Touch-Me-Not (19 page)

C
HAPTER
35

They shut the door behind them and Emily’s music swelled back to a superloud blast.

“She’s destroying her hearing,” said Amelia.

“I suppose they don’t want to hear our advice; they’re unable to listen to reason.” Victoria smiled at her unintentional small joke.

They crossed the road again and returned to the parked car. “Well!” said Amelia once they’d buckled themselves in. “No doubt about it. We know now who killed LeRoy Watts.”

Victoria shook her head. “Not Emily.”

“That tool of hers is lethal-looking. A fid, right?”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “A good weapon.”

“She certainly had a motive. I don’t know when I’ve seen such an angry person.” Amelia backed out carefully into the road and they headed up-Island.

“She didn’t kill him,” Victoria said with assurance.

“I can picture that girl jabbing her fid into LeRoy’s neck.”

“Emily’s not the killer.” Victoria shook her head. “Shall we stop at the Black Dog and get a cup of coffee?”

“It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll treat,” said Amelia.

They ordered lobster rolls and iced tea, and when the waitress brought their orders, heaping plates of food that would serve a small family, they decided to split one lobster roll and take the rest home.

“I’m so delighted with the touch-me-not I planted,” said Victoria after she’d decided to attack her half of the lobster roll with a knife and fork. “The plants are already about five inches high.”

“I saw them,” said Amelia. “Such a fun plant. Do you remember when we were just little kids how I used to love going down to the brook and popping those fat seedpods.”

“So did I,” said Victoria. “And so did my mother. I still do. Just the slightest touch.”

“Stalkers and touch-me-not,” said Amelia. “Seems appropriate, somehow.” She held her half of the lobster roll in both hands and nibbled at it from the side. “Delicious. Not something we get in California.”

“Have you thought any more about Fran? The days you were in college together?” asked Victoria. “Sometimes a memory will come to you quite unexpectedly.”

“I didn’t know her well in college, and, of course, I haven’t seen her for over forty years.”

“What do you remember?”

“Well, she was what the kids would call a nerd today. Very bright, obsessive, highly focused. I’m not surprised she decided to teach math.”

“She hasn’t lived on the Vineyard for long,” said Victoria. “Four or five years.”

Amelia shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Did you live in the same dormitory?”

Amelia thought. “Come to think of it, yes, we did. She was on the third floor; I was on the second. But everyone in the dorm shared common rooms and the kitchen. Actually, I saw quite a bit of her.”

“What was her social life like?”

“I was so busy with my own, I had no idea what hers was like.” Amelia laughed. “When I think about it, I don’t believe she had much of any life. She was dedicated to her studies and didn’t have time.”

“I wonder about the student who encouraged her to come to the Vineyard,” Victoria said.

“Anything to do with a student of hers came long after I knew her.” Amelia dipped a french fry into a pool of ketchup she’d dribbled on her plate. “Oh my!” She dropped the fry onto her plate.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered what it was I was trying to recall when we were at the lighthouse. She had a crush on a physics professor.”

“That’s not uncommon,” said Victoria. “I can remember my feelings about a teacher—”

“No, no.” Amelia held up her hand as though she was stopping traffic. “At the lighthouse, you said Fran might be able to give you some insight into stalking.”

Victoria set her fork down beside the remains of her lobster roll and turned her full attention to Amelia.

“It wasn’t like the high school crushes we all had on some teacher we admired, Mother. Fran followed this physics professor of hers around, wrote him notes, and called him at home. She told his wife he was in love with her, Fran. She said he was going to leave the wife and marry her. It caused a big flap at the time. I’d forgotten all about it until now.”

“What happened?”

“The professor was at least thirty years older than Fran, one of those stereotypical absentminded professors. He didn’t have a clue, as I recall. We used to joke about how his wife probably taught him everything . . . well, everything.” Fran picked up the fry again and bit off the ketchup coated end.

“And?”

“I think the dean called Fran in and gave her a talking-to. We students never really found out for sure, although we tried.”

“What about the professor?”

“He kept on going as though nothing had happened. As far as he was concerned, nothing did. But to Fran, I guess, it was a huge embarrassment. She dropped the physics course and switched to math.”

“I suppose that’s what the school demanded.”

“Probably. One grows out of that sort of adolescent behavior.”

“I wonder,” said Victoria. She picked up her fork again and finished the last shreds of lobster.

Amelia said, “Since she knew stalking from the standpoint of the stalker, Fran probably was an effective advisor. She’s very bright.”

The waitress brought the check and turned to Victoria. “Was everything all right, Mrs. Trumbull?”

“Delicious,” said Victoria.

“Would you like a doggie bag?”

“Please,” said Amelia, giving the waitress her credit card.

Victoria picked up her cloth bag while they waited for the waitress to return. “Her reaction to your gentle teasing was interesting.”

“Odd at least,” said Amelia. “Fran said she’d visited the Island and fallen in love, and all I said was, ‘With the student or the Island?’ at which point she got quite upset.”

“Humorless, to say the least,” said Victoria.

