Shooting Star (14 page)
Authors: Cynthia Riggs
Casey dropped off Victoria at her house, and Victoria, after checking to make sure no one else was home, went upstairs and knocked on the attic door. She heard sneakers on the steps and Teddy opened the door. He was pale.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
He rubbed his eyes. “I fell asleep. How’s Sandy?”
“I haven’t talked to Dr. Atkins since this morning, but he seemed to think Sandy would be fine. But I did talk to Sergeant Smalley at the state police barracks.”
“No!” wailed Teddy.
“It’s all right, Teddy. He’s promised to keep your secret, at least until Monday. All of the Island police were searching for you. He needed to let them know you’re safe. He’s also given me a list of questions to ask you. Would you like to come downstairs, for a change? You must be tired of the attic.”
“It’s okay. I like it up here. What did my mother say about the note?”
“The note is still on the table. She must not have seen it yet. Come along.”
Teddy followed her to the kitchen, where she made a peanut-butter sandwich for him, and they moved into the cookroom. She rummaged in her cloth bag until she found the list of questions Smalley had given her.
“The police need to know everything you can possibly remember about what you saw and heard the night before last. That was Thursday.”
“Dress rehearsal,” Teddy said, nibbling at his sandwich.
“Did you hear anything at the theater that was unusual? I was there with you, of course. But you’re supposed to say what you heard.”
“Only that after everyone left, someone in back of us made a noise Mr. Hill didn’t like.”
“That’s right. I remember that, too.” Victoria jotted down a note in the space Smalley had left after the question. “Mr. Hill looked up and asked who was there, and no one answered.” She referred to the list. “He wants to know if, on your way home, you noticed anything different?”
“We stopped at Louis’s and picked up the pizza, and then Peg drove home along Lagoon Pond Road. Someone was in a dinghy going behind the point.”
“Motorboat?” asked Victoria, writing.
Teddy nodded.
“A man or a woman?”
“I couldn’t tell. I think it was a man.”
“Was he on the same side of the point as you?”
“Yup.” Teddy thought a moment. “No, he wasn’t. He went around behind the point.”
“Could you tell anything about the person or the boat?”
“Lots of people on Lagoon Pond have dinghies with outboard motors,” he said. “I didn’t notice anything special about it.”
“No telling what might be useful to the police,” said Victoria. “Did you see any strange vehicles when you drove onto Job’s Neck?” she asked after he’d settled back in his seat.
He shook his head. “Peg let me off in front of my house and drove on to her house next door. I can’t think of anything I haven’t told you. I got my bicycle from the shed and then I went into my house.”
“Was the door locked?”
“Just the front door. Not the back. We never lock the back door.”
“Go on. You were saying you went in …”
“I went in and turned on the lights so I could find my comic books, because it was beginning to get dark. I’m pretty sure I turned the lights out when I left, Mrs. Trumbull. My mother makes a big deal about not wasting electricity.”
“She’s quite right. Go on.”
“I turned out the lights and put my comic books in the basket on the front of my bike.”
“Did you have many comic books?”
Teddy nodded. “A big pile. One fell out. I didn’t ride my bike over to Peg’s, I wheeled it, because she’s right next door.”
“I see.”
“I was going to leave my bike in her shed. Then, like I told you, I heard Peg scream, ‘Run, Teddy, run!’ just like that.” He’d imitated the scream in an eerie way. Victoria shivered.
“So you ran.”
“I shouldn’t have. My dad wouldn’t of.”
“Teddy, you did exactly the right thing. Your dad was trained to be a Ranger. You haven’t been, not yet.”
Teddy picked up his partly nibbled sandwich and put it down again.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Victoria asked.
He shook his head.
“What happened next?”
“Pretty soon I saw this light-colored car go by. I thought at first it was Lears’ car, but it wasn’t.”
“Can you tell me anything at all about the car? Was it big, like an SUV, or small, like a sports car?”
Teddy thought. “It was kind of medium. I couldn’t really tell the color. Maybe light tan or gray or blue.” He shrugged. “Not white. Sort of an old lady’s car. Four doors and kind of a dopey shape, you know?”
Victoria sighed, and thought of the green Citation she no longer was permitted to drive. All because of backing into the Meals on Wheels van. Her Citation had not been an old lady’s car. “Could you tell how many people were inside?”
“Just one. A man, I think. I couldn’t really see him, but the top of his head was taller than the top of the headrest.”
Victoria noted this. “Was it possible that the man driving the light-colored car was a neighbor? Someone you knew?”
