Indian Pipes (28 page)

“Footprints? Tire tracks?” Harley breathed.

Toby tightened his grip on her shoulders.

“Mrs. Trumbull is wise not to tell us too much,” said Patience.

Chief Hawkbill’s glasses had slipped down his nose, and he lifted his head to look through them at the cluster of people around Victoria.

The noise level in the conference room had grown to a dull roar, interspersed with occasional laughter. The room was warm, and the warmth was releasing a jarring mixture of perfumes.

“Well,” Victoria said, dabbing at her moist forehead with a paper napkin. “I don’t want to say too much more until I have a chance to talk with the police.”

“Haven’t you told Chief O’Neill?” Peter scowled.

“Not yet. I intend to talk to her first thing tomorrow. I suspect it might help solve all three murders.”

“Wise,” said Chief Hawkbill. “Very wise.”

“Was it a thing?” Harley said. “You know, like a cigarette lighter or a handkerchief with initials on it?”

“I’d better not say,” Victoria said. “I’m sure it will be in the paper, maybe as early as next week’s edition.”

Victoria caught a glimpse of Casey’s uniform shirt behind the pole. Both the Aquinnah police chief and the Chilmark police chief
were standing near her. Finally, Casey came out from behind the tree trunk, and Victoria noticed that her cheeks had flushed a becoming pink. Her coppery hair reflected glints of the overhead lights.

Victoria held up a finger, as if she were summoning a taxi. “I think I see my ride.” She handed her half-finished glass of wine to Peter, who took it dumbly, and smiled at the group around her. Harley moved aside to let her through, and Victoria swept out of the conference room, trailed by Casey and the hum of conversation.

When they were outside, Victoria said, “How did I do?”

“You ought to go onstage,” Casey replied. “But when this is over, I’m asking the selectmen to send you to the police academy. You can’t do the stuff you’re doing.”

“I don’t know why not,” Victoria said. “You do think I was convincing, don’t you?”

“Wait here while I get the Bronco,” said Casey.

Victoria stood under the shelter, greeting people as they left, while Casey darted into the rain, and drove up a few minutes later, tires swishing on the asphalt.

“Now you’ve set the trap, how do you intend to spring it?” Casey asked as they pulled away from the building.

“I’ll pack a picnic supper and some blankets, and we’ll go to Jube’s place and wait.”

“The police vehicle is pretty obvious.”

“We’ll hide it.”

“I like that ‘we,’ “ Casey said.

“Most people don’t know the middle road to Jube’s place exists. No one will see a car parked along there. The killer most likely will use the back road, the one overlooking the lily pond.”

“I’ll call Junior Norton, have him row across. He can hide his boat along the shore, and be available if we need him. What about Dojan?”

“Let’s go back and get him.”

“No, I’ll call the Aquinnah police chief. He can contact Dojan.”

C
HAPTER
33

Casey turned into Victoria’s drive, slowed for the puddles, and pulled up in front of the stone steps.

“After that performance of yours, Victoria, you won’t be safe. I don’t think your trap is a great idea.”

“We’ll catch the killer tonight, I’m sure.”

On the way home from the meeting at Aquinnah, Victoria had explained her idea to Casey. While Victoria waited in the barn loft, Casey, Dojan, and Junior would hide where they could see the barn doors and hear Victoria if she called.

“I’m guessing we have at least an hour before we need to be there,” said Victoria.

Casey looked at her watch. “I’ve got to finish up some stuff in the station house, so the sooner I get started, the sooner I’ll be back.”

“I’ll put together a picnic, and will be ready to go when you finish.”

“Dojan is on the way. Where’s Elizabeth?”

“At work. She’ll be home around six.”

Casey checked her watch again. “An hour and a half. I’ll be back way before then. Take care, now, Victoria.”

Rainwater dripped off the roof into the gutters and gurgled down the drainpipe. A slight gust of wind blew the maple tree, and a shower of water pattered onto the ground.

Victoria waved airily as Casey pulled away, but in truth she felt a bit nervous. A cold-blooded murderer now believed she held the key to his identity. If she thought about it too much, she felt butterflies in her stomach. That made her think of Bugs. Was it just possible that he had been so outraged by Jube’s butterfly deception that he killed Jube and Hiram? Linda, too? And had reported Linda’s death so he seemed innocent? She could picture Bugs as killer, after all.