“That’s Fran for you.”

As they passed the police station, Victoria said, “I need to see Casey. Why don’t you go on to the library and Casey will drive me there in an hour or so. That will give you time to talk with Fran.”

Amelia pulled into the oyster-shell parking area and Victoria got out.

“I can come back for you, Mother.”

“Casey will give me a ride, thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.” Victoria brushed aside the ducks and climbed the steps that led into the police station.

Casey looked up from her computer. “How are the interviews going, Victoria?”

Victoria sat in her usual chair by Casey’s desk. “We may need to look at the situation differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you find any background information on Fran Bacon?”

“The knitter?”

“Amelia went to college with her, and she apparently got into trouble for stalking one of her professors.”

“Sure. Let me back out of this program, and I’ll look her up. Where did she go to school?”

“University of Massachusetts.”

“There’s a problem with confidentiality of records, but I think I can get around that for police business. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Victoria had brought her lilac-wood stick with her, and leaned it against her chair. “I told my daughter I’d meet her at the library in about an hour.”

“That should do it,” said Casey, tapping keys and humming to herself.

After a few minutes, she said, “Aha!”

Victoria looked up. Then when she saw Casey was still concentrating, she gazed out the window at the Mill Pond, where the swans were feeding.

“Okay!” Casey said after what seemed like a long time. She stood up.

“What have you found?”

“Fran Bacon, a sophomore at the time, was reprimanded for harassing her physics professor, a Dr. Breznikowski, writing letters to his wife claiming she was having relations with her husband, calling the wife, following the prof around, yadadda do. The professor and his wife had a young son they called Lee, eight years old. They didn’t want publicity that would touch the kid.”

“Any criminal charges filed?”

“The professor refused to file a complaint, and his wife did, too, and the whole thing was dropped.” Casey looked up. “Am I following your line of reasoning? Let’s look more closely at Fran?”

“Did you know that LeRoy Watts was a student of hers at Northeastern?”

“Small world,” said Casey.

Victoria nodded. “Will you give me a ride up to the library?”

Casey stood up and fastened on her belt with its multitude of tools. “Let’s go.”

C
HAPTER
36

Casey parked in the filtered shade of a maple that overhung the library’s parking lot. The lot was empty except for the librarian’s recumbent tricycle, the assistant librarian’s Jeep, and Elizabeth’s convertible.

“What time is it, Victoria?”

Victoria lifted the sleeve of her turtleneck. “Almost three o’clock.”

“Elizabeth’s car is here. I don’t know what Fran drives.”

“They probably went to get a snack.”

“Alley’s is just across the road.” Casey slid out of the Bronco. “I’ll go in and ask Lucinda where they are. Wait here, Victoria.”

But Victoria eased herself out of the high passenger seat and followed Casey into the library.

Lucinda Chandler was at the computer behind the checkout counter. She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Chief. Mrs. Trumbull.”

Casey glanced around the library. The bank of computers in the center of the main room was deserted. So was the reading room. Even the children’s section was empty. “Seems awfully quiet today.”

“It’s the lull between the lunch crowd and kids getting out of school,” said Lucinda. “Come three-thirty, four, we’ll be busy.” She looked out the window. “Here’s the first wave.”

The front door slammed open and three adolescent girls burst in, giggling about something.

“Shhhh!” The redhead held a finger to her lips.

“Hi, Ms. Chandler.”

“Afternoon, girls.” Lucinda turned to Casey. “Excuse me, Chief. My clients.” Then to the girls. “What’s tonight’s assignment?”

“Lucinda . . .” said Casey, adjusting her utility belt.

“We’re supposed to write a five-hundred-word essay on bees,” said the redhead.

Lucinda held up a finger. “Be right with you, Chief. Won’t be a minute.” To the girls she said, “We have lots of books on bees,” and she came out from behind the counter.

Victoria looked at her watch. Casey folded her arms. Victoria coughed politely.

“One second more,” said Lucinda. To the girls she said again, “There’s an article on bees in the latest copy of
Junior Scholastic.
You know where to find the magazines? I want to talk to the chief.”

“Sure.” The three trooped into the reading room.

“Sorry,” said Lucinda, turning back to Victoria and Casey. “Are you here for the knitters’ group? Fran should be back in a half hour or so, in time for their meeting.”

“Lucinda . . .” Casey began.

“They’ve finished the quilt,” Lucinda said. “What do you think of it?”

“Lovely,” said Victoria. “But we need to know where Amelia and Fran went.”

“Fran wanted to show Amelia something. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

Casey paced away from the counter, then back again.

“How long ago did they leave?” Victoria asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago, maybe quarter to three?”

“What did Fran want to show Amelia?”

“I really wasn’t paying attention.”

Casey stopped in front of the counter. “Maybe a building or a garden or a beach, something like that?”

Lucinda leaned back against the counter and held her chin in one hand. “Let me think.”

Casey said, so only Victoria heard, “Quickly!”

“Amelia hasn’t been here for two years,” said Victoria. “Might Fran have wanted to show her something that’s occurred during that time?”

