Deadly Nightshade (20 page)

“Dojan.”

“What was he doing in jail?”

“They picked him up for creating a disturbance. Dojan was doing a war dance in the middle of Circuit Avenue. Traffic couldn't get around him.”

“Instead of tossing him into jail, why didn't they simply escort him to the sidewalk? He's such a gentle person.”

A muggy breeze eddied through the open door. Victoria ran her hand around the back of her neck. “Think what it must be like on the mainland. I hope we get a thunderstorm soon.”

“They're calling for heavy showers later this evening.” Domingo studied the clouds building over the mainland. “The police tried, unsuccessfully, to escort Dojan out of the middle of the street. In fact, several officers were on the scene. Dojan took exception to their escorting him. He blackened a few eyes and noses, loosened a few teeth, broke a couple of ribs, and, in general, left a trail of other people's blood behind him.”

“Something must have upset him.”

“I believe he'd stopped at the Sand Bar.” Domingo stepped to the door, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. The surface of the harbor was an oily calm; the air felt heavy. Cicadas shrilled on the shore and the osprey soared high over the nesting pole.

“I didn't think he drank.”

Domingo turned to her. “He doesn't.” He shrugged, walked to the end of the deck, and turned. His glance stopped at the broken railing festooned with yellow tape. “What happened here?”

“Elizabeth said they were supposed to have fixed it. She was going to ask if you knew.”

Domingo leaned down and inspected the splintered ends. “I have a good idea about what happened.” He checked his watch. “Where is she?”

“What time is it?”

“Three-thirty. She was scheduled for three.” He paced the small deck. “She's a half hour late.”

“I wonder if she had car trouble.”

“She can always get to a phone.” Domingo paced. “Did she say anything about a meeting? Or errands? Getting her car fixed? That VW of hers is a piece of junk.”

“She didn't say anything to me about being late.”

“Call home, sweetheart. See if she's left.” He handed the telephone to Victoria, who dialed and let it ring several times. The answering machine picked up.

“No answer.” Victoria handed the phone back to him.

“Was she coming directly from home?”

Victoria shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“What route does she usually take to get here?”

“It varies,” Victoria said. “Usually, she goes past the airport.”

Domingo tugged the visor of his cap down over his brows. “I'm calling Chief O'Neill. Have her check your house.” He took down the telephone book that was hanging on a string under the phone, wet his finger, and paged through the W listings.

“West Tisbury Police Department,” he mumbled to himself. He held the phone book at arm's length, grunted, then tugged his glasses out of his pocket and set them on his nose. “I'll ask her to see if they spot your granddaughter on the road.”

“This isn't like her at all.” Victoria stood to get a better view of the road and the cars on it. “She hates being late.”

Domingo dialed.

“Wait, Domingo, I think I see her car now.” Victoria stepped out onto the deck.

Domingo slammed the phone back on the wall. “She'd better have a good excuse.” He looked at his watch.

When Elizabeth came up the catwalk, her face was flushed. Her usually crisp shirt was rumpled and soiled. Domingo met her at the door of the shack, his thumbs hooked on his pockets.

“Well?”

“Am I glad to be here.”

“What happened?” Victoria said. “We were worried.”

Elizabeth pushed past Domingo, went into the shack, and flopped into a chair. “I've had a horrible afternoon, so far. It can't get any worse.”

“This had better be good.” Domingo leaned his elbows on the railing. He pushed his cap back on his forehead and glared through the door at Elizabeth.

“I got held up by a bunch of small accidents. First, there was a big branch down in the drive that I had to move. Then I skidded on a patch of oil on Barnes Road, turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Fortunately, there was no traffic coming the other way.”

“How frightening,” Victoria said.

“Then the road was blocked by a pickup with two flat tires.”

“You might have called,” Domingo said.

Victoria was aware of the sound of water below them, swishing past the pilings of the shack.

“I thought I'd better get here as soon as I could. The nearest public phone is almost at the harbor, anyway.”

Domingo looked steadily at Elizabeth. “Interesting.” He glanced from Victoria to Elizabeth. “I'm calling in an extra dock attendant to be on duty tonight. I don't like what's going on.”

“I don't have any problem handling the evening shift,” Elizabeth said defensively.

“I'm sure you don't. But until this is over, I don't want you working alone at night.” Domingo stepped over the sill and checked the list of phone numbers posted on the wall.