Teddy pushed his sandwich away from him. “I know most all the cars on the point. Could’ve been a summer renter or a visitor.”
“But you don’t think you knew him?”
Teddy shrugged again. “I didn’t get a good look at him.”
Victoria turned the page of her list of questions. “Then you went back to your house. Why did you do that?”
Teddy shrugged. “I was scared to go back to Peg’s, because of the scream, you know?”
Victoria nodded.
“I figured I could call her from my house, and if she didn’t answer, I could call nine-one-one. That’s what they tell us to do at school.” He looked up. “And the lights were on downstairs. I know I didn’t leave them on.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Tell me, again, everything you saw. The person rifling through your mother’s desk. Can you possibly recall whether it was a man or a woman?”
Teddy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The person was kind of a blob. All dressed in black.”
Victoria noted that. “Could you tell how tall the person was? When you were in the tree, where was his head with respect to pictures on the wall?”
Teddy thought for a long time. “He was bent over the desk, so I couldn’t tell.”
“Did he ever stand up straight?”
“When I broke the branch, yeah. But I was so scared, I didn’t really look at him.”
“Try to remember. Did he come to the window before you climbed out of the tree?”
“Yeah. He came over and opened the window and put his hands on the windowsill, and that’s when I saw this ski mask,
and he looked up and he was looking right at me. I could see his eyes.”
and he looked up and he was looking right at me. I could see his eyes.”
“Were his eyes a dark color or a light color?”
Teddy shook his head.
“But he seemed to be taller than your mother. Was he as tall as your father?”
“He didn’t seem real tall. Medium, I guess.”
“As tall as I am?”
“Shorter than you, Mrs. Trumbull. You’re pretty tall.”
Victoria smiled and turned to another page. “When you climbed out of the tree, you heard him go out the back door.”
“He tripped over my Lego box and must have hurt himself, because he swore something awful. My mother told me that was going to happen. Someday, somebody’s going to get hurt, she’s always saying.”
“Well, this time she’ll be glad you didn’t listen to her.”
“I always
listen
to her.” Teddy grinned. “But I don’t always do what she says. Her creepy boyfriend stays with us sometimes. When I don’t do what my mother wants.” Teddy sighed. “She likes him better than she likes me.”
listen
to her.” Teddy grinned. “But I don’t always do what she says. Her creepy boyfriend stays with us sometimes. When I don’t do what my mother wants.” Teddy sighed. “She likes him better than she likes me.”
“I doubt that,” said Victoria. “She likes him in a different way. She’ll never stop liking you best of all.”
Teddy settled back in his chair.
“When he banged into the Lego box and swore, did it sound like a man or a woman?”
Teddy sat up straight. “A man. Definitely a man.”
“Then you dropped out of the tree, managed to reach your bicycle, and turned onto the lane that led to the main road. That’s when you found Sandy. And I know from what you told me earlier, you saw two cars turn off the Job’s Neck Road. Which car did you see while you were rescuing Sandy?”
“The second. It was light colored, too, but it was more like an old VW bus. Sort of boxy, but not real big.”
“The license plate. Could you tell anything about it?”
“It was too dark out … . I just remembered something, Mrs.
Trumbull. The first car, I could see the license plate, but I couldn’t read the numbers. But it had all numbers. The second car, the license plate was all letters.”
Trumbull. The first car, I could see the license plate, but I couldn’t read the numbers. But it had all numbers. The second car, the license plate was all letters.”
“That’s helpful,” said Victoria. “Could you tell anything about the driver?”
“Nope.”
At that point, a police vehicle pulled into Victoria’s driveway.
“Quick, Teddy. Upstairs. Take an apple from the bowl for dessert.”
And Teddy scurried away.
She checked for crumbs and evidence of a small boy eating an early lunch, and then she looked out the cookroom window. The vehicle had parked under the Norway maple, and Alison stepped out. Victoria had forgotten that Sergeant Smalley had loaned her a state police car.
Alison brought a faint smell of formalin with her into the kitchen.
Victoria was innocently wiping the kitchen counter and looked up. “Did you learn anything from Robert Scott’s body?”
“You don’t want to talk to me until I have a shower, Mrs. Trumbull. I won’t be long.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, she emerged, in bare feet and wearing a pair of Elizabeth’s jeans and a T-shirt. She was combing her newly washed hair.
“Have you had lunch?” Victoria asked.
“John’s taking me out to lunch, thanks.”
“John?”
Alison smiled. “Sergeant Smalley.”
