“Be right back,” said Sarah, stepping up into the store. The screen door slammed behind her.
Joe reached into his shirt pocket, brought out a package of Red Man, and carved off a chunk with his pocket knife. “I hear your tenant is in jail for killing his girlfriend.” He tossed the chunk of chewing tobacco into his mouth.
This was exactly what Victoria wanted to talk about.
“I’m afraid so,” she said.
Joe lifted his cap and scratched his forehead. “Think he did?”
“I don’t see how he could have,” said Victoria.
“Me neither.” Joe shifted his wad of tobacco into the other cheek. “He doesn’t have the balls.”
“I agree,” said Victoria.
At that point, Sarah returned with three Diet Cokes. Victoria reached into her pocket for money.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Trumbull. It’s on Joe.” Sarah handed him two of the cans. He popped the lid off one and gave it to Victoria.
“Thank you.” Victoria held up the icy can.
“No problem,” said Joe. He examined the label. “You trying to tell me something, Sarah? Diet?” He took a swig and made a face.
Victoria wondered in passing if he was swallowing tobacco juice along with the soft drink.
“Right off the bat I could name ten people who wanted to kill that girl,” said Joe, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Woman,” said Sarah. “You talking about Samantha?”
“Who else?” Joe took another swig.
“I thought Samantha was a nice young woman,” said Victoria, settling in for a chat.
“Samantha?” Joe laughed. “You thought she was nice?”
“I didn’t really know her,” said Victoria.
“That’s for sure.”
Victoria wiped the condensation from her own can with a napkin she’d saved from the senior center. “What was her problem, Joe?”
“She is—or was—a rich, spoiled, nymphomaniac.”
“Watch your tongue, Joe,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Trumbull doesn’t need to hear that.”
“Actually, I’m interested,” said Victoria.
“It’s the truth,” said Joe. “She had the hots for everything that moved. Probably for things that didn’t move, too.” Joe glanced over at Victoria and grinned. “You can put that in your column.”
“Thank you,” said Victoria. “I’d like to exonerate Zack by finding out who did kill her. She lived in Chilmark. Was there anyone up-Island whom she might have antagonized?”
Joe chortled. “Up-Island, down-Island, mid-Island. Men, girls, boys, sheep, for all I know.”
“Stop it, Joe.” Sarah looked off to the right, where an ancient truck was turning into the parking area. “Here’s Lincoln. I was afraid he was going to sink into a depression after Sebastian…” she stopped. “I wouldn’t blame him.”
“He could tell Mrs. T a thing or two about her.”
“Don’t mention her name to him, Joe. He hurts too much.”
At that point, Elizabeth, who’d been in the store for longer than it took to simply pick up the mail, came out with a handful of catalogs and a brown paper bag of groceries. She glanced at her grandmother who gave her a thumbs-up sign. Elizabeth nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stop in at the library for a few minutes, Gram.”
“No hurry,” said Victoria.
Lincoln parked his truck and shambled over to the porch. He looked haggard. His sandy hair was dull, his face was gray. He’d aged in the past couple of days. He stepped up onto the porch and took his usual spot by the door.
“Good afternoon, Lincoln,” said Victoria. “My condolences. I’m sorry about Sebastian, so terribly sorry.”
Lincoln nodded.
“We’re discussing the untimely death of Ms. Eberhardt,” said Joe.
“Joe…” warned Sarah.
“Surprised it took so long,” said Lincoln.
“Mrs. T, here, thought she was nice. You want to add anything?”
“Joe, cut it out!”
“It’s what he needs right now,” said Joe. “To cuss her out.”
Lincoln settled himself against the doorframe.
Victoria sat quietly.
“Whether she had anything to do with that fire or not, she killed my boy,” said Lincoln. “She did a nice job on him.”
“Sebastian?” asked Victoria. “He was only thirteen or fourteen, wasn’t he?”
“Sixteen,” said Sarah.
“Yeah, sixteen,” repeated Lincoln, looking away.