Elizabeth snorted. “Thanks a whole lot.”

“Where is Howland?” Victoria asked Domingo. “Couldn't he come in tonight?”

Domingo dialed a number, and while it was ringing he muttered to Victoria, “Howland went on a business trip.” He turned back to the phone and spoke to someone.

“Allison is coming in shortly.” He hung up the phone.

“Liz Tate's niece?” Victoria had been fanning herself with the pamphlet again, but now she stopped.

Domingo nodded.

“She's the last person I want working with me on the night shift.” Elizabeth went inside and flipped through some papers on the desk, her back to Domingo. Her shoulders were stiff and straight. “I don't like her. I don't trust her.”

“Tough.” Domingo's jaw was set. “She'll be here in a half hour. Your grandmother and I are going to the jail.”

Victoria got to her feet. “To visit Dojan,” she said.

When Elizabeth looked up in surprise, Domingo explained about the war dance.

She laughed. “It's not funny, I know. But I can just see him with his hair and eyes and skull scarf and feathers.”

“I'd like to take something to him,” Victoria said to Domingo. “Maybe candy.”

Domingo nodded and turned to Elizabeth. “I'll be by later.”

After he and Victoria settled into the leather seats of the white Corniche, hot from baking in the closed car, he turned on the air conditioner and a blast of hot air blew around them.

“Let's put the top down. I'd much prefer hot fresh air to that hot recycled stuff.” Victoria fastened the yellow ribbon of her hat under her chin as Domingo obliged. Hazy sunlight poured into the open car.

They stopped at the store, and Domingo returned with a bag of candy. “That should hold him.” He handed the paper sack to Victoria, who opened it, looked in, and smiled.

They turned right onto the shore road and followed the curve of low bluffs facing Nantucket Sound. The water was bright turquoise in the eerie light of building storm clouds. Sailboats, all headed for shelter, dotted the Sound, moving slowly in the light breeze. Victoria saw an occasional flicker of lightning in the roiling tops of clouds that billowed upward and outward, and she could hear a distant grumble of thunder. A fishing smack, its net spreaders high in the air, chugged toward Georges Bank, trailed by a flock of seagulls.

Most of the large shingled summer houses that faced the water had been converted to inns and B and Bs. On the large porches, wooden rocking chairs sat empty. As they passed, Victoria could see flickering television screens inside the houses.

“Why on earth do they spend their vacation watching TV?”

Domingo shrugged. “There's a game on.”

“You'd think they could stay home in their New York apartments for that.”

“They wouldn't be on Martha's Vineyard if they stayed home. They're vacationing with the president.”

A car came toward them in the opposite lane; the driver lifted his hand from the wheel, and Domingo did the same. Victoria held the top of her straw hat and waved, too, ribbons fluttering as Domingo accelerated and the Rolls made its own breeze.

“Who was that?” Victoria asked.

“I have no idea.” Domingo grinned.

They passed the golf club where the president would play. A car was parked by the side of the road, and a man sat next to it in a beach chair, earphones shutting him off from the sounds around him.

“Secret Service.” Domingo lifted his hand from the wheel as they drove past, and the man raised his hand in return. “Aren't you going to wave to him?” he said.

The road ran along the slender barrier bar that separated Sengekontacket Pond from the Sound and formed the bathing beach Islanders called “the Bend,” a smooth arc of white sand that sloped gently into the sheltered waters of the Sound. Usually, the water shaded from transparent yellow, to green, then to deep blue. Today, though, the water was an almost tropical aqua, contrasted against the blackening sky over the mainland.

As they passed, bathers were gathering up towels and children and hurrying up paths that cut through patches of thorny wild roses to cars that were parked in an almost-solid line along the road. Even this late in the season, the roses were in bloom, some white, some red. The darkening sky accentuated the bright colors of roses and water and beach umbrellas, which bathers were rapidly taking down as the building clouds covered more and more of the northern sky.

They crossed Anthiers Bridge, which spanned one of the tidal outlets from Sengekontacket Pond. The bridge had been a setting for the movie
Jaws
more than twenty-five years earlier. Victoria and Jonathan had been extras in the movie, as had most of their friends and neighbors. Their scene had been filmed on a chilly, bright June day, and, Victoria recalled, Jonathan had gotten a painful sunburn on his insteps. She thought of Jonathan and the filming of
Jaws
every time she crossed Anthiers.