“I heard them talk about plants, and Fran mentioned a new planting at the Polly Hill Arboretum. They left shortly after that. They’ll be back in time for the knitting group, I guarantee. You know how obsessive Fran is about that quilt. She was even carrying her knitting with her.” Lucinda laughed. “Has to polish the last stitch on a brain coral or whatever.”

“Does that seem likely, that they went to the arboretum?” asked Victoria.

“Ummmm, yes. They were talking about plants.”

“Thanks,” said Casey. “Let’s go, Victoria.”

“Ask Amelia to call me if she returns with Fran while we’re gone, would you please?” Victoria gave her Casey’s cell-phone number.

As they left the library, Victoria said, “I’m being overly concerned about this, I’m afraid.”

“Probably. Fran has no reason to hassle Amelia.” Casey shrugged. “But your instincts are uncanny, Victoria, so let’s go.”

They were at the Bronco when Victoria said, “Amelia knew about Fran and the physics professor. Fran wouldn’t have forgotten that.”

“Fran’s wound kind of tight,” agreed Casey.

Victoria climbed into the high passenger seat, and Casey walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

“That physics professor bit was in the dim past,” said Casey, starting the engine. “Fran was, what, eighteen or nineteen? Not something Amelia is likely to remind Fran of in casual conversation.”

“Fran moved here because of a student of hers.”

Casey backed out of the parking space and headed out. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Fran was a math professor. One of her extracurricular tasks was to counsel students on dealing with stalkers.”

“Yeah?”

Casey pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto State Road.

“You knew, didn’t you, that LeRoy Watts got his engineering degree from Northeastern?”

“Sure.”

“Fran taught mathematics at Northeastern.”

“Was he a student of hers?”

“Yes.”

“Whew!” said Casey. “A stalker being stalked by a stalker, is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that,” said Victoria. “The lecturer we heard at the law enforcement meeting a couple of weeks ago said stalkers often turn violent if they’re thwarted.”

“We’ll be at the arboretum in a couple of minutes,” Casey said. She cornered Dead Man’s Curve, cutting over the center line. Victoria held onto her seat bottom with both hands. They passed Whiting’s hay field in a blur.

“The arboretum is fifty acres,” said Victoria. “A large area to cover.”

“They’ll be there. We’ll find them,” said Casey.

Victoria sat back again. “It’s probably nothing. We’re worrying about nothing. They’re taking a break from that quilt before the meeting to let Amelia see the arboretum.”

Casey’s hands were high on the steering wheel.

Victoria said, “If we see them, we can say—”

“We won’t need to explain a thing, Victoria. It’s perfectly natural for us to drop by the arboretum and join them.” She signaled a left turn and pulled into the arboretum’s parking area.

As they drove around the oval area, they counted nine cars and a tour bus parked in the dozen shaded spaces, each space designed for three or four cars.

“Any idea what Fran drives?” asked Casey.

“None whatsoever.”

“We can stop by the visitors’ center and ask if Amelia and Fran are here.” Casey got out of the Bronco, and the two walked the short distance to the visitors’ center.

A dozen people milled around the center, checking the books and gifts, studying the displays. The volunteer at the desk, her name tag identifying her simply as
ANN
, looked over the top of her glasses. Her hair was a halo of curls, a tangled mixure of auburn and silver. A pair of reading glasses hung from a cord around her neck.

“Hello, Mrs. Trumbull. May I help you?”

“Has Amelia stopped by with Fran Bacon?”

Ann shook her head. “You know, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t noticed.” She brushed curls away from her forehead. “They may not have stopped at the center.” She lifted her glasses up and perched them on her nose, then scrabbled around in a desk drawer and brought out a visitors’ guide. “Would you like a map? They may have gone on one of the walks without stopping here. They don’t need to, you know.”

“Thanks,” said Casey. “A map would help.”

“It’s been a lovely day,” said Ann, handing the map over. “They’re predicting rain this afternoon. Good for our gardens.”

“Do you know where Fran might want to take Amelia to show her a new planting?” asked Victoria. “Something within the past two years, perhaps?”

“I don’t know about specific new plantings,” said Ann. “We’re constantly adding specimens to the arboretum.” She thought a moment, tugged off her glasses, then put them back on. “I’ll show you some of the lovely spots.”

Casey handed the map over and Ann opened it up. “The azaleas are spectacular right now.” She removed the cap from a yellow marker pen and circled the azalea plantings. “And the rhododendrons are in bud. Some may already be in bloom.” She handed the map to Victoria, who passed it on to Casey. “You know where the West Field is?”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “Thank you. If Amelia shows up, would you mind calling Casey on her cell phone?”

“I’d be glad to. I think I have your number, Chief, don’t I?”

“Let me write it out for you,” said Casey, and did.

“Thanks ever so much,” said Ann, taking off her glasses. “Have a nice walk. I hope you meet up with them.”

“So do we,” said Casey, and Victoria noticed that behind Casey’s back, her fingers on both hands were crossed.