“Don’t you see, Mrs. Trumbull, the man’s under tremendous stress. Something’s wrong with him.”
“Really,” said Victoria. “Please tell me more.”
Dorothy seemed to have some goal in mind, but Victoria hadn’t been able to figure out what that goal might be.
Dorothy’s conversation slipped into a first-name basis. “I met with Finney Solomon this morning, Victoria. I don’t believe you know him.”
“I’ve never met him.” Victoria had served herself a weak Scotch two hours earlier, but hadn’t touched it. It didn’t seem in character for this tightly controlled woman to allow herself to talk too much. Puzzled though Victoria was, she felt satisfaction in seeing Dorothy a bit tipsy.
“He’s raising fourteen million for our company. That’s quite a lot of money, as you can imagine, Victoria.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Finney is wealthy himself. He has to be very sure of the management of our company, you understand, in order to present it in the best light to our investors.”
“Of course.”
“Finney talked to a number of people who know Orion, and Finney is convinced that Orion is—well, I don’t quite know how to put it.” She sipped her Scotch and peered with barely focused eyes over the rim of her glass.
“Who did Finney talk to?” asked Victoria.
“Several people.” Dorothy waved vaguely. “One of them said Orion is crazy to attempt to do what he’s doing. Another refused to even talk about Orion.”
“Who did you say these people were?”
“Various people. We have other concerns as well.”
“By ‘we’ do you mean Finney and you?” Victoria asked.
Dorothy set her glass down on the coffee table with a clink. “I mean everyone who’s interested in the project.”
Victoria nodded. She’d pushed too hard. She tried a new approach. “Do you think the project is a mistake?”
“No, no. Not at all!” said Dorothy, looking confused. “Everyone who knows anything about fiber optics says it’s a gold mine. That’s what Angelo said. A gold mine!”
“Angelo?” Victoria tried not to show her surprise.
“Angelo Vulpone,” said Dorothy. “He planned to put a lot, and I mean a lot, of money into the project.”
“I didn’t realize you knew him.”
“Well,” said Dorothy, picking up her glass. “I did know him at one time, you might say.” She giggled. “Of course, I didn’t know him all that well. Angelo was a big man, not fat, exactly, but … yeah, you could call him fat. He had sex appeal even though he was…” She set her glass down. “Oh, hell. Actually he was a filthy fat bastard slob.”
Victoria sat back to absorb that bit of information.
Dorothy stirred her Scotch with a finger. The ice had melted but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you think someone else should take over the project?” Victoria asked.
“I knew you’d understand. Orion is a lovely man, but…”
“You and Finney would be the management team, then.”
“You do understand. Finney has an extensive background in finance, even though he’s awfully young.”
“How old is he?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s older than he looks.” Dorothy leaned forward unsteadily. “Actually, he doesn’t look much older than twenty-something. But he’s a financial genius, Victoria. The Mozart of money.” Dorothy giggled again.
“I’d love to meet him. You think that with your management experience and Finney’s financial ability, you could manage the whole fiber-optics project? Who would deal with the engineering aspects?”
Dorothy waved a hand in front of her face. “One really doesn’t need to know the nuts and bolts of a project to manage it, Victoria. But we’ve thought of giving Orion an honorarium for coming up with the idea.”
“Generous,” murmured Victoria.
Dorothy hiccuped. “Pardon me.”
Victoria handed her a napkin.
“Thank you. Basically, it’s simple, Victoria. Orion is unstable. Investors want their money to be safe.”
The sun was dropping quickly in the west. Golden light streamed through the windows. Victoria lowered the shade so the light wasn’t in Dorothy’s eyes.
“You said when you first came, that you had a favor to ask of me,” said Victoria.
“It’s sensitive.” Dorothy patted her lips with the napkin. “I feel a teensy bit uncomfortable asking you.”
“Please, you needn’t feel uncomfortable.”
Dorothy wadded up her napkin and set it on the edge of the coffee table. The napkin dropped to the floor. “Well, Orion lives here and you see him every day.”