As they approached Edgartown, the slender beach widened, and the waters of Sengekontacket on their right shoaled into a broad salt marsh. Scrub oak and pine closed in on the left. They reached the outskirts of town, went past the A&P and Cannonball Park.

The jail was on Main Street, near the end of the West Tisbury-Edgartown Road, in the block before the house in which Victoria had been born. The white clapboard jail building blended in with the town's tidy architecture. Domingo parked behind it.

They went up the brick walk to the jail entrance.

Inside, the jail looked much more the way Victoria thought it should, dark and barred, with locked doors and a uniformed jailer with a gun.

“How ya doing, Mingo?” The jailer greeted him as if he were an old friend. “Long time no see.” He laughed heartily and slapped Domingo on the back.

“Yo, Elmo.” Domingo put his hand on the larger man's shoulder. Elmo gave Victoria a fistful of papers. She seated herself in an institutional metal armchair and signed where Elmo told her to.

Domingo gave Elmo the paper bag. “For Dojan,” he said.

“Mars bars. Milky Ways. Snickers.” Elmo pawed through the assortment. “Not bad. Three Musketeers. No file?” He laughed at his joke. “I thought you already gave the Injun a box of candy. Some sweet tooth that guy must have.”

Victoria, puzzled, looked from Elmo to Domingo, who was standing next to him.

“A box of candy from me? Who brought it?”

“The kid with green hair.” Elmo moved some papers onto a high shelf behind him.

“Louie,” Domingo said. “One of the dock attendants. Did he say who the candy came from?”

Elmo jerked his thumb toward Victoria. “Her. A box of homemade fudge. The card's here somewheres.” He shuffled through a heap of papers on his desk. “Yeah. 'From Victoria Trumbull' it says.” He handed the card to Domingo.

“I didn't send him candy.” Victoria stretched her neck to look at the card in Domingo's hand. “And that's not my writing.”

“When did he bring the candy?” Domingo handed the card back to Elmo.

“A couple of hours ago. I took it up to him. He didn't want none. Feeling squeamish, he said.” Elmo retrieved the forms and the logbook from Victoria, who'd finished writing the required information. “Heavy-duty hangover, if you ask me. He really tied one on.”

“Where is the fudge now?” Domingo asked.

“In the rec room. He told the other guys they could have it.” Elmo moved behind the high counter again and put the logbook on a shelf next to the barred window.

“Can we get the box back?”

Elmo came out from behind the counter. “Indian giver, huh?” He nudged Domingo. “Get it?” He winked at Victoria. “It ain't evidence, that's for sure. I'll send someone up for it.” He called up to the second floor and turned back to Domingo. “Don't want those jailbirds rotting their pretty teeth because of too much sweets here at the country club.” A couple of minutes later, a young sandy-haired, acne-faced officer came down to the front desk with the open box. Four pieces of fudge were missing.

“Who ate the candy?” Domingo looked from the box to Elmo.

“What's with you, Mingo?” Elmo said. “There's plenty left for you. He'p yourself.”

“Find out who ate the four missing pieces—right away,” Domingo said sharply.

“Howie!” Elmo shouted, and the sandy-haired kid clattered down the stairs. “Find out who ate the fudge.”

“Sir!” Howie saluted, then turned on his heel. He returned a few seconds later. “Fatso ate three, Jernegan one. If you ask me, those two guys are acting weird, high on something.”

“Get the medics here—right away,” Domingo barked as if he were still a New York cop. “Call nine-one-one. Call the hospital. Tell Dr. Erickson we have a case of suspected poisoning.”

“Come on, Mingo, what in hell's your problem?”

“Do it. Get Fatso and Jernegan ready to go.”

“Okay, okay. Druggies, both of them. If she,” Elmo said, jerking his head at Victoria, “poisoned them, she should get a medal.”

“Call the sheriff. Tell him to treat this box of candy as evidence. It needs to go to the forensics lab.” As Elmo stood motionless, Domingo said, “Move!”

When Elmo got off the phone, Domingo said, “I need to speak with Dojan.”

He and Victoria followed Howie up the narrow wooden stairs to a long, high-ceilinged room, almost completely taken up by a scarred wooden conference table. Dojan sat at the table, hands in front of him, shaggy head bowed. He looked up when Victoria entered the room, and his bleak expression brightened.