“Yes, of course,” said Victoria. “Have a cup of tea, then, and tell me what you can before he gets here.”
“Not much to tell. Robert Scott didn’t die from strangulation, although he had some serious bruises around his neck. And I found no evidence of heart anomalies.”
“In other words, not a heart attack?”
“Not a heart attack caused by a pre-existing condition.”
“Was he poisoned, then? The cup that the cleaning woman found …”
“It looks that way,” said Alison. “If it was poison, I’ll be interested in learning what the killer used. Quick acting and fairly humane, I would guess. Bob Scott didn’t suffer.”
Dawn Haines, free of her role as the bride of Frankenstein, stood in the pet food aisle at Cronig’s Market trying to decide which delicacy her cat, Perky, would deign to eat. Just this morning, Perky had delivered a headless mouse to her doorstep, his contribution to the dinner table. But Perky, himself, must be offered salmon treat. Or was it chicken livers this week?
She was poring over the small cans of gourmet cat food when a voice behind her said, “They’re impossible, aren’t they?”
Dawn turned, and there was Trooper Tim Eldredge, still looking rumpled, wheeling a grocery cart half-full of sensible items like potatoes, onions, and oatmeal. He reached for a large can of generic cat food.
She brightened. “Hi, Tim. You have a cat?”
“Three.”
“My condolences. You’re not still on duty, are you?” She indicated his disheveled uniform.
“Sergeant Smalley gave me a couple of hours off. To get cleaned up.”
From head to foot, he was a picture of exhaustion, needing a shower, a shave, clean clothes, and a good night’s sleep.
He asked, “You’re not going on stage for the matinee?”
Dawn chortled. “I think I’ll defer to the new bride of Frankenstein. Becca Hill and her idiot husband, Dearborn, can have the play, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I hear it’s a howling success.”
“What they’ve done to it stinks,” said Dawn.
A woman behind Tim said, “Excuse me.”
“Sorry,” said Tim, and he pushed his cart to one side to let her pass.
“A bunch of us didn’t act on opening night out of respect for Peg Storm. Now Bob Scott’s dead, and it’s like Mr. Hill can only think about the box office and more, more, more receipts.” She beckoned with her free hand in a come-to-me gesture.
“Makes you wonder who’s next.”
“Mr. Hill’s an A-number-one hypocrite,” she said. “Like he’s always ranting and raving about professionalism, yet look what he’s done to Mrs. Trumbull’s play. No one will ever again be able to produce it the way she meant it to be.”
“Who’s the next one killed in the play?” Tim asked again.
“The bride of Frankenstein.”
“You?”
“Not any more, it isn’t.” She flicked her long braid over her shoulder with one hand. “Dearborn the drunk and Becca the super ham are producing the play this afternoon, no matter that Peg and Bob are dead. ‘Box office, box office, box office.’ And Teddy’s still missing.”
“Sergeant Smalley called off the search for him.”
“No!” Dawn cried. “They haven’t given up … ?”
“I don’t know what it means. The sergeant wants me on duty at Mrs. Trumbull’s tonight.” He covered his mouth and yawned. “Informally, you know. I’m supposed to be playing an all-night poker game with Junior Norton, the West Tisbury cop.”
“Two of you? Mrs. Trumbull’s not in danger, is she?”
Tim looked around before he answered. “I have a feeling Teddy may be at Mrs. Trumbull’s.”
“But that’s where his mom is staying. The forensic scientist, too.”
“Mrs. T’s got a pretty big house.”
Dawn set her basket on the floor. “They don’t really think Peg’s and Bob’s deaths are accidents, do they? I mean, it’s too weird.”
Tim shrugged. “Cops don’t like coincidences, even though we see them all the time.”
“It’s almost like Bruce Duncan is right about the actors getting killed in order of their appearance.”
Tim shrugged again.
“So if Teddy is alive somewhere, you must be scared that some killer is out there, trying to find him?”
“Teddy plays the first victim of the monster, right?”
Dawn nodded. “Victor Frankenstein’s little brother, William.”
“And Teddy went missing. Then the next one killed in the play is the housekeeper, the part Peg Storm played.”
“Justine. She’s hanged.”
“And now Peg is dead,” said Tim. “Then who gets killed in the play?”
“Henry Clerval, the part Bob Scott played.”
“And Bob Scott is dead.”
“It wasn’t even Bob Scott’s part. He was substituting for Bruce Duncan, who didn’t go on stage out of respect for Peg, like a lot of us. Bruce had a thing for her.”
