Deadly Nightshade (13 page)

“He's a great admirer of mine. He introduced himself, then asked if I would autograph my books he'd bought over the years. Oh, yes, something else.” She got up stiffly from her chair.

“Can I get something for you?”

“No, I have to get it.” Victoria opened the cabinet over the refrigerator. “It's where I keep my stash of sweets.” She looked over her shoulder at Howland. “I don't want anyone to see how much I've hidden away here.”

She returned with a small box of Chilmark Chocolates. “Rocky brought me this. Have a piece. Or two.”

“Thank you.” Howland watched her slip the golden elastic band off the box and put it on her wrist. She lifted the lid of the white box. “Have you eaten any yet?”

“Not yet.” Victoria looked over the selection laid out in the box. “Such a treat. I don't often have them given to me.” She poised her hand above one, then changed her mind. “Rocky must have known how much I like chocolate.”

“You can hardly miss with those.” Howland picked out a fat cream, turned it over, and looked at the bottom. He put it back in the box and picked out a second candy, turned it over, looked at the bottom. He did the same with a third piece.

“I wouldn't allow my children to do that, Howland,” Victoria said tartly. “'Look as long as you want,' I'd tell them, 'but once you put your fingers on a piece, it's yours.'”

“I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Let me take the box and I'll bring you a new one.”

“That's not necessary.” Victoria put the lid back on the box, slipped the golden elastic back around it, and pushed the box toward him. “It's yours if you want it. Take it.”

“Thank you.” Howland picked up the box, zipped open his briefcase, dropped the chocolates into it, got up from the table, and left.

“Did you notice the stars when you came in?” Victoria said to Elizabeth, who'd returned from her day at the harbor. The night was cool and clear, with a touch of fall in the air. “Orion is so brilliant, you can imagine the hunter striding across the sky with his starry belt and sword.”

Elizabeth fetched the rum bottle and cranberry juice jug from the cupboard under the kitchen counter and mixed two drinks. She followed Victoria into the parlor, set the drinks on the coffee table, and knelt by the fireplace, where a fire was laid, ready to light. She put a match to the paper underneath and waited for the paper and kindling to catch before she got up.

“I'll bring in more wood,” she said.

She had lifted the canvas log carrier out of the wood basket and was at the dining room door when Victoria said suddenly, “Howland came by.”

Elizabeth turned at the tone of her grandmother's voice. Victoria was sitting in the mouse-colored wing chair next to the sofa. “He did the strangest thing this afternoon.”

“He can be pretty weird. What did he do this time?”

“He came over for a cup of coffee, and when I offered him a piece of chocolate from a box that nice man Rocky Folger brought me, he mauled several pieces, and when I told him sarcastically to take the whole box, he did.” She held up her glass and looked thoughtfully at the firelight flickering through the ruby red cranberry juice. “That's not like Howland at all. He usually has such impeccable manners.”

“I didn't realize the professor had come by.” Elizabeth set the log carrier down on a chair.

“Yes. Shortly before Howland showed up.”

“Mr. Folger was at the harbor today. He asked Howland to show him the harbor computer program.”

“Yes, he told me,” Victoria said. “He also told me about his own program, not that I understood what he was talking about.”

“He seems like a nice man.” Elizabeth looked through half-closed eyes at her grandmother. “He's closer to my age than Ben Norton is.”

Victoria's face crinkled in amusement. “I can't start matchmaking until I know him better.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I'm not interested anyway, Gram. I need to get my head back together before I look at another guy.” She left the room with the log carrier and returned in a few minutes with a load of wood, which she stacked in the basket next to the hearth. Flames flared up briefly; a log shifted. She prodded the fire with tongs until it burned evenly, then sat on the couch next to her grandmother's chair.

“Rocky has invited us aboard his yacht,” she said.

Victoria looked thoughtfully at her granddaughter. “I hardly know what to tell him about Howland and the chocolates.”

“You don't need to say anything.”

“I suppose not. I'll tell him, again, how pleased I was.”

They sat quietly, looking into the flames for long minutes.

Victoria glanced up suddenly. “Is someone at the door?”

Elizabeth put her drink on the coffee table and went to the kitchen. Howland stood in the dark entry with a white pasteboard box in his hand.

