Bigelow glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
Robert looked down at his greasy sweatshirt and swiped off the ash. “Taught forestry management for a few years.”
“You taught?” asked Bigelow. “College level?”
“Graduate level.”
“Tenured?” asked Bigelow.
“Don’t talk to me about tenure,” said Robert.
“What happened?”
“You mean, why did I get fired?” Robert turned watery eyes on Bigelow, who could just make them out in the dashboard light.
“Well, yes.”
Robert held an imaginary bottle to his lips.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I hated that rat race.”
“How are we doing for time?” asked Bigelow.
“We’ve got time.”
“Did you bring a flashlight?”
Robert reached down into the well and produced one.
“I don’t want to go back down into that grave,” said Bigelow with a shudder.
“Can’t say that I blame you.”
The cigarette had burned down to a nubbin. Robert squashed out the ember with his thumb and forefinger and tossed the butt out the window.
They rode the rest of the way up the dark and deserted Main Street in silence, and Robert pulled over to the side. “Won’t get a ticket this time of day.”
“I certainly hope not,” said Bigelow, getting out of the passenger side.
* * *
Brownie, sleeping with his head on Killdeer’s thigh, woke with a start, the hair on his back lifted. Killdeer put a hand on the dog’s neck and stroked him.
“Okay, buddy?” He started to get up, but his thigh, where Brownie’s head had rested, was numb and his leg buckled. He fell back with a crash.
“Damn.” He rubbed feeling back into the leg.
Brownie growled a deep-throated rumble.
“Hush up, boy! What do you sense?” Killdeer looked around and saw the faint glow of a flashlight. Man and dog moved silently toward the light along the narrow strip of ground between mounds of dirt and open graves. Killdeer stopped. Brownie clearly wanted to go forward.
“Hold it,” whispered Killdeer, crouching on a wide spot. “We wait here.”
* * *
Victoria led the way to a wide mossy place within a thicket that had been undisturbed in the search for cadavers. She gazed up at the familiar constellations, Orion, the hunter. Cassiopeia. The Pleiades. The Big Dipper, its pointer stars pointing to the North Star. The navigating star, her grandfather told her.
Howland nudged her, and she looked away from the bright stars. Her eyes, adjusted to the dark, picked out the glimmer of a flashlight.
“Let’s move closer,” he said. “Can you find the way?”
“Easily. I know the campus well,” said Victoria.
They moved close enough to hear low voices. Victoria recognized Stevenson’s.
“I warned him,” she whispered. “He didn’t listen.”
“Who’s he with?” whispered Howland.
“Robert, my landscaper.”
“I thought you said ‘Rabbit.’”
“‘Robert’ with a Boston accent is ‘Rabbit,’” Victoria whispered. “I never suspected him until this evening. I recognized his car.”
“His car looks like a hundred other Island cars. Looks exactly like mine.”
“I know cars,” whispered Victoria. “It’s Robert’s.”
* * *
“Creepy,” Stevenson murmured. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Perfect time to view this place,” said Rabbit, swinging the flashlight around in an arc, illuminating mounds of dirt and deep black pits.
“I want to get to the fishing spot.”
“There’s time,” said Rabbit.
“This is dangerous. Why aren’t the graves filled in?”
“They want to catch the killer first,” said Rabbit.
“Seems like an opportunity for the killer to bury more victims without having to dig the graves.”
Rabbit shone the flashlight into the nearest grave. “One shove and down you go. Bring someone here on a night of fishing, smack him on the head, and topple him in. Just like that.” He snapped off the light, and the night was darker than the darkest imagined darkness.
Stevenson backed away from the grave.
Rabbit laughed.
* * *
“We’ve got to make our move,” whispered Victoria.
“Wait,” said Howland.
* * *
“You’ll have to lead,” said Bigelow to Robert.
“No problem.”
“Can you find the grave?”
“I was there when you fell in.”
They walked from where they’d parked across the narrow sidewalk, and through the undergrowth at the edge of the campus. Robert held up the yellow crime scene tape and they ducked under. They walked a few more feet.
“I’m concerned about ticks,” said Bigelow.
Robert said nothing. He stopped and shone the light at one of the open graves. “Here we are.”
“What about the chair?”