“Heavy stuff.” Tim checked his watch. “I gotta get these groceries to my grandmother before I clean up and get over to Mrs. Trumbull’s. You want to join us in the poker game?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“You know where I live?”
Tim grinned. “Sure do.” He piled a half-dozen cans of cat food and a twenty-five-pound sack of cat chow into his cart. “Which way are you going?”
“Next aisle. Cereals and juice.” Dawn picked up her basket and dropped four small cans of gourmet cat food into it.
They left the pet food aisle, walking slowly and talking. “You really think Teddy is at Mrs. Trumbull’s?”
“You better not talk so loud. I don’t think anyone’s supposed to know,” said Tim. “Was she Bruce Duncan’s girlfriend?”
“You mean Peg? No way. She tried to discourage him politely, but he just didn’t get it. Finally, she was almost rude, at least for her. Now he’s going crazy about her death.”
“Probably feels guilty.”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. Not Bruce.”
“Then the bride of Frankenstein?”
“Not me. Dearborn’s wife, Becca, was so awful, the audience loved her. Dearborn was drunk, and they loved that. Roderick was clumsy, and Nora, the stage manager, read her lines in a monotone. The audience loved everything.” She glanced at Tim, who stifled another yawn. “You need to get some sleep.”
“I wish.”
“I don’t think they meant to turn the play into a farce. It just happened.” Dawn turned the corner past the sushi, and Tim followed with his cart. “Poor Mrs. Trumbull. After all the work she did on that play.”
Tim yawned again and checked his watch. “Carrots. My grandmother needs carrots. See you later.” He wheeled his cart toward the checkout, and Dawn continued to the dairy aisle. She was looking for a half-carton of eggs when she saw Bruce Duncan’s reflection in the glass of the refrigerators.
“What d’ya say, Dawn. Fancy meeting you here.” He, too, carried a basket, his with crackers and cheese in it. “Mrs. Trumbull’s granddaughter is over in pickles and olives, and Gerard Cohen is in frozen foods.”
“He’s not acting in the matinee either?”
“Doesn’t look that way. I suppose you could call us cast-out outcasts.”
“Unh,” said Dawn.
“Well,” Bruce went on, “Dearborn’s wife is the next victim. You should be glad you’re not on stage for this performance.”
Dawn nodded. “Mr. Hill seems to have everything under control.”
“Except the murders,” Bruce Duncan said.
Gerard Cohen wheeled his cart to a stop behind them. “What murders?”
At Shirley’s Hardware, George wrote out a check for his purchase. “Wasn’t sure you had this in stock.” He held up what looked like a large pistol and a box printed with flags.
“If you don’t see what you want, ask. We’ll special order it for you,” said Mary, writing George’s phone number on his check. “That’s our motto.” She handed him the receipt.
Jessie, the owner, stopped at the counter. “Going hunting?” he said, and laughed. George was tall, but Jessie towered over him and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds.
“Someone showed me,” said George.
“While you’re at it,” Mary said, “do you suppose you could come over to my place and shoot at a few deer? They’ve eaten everything in my garden.” This week, her hair was a bright metallic green.
“Frighten ’em to death, most likely,” said Jessie.
Mary slammed the cash register drawer shut. “Want a bag?”
“Yes,” said George. “I’d rather not be seen carrying.”
“Don’t blame you.” Jessie laughed again. “How’s school?”
“Not bad,” said George.
“Haven’t seen your mother around lately.”
George glanced at his watch. “She’s busy. I’ve got to get back to the theater. Matinee this afternoon, and I have to change into my costume.”
“Hear the play’s a big hit,” said Jessie.
“Guess so,” George replied. “See you.”
“Break a leg,” said Mary, returning her pen to her hairdo.
George looked again at his watch and hustled out of the door, got into the car he’d borrowed from his mother and drove back to the playhouse. He parked on Franklin Street, as close as he could to the theater so he wouldn’t have far to walk, and strode
down the hill and through the wide front door. People were already lining up, an hour and a half early.
down the hill and through the wide front door. People were already lining up, an hour and a half early.
The line trailed down two blocks to Main Street. Scalpers were out, hawking tickets at Broadway-plus prices.
George hurried. He and the dying Frankenstein were the first on in Act One, and he had to change into his explorer’s costume. After he’d done his listening-to-Frankenstein bit, he’d have plenty of time. He laughed when he imagined the audience reaction to what he was about to do.
He supposed Dearborn must be wondering where he was. Unless Uncle Dearborn had already drunk enough to anesthetize himself.
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