Bloodroot
Page 19
“Dr. Mann is married, isn’t he?”
Ophelia laughed. “Not for long. According to the Island grapevine, Jane Douglas invited him to drop by her house. His wife was there. She informed him to take a flying leap and the divorce lawyers would handle the details.”
Victoria sat back absorbing this latest development.
“Back to the history as reported on that efficient grapevine. Aileen was jealous of poor little Jane. She didn’t know Jane had a daughter by Horace. For that matter, neither did I.” Ophelia ran her hand over her hair again. “I don’t think anyone else knew, either. That prim and proper girl”—Ophelia glanced at Victoria—“what else was she hiding? Horace insisted that Aileen take Jane on as her assistant.” Ophelia leaned closer to Victoria. “This something going on between Horace and little Jane, Aileen was not happy about it. Little did she know.”
“Certainly an awkward situation.”
The catbird fluttered from the tree to the birdbath, perched on the edge for a moment, then hopped into the water and splashed vigorously. Victoria wrote in her notebook.
“You see what I mean about that bird?” said Ophelia.
Victoria watched, thinking about the role Dr. Mann had played. A not terribly attractive man with women squabbling over him. She glanced at Ophelia. And a murder that might well have been because of him.
And then she thought of the four Wilmington grandchildren. Too many suspects.
The catbird shook its wings, scattering water droplets, and flew off again.
Victoria checked her list. “What about Dr. Minnowfish?”
“Sam?” Ophelia tossed her head back. “He has pretentions about his Wampanoag heritage. He and Horace both went to high school here on the Island. Sam was a year or two behind Horace. They get along, but they’re not as close as you’d think they’d be, since both have Island roots.” She paused and Victoria waited. “Actually, Horace was adopted. Did you know that?”
“So I’d heard. Who are his adoptive parents?”
“People with money and a long genealogy. Longtime summer visitors who moved here permanently and adopted Horace. He had all the privileges. Sailing, tennis, that crowd. That would explain why his world and Sam’s didn’t intersect.”
“Are Dr. Mann’s birth parents from the Island?”
“Who knows?” said Ophelia. “I found out about the adoption from Sam just the other day.”
“What about Sam’s relationship with Mrs. Wilmington?”
“Both Sam and I were happy to pass Mrs. Wilmington on to Aileen. I refused to work with her and so did Sam. We avoided her when she came to the clinic. I can’t think of any reason why Sam would even care whether Mrs. Wilmington lived or died.”
“How much did Dr. Mann know in advance about his inheritance?”
“Horace? We’ve all been speculating about that. He wants to expand the clinic, but can’t until he acquires a larger building and some expensive equipment. Not an answer to your question.”
“Expectation of inheriting a large sum would be a strong motive,” said Victoria.
“And getting rid of Mrs. Wilmington would restore some peace in his clinic,” said Ophelia.
“It sounds as though he’d still have problems.” Victoria thought about the friction between her own dentist and Dr. McBride, Mrs. Wilmington’s dentist.
Ophelia snorted. “If you mean Horace, he loves having women fight over him.” She leaned back on the bench and looked up at the ripening cherries. “Who shall we tear apart next?”
“I don’t really want to tear anyone apart, but what about Arthur Morgan? Who does he work for?”
“Arthur and Roosevelt Mark are technicians and are not assigned to any one person the way Jane Douglas is.”
“Tell me about Arthur.”
“Quiet. A hard worker, competent, smart. He has the hots for Jane, but doesn’t push things, at least not in the clinic. He’s got a master’s from Boston University in software or something. I don’t know anything about his personal life except he’s single and has a dog named Dog.”
Victoria looked down at her notebook. “Morgan is an Island name. Is Arthur from the Vineyard?”
“I believe so. He went to high school here.”
“Anything else you can say about him?” asked Victoria.