“What is it that you want me to do? I’m sure you know you can trust me.”
“Absolutely, Victoria.” Dorothy looked down at the napkin on the floor and picked it up. “We need to convince Orion that it’s time for him to step down.” She crushed the napkin. “Would you do that? Talk to him about resigning?”
So that’s what the past two hours had been leading to, thought Victoria. Dorothy expected her to convince Orion to drop out of his own company. Orion, the madman. She looked at her watch and stood. “Lovely talking with you, Dorothy.”
“Likewise, Victoria.” Dorothy, also rising to her feet, knocked over her glass. Victoria quickly mopped up the spilled liquor with a napkin before it dripped down onto the books on the shelf underneath.
Dorothy hadn’t noticed. “I know we can count on you. He’s certifiable.”
“I want to hear more, Dorothy, but it will have to wait for another time.”
“I need to use your ladies’ room, Victoria.”
“Of course. Follow me,” said Victoria.
* * *
Victoria thought of Dorothy driving in her present condition, and while she was in the bathroom, Victoria called Primo.
“I’ve got the information you need, Mrs. Trumbull. Dorothy Roche acts in Uncle Bruce’s television dramas.”
“I suspected as much. Do you have a description of her?” Victoria carried the phone into the kitchen, out of Dorothy’s hearing.
“I told the studio I was a thirteen-year-old fan and asked for a photo. They e-mailed me a full-color, signed picture of her.”
“Clever of you.”
“She’s quite beautiful,” said Primo with a sigh. “Long straight black hair, dark blue almond-shaped eyes.”
“Does she play vampire roles?”
“I think she’s more likely the victim.”
“I told you about this woman who claims she’s Dorothy Roche, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s here, now. Would you drive her to her place on North Water Street?”
“I’d be delighted, Mrs. Trumbull.”
“I’m afraid I’m responsible for her condition.”
“No problem. Almost any place on North Water Street is close to the Harbor View. No trouble, at all.”
“She said she knew your father. Get her to talk about him, if you can. I have a feeling she’s your Uncle Bruce’s close personal friend.”
“I gather I should remain incognito?”
“That would be wise.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Victoria thanked him and hung the phone back in its wall cradle as Dorothy emerged, swaying just a bit.
“If I can only remember where I left my car…”
“My chauffeur will take you home. You can have someone pick up your car tomorrow.” Victoria added with satisfaction, “He’s driving the Bentley this evening.”
“Ooooh!” said Dorothy, plopping onto a kitchen chair. “What’s he like?”
“A perfect gentleman.”
“I don’t want a perfect gentleman,” pouted Dorothy, but Victoria had gone into the parlor to clear away the remains of the Dewar’s and didn’t answer her.
In a short time, Primo arrived. He escorted Dorothy to the Bentley, gently unstuck h
er arm from his, and settled her into the rear passenger seat.
From the window in the library, Victoria watched the taillights disappear into the shallow swale that marked the edge of her property.
* * *
“Lovely evening, Mrs. Roche,” Primo began.
Dorothy leaned forward a bit. “Darling, please call me Dorothy. Besides it’s not Mrs., it’s Ms.”
“Did you have a good afternoon with Mrs. Trumbull?”
“She’s so clever,” said Dorothy, settling back into the soft leather upholstery. “I simply hinted at something, and she understood exactly what I was talking about. What’s your name, darling?”
Primo said, “Charles.”
“Have you driven for Victoria a long time?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Primo. “Years.”
Dorothy perked up a bit. “What do you think of her?”
Primo thought of Victoria’s deep-set eyes and the spots of war paint on her cheeks, and knew he had to lie. “She’s a sweet, gentle, old lady. Extremely wealthy, but quite eccentric.”
“Wealthy, is she? You’d never guess.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” Primo looked in the rearview mirror. “But she owns a large villa in Provence, and a ranch outside Santa Barbara.”
“Really!”
