Bloodroot

by Cynthia Riggs

  “I believe you saved me some embarrassment. If you hadn’t come when you did, I’d have challenged something Arthur said. It would have been the wrong thing to do.”

  O’Malley turned onto the paved road and the dump truck picked up speed. “Care to elaborate?”

  She’d been delighting in the new bright foliage of the beech trees on either side of the road, but turned to O’Malley. “Perhaps you can clarify my thinking.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Yesterday I met with Jane Douglas, the dental technician who was with Dr. McBride when Mrs. Wilmington died. At one point she told me her baby daughter was fathered by Dr. Mann, the head of the clinic.”

  “Is that common knowledge?” He glanced at her.

  “Definitely not. Dr. Mann has a wife of twenty-something years.”

  “Oh,” said O’Malley. “Awkward. How does this relate to Arthur?”

  “Arthur is smitten with Jane, who doesn’t reciprocate. In the last few minutes I was talking to him before you showed up, he insisted that Jane had been married and that the father of her daughter was killed in a plane crash.” She looked up from her hands.

  “What’s your take on that?” he asked.

  “I don’t see any reason for Jane to lie. I met her baby daughter, who bears a striking resemblance to Dr. Mann.”

  “And Arthur?”

  “He’s apparently been stalking her and she didn’t realize it until he said something about her cute baby girl. She’s been extremely protective of the baby. I’m not sure many others even know she has a child.”

  O’Malley nodded. “Where their beloved objects are concerned, stalkers lead a fantasy life.”

  “It was unsettling to hear him state so positively, ‘Of course she’d been married. She has a daughter.’”

  “Ah, yes. Nice girls don’t bear children unless they’re married, and Jane is a nice girl.”

  “What’s likely to happen when he learns the truth?”

  “Nothing good, Victoria.”

  She was quiet until they reached the West Tisbury town line. She settled back into the comfortable seat. The same warm feeling washed over her that she’d had as a child riding in her grandfather’s horse-drawn truck wagon, almost home.

  O’Malley, who’d crossed from Tisbury into West Tisbury with Victoria many times, reassured her, “Almost home, Victoria.”

  She smiled, acknowledging his remark. “I came awfully close to blurting out that Horace Mann was the baby’s father.”

  “Lucky I showed up when I did. Not a good idea to disabuse a stalker of his fantasy. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t have believed you.”

  * * *

  Over drinks that evening, Victoria recounted her afternoon’s visit with Arthur. They were sitting in the parlor, Victoria in her wing chair, Elizabeth on the sofa, drinking their usual cranberry juice and rum, munching on crackers and cheese. The fire simmered with a comforting low blaze, flaring up occasionally as it reached a pocket of gas in a log.

  “You’re a brick, Gram. It would never have worked to prosecute Lockwood. He’s got credentials and connections and money. He’s popular with his colleagues. He’d never be convicted, never.” She took a sip of her drink. “And whether he got convicted or not”—she shuddered—“once he was out, he’d seek revenge for sure. He’s smart, a lot smarter than I am. If Casey recommends psychological counseling … well, who knows. That might help.”

  They sat quietly for a while.

  “I was sure, at first, that the killer must be someone from the clinic,” Victoria said. “Assuming the two deaths are connected, I didn’t see how anyone but a staff member could be aware of that key fact—the phone call that upset Vivian. I didn’t realize the entire Wilmington family, Mrs. Wilmington and her four grandchildren, had been clinic patients.” She reached for a cracker. “Susan was there the day Mrs. Wilmington died.”

  “Susan, who hated that woman’s guts and inherited the property.” Elizabeth pushed the cracker plate closer to her grandmother.

  Victoria selected a chunk of cheese. “Dr. Mann told me that, according to Dr. McBride, one or both of the grandsons stopped by the same day.”

  “This complicates things, doesn’t it.”

  Victoria nodded. “Furthermore, even though three of the grandchildren had been away from home for a decade, one or two of them kept in touch with some of the staff.”