“Patients like him. I don’t socialize with him.” Ophelia was quiet for a moment, watching the bird. “Arthur is a nice man. He’d do anything for you. If you break something, he’ll fix it for you without making a big deal of it. But, I don’t know, there’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable.”
“Can you pin that feeling down more?”
Ophelia shook her head. “I’m being unfair to him. He’s just unsophisticated, kind of raw, in a way. A sort of natural man, I suppose. Next person.”
“The only person left is Roosevelt Mark,” said Victoria.
“He found Vivian’s body, you know.”
Victoria nodded. “I heard he dived in, hoping to save her.”
“He’s got a Ph.D. in art history, but he can’t use a degree like that on the Island. He’s married to a psychiatrist.”
“The Island has the most highly educated workforce in the world,” said Victoria.
“Roosevelt’s way overqualified for the job. He’s so nice. He was always pleasant to Vivian. The rest of us hardly knew she was alive.” Ophelia watched the birds flutter around the feeder. “I feel bad about that, now. I know nothing about Vivian or her personal life. In fact, I scarcely remember what she looked like, except that she needed to lose weight.”
“Can you think of anyone who might harm her?”
Ophelia shook her head. “None of us even knew she was alive. She answered the phone, made appointments.”
“Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”
“I don’t think I’ve given you any help at all,” said Ophelia.
“It’s difficult to know what will help, at this point,” said Victoria. “Putting pieces together will come later.” She stood. “Thank you. Are any other staff members here today?”
“I’m the only one here. We will not have many patients until the murderer is caught.” Ophelia went over to the birdbath. “You see? I’ve got to fill it again.” She turned back to Victoria. “I’m sure you’ve met Mrs. Wilmington’s grandchildren.” They walked to the door and she added, “I’d look for the killer among them.”
CHAPTER 35
Victoria stood on the clinic’s steps deciding what to do. She was reluctant to call her granddaughter, knowing how busy she was.
“Mrs. Trumbull!” Ophelia came out of the clinic. “Sam called and will be here shortly. I told him you’d like to talk to him.”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.” Victoria went back inside.
Sam Minnowfish arrived a few minutes later.
“I don’t have time to answer questions,” he said. “I’ve got a date with some bluefish and just dropped by to check up on things.” He doffed his long-billed fisherman’s cap.
“Where do you plan to go fishing?” Victoria asked.
“Quansoo. I need to find someone who has a gate key.”
“If you’ll give me a ride home, answer a few questions, and provide me with some fish, you’re welcome to borrow mine.”
“I’ll catch them, all right,” said Sam with confidence. “A deal.”
A red Jeep in the parking lot sported a half dozen surf rods in a roof rack. “I’ll wait in your Jeep.”
A few minutes later, Sam joined her.
He started up the engine and shifted into gear. “Good fishing last couple of days.” He backed out of his spot and headed away from the clinic. “I suppose you want to talk about the murders. Fasten your seat belt, by the way.”
Victoria obliged. “I’d like your thoughts about staff members. You went to high school with Dr. Mann?”
“Two grades ahead of me. Big difference when you’re sixteen and he’s eighteen.”
“What was h
e like?”
Sam lifted his shoulders. “Never socialized with him. He was on the tennis team,” he said, as though that explained it all. “Girls were all over him for some reason. Never could figure why. He’s not what you’d call handsome. Carrot hair and freckles, skinny, prominent Adam’s apple. Zilch for personality.”
“I’ve just learned he was adopted. Do you know anything about his birth parents?”
“Rumors,” said Sam. “I don’t hold much with rumors.”
“This is hardly a formal inquiry,” said Victoria.
Sam came to the end of Barnes Road, waited at the stop sign for two police cars to pass, and turned right. “Every cop car on the Island is out patrolling.”
“I suppose they have to be ready for any emergency with the president coming. The rumors?”
“Well”—Sam set his hands high on the steering wheel—“everybody figured his mother was a married Island girl who wasn’t as careful as she should have been.”
