The Paperwhite Narcissus

by Cynthia Riggs

  “We were going to circle around and pick him up.”

  “Right,” said Calpurnia. “Is that what you’re planning to tell the police?”

  “He’d still be alive if you hadn’t put the boat in gear.”

  Calpurnia sat up straight and brushed the sand off her hands. “You’re blaming me, are you? You shoved him overboard, or would you rather forget that part?”

  “Am I the only one who’s having trouble with this? Can you sleep after what happened?”

  “The whole thing was your idea, remember? First Ambler and Colley cook up that scheme with me as a cheap call girl …”

  “You weren’t cheap, darling, as I recall.” Audrey, too, stared out at the sailboat.

  “Then you call me to play a little trick on Ambler because, in your words, he was two-timing both of us. Meeting Candy Keene on Nantucket.” Calpurnia drew up her legs and put her arms around her knees.

  Audrey muttered, “That cheap stripper.”

  “Really? ‘Cheap stripper’? He marries the daughter of an alcoholic pig farmer from Secaucus? Who’s still married to a garage mechanic? Not that there’s anything wrong with garage mechanics. Or pig farmers.” Calpurnia laughed. “Candy Keene flies over to Nantucket, intending to tell Ambler about Buddy, who had tracked his wife Audrey to Martha’s Vineyard after a fellow mechanic pointed out his wife’s picture in a year-old copy of People magazine.” Calpurnia took a breath. “Only his wife was not identified as Mrs. Buddy whatever, she was identified as the elegant Mrs. J. Ambler Fieldstone. Okay?”

  Audrey got to her knees and slapped Calpurnia.

  Calpurnia’s head flew back and her eyes watered. She laughed again. “Finally getting through to you, am I? You still want to go to the police?”

  “I wasn’t the one who killed Ambler, darling.”

  “Let me guess what your rationale is. If you tell the police you ran over your alleged husband by accident …”

  “I wasn’t at the controls.”

  “ … the police will think, such a nice conscience-stricken widow would never, ever shoot and then poison her rival, nor would she ever, ever clobber her shyster lawyer, who—this is an editorial aside—knew about Buddy and was probably threatening to blackmail her.”

  Audrey put both hands over her ears. “Stop it!”

  “You’re getting sand in your hair,” Calpurnia said.

  Audrey stood up. “Calpurnia, we’ve got to stop fighting. We have to come to some kind of truce.”

  “We tried that once before, and look what happened.”

  “I can’t sleep.” Audrey chewed. “Whenever I close my eyes I see blood foaming up behind the boat, then his body …”

  “You think telling the police will cure all that? You go to the police and I’ll tell them the whole story.” Calpurnia leaned back on her hands again, and Audrey sat down.

  “Let’s look at it from the viewpoint of the police. Suppose I tell them the rest of the story. Ambler wasn’t your husband. Buddy was. When the police learn about Buddy, that’s all they need for motive.”

  “I’ve taken care of Buddy.”

  “So you said. Are you going to tell the police that you have? Where have you hidden his body?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Are you going to tell the police that you made some nice divinity fudge for Candy Keene because you knew she’d enjoy it and how could you possibly know it was laced with cyanide? Is that what you’re going to tell the police?”

  “I didn’t kill Candy.”

  “The identity of the killer will seem damned obvious to the police. Then, of course, when you learned that Candy had told Al Fox about Buddy, you had to take care of him, too. Are you going to tell the police all that? That all three deaths were accidents? And now you’ve taken care of Buddy?”

  Audrey’s face had paled. “I didn’t kill Buddy.”

  “Your words. You took care of Buddy ‘permanently.’ My interpretation of ‘permanent’ is ‘permanent.’”

  “I paid Buddy off. Buddy loves money.”

  “More than being married to you?”

  “More than anything. He found a lawyer who’s getting us a retroactive Mexican divorce. As long as Buddy doesn’t make waves, he knows I’ll pay.” Audrey sifted sand through her long fingers with their red-tipped nails and continued to chew. “I didn’t kill either Candy or Al Fox. I didn’t need to.”

