Bloodroot

by Cynthia Riggs

  “How sad.”

  Charlotte sipped her wine. “The day after we talked, I filed for divorce.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” said Jane.

  “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

  Jane sat back. “Does Horace know this?”

  “Not yet.” Charlotte set down her glass. “I would like you to be present when I make my announcement to him.”

  “Whew!” said Jane. “I don’t know…”

  Abigail strode into the living room and stood, arms folded. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe that will get through his thick head.”

  “Okay?” asked Charlotte.

  “Shall we meet here?” asked Jane.

  “Yes,” said Abigail. “Those yellow roses I rescued are still pretty. I’ll put them front and center on the table.”

  Charlotte took another sip of wine, set her glass down, and said, “I’ve got to run.”

  * * *

  At the station house that afternoon, Casey leaned across her desk. “You’ve got to press charges against Lockwood.”

  “No,” said Victoria.

  “Lockwood would have killed you. And Elizabeth.” Casey slapped the papers she’d been holding on to on her desk in annoyance. She and Junior Norton had taken Lockwood to the County of Dukes County House of Correction in Edgartown, namely the jail. “He’d have killed everyone who got in the way.”

  Victoria was sitting in her usual wooden armchair in front of Casey’s desk. “He didn’t intend to kill anyone. He intended to threaten Elizabeth.” She stroked the fine polish on her lilac wood stick.

  “You know, Victoria, I can press charges without your doing so. Laws have changed with regard to domestic violence. The guy pulls out a gun and waves it around and says it’s just a threat. He’ll try again and again. He’s got no conscience. He wants his property back, namely Elizabeth, and he wants it back even if it’s dead.”

  “Elizabeth isn’t an ‘it,’” said Victoria. “I don’t want you to press charges.”

  “Look, Victoria. Be reasonable.”

  Victoria sat forward in her chair. “I still care for Lockwood. He was my grandson.”

  “In-law,” said Casey.

  “He was my grandson,” repeated Victoria. “He and Elizabeth have had their problems, but he and I have always gotten along. He’s a troubled man and he’s suffering.”

  Casey lifted her paperweight stone from the pile of papers it held down and slapped it back onto the pile with a thunk. “Victoria, you are stubborn, misguided, and unreasonable.”

  “What is reasonable about incarcerating Lockwood? What good would that do? I’m the only witness to his threats. Lockwood is a respected scientist and an important government official. He’s intelligent. He has no criminal record. Elizabeth never filed charges against him for assault. Would my word hold up against his? Suppose it does. Would he be locked up for a year? Two? Fined? Would he even be convicted in the first place? Then what?” She looked down at her gnarled hands, now folded on top of the stick. “He’s sick, Casey. He needs treatment, not a prison term. Prison would only make him worse.” She looked up. “I’d like you to recommend to the authorities that he get treatment.”

  “Oh, hell, Victoria. I’ll do what I can.” Casey swiveled around in her chair and plunked a few keys on her keyboard. The dancing cartoon pigs on the monitor screen disappeared and the screen went blank. She turned back to her deputy. “He had a license to carry. I wish to hell you’d shot him.”

  “I don’t know how to use a gun.”

  “You need to learn.”

  On the Mill Pond the cygnets had swum away from their parents. They’d lost their fuzzy gray fluff and were sporting real feathers. Four of the seven had survived the depredations of the pond’s snapping turtles.

  Casey sighed and got up out of her chair. She strapped on her heavy utility belt with its array of tools. “I don’t know what possessed me to name you a police deputy.”

  “You did it because I know almost everyone on the Island,” said Victoria. “I’m related to half of them. I know where they live, I know where the bodies are buried, and I’m not afraid of anyone or anything.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Casey. “I’ll take you home. You can go ahead and hunt down killers while I check the guest lists of everyone in West Tisbury.”

  Victoria, too, stood. “If you’d invited me to help with the guest lists, I could have saved you time.” She leaned on her stick. Her muscles ached from her attack on Lockwood. “Did I break his wrist?”

  “Yeah, you did. He also sprained his ankle when he fell and that broken chair leg gave him a puncture wound in his side that has to be taken care of.”