“Why not claim the baby was fathered by her husband?”
Sam glanced at her. “Rumor was the baby’s father was a Wampanoag. Member of the Tribe, you know. Dark skin, hooked nose, kinky hair.” He pointed at himself. “Look at me.”
“Dr. Mann hardly fits that description.”
“Look at me closely, Mrs. Trumbull.” He faced her and opened his eyes wide. Pale hazel. He turned back to the road and lifted his hat. His short tightly curled hair was a light reddish brown. “Not a carrot top like our friend, but close.”
“You’re quite handsome, Sam.”
“Thank you.”
“Are hazel eyes and reddish hair tribal characteristics?”
“Describes a lot of us.”
“What about his birth mother?” asked Victoria. “Surely there were rumors about her.”
“Don’t you wonder why Mrs. Wilmington left Horace three million dollars?”
Victoria sat back and thought for a moment. “One of her granddaughters told me about a baby who’d died in infancy.”
“That was the story, all right,” said Sam. “’Course, this was before my time. But folks said she went off Island to have the baby and came back without it. Few weeks later, this rich Mann couple appeared with a new baby they’d adopted.”
“So Dr. Mann could be Mrs. Wilmington’s son by an unknown Wampanoag.”
“That’s the rumor.” Sam grinned. “A Wampanoag brave.”
“That would explain Mrs. Wilmington’s frequent visits to the clinic. I suppose she felt remorse at abandoning her child. Did Dr. Mann suspect that she might be his mother?”
“Who knows what Mann thinks. He plays his cards pretty close. He was polite to her. She was a patient, after all, and a wealthy one. But it was obvious he despised that woman.”
“I suppose he would resent her abandonment of him.”
Sam shrugged. “Who knows,” he said again.
“Would he have known she was leaving him a fortune?”
“Mann’s not stupid.”
“Have you ever talked to him about these rumors?”
“Good God, no,” said Sam. “Why should I? The Tribe financed my dental degree. We’re from different worlds. His adoptive parents are rich. He went to the best schools. Married a nice girl who paid his way through dental school.”
“I thought you said his adoptive parents were rich?”
“They had some kind of falling out when he was in college. Rumor was”—he glanced at Victoria with a half smile—“he got a girl in trouble, insisted she get an abortion, backroom kind of deal. Girl died. His parents found out about it and disowned him.”
“Well.” Victoria sat back. “I don’t know what to think.”
“All rumors, Mrs. Trumbull.”
Victoria was quiet.
They passed the youth hostel and the fire station.
“My house is just after this little valley.”
“I know where you live, Mrs. Trumbull.”
He turned into her drive and parked under the Norway maple and walked with her to the house. “Who would you like to talk about next? Got seven more people to analyze.”
“Seven?”
“Three assistants, Jane, Arthur, and Roosevelt. Two dentists, Ophelia, and Aileen. Mann, the boss. And Vivian.”
“Vivian is a victim, hardly a suspect,” said Victoria.
“Who knows? She may hold the key to Mrs. Wilmington’s death as well as her own.”
“Speaking of keys, here you are.” Victoria unhooked the Quansoo key from the entry wall and handed it to him. “When you return with the fish, I’d like to talk more.” She was already planning her supper based on his yet-to-be-caught bluefish and didn’t want to keep him waiting.
“Won’t be back until after the tide turns, but I’ll have your fish.”
* * *
Victoria went back to work. The only new information Sam had provided was the rumor about Dr. Mann’s heritage. Although she professed to discount rumors, this one, that Mrs. Wilmington had given birth to Dr. Mann, seemed worth following up.
But how?
She brewed a cup of tea and sat at the cookroom table with her list and added to it questions that she needed to answer.
The antagonism between Aileen McBride and Ophelia Demetrios: Was it professional jealousy or their respective interests in Dr. Mann? Or something else? How could she find out?