  “Who did, then? You’re going to wreck your manicure doing that.”

  Audrey stopped playing with the sand and brushed her hands together. “I assumed you were the killer, if you must know.”

  “So that’s why you want to go to the police. To turn me in?” Calpurnia snorted. “And what are you going to tell the police my motive was? I can see why I might want to murder my husband, but why Candy and Al Fox?”

  “This is a weird conversation.” Audrey dug her fingers into the sand making five neat holes, pulled her fingers out, and examined her nails.

  “Candy was an airhead,” said Calpurnia. “Even Colley recognized that after a year of marital bliss. And Al Fox? He didn’t have a hold over me the way he did with you.”

  “Just the eight-million-dollar trust fund.”

  “Colley can’t touch the money and I get a good chunk of it when he dies. That’s an excellent motive for my killing Colley. Before he runs off with Joy. Unfortunately, he’s still alive.”

  Audrey glanced at Calpurnia. “What did Colley do with the four hundred fifty thousand he got from Ambler?”

  “I have no idea. He’s close-mouthed about the money. I know your thugs frightened him, which is when he went to Al Fox to get a loan from the trust.”

  “Did he buy real estate?”

  “I doubt it. He’d brag about acquiring something like that. Anyway, four hundred fifty thousand doesn’t go far if he spent it on Vineyard real estate.” Calpurnia shrugged. “Forget Colley. I’m curious to know what you think my motives are for the two murders.”

  “Candy was sucking alimony out of Colley. And I understand Al Fox renegotiated an annual cost-of-living increase for her.”

  “Cost of living, ha!”

  “Two motives right there.”

  “You think I’d trouble myself to kill someone over a mere forty or fifty thousand a year?”

  “Frankly, yes,” said Audrey.

  Calpurnia stood up, brushed the sand off the back of her trousers, bent over, and picked up her sandals. “We’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. Instead of going to the police, you know who we should talk to?”

  Audrey, too, got up. “I was thinking the same thing. Victoria Trumbull.”

  When Victoria sat down in her usual armchair in the West Tisbury police station, Casey snickered. “I’m sorry, Victoria. I keep remembering Candy Keene dusting off that seat with her scented lace hanky.”

  Victoria scowled. “I came here to make a long-distance phone call. May I?”

  “Where to?”

  “Arizona.”

  “Police business?”

  “It’s a number Colley called recently.”

  Casey pushed the instrument toward Victoria. “Go ahead. I won’t ask why.”

  Victoria dialed a number and waited. A disembodied voice told her she’d reached Sun Spa and demanded that she press one or two or three—up to seven—if she wanted the voice mail of one of the doctors, and to remain on the line to speak to an operator. Victoria raised her eyebrows and looked at Casey while the voice went through her options. Casey fiddled with a retractable ballpoint pen, snapping the point in and out.

  Finally, Victoria got a live person. She said, raising her voice a quarter octave so she sounded like a young woman, “This is Mr. Jameson’s secretary.”

  Casey opened her mouth to say something and glanced up instead at the ceiling, where a spider was building an intricate web.

  Victoria continued in her girlish voice, “Could you confirm the date and time of his appointment?” Before the operator had time to demur,
Victoria added, “He’s terribly absent-minded, and didn’t give me all the details, and I need to make his plane reservations.”

  Victoria listened and made a few notes. “Thank you so much,” she said. “And that was Dr. Papadoupoulis?” One of the names she’d picked up from the automated voice. She nodded and glanced up at Casey, who was not looking at her.

  “Thank you for correcting me. Mr. Jameson is absolutely impossible.” Victoria had been holding her chin up to maintain the high pitch. “He had it all wrong. And Dr. Gurney is so wonderful. Mr. Jameson says so many good things about him.” She cleared her throat and glanced again at Casey, who was still watching the spider. “Was it Harvard Medical School he went to?” She waited. “Mr. Jameson had that all wrong, too. You know what these vain men are like, I’m sure. Thank you so much. I’ll correct his records and make sure he gets on the right airplane.”

