractice suit.”
“Excuse me, Fred.” Victoria turned away. “Elizabeth, I’d like to try some of those delicious-looking sandwiches.”
“Ummm,” said Elizabeth.
“Big money in malpractice suits,” Fred said to their departing backs.
Victoria kept walking.
“What did I tell you?” said Elizabeth.
They made their way through the cluster of neighbors to the dining room, where two tall blondes and a red-haired man formed a reception line.
The redhead greeted them. “Thanks for coming, you two.”
Victoria offered him her hand. “I’m so sorry, Wesley.”
Wesley, at twenty-five, was the youngest of the four Wilmington grandchildren. He indicated the tall, hefty blond woman next to him. “You know Heather, of course.”
“Of course.”
Heather embraced her in a patchouli-scented hug, then held her off to gaze at her. “You’re so sweet to come.” With a napkin she’d kept from the senior-center luncheon, Victoria dabbed discreetly at her great nose to rid it of the cloying scent from the hug. She and Elizabeth moved on to Susan, the final Wilmington grandchild.
“How fortunate that you and your siblings were all here before your grandmother died,” said Victoria.
“Grandmother ordered them to come for a visit and threatened to cut them off without a dime if they didn’t.” Susan smiled as though she was only kidding. “I visited Scott in New York the winter before last, but I haven’t seen Heather or Wes since they moved out more than ten years ago.” She indicated the dining room table. “People brought lots of good food. Help yourself.”
Victoria looked over at the table, heaped with enough food to spoil her appetite for dinner.
“The neighbors have been most kind,” said Susan.
* * *
“It’s a relief to get that over with,” said Elizabeth when they were on the way home. “You know, Gram, we forgot to give them the box of chocolates.”
“So we did,” said Victoria, reaching for the white pasteboard box.
CHAPTER 11
The day after their condolence call, Victoria sat at the kitchen table looking pensive, her hand on her jaw. It had been two days after the incident at the dental clinic.
“That tooth still, Gram?”
Victoria nodded. “I suppose I’ve got to do something.” She got up, went to the phone, and dialed the clinic’s number.
After a long pause she hung up the phone without speaking.
“Did you get the answering machine?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes.” Victoria turned and looked out the window at the distant village. The morning was so clear, she could almost read the time on the town clock in the church steeple.
“You could have left a message.”
Victoria shook her head.
“What’s the matter, Gram?”
“The office is closed for the morning to allow the staff to observe Vivian’s death.”
“Vivian? The receptionist?” Elizabeth sat suddenly. “Dead? What happened?”
* * *
That same morning, Mrs. Wilmington’s grandchildren were gathered around the dining room table, eating condolence leftovers for breakfast.
Susan and Heather were wearing their short cutoffs again with T-shirts. Heather’s T-shirt was black with white print that read DON’T JUDGE A MOVIE BY ITS BOOK. Susan’s was green and read BUY LOCAL.
“We need to talk about funeral arrangements,” said Susan.
“We can’t make any arrangements until they release her body,” said Scott. As usual his slacks were neatly pressed and were topped by a black knit collared shirt. “No telling how long that will be.”
“We have a family plot here in Chilmark, don’t we?” asked Wesley.
“Yeah,” answered Heather. She reached for a slice of ham.
“I asked you a simple question,” said Wesley. “Why that tone of voice?”
“You tell him, Scott.” Heather bit into the ham angrily. “Ouch!” She spit the unchewed mouthful onto her plate.
“What’s the matter?” asked Susan, leaning toward her sister, who was holding a napkin against her cheek.
“A filling. Lost it last night. The fudge had nuts in it.”
“I bet you can get an appointment right away with grandmother’s dentist,” said Wesley, grinning.
Heather moved the napkin long enough to say, “Ha, ha.”
“My dentist, too,” said Susan.
“Our dentist, before we left for greener pastures,” said Scott.
“Well, I don’t want to go to our dentist,” said Heather.
“There’s a clinic in Falmouth that’s supposed to be pretty good,” said Susan. “I’ll get the number.” She left the table.
“Back to the subject of burials,” said Wesley. “What were you going to say, Scott?”
“We have a family plot here in Chilmark.” Scott got up from the table and poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Well. Okay. That’s all I wanted to know,” said Wesley. “What’s the big deal? I assume that’s where Grandmother will be buried along with Mom and Dad.”
Silence around the table. Scott returned to his seat with his coffee cup, stirred cream and sugar into it, and took a sip. Heather continued to hold the napkin against her cheek. Susan returned with an address book and sat down.
“What’s the matter with you guys?” asked Wesley.
Heather rolled her eyes at Scott.
He sighed. “Our mother’s buried here in Chilmark. Our father’s buried near the accident site in Rahway, New Jersey.”
Wesley took a moment before he spoke. “Why?”
Scott smoothed his beard. “Who knows? Mildred, our dear grandmother, blamed him for the accident.”
“How come no one ever told me?” asked Wesley.
“You were too young and then everyone forgot that you hadn’t been told.”
“Well, hell.” Wesley stood up, walked to the front door, opened it, and went out onto the porch.
The remaining three avoided one another’s eyes.
Sus
an opened the address book. “Want me to call, Heather?”
“Please.”
Scott continued to thumb through the Island Enquirer.
A few minutes later Susan hung up the phone. “You’ve got an appointment tomorrow, two o’clock at the Falmouth clinic.”
“Can someone give me a ride to the ferry?” asked Heather.
Scott looked up from the newspaper. “Sure. Two o’clock appointment, you’ll need to catch the noon boat.”
Wesley returned from the porch and took his seat again. “Did Grandmother’s obit make the paper?”
“Here. You look.” Scott thrust the paper toward his brother. “If you know what boat you’ll be coming back on, Heather, I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll call from the dentist’s office.”
Wesley flipped through the newspaper pages.
“There’s poor cell reception here,” said Susan.
Heather went into the parlor and returned with a ferry schedule. “I’ll try to be on the five o’clock boat to Oak Bluffs. I don’t think I can make the three forty-five.”
“I’ll pick you up,” said Scott. “No need to call.”
Wesley set the paper down. “A notice that she died, full obituary to follow. Guess we’re expected to write that.”
“You write it, Sue,” said Heather. “You lived with her longer than we did.”
Wesley got up again. The refrigerator door slammed and he returned with four glasses and a six-pack of beer.
“Isn’t this kind of early to be drinking?” said Susan.
“Never too early,” replied Wesley.
“I want something stronger,” said Scott. “Did Mildred keep any gin? Or vodka? Scotch?”
Susan shook her head. “You know she didn’t drink.”
“As I recall, she kept a bottle or two for guests.”
“Sorry, Scott.”
“Has anybody heard when they’re going to release the autopsy findings?” asked Wesley. “My creditors are getting anxious.”
Scott grinned. “Worried about shots to the knees, bro?”
“They’ll determine it was heart failure,” said Heather.
“Everybody dies of heart failure,” said Wesley. “I’m pouring beer for me. Anyone else?”
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