“Come on in,” Elizabeth said. “Hear you've suddenly acquired a sweet tooth.”

“Sorry about that.” Howland strode into the parlor and presented Victoria with the box he was holding, a box of Chilmark Chocolates, twice the size of the one Rocky had given her. Victoria looked up, puzzled. “What is this all about?”

“It's my apology for being so rude this afternoon.” Howland moved in front of the fireplace, put his elbow on the mantel, and looked down at the hearth.

“Will you join us for drinks?” Victoria asked him as she put the box of chocolates on the end table next to her.

Howland shook his head. “No thanks. I've got to go.”

The fire sizzled and hummed. A log snapped and broke with a shower of sparks.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he said to Elizabeth. “You're on duty at the harbor, three to midnight, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

Victoria lifted her glass to him. “Good night.”

Howland nodded, then disappeared into the starry night.

“What is wrong with him? He's certainly acting odd.” Victoria looked into the flickering fire. “I suppose it will sort itself out eventually.”

Victoria almost canceled her trip to Boston when she saw Meatloaf Staples driving the medi-van. This was the first time she'd used the free van, and it hadn't occurred to her to ask who the driver might be. However, Dr. Erickson had made an appointment with the foot specialist, Elizabeth had dropped fer off a the ferry terminal, and she could hardly back out now. She hoped Meatloaf would not remember her from that brief encounter at the harbormaster's shack. Really, she had nothing against him, except his rudeness that time.

Victoria, who was sitting ing the backseat, watched as a frail woman with a walker smiled up at Meatloaf, who helped her into the van. “You're so thoughtful, Mr. Staples.” Meatloaf had set out a milk crate as a step, folded the woman's walker, and stowed it behind the front seat.

The woman patted his arm, and he pushed his sunglasses back on his nose. She settled into the middle seat, next to a man wearing a red plaid jacket and a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt.

The medi-van was the first vehicle in the ferry line. Mist drifted up from the harbor's glassy surface, which reflected sailboats moored between the breakwater nad te ferry lane. Gulls circled and mewed; one dived and hooked a silvery fish in its bill, than soared into the air on strong wings. The harbor's mirror surface shattered into myriad sunrise colors where the birds had touched it.

Behind the rose-colored clouds over the shipyard to the east, the sun shot out bright rays. The masts of the topsail schooner
Shenandoah
etched black lines against the dawn sky.

The woman introduced herself to the man in the Hawaiian shirt, and they exchanged pleasantries about the sunrise. She shifted in her seat and peered at the people sitting behind her.

“George dear, what's taking you to Boston?” George was next to a black-haired woman, who was wedged between him and Victoria.

“Meatloaf's van.” George gave a horse-toothed laugh. The frail woman tittered. “Actually, my stomach's acting up again.” He adjusted himself between the women on either side of him. “I'm going for tests.”

“It's terrible getting old, isn't it?” She turned with her arm across the back of the seat. “And Victoria! This is the first time I've ever seen you use the medi-van.”

“Dr. Erickson wants someone to look at my toe.”

The woman next to Victoria smiled at her. Victoria scowled back. The woman had plastered her face with makeup, as if she were an actress. It made her look spooky, clown-like. “One needs to take care of one's feet,” the woman said brightly. Victoria's usually good-natured face wrinkled into a sour expression.

Meatloaf aimed his sunglasses through the open side door. “Everybody here?” He counted the passengers, pointing a thick forefinger at each one. When he came to Victoria, he paused. She saw him purse his soft lips. He remembers me, she thought.

“Let's see, five,” Meatloaf continued. “One more's supposed to come.” He looked at his watch. “They'd better hurry.”

The sun broke above the clouds and the harbor brightened. Sunlight glinted off white hulls and sparkled on the quiet water. Tendrils of mist writhed up from the harbor's surface and vanished. The day was going to be warm.

A short elderly man, his face flushed, darted toward them. “Medi-van?” he gasped, mopping his head with a handkerchief.

“None other.” Meatloaf nodded. 'Take your time, mister. You ride in front with me. I got laundry in back.”

“Landry?” The man put his hand behind his ear, puzzled.