“I’ll tell you about Samantha,” said Sarah. “She is, or was, like, in her mid-twenties, too grown up, you know, mixed up something terrible. She starts telling Lincoln’s kid how manly he is, and, like, a lot of other stuff. The kid fell for it.”
Lincoln looked down and kicked a loose pebble that had found its way onto the porch. The pebble flew into the road, narrowly missing a car.
Sarah continued. “Sebastian had been saving up for college ever since he started earning money. He bought her a wampum necklace that must have cost him.”
Victoria sat up straight. “A wampum necklace?”
“Three hundred bucks,” said Lincoln.
Victoria whistled. This was not the time to mention the necklace found in the ashes of the parsonage fire.
“Yeah.” Joe spit off to the side of the porch again. “I’d put good ole Lincoln down as number one suspect.”
“I wish,” said Lincoln.
“Were there others she toyed with?” asked Victoria.
“She had a girls’ club,” said Sarah.
Joe laughed. “Women.”
Victoria set her can down on the bench.
“Girls,” Sarah repeated. “High school girls. And you know what that was all about, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Victoria.
“Dope,” said Joe.
“Pot,” said Sarah. “Grass. Marijuana. Heroin. Opiates. Prescription drugs. She paid for the stuff, the girls got it for her.”
Victoria wanted to take notes, but was afraid that might stop the flow of information. She needed to tell Casey about the necklace Sebastian had bought. But right now she had to follow up on the conversation about Samantha.
She asked, “Who were the girls?”
“You know a couple of them, don’t you, Joe? I know one was the daughter of that Oak Bluffs selectperson.”
“Selectman,” said Joe. “Board of Selectmen. Legal name.”
Victoria picked up her drink can.
Joe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand again. “Dana Putnam’s girl.”
“How many members were in the girls’ club?” asked Victoria.
“It wasn’t anything formal, you know,” Sarah said. “Maybe four girls? Three or four.”
“Then there was that teacher’s kid,” said Joe. “Teacher at the Charter School. Single mom, raising a teenager alone, Samantha comes along, and teacher thinks, ‘She seems like a nice friendly person her kid might have fun with.’”
Lincoln rubbed his back against the doorframe.
“Give us a day or two, Mrs. T,” said Joe. “I could give you a list of a dozen names.”
Victoria saw Elizabeth walking away from the library toward them and set the empty Coke can down. “I’ve got to leave. But if you’re serious about giving me a list, I would appreciate it.”
“I can add another half dozen names,” said Sarah.
Joe chortled. “Keep Mrs. T out of trouble following up on all of them.” He turned to Lincoln. “Take it easy, Linc.”
Lincoln thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “Don’t get involved, Mrs. Trumbull.”
“Lighten up, Linc,” said Joe. “You’re giving Mrs. T a challenge she can’t resist.”
Lincoln turned his back on the group.
“I’ll be fine, Lincoln. It’s you we’re concerned about.” Victoria got to her feet. “Let me know if there’s anything Elizabeth and I can do to help you get through this awful time.” She turn
ed to the others. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
* * *
As soon as she got home from Alley’s, Victoria called the police station. “Casey, I know who owned the wampum necklace.”
“That was quick. Who?”
“Lincoln’s son, Sebastian, bought a piece of wampum jewelry for Samantha. Do you want me to talk to him about it?”
“No, I’d better. That’s a promising lead. Thanks, Victoria. I’ll check it out with Lincoln and get back to you.”
CHAPTER 18
Casey tracked down Lincoln, who was planting bulbs at the home of a Chilmark client whose grounds he was landscaping. She had considered asking him to come to the station to question him about the necklace, but decided informal would be better. Lincoln was too shattered, she was sure, to deal with his personal tragedy in an official setting.
The weathered, gray-shingled house where he was working was at the top of a slight hill and overlooked Menemsha Pond. Lincoln was kneeling by a newly dug-up bed that bordered the drive. The bed was at least twenty feet long and about three feet wide.