“Wait here,” said Robert. “I have to take the light to find it.”
“There are ticks here,” said Bigelow.
“Don’t worry about ticks. They’re everywhere.”
Bigelow said, “I don’t want to miss the boat.”
* * *
“There’s another light,” whispered Victoria.
“Damnation.”
“We’ll have to check both of them. You take this close one,” said Victoria. “I know the path and you don’t.”
“The police have a buddy system for a good reason,” said Howland. “We stick together.”
“One must be a sightseer,” said Victoria.
“Why in hell would anyone come sightseeing at three-thirty in the morning?”
“Fishermen,” said Victoria. “They’re insane when the fish are running, but they’re lunatics during the derby.”
Lights flickered on either side of them.
“Professor Bigelow is to go back on the paper boat this morning. He lost his glasses when he fell into the grave. Robert was to pick him up. That means…” she stopped.
Howland said, “Who’s the Rabbit with Stevenson?”
* * *
Killdeer spotted the second light at the same time Victoria did and had the same baffled reaction. Two killers? Two sightseers at three-thirty a.m.? Fishing derby crazies?
Brownie kept up a low, steady growl. He headed toward one of the lights. Killdeer’s hair rose on his arms. He trusted Brownie. One of the lights must belong to the killer.
* * *
When Rabbit snapped off the flashlight, Stevenson spotted the second light. Someone must have parked along Main Street and come through the underbrush.
“What do you make of that?” he asked Rabbit.
“Another fisherman. This place attracts more crazies than the Lizzie Borden place. People are ghouls.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Stevenson.
“We’ll sneak up on them, give them a thrill.”
“Come on, Rabbit. I want out.” Stevenson started toward the car and realized that, without the light, he was likely to fall into one of the open graves. He stopped.
“You scared?” asked Rabbit in a low voice.
“Damned right, I’m scared.”
“Be a sport.” Rabbit turned the flashlight off again.
“If someone sneaked up on me right now,” Stevenson whispered, “I’d damned well have a heart attack.”
Rabbit laughed. “You got a weak heart?”
* * *
Robert hadn’t gone far with the light before Bigelow called out, “Come back! Hurry!”
“I haven’t found the chair,” Robert called back.
“Forget it!” Bigelow screamed.
“Are you okay?” Robert shouted.
“Hurry!”
* * *
“Did you hear that?” whispered Victoria.
They’d been standing, Victoria leaning on her lilac wood stick, Howland with his feet apart, arms folded, uncertain which way to go, when they heard Bigelow call out.
“Couldn’t help but hear,” Howland answered.
Victoria started off with Howland holding the flashlight. She could see what must be Robert’s flashlight moving erratically as he dodged between graves.
“What’s your trouble?” Robert called.
“Something’s crawling on me. I can’t see! Get it off!”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Robert. “Probably a tick.”
“I hate ticks! Get it off!”
* * *
“Did you hear that?” said Stevenson.
“You kidding?” answered Rabbit. “Wake the dead with that yelling back and forth.”
“Can’t quite make out what they’re yelling about.”
“May be in trouble. Let’s get over there.”
“Damn! You’re determined to keep me here.”
“Someone needs help,” said Rabbit. “Stay here if you want. I’m going.”
“No way am I staying here. One wrong step…”
Rabbit headed toward the voices, Stevenson behind.
* * *
“Let me have the light,” said Bigelow.
“No way.” Robert swung the flashlight behind him.
Bigelow caught his arm and snatched the light out of it. He shone it down, where he’d pulled his trouser leg up, exposing his bony shin. “There!”
Robert moved in behind him. “Where?”
Bigelow swung around, slammed the flashlight over Robert’s head, and shoved him into the grave. He crouched on the ground and was clawing handfuls of dirt from the nearest mound when Victoria reached him.
“Stop!” she commanded, lifting her stick.
“Watch it, Victoria!” Howland moved in with the light.
Bigelow looked up, his hands full of dirt.
Victoria brought down her stick with a powerful whack on his wrists. Bigelow dropped the earth and reached for her, his hands dripping muddy dirt, when Brownie attacked with a mighty growl.