“Lawn-dree,” Meatloaf said loudly. “When I do this medical run, I cart dirty lawn-dree from the Harbor House to the commercial laundry in Boston.”

Victoria looked behind her and saw two folding metal carts with canvas sacks bulging with towels and sheets slung from them.

“Ah.” The man regained his breath. “Killing two birds.”

“You could say that.” Meatloaf helped him into the front seat and slammed the door shut. An attendant beckoned the van toward the ferry. The line of cars and trucks followed up the gangplank, where they stopped to give the deckhand a ticket.

“Whaddaya say, Meatloaf?”

“Nothin' much, Beanie.”

“See you at the diner this evening.” Beanie tore off a portion of the ticket and handed the rest back to Meatloaf, who put the ticket under the visor and drove onto the vessel. The metal deck plates clanged under his wheels. He nodded to the deckhand, who directed him into the left center lane, and stopped behind the chain strung across the bow.

Once he'd pulled on the parking brake and shut off the engine, Meatloaf reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a folded slip of paper. Victoria saw him take a pen out of his pocket and scribble what looked like numbers.

The vessel's diesel engines rumbled. The vehicle deck vibrated as a second line of trucks and cars formed in the right center lane, headed by two eighteen-wheelers. The ferry rocked as each truck drove on board.

“Anyone want to get out, go up to the snack bar?” Meatloaf turned to his passengers. “This van's not going anyplace else for forty-five minutes.”

The woman in the middle seat and the woman next to Victoria raised their hands. Meatloaf set down the milk carton step and helped them out of the van. Victoria got out with them, taking Meatloaf's cold, moist hand reluctantly. “Watch your step, girls; the deck's slick.” He peered into the van. “Anyone else?”

As she climbed the iron stairway that led to the upper deck, Victoria felt someone watching her. Halfway up the stairs, she looked down and saw Meatloaf turn away quickly. He got back in the driver's seat, folded his hands over his stomach, and tilted his head back against the seat. His sunglasses covered his eyes.

At the top of the stairs, Victoria opened the watertight door that led into the lunchroom, then seated herself with the two other van passengers in a booth across from the lunch counter.

“How you doing, Mrs. Trumbull? Off to America?” Victoria looked up, to see Eddie Schultz, the electrician.

“Doctor's appointment. What about you?”

“I'm off to get some pipe sections myself. Christ, you'd think they was gold-plated.” He tipped his dirty red baseball cap to the three women. “Have a good day. See you around.”

He moved to the urn in front of the lunch counter and poured himself a large cup of coffee. “Keep the change,” he said to the blonde behind the counter.

“Whaddaya say, Eddie?” A bulky, bearded man slapped him on the back. “Catch any blues lately?”

“They ain't running too good up to Menemsha. How about you?”

“Running pretty good around Wasque, I hear. Give me one of them crullers.” The man pointed to a sugary doughnut and the blonde lifted the plastic cover, picked one up with a piece of waxed paper, and handed it to him.

“Rough out there?” Eddie asked her.

She shrugged. “Slick calm.”

The ferry whistled and pulled away from the slip. Victoria could see boats on moorings in the harbor, all pointing east. She nodded to a neighbor, who had come up the stairs into the lunchroom. Noting the clunky high heels of a young woman with two small children, Victoria marveled at how she managed to look so stylish with children hanging on her. She looked around at the other four booths, all of which were occupied, recognized a woman from church, who smiled at her. She turned back to the two women sitting across from her, and they talked about the children's posters displayed on the bulkhead above the table. The black-haired woman brought three cups of coffee to the table. They discussed summer crowds and how autumn was almost upon them. They continued chatting until the ferry turned into the channel between the barren-looking Elizabeth Islands and Woods Hole.

When the purser announced the vessel was docking, they returned to the van. The ferry's big doors opened, engines roared into reverse, and the vessel slid into the slip with a bump that rocked the vehicles on the car deck.

Meatloaf started up the van and led the procession of cars and trucks and motorcycles off the ferry.

As they left Woods Hole behind them, conversation died down, and the van's passengers dozed or read until they reached the outskirts of Boston.

“Medical Center, first stop.” Meatloaf inclined his head toward the back of the van. “Tufts next, Beth Israel.” He checked the side mirror and changed lanes, cutting in front of a bus.