Casey parked the police vehicle at the foot of the hill and walked up to where he was digging. He had scattered bulbs on top of the dirt and was so intent on planting them he didn’t notice her until she spoke.
“Lincoln?”
He dropped the bulbs he was holding and got to his feet. “Morning, Chief.” He slapped dirt off his hands and wiped them on his jeans. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“It’s too nice a day to stay indoors, and I wanted to ask you something. Do you mind if I interrupt?” She glanced away from him to the pond below them. His thin face was so marked by grief she found it difficult to look at him.
A sailboat was anchored in the pond, its sails neatly flaked along the boom. A light wind rippled a cat’s paw across the pond’s surface. Several gulls wheeled and settled near the boat. “What a beautiful spot,” Casey said. “Peaceful.”
“A good place to be right now,” said Lincoln. “What have you got on your mind, Casey? The bulbs can wait a few minutes.”
“What are you planting?”
“Daffodils.” He bent down and picked up a chunky double bulb and showed it to her. “They’re about the only spring bulb that deer and rabbits won’t eat. No sense in planting tulips here.”
Casey was not usually uncomfortable with asking questions, but somehow this business of the necklace seemed intrusive. Neither of them spoke. A sudden gust of wind tossed one of the paper packets that had protected the bulbs across the border. Lincoln went after it, his long legs straddling the bed. He dropped the empty packet into the bushel basket that still held a half dozen packets of bulbs to be planted.
“Well?” he asked.
“Did you ever see the necklace Sebastian bought?” She couldn’t bring herself to say “for Samantha.”
Lincoln tossed the bulb he’d been holding into the basket. “Yeah, Casey. I did. Never saw anything quite like it. Beautiful. Expensive for a kid. Three hundred bucks. Sebastian had been saving up his money for college.” He kicked at a dirt clod and it flew across the border. “Why do you ask?”
“The arson investigators found a wampum necklace at the scene.”
Lincoln said nothing.
“The necklace was made up of separate pieces of wampum shell, the way you pick it up on the beach, not cut or anything, wound with copper wire and strung on a leather cord.”
He bent down and picked up his digging tool. He flipped it from one hand to the other.
Casey waited.
Lincoln took a deep breath. “Yeah. It was like that.” He looked away. “So it survived the fire.”
“It was protected by a pile of newspapers.” Casey shrugged. “How it got there, I guess we’ll never know. Had Sebastian already given the necklace to Samantha?”
“He was planning to. That was the last time I saw him. He’d wrapped it up real pretty in blue tissue paper. Tied it with a pink ribbon.” He slapped the palm of his hand with the tool. “I suppose you want me to take a look at it.”
“Yes, Lincoln. I’m afraid so.”
“At the police station.”
“Yes.” Casey nodded. “I’ll ask them to bring the necklace to me there.” They stood, Casey with her hands in her jacket pockets, Lincoln with his down by his sides, one hand still holding the digger.
“Let me know when. You have my cell number?”
Casey nodded. “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am, Lincoln.”
“Thanks.”
Casey walked back down the hill to her vehicle, feeling depressed. Lincoln was too decent to have these things happen to him.
* * *
After school on Monday, Robin dropped by Victoria’s to show her his new T-shirt and the trophy he’d won for batting in the most runs.
Robin’s school had won Saturday’s game with the Charter School after it had been delayed more than an hour because of the body in the leaf pile.
The bright red T-shirt had CHAMPION! in bold black and white letters splashed across the front. Below was a picture of a fire truck and below that, crowded into four lines that sprawled across his slight chest was WEST TISBURY/VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPARTMENT/ANNUAL 6TH GRADE/SOFTBALL CHAMPIONSHIP.
Victoria had worried about him. Finding the body must have been traumatic, a scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Talking about a horrible experience, she knew, would be therapeutic. She approached the subject cautiously.
“I hope you didn’t have a problem sleeping Saturday night,” she began.
“Who, me?” Robin looked surprised.