  “That should put him out of action for a while. What about his gun?”

  “I confiscated it. Don’t go telling me to give it back to him.” Casey headed for the door. “C’mon, Victoria. I gotta get busy with this presidential stuff. I thought looking for Mrs. Wilmington’s murderer would keep you out of trouble for a while.” They went out through the station house door, which, Victoria noticed with satisfaction, Casey neglected to lock. “When you nab the killer, what do you plan to do, trap and release?”

  “Don’t be cynical, Casey.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “I’m so proud of you, Gram.” Elizabeth threw her arms around her grandmother. “Without you, we might all be dead.”

  “He didn’t intend to kill anyone. It was a threat to get you to go home with him.”

  “With a gun, sure.” She released her grandmother and sat down. “This is home.”

  Victoria held up the lilac wood stick Elizabeth had carved for her and smiled. “Where’s Susan?”

  “While you were at the police station, the hospital called. Scott’s being released along with Heather and Wesley this afternoon. Susan’s in the car and we’re going to pick them up.”

  Victoria pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat. She really didn’t feel as peppy as she’d like. “Is Scott going to be all right?”

  “Doc Yablonsky said he’ll have a gargantuan headache and for a week or so will wish he was dead. Want to come with us?”

  “Thank you, no. I have work to do. Besides, you don’t have room in your car for six large people.”

  “True. Okay, we’re off.” Elizabeth gave her grandmother another hug. “You’re a brick.”

  The brick hobbled into the cookroom, where she righted the broken chair and eased herself down into her armchair. Elizabeth could take the chair up to the attic where it would join a half-dozen other broken chairs. The next time her friend Mark came for a visit, he would mend it.

  The two coffee mugs were still on the table, the coffee only half drunk. The morning had turned into afternoon and afternoon into early evening. Victoria realized why she felt so lethargic. All she’d had to eat since last night was a half cup of coffee. No breakfast, no lunch, and it was approaching suppertime.

  And she’d had no sleep.

  She eased herself up out of the chair and found the remains of the omelet in the icebox along with the bacon. As she feasted, her energy returned. She had a second helping of the omelet—it was better than delicious—and then a third, which cleaned out the baking dish. Four slices of bacon. A glass of cranberry juice.

  She located the box of Chilmark Chocolates. A half-dozen pieces were left. She carried the box to her seat.

  She was ready to get back to work.

  The golden light of early evening streamed through the west window, casting a shadow image of the lace curtain on the far wall. Victoria picked out a chocolate truffle and nibbled a small corner, then popped the rest into her mouth.

  She closed her eyes. She’d rest them for just a minute or two, then get to work.

  * * *

  Victoria awoke with a start, smelling the aroma of cooking. Garlic. Basil. Tomato sauce. Her mouth watered.

  A light blanket was draped over her shoulders and lap, and the lights had been turne
d on in the cookroom.

  Her granddaughter came from the kitchen with a glass of red wine, which she handed to her. “Supper will be ready in half an hour. You had quite a nap.”

  Victoria stood and stretched, folded the blanket, and set it on an unbroken chair. “A few minutes rest was just what I needed.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “It’s nine o’clock.”

  Victoria glanced at her watch. “Do you need a hand in the kitchen? What about Susan and the others?”

  “I drove them home.” Elizabeth shuddered. “Pure poison. No one was talking to anyone else. Heather and Wesley have bad hangovers. Scott has a super, horrendous, gigantic hangover. He can’t move without hurting. Can’t even breathe without hurting.”

  “What about Susan?”

  “Susan is disgusted with them. They all blame her for the mushrooms and their hangovers. And they resent her for inheriting the property. What a mess. I left the instant I dropped them off.”

  “Poor Susan.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for her. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was the one who put the arsenic in her grandmother’s tea.”

  “Elizabeth!” Victoria warned.

  “You’ve got a half hour before supper, Gram.” Elizabeth returned to the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll bet you can ID the killer in that time.”

  Victoria smiled and switched on the lamp on the telephone table.