Victoria checked each of the four doors that led outside. None of them could be locked. She didn’t have keys. Rain fell steadily. She moved back to the kitchen and placed eggs into the egg cooker to hard-boil. Soon she forgot about the killer. She brought two pillows and two down comforters from the upstairs bedroom, and set them by the kitchen door, in case she and Casey had to spend the night. She buttered bread for egg sandwiches, made a pot of coffee, and was reaching into the refrigerator for ginger marmalade when she heard a loud
snap
that startled her. She slammed the refrigerator door and heard something fall inside. Then she realized the snap was the egg cooker turning itself off. She laughed and patted her chest, where her heart seemed to be pounding loud enough to hear.

She looked in the refrigerator to see what had fallen and found that it was the bowl of fish chowder left over from several nights ago. She had been meaning to throw it into the compost bucket, but although the chowder was not quite fresh enough to eat, it hadn’t spoiled yet. Now the lower shelves of the refrigerator were coated with fishy-smelling goo.

She cleaned it up and went back to making sandwiches. Ginger marmalade and cream cheese would serve for dessert. Apples and a handful of hard candies.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move to the east of the house, behind the fishpond. She stopped what she was doing to see what it was. While she watched, she saw the tall irises in back of the pond part, and the neighbor’s black dog trotted out. He put both front legs into the pond and lapped up water. Then he looked up, pink tongue hanging out, a dog-smile on his face, and shook himself. Water drops flew around in a swirl. Victoria put both hands on the kitchen counter to steady her nerves, and laughed to herself.

She finished packing sandwiches, napkins, apples in the picnic basket, closed the lid, slid the bits of bamboo into the loops that held it closed, and set the basket inside the west door where it wouldn’t get wet.

As she straightened up, she thought she saw a figure flit from behind the Norway maple tree into the shadows. It was only chance that she’d seen it at all.

She said, in her mind, that if a stranger should dare come into her
house, she could easily evade him. A stranger wouldn’t know the nooks and crannies of the house, the secret hiding places, the multitude of doors.

She decided to go upstairs to the second-floor attic, the room above the kitchen, where she could look out the window without being seen. She crept quietly up the steep back staircase. Perhaps her imagination was getting the better of her. Perhaps nobody was there behind the maple tree. Perhaps she was being overly dramatic.

She looked at her watch. Casey should be here in another five minutes. If someone was out there, Victoria thought, she could elude them for that five minutes, at least, until Casey showed up. If someone should come into the house and come upstairs, she could go down either the front stairs or the back stairs, make her way out of the house through the front door, and flag down a passing car. She found herself breathing heavily and perspiring.

The phone in the upstairs study rang.

At first, she couldn’t decide whether to answer it or not. Surely it would be something innocent, like the League of Women Voters telling her about a meeting. Or the Garden Club asking her to bake cookies. After three rings, she snatched up the receiver.

“Victoria? This is Casey. I’ve been delayed another ten minutes. Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Victoria’s voice sounded thick to her.

She hung up the phone and went back to the window. Might someone have crept across the yard while she was on the phone? Had she imagined that figure by the maple tree? She checked her watch. Now it would be twelve minutes.

She’d be foolish to escape by going up to the big attic on the third floor, she thought. It had only one stairway and she would be trapped. The closet in the west room had a back that led into another, smaller, bedroom. When she was a child, she pretended it was a secret passage. She could hide in the closet and escape through one door or the other.

She told herself she was being ridiculous. She looked at her watch. Only three minutes had passed since Casey had called. Nine more minutes. If only Dojan and Casey hadn’t made her feel so vulnerable. She saw a movement near the maple again. Was it a shadow
from wind-blown branches? Or the black dog marking territory on its way home? Certainly it couldn’t be a person. No one would hide like that.