  “Are you going to talk to the grandkids, and if so, what on earth are you going to ask them?” She lowered her voice in an imitation of her grandmother. “‘Did you children kill your grandmother?’”

  Victoria laughed. “Do I sound like that?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” said Elizabeth, ignoring the question.

  “I don’t know myself, but if I’m quiet and wait, people sometimes divulge things they didn’t intend to.”

  “Like fishing,” said Elizabeth.

  Victoria glanced up at the portrait hanging above the sofa. “Our friend in the painting unnerved Dr. Mann, who said far more than he should have.”

  “Take the painting with you to the Wilmington’s.”

  “Better than that. I intend to invite them here,” said Victoria. “My turf.”

  “All four of them?”

  “I think so.”

  * * *

  Before Victoria had a chance to call the Wilmington heirs, an opportunity to talk with Dr. Aileen McBride came up the next day and she took it.

  Elizabeth had dropped her off at State Road Cronig’s Market on her way to work, and Victoria assured her she would get a ride home with no problem.

  She had pushed her grocery cart as far as the pet food aisle when she saw Dr. McBride, who was checking out cans of cat food.

  “Good morning, Aileen,” Victoria greeted her. “I’m never sure what my cat will eat from day to day.”

  Aileen laughed. “Mine brings home his disgusting latest catch, half eaten, but turns up his nose at chicken-liver treats.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you. Would you be available in the next day or two?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Trumbull. We’re not exactly busy at the clinic right now. I can stop by after I’ve finished shopping, if that’s convenient. Actually, why don’t I give you a ride home and then we can talk.”

  “Thank you,” said Victoria. “I’ll meet you at the checkout after I’ve found something McCavity won’t turn up his nose at.”

  They moved away with their carts and a short time later met at the registers.

  The checker smiled at Victoria. “Good morning, Mrs. Trumbull. Did you bring your bags?”

  Victoria unloaded two cloth bags from her cart and in a few minutes her full bags were loaded into her cart. Aileen was waiting for her.

  Aileen’s car was a new Honda SUV. She loaded Victoria’s bags into the back along with her own.

  On the way to West Tisbury, Aileen said, “I’ve heard you’re investigating both deaths. Did I understand you’re with the West Tisbury police force?”

  “I’m a deputy. Chief O’Neill is involved with the presidential visit, so I’m doing what I can to help.”

  “Well, ask me whatever you want.”

  “We can talk over a cup of tea or a glass of wine, if you have time.”

  “Wine sounds lovely. I’ve always wanted to see your home.”

  Once there, she carried Victoria’s groceries into the kitchen, set the bags down on kitchen chairs, and looked around. “This must have looked much the same way back in the seventeen hundreds.”

  “Except that even up to the nineteen fifties, we had oil lamps, drew water from the well, and the stove was a woodstove.”

  “Really! That wasn’t so long ago.”

  “The Gay Head Lighthouse had no electricity until around nineteen fifty-four. It was lighted by kerosene.”

  Aileen turned around examining the room. “The kitchen has six doors. You don’t have a lot of wall space.”

  “Old houses had a lot
of doors for ventilation, but also to make sure the inhabitants could escape in case of fire. A house fire was quite likely in the early days. I’ll put my groceries away later. Let’s have our wine.”

  They carried their glasses into the cookroom and sat at the table with its checked tablecloth.

  Aileen touched her glass to Victoria’s. “How would you like to start?”

  “You came to work at the clinic only a few months ago. What was it like when you arrived?”

  “It’s been almost a year. It’s hard to believe. So much has happened.”

  “Tell me what it was like when you first arrived.”

  Sunlight poured through the windows. Aileen turned her wineglass around watching the moving reflections of the wine on the tablecloth.

  “I married right after college but the marriage didn’t last, so I decided to get my dental degree. I was older than most students. Right after graduation, I read an ad in one of the journals that Dr. Mann was hiring a dentist, so I applied, and he hired me.” She smiled. “It was just that easy. I’d spent summers on the Vineyard as a child and thought it would be fun to live here. My first patient was Mrs. Wilmington.” She picked up her glass.