  The envelope with her list of suspects had fallen onto the floor during Lockwood’s visit. Victoria retrieved it and set to work. The entire dental clinic staff. Mrs. Wilmington’s four grandchildren: Scott, Susan, Heather, and Wesley. She hesitated before she wrote Susan’s name. Possible motives could wait until after she’d finished listing names.

  She thought about Vivian. The postmortem noted that the victim had a significant bruise on the back of her neck. Someone had knocked her into the harbor. Who? And why?

  Victoria turned to the window. The village in the distance was a few bright dots of light echoing the stars she could see clear down to the horizon.

  What had Vivian heard in that phone call? That seemed key.

  She made a note to locate Vivian’s hospital friend and find out exactly what she’d said in that phone call besides giving her the news that Mrs. Wilmington was dead.

  She would need transportation. Both Casey and Elizabeth were tied up with this presidential visit preparation. She could hitchhike, of course, but some of the people she wanted to interview lived in out-of-the-way places.

  She picked up the phone and called Bill O’Malley, the owner of a fine blue dump truck.

  “I’m at your disposal, Mrs. T. Anytime.” He gave her his cell phone number.

  Victoria hung up with a sense of renewed optimism. She crossed off her list the note “Transportation” and went back to listing motives. Money headed the list. Sex came next. She glanced out the window. Sex? Money had seemed the overwhelming motive, but when she thought of Dr. Mann, the two female dentists, and Mrs. Wilmington, perhaps she’d better give sex equal weight.

  On Tuesday, Casey would drop her off at the nursing home for her weekly session of reading to the elderly. Since the nursing home was connected to the hospital, she would try to locate Vivian’s friend.

  CHAPTER 34

  On Monday, Elizabeth dropped her grandmother off at the dental clinic on her way to work. “Call me when you’re done, Gram, and I’ll give you a ride home, if I can.”

  “I know you’re busy,” said Victoria. “I’ll manage.”

  She waved an airy goodbye, and after Elizabeth drove off, she felt bad that she’d been so cool to her granddaughter. It wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault that she’d had to forfeit her license.

  She made her way up the steps and into the clinic.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Trumbull.” Tiffany looked up from the issue of M Magazine she was reading.

  “Good morning, Tiffany. Have you adjusted to the new job?”

  “Not much to, like, adjust to, Mrs. Trumbull. It’s pretty quiet.” She set the magazine facedown, saving her place. “Is your tooth okay? I mean, you know, like, where the tooth was? We only have office hours until noon today.”

  “My jaw is fine, thank you. Dr. Demetrios wants to look at it, and afterward I want to talk with her.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll buzz her. Would you like a seat?”

  Victoria selected one of the padded chairs and before she’d settled herself fully, Ophelia Demetrios came into the reception area, smoothing her sleek hair with a graceful hand.

  “Mrs. Trumbull. How are you feeling? Let’s take a look at that jaw.”

  Victoria returned to the reclining chair. Dr. Demetrios fastened the paper bib in place, poked around a bit, and declared that Victoria was healing nicely. “I’d like to see you in six months, Mrs. Trumbull,” she said.

  “I’d like to talk to you now, Dr. Demetrios.” Victoria rose to her feet. “Can we go somewhere private?”

  “Of course. We can sit in the garden. There’s a nice bench near the bird feeder.”

  “It’s about Mrs. Wilmington’s death,” Victoria said as they made their way to the garden. They sat on the bench.

  “I suspected as much.”

  The bench was shaded by a wild cherry tree. The cherries were ripening and would be ready to pick for jelly in a few weeks. A half-dozen birds fluttered around the feeder, chickadees and finches and a female cardinal. At the base of the feeder, chipmunks filled their cheek pouches with dropped seeds.

  Dr. Demetrios was wearing a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and gray slacks. She smoothed her slacks over her knees. “You were there, Mrs. Trumbull, and know as much as I do.”

  “I’m interested in the clinic’s staff,” said Victoria. “You have far more insight than I where they’re concerned.”

  “You mean, suspects.” Dr. Demetrios smiled. “I understand you have some connection with the police.”

  “I’d like to hear your opinions,” said Victoria, “that is, if you don’t feel this is an intrusion.”