“That was a terrible experience,” Victoria said.
“It was them that had the terrible experience.” Robin held up his trophy to emphasize the point. “We creamed ’em. Eleven to two.”
“That’s beautiful,” Victoria said, taking the trophy from him and examining the lettering. “Your parents must be proud of you.”
“My dad is building a shelf to put it on.”
Finding the body didn’t seem to have bothered him as much as Victoria feared. In fact, Robin looked taller and broader and had a self-confident look that Victoria hadn’t seen before.
She handed the small silver-colored trophy back to him. “Weren’t you upset by finding the body?”
“Oh, that.” He stood still taller. “The kids wanted to know all about it. Both teams. About how I saw this creepy arm sticking out of the leaf pile, and how I ran to get help, and how the cops came. And how I got that license plate the night before.”
“That was smart of you.”
“He left his lights on, and when he came out of the woods he said thank you about a million times. He looked awful. I figured he must’ve done something. And my teacher told us how we should be on the alert for weirdos and always get license numbers.”
Victoria nodded. So much for a therapeutic chat. “Do you have time for some lemonade?”
He shook his head. “I gotta get home. I just wanted you to see my trophy.” He went out the door, stowed his trophy in his bicycle basket, swung his leg over the seat, and took off.
* * *
At Alley’s Store still later that afternoon, Joe handed Victoria a scrawled list of names and phone numbers. “I’ll give you more tomorrow.”
“Five is enough to start with,” said Victoria. “Thank you, Joe.”
“No problem.” Joe touched his baseball cap with a finger.
Once home, she looked over the names. The five included four parents of girls in Samantha’s so-called club—a Charter School teacher, a builder, a garage owner, and a landscaper. The fifth name was familiar to Victoria, Abilene Butler, the granddaughter of a girlhood friend, Mattie.
Joe had noted, “Lover” next to the name. Victoria hesitated, not sure how to approach her. She knew Abilene, who looked so much like her grandmother had when she was in her early twenties, that Victoria had called her Mattie more than once. She was a slight young woman with light brown hair us
ually worn in a ponytail.
Victoria dialed and a soft voice answered, “Lily Pond Yoga.”
“I hope I’m not intruding on you at an awkward time,” said Victoria after introducing herself, “but I want to talk to you about Samantha…” She didn’t get any further.
“Sammy!” The soft voice had gone sharp. “I can tell you a lot about Sammy. I’ll stop by tonight, if you want.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” said Victoria.
“No inconvenience,” said Abilene. “Someone needs to set the record straight. About seven?”
“I look forward to…” Victoria had started to say, but realized that was not exactly the right thing to say. But Abilene had already hung up.
She called the second name on the list, Connie Burrowes, the teacher.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you about Samantha, Mrs. Trumbull. I’ll stop by your house after school tomorrow, if that’s convenient.”
Victoria put a check mark next to her name, then looked at her watch. It was after five, and she hadn’t yet made plans for supper. Elizabeth wouldn’t be home from work until after eleven. This was a late night at the harbor, with boats coming in for a last cruise before they were put away for the winter. Scrambled eggs would do. She decided to call one more name, Anderson Jones, a man she didn’t know.
“Andy’s Moped Rentals at your service,” a deep voice answered.
“This is Victoria Trumbull,” she said.
“Right. Connie just called and said you might be contacting me. Sure, I’d love to talk to you about Samantha Eberhardt.” He laughed. “Word travels fast on the Island, right?”
“Yes, it does,” said Victoria. “Where shall I meet you, and when?”
He paused. “I can come to your place after work tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Connie will be here then.”
“Probably good to hear both of us. Different takes on the same story.”
“Thank you,” said Victoria, and hung up.
CHAPTER 19
Victoria was washing her supper dishes when there was a gentle knock on the side of the open kitchen door.
“Mrs. Trumbull?” A soft voice.
She looked up and, as had happened before, was transported back more than three-quarters of a century when she saw Mattie’s granddaughter. She forgot for a moment where she was.
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