  “Certainly a difficult patient to have as your first. What was she like?”

  “Picky. Demanding. Critical. Insensitive. She was always coming to the clinic with some imagined problem. I felt more like her psychiatrist than her dentist.”

  “Did you attempt to have her switched to another dentist?”

  “Both Ophelia and Sam had worked on her. My turn, they insisted.”

  “In addition to dealing with Mrs. Wilmington, I understand Dr. Demetrios gives you a hard time.”

  Aileen set her glass down. “We’ve never gotten along. Professional jealousy, I suppose. I graduated from Harvard Dental School, she didn’t.”

  “And then you got Jane as an assistant, and that’s not working out.”

  “It sounds as though I’m the odd one out, doesn’t it.” She shook her head and her long braid swung. “I’m not, really. With Jane, the chemistry is wrong. She’s competent, I can depend on her, but I just don’t like her.”

  “I wonder why?”

  Aileen thought for a few moments, turning her undrunk glass of wine around and around. “She’s condescending. She’s only a tech, but she thinks she’s better than anyone else. She doesn’t socialize with anyone. She’s a loner. And she treats Dr. Mann, who’s the one who recommended that we hire her, as though he’s some kind of dirt under her feet.”

  “I see,” said Victoria. “You admire Dr. Mann?”

  Aileen looked down at her glass. “I do. Professionally, certainly.” She looked up. “And it’s more than that, Mrs. Trumbull. He has a magnetic appeal. He cares so much about all of us on the staff and wants us to be a big, happy family.”

  “Do you know anything about his personal life?”

  “His personal life is here at the clinic. He puts all his time and energy into making the clinic what it is.” She leaned forward. “I was too young when I married. I’ve matured. Now I wouldn’t mind marrying the right man.”

  “You knew he was adopted?”

  “We all knew. He was entirely open about that. I imagine that’s why we’re his family, since he has none of his own.”

  Victoria toyed with her own wineglass, wondering how much she should divulge about Dr. Mann’s marital status. She decided she might eke out new information by doing so.

  She glanced over at Aileen. “He is married, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Aileen sat back in her chair.

  “He’s married to his college sweetheart. They have two lovely children.”

  Aileen stared at Victoria with parted lips. “Surely you’re mistaken, Mrs. Trumbull. He doesn’t act like a married man.”

  “Had he indicated that he’s available?” asked Victoria.

  “He acts single. The way he lets Ophelia and me wrangle over him he definitely acts available.” She looked up. “He doesn’t wear a wedding ring.”

  “He’s been married for twenty-something years.”

  Aileen picked up her glass and set it down again. “Twenty years?”

  Victoria nodded.

  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. I had the impression that our relationship was really going somewhere.”

  “I suspect Ophelia is under the same impression,” said Victoria.

  “What a waste.” Aileen turned so she could look out the window. “Three million dollars.”

  CHAPTER 41

  “What did she mean by saying ‘What a waste’? Do you think Dr. McBride killed Mrs. Wilmington?” asked Elizabeth. They were preparing supper that evening. “McBride was working on her. She could easily have gotten the arsenic, being a dentist. And she could easily have fed the arsenic to her.”

  “It’s much too obvious,” said Victoria. “I suspect her comment had more to do with the time she’d put in hoping to make a fine marital catch.” She lifted the heavy cast iron spider from the hook above the stove, put a large pat of butter in it, and set it on the burner. “Aileen had no reason to suppose getting rid of Mrs. Trumbull would land her a marriage proposal from Dr. Mann. Nor could she guess that Dr. Mann would inherit such a fortune after Mrs. Wilmington’s death.”

  Elizabeth had peeled three large onions and was chopping them. “Want these in the pan?”

  “When the butter melts, yes.”

  Elizabeth continued to chop. “The more I hear about Dr. Mann the more I think he’s a skunk.” When the butter melted she transferred the chopped onions into the pan.