  “Intrusion!” Ophelia flung up her hands in dismissal. “Of course not. I will be so happy when this murder is cleared up and we can get back to work.”

  Victoria removed her baseball cap from her cloth bag to locate the notebook and pen beneath it and set the hat between them on the bench.

  Ophelia picked it up and read the gold stitching on the front. “West Tisbury police deputy.” She put the hat down again. “You are truly official, aren’t you?”

  Victoria smiled. She thumbed through the notebook to find a clean page. “What I hope to do, Dr. Demetrios is—”

  “Please, Mrs. Trumbull. When I’m not working, I’m Ophelia.”

  Victoria settled more comfortably on the bench. A catbird swooped down into the birdbath near the feeder, splashed water all over himself, and flew off.

  “That bird,” said Ophelia. “He empties the water with his baths. We have to refill it twice a day.” She turned to face Victoria. “Now, let me hear your questions.”

  “I’d like us to go over a list of staff members.”

  “Oooh, I have some strong opinions,” said Ophelia. “Shall we start with Aileen McBride?”

  Victoria nodded. “How did she feel about Mrs. Wilmington?”

  Ophelia smiled. “She hated her. Next question?”

  The catbird flew to the cherry tree and perched above them, calling out its distinctive “Meow!”

  “He’ll be back shortly for another bath,” said Ophelia.

  “Why did she hate her?” Victoria asked.

  “This is between you and me?”

  Victoria nodded. “Just between us.”

  “Mrs. Wilmington was crazy about Dr. Mann. She dropped by all the time, always giving him little gifts.”

  “And that upset Dr. McBride?”

  “Aileen was jealous of Mrs. Wilmington. She was always flirting with Dr. Mann. Mrs. Wilmington didn’t like that.” Ophelia rolled her lovely almond eyes. “Mrs. Wilmington wa
s jealous of Aileen, too. She could be quite spiteful.”

  “In what way?”

  “She was demanding. The chair wasn’t the right height. The bib was too tight. The temperature in the operatory was too chilly or too warm. The light was in her eyes. Always something that was Aileen’s fault, and if she couldn’t blame Aileen, she blamed that poor assistant, Jane Douglas.”

  “That seems like reason to be annoyed with her patient, not to hate her,” said Victoria.

  “It was worse than that, Mrs. Trumbull. Mrs. Wilmington complained constantly to Dr. Mann. About Aileen’s competence, her technique, her bedside manner, and repeatedly threatened to report her to the state certifying authorities.”

  “Why didn’t Mrs. Wilmington change dentists?”

  Ophelia shrugged. “Aileen tried to get Horace to assign Mrs. Wilmington to me or to Sam Minnowfish, but we had worked with her before, and both of us refused to work with her again after Aileen arrived. Aileen is fairly new to the clinic, and so she drew the, how do you say it, short straw? Mrs. Wilmington was determined to be near Horace.”

  “You mentioned Jane Douglas, Dr. McBride’s assistant, and implied that Mrs. Wilmington was difficult to her, too.”

  “Oh my, yes. ‘Get me this,’ or ‘Get me that.’ Personal attacks like ‘That outfit is unbecoming,’ or ‘You should color that gray hair.’ Jane is the one with naturally silver hair, you know. Most women would kill for that hair.”

  “Would either Dr. McBride or Jane have reason to harm Mrs. Wilmington?” asked Victoria.

  “On that day you heard me say that Aileen did it. Of course, we didn’t know what she’d done at that point. Truly, I don’t believe she killed Mrs. Wilmington, although Mrs. Wilmington certainly drove her beyond reason. I don’t think Aileen has the courage, quite frankly.”

  “But she had motive and opportunity?”

  “Yes, and she certainly had the means. It’s easy for a dentist to obtain something like arsenic.”

  “I understand there were problems between Dr. McBride and Jane Douglas, as well,” said Victoria.

  Ophelia rolled her eyes again and patted her hair. “All about Horace,” she said. “Everything revolves around Horace. Aileen lusts after him. She hungers after him. I don’t know what she sees in him. But she sees Jane as competition.”