Killdeer and Rabbit held Bigelow, who shouted obscenities at them. Howland and Stevenson hauled the stunned Robert out of the grave. Victoria called Casey on the cell phone, and within a few minutes the state police arrived followed soon after by Casey.
CHAPTER 37
Linda, Thackery’s assistant, was out sick again. The news of her sister Roberta’s imprisonment and release had sent her to her bed with a sick headache.
Victoria volunteered to help in Linda’s absence.
She was on the phone when Wellborn Price came into the office.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria was saying, “we have no comment at this time.” She set the phone down and it rang again.
Wellborn slapped a bundle of letters and magazines on the desk in front of Victoria. “I picked up the mail.”
“Ivy Green College … I’m sorry, no comment at this time.”
“Sounds like this is where I first came in,” said Wellborn. There was a knock on the door and Price Henderson entered.
They shook hands, then Price threw his arms around Wellborn Price and they hugged each other until Victoria thought she heard bones cracking.
“Hey, Dad, old man!”
“Hey, kid. Answer the phone, will you? Mrs. Trumbull and I want to talk.”
“Yes, sir.”
The phone rang. Price picked it up.
Thackery strode into the office, wheeled Linda’s chair over, and sat down. “Mrs. Trumbull, I don’t know how we can thank you enough. You saved that delivery man.”
“I had help,” said Victoria.
“Much as I couldn’t stand Bigelow, I never imagined him as a serial killer.”
“Combination of genes, rigid upbringing, bad choices, and stress he couldn’t handle,” said Wellborn.
Victoria was slitting envelopes. “Bruce Steinbicker didn’t want Roberta to press charges, and when she learned her students were behind her kidnapping and why, she decided not to.” Victoria held up an envelope. “Here’s a letter for you, Thackery, from Ocean Engineering, Inc.” She handed him the opened envelope. “That’s where Dedie Wieler works.”
“Who’s she?” asked Wellborn.
“She was a faculty member on the oversight committee. She … what’s the matter, Thackery?”
“This.” Thackery held the letter out to her. “This is the matter.”
Victoria read the letter and looked up. “A five-million-dollar grant to Ivy Green College to train ocean engineers?”
“Plus any required courses,” said Thackery. “Five million dollars. You realize what that means?”
The front door opened and Walter entered. “Where’s Thackery?”
Thackery put the letter down, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put his glasses back on. “What is it, Walter?”
“I want my dog.”
The phone rang and Price answered. “No comment.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Thackery.
“That officious cop took my dog.”
“Dr. Killdeer?” asked Victoria. “He took Brownie?”
Walter stuck out his lower lip. “He took Brownie and left me a fifty-thousand-dollar check.”
“What!?” said Thackery.
“I don’t want the money. I want my dog,” said Walter.
“Oh, my!” said Victoria. The phone rang again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CYNTHIA RIGGS is the author of eleven books in the Martha’s Vineyard mystery series. She was born on Martha’s Vineyard and is the eighth generation to live in her family homestead in West Tisbury, Massachusetts, which she runs as a bed-and-breakfast catering to poets, writers, and other creative people. You can sign up for email updates here.
OTHER MARTHA’S VINEYARD MYSTERIES
The Bee Balm Murders
Touch-Me Not
Death and Honesty
Shooting Star
Indian Pipes
The Paperwhite Narcissus
Jack in the Pulpit
The Cemetery Yew
The Cranefly Orchid Murders
Deadly Nightshade
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About the Author
Also by Cynthia Riggs
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitious
ly.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
POISON IVY. Copyright © 2013 by Cynthia Riggs. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration by Ken Joudrey
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Riggs, Cynthia.
Poison ivy: a Martha’s Vineyard mystery / Cynthia Riggs.—First edition.
pages cm. (Martha’s Vineyard mystery; 11)
“A Thomas Dunne Book.”
ISBN 978-1-250-05867-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-6308-8 (e-book)
1. Trumbull, Victoria (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Massachusetts—Martha’s Vineyard—Fiction. 3. Serial murder investigation—Fiction. 4. Martha’s Vineyard (Mass.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3618.I394P65 2015
813'.6—dc23
2014042140
e-ISBN 9781466863088
First published in 2013 by Cleveland House Books
First Minotaur Books Edition: April 2015
Poison Ivy Page 25