Aileen McBride had ingratiated herself to both Horace Mann and Scott Wilmington. Was it because one of them might inherit a vast sum? As Mrs. Wilmington’s dentist she might have been privy to information about her patient’s bequests.
Roosevelt Mark seemed almost too decent. Why would such a well-educated man settle for a dental technician job? Since he hadn’t found a position in his own field, he could easily have found a higher paying position elsewhere. He was the last person to speak to Vivian. It seemed unlikely that he’d killed her, but then everything in this mess was unlikely.
So much seemed to cycle back to Vivian. Victoria made a note to find out more about her, especially that call that was so upsetting.
Then there was Jane. Victoria remembered her from the clinic, a tall, slender, refined woman with the silver hair everyone commented on. Why was she working there? Aileen McBride, her boss, clearly didn’t like her and nor did Jane seem to like Aileen. Odd. From everything she’d discovered, Jane was a private person. She’d spent all her youthful summers at her grandparents’ house on the Vineyard Haven harbor and had inherited the house after her grandmother’s death. Active in the tennis and yacht clubs. Not exactly a background leading to a lowly position in a dental clinic. Dr. Demetrios and Sam Minnowfish had both hinted at tension between Jane and Dr. Mann and had told her about their child.
It was easy to overlook Arthur Morgan, but he could be important for that very reason. Pleasant, respected by the clinic’s staff, well educated. Like many Islanders who’d not mingled with visitors from off Island or who’d not spent much time off Island themselves, he was socially inept. Victoria knew little about his family except that his father had left when he was quite young and he’d been brought up by his mother.
And there was her own dentist, Ophelia Demetrios. Victoria was unwilling to see her dentist as killer. She put her name on the bottom of the list along with Roosevelt Mark’s.
She would need to talk with Dr. Mann. She would invite him for drinks. That way, he’d be in her territory with her rules. Victoria was pleased with the thought.
She transferred her notes from the back of the envelope to her notebook and got up stiffly, having sat for too long. Time to go out to the garden.
The three bloodroot plants she’d ordered would be shipped from the nursery in the fall. She’d prepare a bed for them now so it would be ready for them when they arrived.
While she was carrying her kneeler out to the shade garden, thinking about the delicate white flowers of the plants she’d put here, she laughed suddenly. How oddly her bloodroot seemed to echo murder in a dental clinic.
Overhead, the catbird warned, “Cat! Cat! Cat!”
McCavity, Victoria’s marmalade cat, stalked around a shrub and sat next to her on his haunches, his tail curled gracefully around him.
While she worked she thought about the Wilmington grandchildren and, another echo, their blood roots. The three who had come to visit were desperate for money. Susan had admitted that she knew her grandmother was about to cut her completely out of her will. Had the four gotten together and plotted to kill their grandmother? Was their hostility to Susan simply a pretense?
Digging in the dirt was a way to clear her mind. In a short time she’d excavated a patch about a foot long, almost as wide, and about five inches deep. She levered herself up by the handles of the kneeler, wincing at the ache in her knees. McCavity arose, stretched, and settled himself in the hole, eyes closed.
Victoria gathered up the vines and weeds she’d cleared, carried them to the far compost bin, and arranged them on top of the grass clippings that had already begun to heat up.
The mushroom poisoning troubled her. Susan had told her she was the one who’d picked the ink cap mushrooms after they’d returned from the lawyer’s office. She had sautéed them to preserve them for a few days. She knew, too, that the mushrooms blocked the metabolism of alcohol and her brothers and sister had bought a large bottle of Scotch and would undoubtedly drink too much. What was she thinking? Was she trying to kill them? That would seem to be an overreaction to their hostility to her inheritance. As far as Victoria knew, no one had ever died from eating Coprinopsis mushrooms, although those who’d combined them with liquor often wished they were dead.
Then it occurred to Victoria that since the property Susan had inherited was worth more than thirteen million dollars, were her siblings reacting to her inheritance by plotting a “natural” death for her?