  Victoria hung up, pushed the phone back to Casey, and sat back again in her armchair, with a self-satisfied smile.

  “What was that all about, Victoria?”

  “I know what Colley did with that four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Can you find something for me on the Internet?”

  “What?”

  “The specialty of a Dr. Theodore Gurney, who graduated from Southwestern University Medical School.”

  Casey busied herself on the computer. Victoria stood up, went to the window, and watched the swans on the mill pond. Seven cygnets had hatched in the spring. Now there were only two. Snapping turtles had eaten the other five. She turned around when she heard Casey sigh.

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “How’s this?” Casey moved her computer mouse around and the image on the screen shifted. “Dr. Gurney specializes in cosmetic surgery. Reversing the aging process. Skin tightening. Facial reconstruction. He’s currently practicing at Sun Spa Clinic in Tempe, Arizona, with a Dr. Cornelia Siegelman, who specializes in tummy and fanny tucks, thighs and upper arms.”

  Victoria laughed. “That’s what Colley did with his four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A deposit on a complete makeover at the Sun Spa Clinic. Nonrefundable.”

  “I hope Mrs. Fieldstone’s goons don’t decide to ruin the job.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Victoria was in the Grackle’s loft office talking to William Botts when the phone rang.

  “Mrs. Trumbull? Yes, she’s here,” Botts said. “May I tell her who’s calling?”

  Victoria sat forward.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fieldstone. Certainly.” Botts stood, edged around John Milton, and handed Victoria the phone. She put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Did she say what she wants?”

  “No, Madam Reporter, she didn’t.” Botts returned to his seat. John Milton thumped his tail.

  Victoria said into the phone, “This is Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Audrey Fieldstone, Mrs. Trumbull. I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Calpurnia Jameson and I need to meet with you. Today, if possible.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “It’s rather sensitive. We’d prefer to talk to you in person. Would this evening be convenient?”

  “Not really.”

  There was a long pause. “We have to meet with you soon,” Audrey said.

  Botts took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

  “Are you there still, Mrs. Trumbull?”

  “I’m checking my schedule,” said Victoria. “It would help if you gave me some indication of what you want to talk with me about.” Victoria waited. “Does this involve the recent deaths?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone. We can come to your house.”

  “Just a moment.” Victoria put her hand over the mouthpiece again. “She wants to meet me tonight. Will you be here, William?”

  “I can be.”

  Victoria moved her hand away from the phone. “I’ll meet you at the Grackle office around seven.”

  “We want to meet with you alone,” said Audrey.

  “That won’t be possible. Mr. Botts will be here. Anything you need to discuss with me, you may say in front of him.”

  “We don’t want anyone else involved, Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Then I think you’d better find another confidante.”

  Botts swung his glasses by one earpiece.

  Audrey took a breath. “Mrs. Trumbull, you’re the only person on this island who has the background, the depth of knowledge, the wisdom, and the sensitivity to understand our situation. We need your advice.”

  Victoria patted her hair and cleared her throat. “I’ll see you here at seven, but only on condition that Mr. Botts is present. He can be discreet.”

  Botts muttered, “If I try.”

  Audrey paused. “All right. Seven o’clock at the Grackle office?”

  “You know where it is?”

  “Everybody on the Island does, now.”

  Victoria handed the phone to Botts, who hung up. “‘Knowledge, wisdom, sensitivity,”’ said Victoria.

  “What on earth does she want?” Botts asked.

  “They. Audrey and Calpurnia.”

  Botts had set his glasses down on the desk. He picked them up again and chewed on the earpiece. “That’s a strange alliance.”

  “It is,” said Victoria.

  “Sounds as though I’m about to be caught in heavy crossfire.”

  Victoria smiled. “Quite possibly.”

  “What if I stop by your house a little before seven and pick you up.”