“Mrs. Trumbull tells me you’re a famous actress. Would I have seen any of your plays?”
Dorothy ruffled her metallic hair. “I’m in television, darling. It’s Charlie, isn’t it?”
“Charles,” said Primo, keeping his eyes on the road, his attention on his passenger. “Television. How exciting that must be. I can imagine the lights, cameras, action. Cables snaking over the floor. Crew with earphones.” Primo glanced up again and was afraid he’d gone too far. “I’d love to see some of your work. What studio are you with?”
“Vulpone’s Vampire Venture,” said Dorothy. “I’m sure you never heard of it.”
Primo had expected to hear his uncle and his name, but still it took him by surprise. “Vulpone,” he murmured.
A deer darted out from the undergrowth by the side of the road. Primo braked. The deer bounded across in front of them. The car stopped abruptly, throwing Dorothy forward.
She screamed. “You almost killed me!”
“Sorry, ma’am. Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m not!”
He pulled over beyond Willow Tree Hollow, thought for a moment, and decided pouring her a nip wouldn’t hurt, and might even help. He leaned over the front seat. “The Bentley has a nicely appointed bar, er, Dorothy. Would you like something to calm your nerves?”
She fanned herself with her hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have Scotch, would you?”
“We have a nice single malt.”
“Oh, my dear!”
Primo, grateful that he’d stashed The Macallan out of reach, went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk, uncased the bottle from its velvet-lined mahogany box, and poured a shot into a silver cup. Setting the cup down on the sandy shoulder, he recapped the bottle, slipped it back into its case, locked the trunk, opened the passenger door, handed the cup to Dorothy, got back into the driver’s seat, and continued on toward Edgartown. He checked the rearview mirror. Dorothy was studying the silver cup. She touched her tongue to the Scotch, smiled, and took a tiny sip.
“You said Vulpone Studios,” said Primo, getting back to the subject of who this Dorothy person really was. “You must meet a lot of interesting people. Have you ever met Mr. Vulpone, himself?”
“Met! Darling,” a throaty laugh. “I certainly have met Mr. Vulpone.”
“He must be an important man,” said Primo. “Owning a television studio. I bet not many of the actresses have met him. You must be famous.”
“Well,” Dorothy took another small sip, “he does like the way I perform.” She giggled.
A shudder passed over Primo. “I guess actresses get paid pretty well, at least famous ones like you.”
“We have per-rog … perks.”
“Nice long vacations, I guess,” said Primo with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor. Do you suppose Mr. Vulpone would be willing to look at my resume?”
“He’d adore you, Charlie.”
“Charles. Do you know how I can reach Mr. Vulpone?” Primo held his breath. “What’s his first name?”
“Bruce. Scotch.” She held up the silver cup. “He’d appreciate this. Scotch with Eye-talian. He’s more Eye-talian than Scotch. Passionato, you know.”
Primo winced. He’d found out the information Mrs. Trumbull needed. Now, he wanted to get this appalling woman out of his nice car before she … He didn’t care to finish the thought.
Then he would take a long hot shower in his room at the Harbor View and think about Uncle Bruce, Aunt Maria Rosa, and this awful Dorothy person.
CHAPTER 25
The evening turned chilly. Victoria was lighting the parlor fire when Orion came home. She tossed the spent match into the blazing paper and got to her feet.
He sniffed. “Smells like a barroom in here. Who’ve you been entertaining?”
“Dorothy Roche.”
Orion stroked his mustache. “I think I need to sit.”
Victoria told him about Dorothy’s attempts to dismiss him from his own company.
Orion laughed.
“You need to take her seriously, Orion.”
“I am taking her seriously.”
“She claims Finney called a number of people who said you were out of your mind.”
“Two people,” said Orion. “Denny Rhodes, the selectman, and Dan’l Pease, head of Public Works.”
“Finney’s telling everyone that you’re ‘certifiable,’ according to Dorothy. They’re slandering you, Orion. Isn’t this going to influence your would-be investors?”