Or could it be? She thought again of the trap she’d set. One of the people in that circle around her this afternoon, she was sure, had killed three people. If that person thought she, Victoria Trumbull, had found evidence, what would stop that killer from coming after her? Someone must be feeling panicky now and might take risks in order to stop Victoria Trumbull from telling what she knew. She had assumed the killer would go directly to Burkhardt’s place to get rid of the evidence she had said was in the barn, but now that she thought about it, it made sense for the killer to come after her first. Why had she so lightly dismissed Casey? Pride, she told herself. I really should start acting my age. Six minutes until Casey got here. Perhaps she would be early.

Victoria saw the movement again, too large for a dog, too solid for a shadow. If she stayed here at the window, she would have enough warning if the person—if that’s what it was—crossed the yard. And if Casey showed up in the police Bronco, the person would never dare appear.

But if it was the killer, wouldn’t Casey’s Bronco be a warning that Jube’s place was being watched?

Victoria shook her head to clear it, and stood by the side of the window, out of sight, where she could watch for movement near the Norway maple.

The Bronco pulled into the drive. Victoria dabbed the perspiration off her forehead and eased her way down the back stairs. The steps were steep and slippery and there was no railing, so she braced herself with a hand on either side of the narrow walled-in stairwell.

Casey was already in the kitchen. “Sorry for the delay, Victoria. Was everything okay?”

Victoria told her about her small frights, and laughed.

Casey looked somber. “I should have thought about that myself, that you might be in danger. I’ll check behind the maple tree and see if there’s a trace of anyone.”

Victoria was gathering up her cloth bag and the picnic basket
when she heard Casey shout. Then she heard Casey’s voice, louder and louder, higher and higher. It sounded as if she were angry. Victoria went to the entry and looked out. Dojan, head hanging down, was following Casey, whose face was thunderous.

“You’re supposed to guard her, not scare her to death,” Casey was saying. “What were you thinking of?”

Before Casey could say more, Victoria put down her basket and her cloth bag and held out her hands to Dojan.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad it was you, Dojan. I was afraid that if the killer had seen the police vehicle, we would never have been able to spring our trap.”

Casey, standing with her fists on her hips, turned on Dojan. “I want you down at Burkhardt’s, right now. Watch for anyone walking or driving, probably down the road next to the lily pond. Don’t let anyone see you, you understand? We don’t want the killer alerted too soon. Don’t leap out and capture someone who is innocently walking along the road. You understand me, Dojan?”

He looked at his bare feet and traced circles in the sand of the driveway with his toes. He nodded, his feather bobbing in his hair, turned, and disappeared down the path that cut across Victoria’s property to the Tiah’s Cove Road. The viburnum and raspberry canes that almost blocked the way closed in behind him.

“Goddamn!” said Casey, kicking a stone out of the driveway onto the grass. “What goes on in his mind?”

“He was guarding me.”

“Guarding? He’s like a kid playing cops and robbers.”

“Cowboys and Indians,” said Victoria.

“Get in. We’ve got to set your trap.”

As they approached the turnoff to Burkhardt’s place, Casey said, “How do you get onto that middle road?”

“As I recall, there’s a big rock on the left, which is unusual because there aren’t many rocks on this part of the Island. It’s mostly sand. And there was a bent sapling.”

Casey turned at a fork Victoria indicated, and the Bronco moved slowly along the brushy road.

“A vehicle has come through here recently.” Casey pointed to broken branches and broken sticks in the track.

“This leads to the lily pond,” Victoria said. “Fishermen use this road sometimes.”

“Not often, from the looks of it,” Casey said. “Here’s a rock. And there’s your bent sapling.” She pointed to an oak tree, its trunk a foot-and-a-half in diameter. The trunk bent sharply, three feet off the ground, then grew straight up to a leafy crown.

Victoria leaned out to look up at the tree. “I’d never have guessed a tree would grow up so quickly.”

“Quickly?” said Casey. She shifted into four-wheel drive, and they plowed over bushes and small trees.

“I’ll park a bit farther on, out of sight. We can go the rest of the way on foot.” Casey inched along another hundred feet, and pulled the Bronco off to one side, the thick undergrowth snapped back to conceal it.

Victoria reached into the back of the Bronco for her stick. “I’ll be in the barn.”

“No you don’t, Victoria. Let’s think this through.”