  “Male skunks breed promiscuously and leave the females to take care of the resulting offspring.” Victoria stirred the onions. “You couldn’t have picked a more apt comparison.”

  “That’s our Dr. Mann. I’m glad I’m not still married.”

  “Speaking of that, have you heard from Lockwood?”

  “Nothing, and that’s fine with me. I hope you put him out of commission permanently, although I doubt it.”

  The onions were turning a rich golden color and Victoria continued to stir. “Pass me the flour, please.”

  “What are we making, exactly?” asked Elizabeth.

  “A recipe our friend John gave me. Pasta with onion sauce.”

  “Which John is that?” asked Elizabeth.

  “John W. Beal. He’s the one in the Coast Guard,”

  “Oh, sure. I remember him. Tall, handsome guy. I had a huge crush on him in high school.” Elizabeth went over to the sink. “I’ll put the water on to boil. When are the Wilmington four coming to talk with you?”

  “If their phone is working, I’ll invite them for tomorrow.”

  “Wine and cheese?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I believe something stronger is called for.”

  “Bet none of them will drink it,” said Elizabeth.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, the four Wilmington grandchildren arrived at Victoria’s house in the same car. Elizabeth had come home on a brief break from harbor activities and was standing at the window watching as they got out of their car.

  “They don’t look happy,” she said.

  Victoria, too, watched as the group approached.

  Scott, Heather, and Wesley, the three who’d inherited five thousand dollars each, were ignoring Susan, the one who’d inherited the house and land, and were striding along ahead of her.

  All four had fixed grim expressions, and all four marched as though they were part of an alien army invading enemy territory.

  “How did you get them to agree to meet with you?” asked Elizabeth, turning away from the window.

  “I suggested that the only way any of them can receive even a mere pittance of a bequest is to help solve the murders.”

  “Suppose one of them is the murderer?”

  “If you were the murderer, you would want to be present when someone promises to identify the killer, wouldn’t you?”


  “I don’t think so, Gram. I’d get a plane ticket to South America instead.”

  “I’d better greet them,” said Victoria.

  “I’ll make myself scarce,” said Elizabeth. “Not too scarce, though, in the unlikely case you need help.”

  When the four reached the stone steps that led to the west door, Scott, who’d been leading the group, moved aside politely to let Heather go first and followed her in. Wesley stepped aside to let Susan go before him.

  Victoria watched. The hostility among them was palpable.

  “Welcome,” she said. “We have drinks ready in the parlor.”

  “Not for me,” said Scott. “I’m on the wagon.”

  “I hope you’re on the road to recovery,” said Victoria.

  “I’m told it will be at least a week before I’ll feel like living again,” said Scott.

  “I’m sorry to call you out for this get-together,” Victoria said. They were walking through the dining room on the way to the parlor. “But the sooner we solve the murders, the sooner everyone will be able to return to normal.”

  Heather was right behind her. “Normal? Hardly,” she said.

  Victoria settled herself in her mouse-colored wing chair. The others stood.

  “Would anyone like a drink?” Victoria asked. “I know Scott would prefer not to.”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Trumbull,” said Heather.

  “Nor I,” said Wesley.

  Susan shook her head.

  Victoria pointed to the armchair her grandfather had called the throne. “Scott, why don’t you take that chair.” She indicated seats for the others. “I want to start by saying how sorry I am about your grandmother’s death,” said Victoria. “I know she was a difficult person, but she was, after all, your grandmother and your only living relative.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trumbull,” said Scott.

  The others were looking anywhere but at Victoria.

  Wesley glanced up at the portrait above the couch. “Is that an ancestor?”

  “No,” said Victoria. “It was a picture my grandmother had in her cabin during a five-year whaling voyage.”

  “She’s looking right at me,” he said.

  “At me, too,” said Heather. “She’s creepy.”

  “We’re here to help you in any way we can, Mrs. Trumbull,” said Scott. “Where would you like to start?”