“Until I sign that contract of his, Finney has no business contacting investors on behalf of Universal Fiber Optics. And I have no intention of signing that contract.”
“Dorothy is determined that she and Finney will take over your company.”
Orion’s face set. “Dorothy Roche and that twerp will not take over my company.”
“What about the Ditch Witch drill?”
He stood with his back to the fire, facing Victoria. “I have my own ideas for dealing with Dorothy Roche.”
Victoria glanced up in time to see an odd expression on Orion’s usually pleasant face. She almost felt sorry for Dorothy. When she looked up again, Orion’s expression was pleasant as always.
“Your fires are perfect, Victoria,” he said. “You’ll have to show me sometime how you build them. Feels good on a chilly evening like this.”
Victoria still felt a chill from that fleeting expression, and she thought of the false Dorothy, and she wondered what was about to happen to her.
* * *
The next morning, Tim picked Finney up at his bed-and-breakfast. A Rolls? Finney didn’t know cars, but this had a woman taking off into space as a hood ornament.
Courtney led him to the library of the North Water Street house, where Dorothy sat. She looked ghastly.
“Are you ill, Dorothy?”
“I have a terrible headache. Come in.”
“I’m so sorry.”
The library light was subdued, and Dorothy’s back was to the window. He sat facing her where he could see out into the garden. Sunlight sparkled on the water spraying up from the fountain, casting rainbows onto the ceiling.
“I met with Victoria yesterday,” said Dorothy, holding a hand to her forehead. “We’re on a first-name basis now.”
Finney nodded.
“I asked her to convince Orion to step aside.”
“You’re a woman of great diplomacy. Nicely done.”
Dorothy untucked a lace hankie from her sleeve and held it to her mouth. A sweet fragrance wafted toward Finney, evoking a faint childhood memory. She moved the hankie aside. “You must get your investors to commit themselves, Finney. And soo
n. Perhaps if you put in two or three million of seed money, that will encourage others.”
Finney cleared his throat and returned to the present. “Orion hasn’t signed my contract. Until he does, no one will commit to anything.”
“What are you telling them?” Dorothy leaned forward and her handkerchief fluttered to the floor. “We can’t have them contacting Orion directly.”
“I realize that, Dorothy.”
“I want you to meet with Victoria Trumbull this morning. I explained to her our concerns about Orion, but she needs to hear it from you.”
Finney shifted. The bright sun pouring through the library window was blinding him and casting Dorothy’s face in shadow. No “darling.” No offer of breakfast this morning, something Finney had counted on.
“Why don’t you call to introduce us,” said Finney.
“I don’t want you to seem closely connected to me.”
“I assume your chauffeur will drive me?”
Dorothy sighed. “I just realized, Victoria’s chauffeur brought me home last night in her Bentley and I left my Mercedes in her drive.”
“A Bentley? Mrs. Trumbull has a Bentley?” Finney shifted again to see Dorothy’s face. She looked haggard. “I gather you drove the Mercedes.”
Dorothy didn’t answer.
“Will you call Mrs. Trumbull?” asked Finney.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Dorothy got up slowly. “Tim will drive you to West Tisbury in the Rolls. Bring the Mercedes back after you’ve spoken with Victoria.”
* * *
Victoria recognized the Rolls-Royce when it pulled up to her kitchen door. Tim, Dorothy’s chauffeur, opened the passenger door for a tall young man, then got back into the car, and departed.
So this was the Finney Solomon who, with Dorothy, was to take over Orion’s company. Victoria studied him as he looked around before he climbed the steps to her entry. As Dorothy had said, he was very young looking. Much too young to have contacts that would hand over fourteen million dollars on his say-so. But then, Victoria didn’t know a great deal about the psychology of investors.
He had short, light brown hair, and as he came closer, she could see his eyes were light, hazel or green, she couldn’t quite tell. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hips. He wore tan slacks and a navy blazer over a white knit shirt, and he carried an attaché case.
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