  “Make it six-thirty. You might get a good story out of this, William.”

  Botts murmured something.

  “I didn’t hear you,” said Victoria.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Botts. “I’m regretting the loss of my innocence, is all.”

  “What is the matter with you, Colley? Stop pacing, will you?”

  Calpurnia and Colley were having their predinner drinks in front of the fireplace.

  Colley, still dressed in the coat and tie he’d worn to the newspaper office, had paced to the built-in bar at the end of the long living room. He turned and paced back again, his hands clasped behind his back. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I should think so. Have you thanked Mrs. Trumbull for saving your life the other night?”

  “Victoria Trumbull doesn’t need my thanks.”

  “I doubt if anyone else on the Island will thank her for saving you. Send her flowers, Colley. Better yet, a box of Chilmark Chocolates.”

  Colley had reached the fireplace end of the room, where Calpurnia sat in one of the wing chairs. He spun around. “I blame a lot of my problems on Victoria Trumbull. Damned if I’m going to acknowledge anything she allegedly does for me.”

  Calpurnia waved her hand airily. “She stopped the press the day you caught your tie.”

  “That never would have happened if she hadn’t been in the press room—where she had no right to be.” Colley resumed his pacing.

  “Would you stop that? It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Ha,” said Colley, still pacing.

  “I suppose Audrey’s goons are putting the squeeze on you?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “Pressure from the California girlfriend?”

  Colley stopped abruptly. “What are you talking about?”

  “I suppose she wants collateral for the money you plan to squeeze out of her? Did it occur to you to tell ‘Joy’ that you’re already married?”

  Colley spun around. “Who told you that?”

  Calpurnia laughed. “We live on an island, or did you forget?”

  “Joy is merely someone on the Internet.”

  “Oh, really?” Calpurnia turned and smiled at him. “A ‘merely someone’ with lots and lots of money, I understand. Let’s see, you’re meeting her, where? In Arizona, is it? You’re so charming. What a pity thousands and thousands of women will never have the privilege of meeting you.”

  “Is that a threat?”
said Colley.

  Calpurnia’s smile widened. “Speaking of money, are you going to tell me what you did with the four hundred and fifty thousand you got from Ambler?”

  “No.”

  “Wonderful husband,” murmured Calpurnia. “When you reach the bar again, get me another drink, will you.” Calpurnia held up her empty glass. “Mrs. Trumbull found jobs for everyone you fired, including herself.”

  “For God’s sake, I never fired her. She and Botts are putting me out of business with that sophomoric rag of his.”

  “Loosen up, Colley.”

  Colley poured another bourbon and water and took it back to Calpurnia. “Mind telling me where you’re off to tonight?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Wonderful wife,” said Colley.

  Victoria and Botts reached the loft office shortly after six-thirty. Botts lowered John Milton’s basket to the floor of the barn, John Milton climbed in slowly, and Botts raised the basket up to the loft. He set a bowl next to the dog and filled it with water from a plastic milk bottle.

  “What do you expect to happen tonight?” he asked after John Milton had settled himself next to the desk with a sigh.

  “I don’t know, William. Now I believe Audrey might have been the person who lured Colley to Chappaquiddick, intending to kill him there.” Victoria shook out the bright serape that covered the chair cushion and put it back on the exposed spring.

  “Why Chappy?”

  “Chappaquiddick is out of the way.”

  “It certainly is, but why?” Botts asked.

  “Audrey took her boat there for the Trustees field day, which isn’t until this weekend. Two days early?” Victoria eased herself into the chair.

  “She thinks ahead,” said Botts.

  “You know how desolate that area is, even at this time of year, don’t you?”

  Botts nodded.

  Victoria continued. “She enticed Colley there, late at night so he’d couldn’t go by ferry. That way, he’d have to use the beach route where no one would see him.” She shifted to a more comfortable position, away from the covered spring. “If we hadn’t been watching him, no one would have known where he’d gone. Once she’d killed him and disposed of his body, no one would know what had happened to him.”