Deadly Nightshade (2 page)

“Don't put the boat away yet.” Victoria stood up and backed toward the railing on the ramp so she could hold on to something.

“What's up, sweetheart?” Domingo pulled his cap down over his close-cropped hair and adjusted it over his heavy black brows. The boat bumped gently against the fender of the floating dock.

“I heard something on the other side of the harbor.” Victoria pointed toward the East Chop dock with her gnarled hand. “A scream. Then a splash.” She held the railing and braced herself against the slight movement of the dock. “I thought I saw someone before I heard the scream, but I'm not sure.”

“Get in,” Domingo ordered.

Elizabeth held out her hand for her grandmother, and Victoria took it and settled herself onto the middle seat, her back to Elizabeth, who sat down again in the stern seat and started the motor. Domingo undid the lines and gave the dock a small shove with his hand. He leaned toward Victoria. “Show us where, sweetheart.”

Elizabeth steered away from the floating dock, as much at home on the water as Victoria had been at her age. She piloted the launch among the sailboats moored in the center of the harbor, slowly, so the wake would not upset dishes or cocktail-hour glasses. Victoria heard music coming from the cockpits and cabins, music that varied from boat to boat. Rock, reggae, Bach, mostly contained within the boats. She could see the soft light of kerosene lamps, the glow of battery-operated lanterns.

“The scream was loud enough to wake the dead,” Victoria said to Domingo. Elizabeth shifted slightly in the stern seat.

Domingo unfolded his arms long enough to gesture toward the music wafting from the boats. The whites of his eyes contrasted with his dark face, made it look still darker. He shrugged, hands out, pale palms up, opened his eyes wide. His expression seemed to say, What do you expect? Victoria hadn't realized how loud the music must be inside the boats. Domingo peered out from under the peak of his cap, dark eyes watching her. Victoria, who had gotten to know him well during the two months Elizabeth had worked for him, saw an expression of pleasure she had never seen before. Retired New York cop back in action, she thought.

Behind her, Elizabeth was quiet as she steered the launch slowly among the boats.

“Where did the sound come from?” Domingo asked. Victoria pointed toward the far shore. He lifted his chin at Elizabeth. “You,” he said. “Slow down. You're making too much wake.”

Elizabeth grunted and slowed the boat. The wake trailed off gently, met and broke against the whitecaps that wind and tide had stirred up in the harbor. The bow of the launch slapped small breaking waves, sending sprays of water over the harbormaster's uniformed back, an occasional spray over Victoria. Her face glistened with salt water, her beaklike nose dripped water, and diamonds of moisture sparkled in her white hair in the light from shore.

Above them, the sky had become black velvet, punctuated with stars so bright, the lights from shore couldn't drown them out.

“The tide's changed,” Domingo said. “The current will be full flood in another ten or fifteen minutes.”

The launch's red and green running lights reflected off the darkening surface of the harbor; the stern light trailed a path of white glitter behind them.

Victoria lifted her right hand from the gunwale, gingerly, so as not to upset the balance, and pointed toward the dock, now dark. “More that way.”

Elizabeth changed direction slightly, and the bow slapped the choppy water.

“Slow down,” Domingo ordered Elizabeth. “There's no rush.” Elizabeth cut the speed to bare headway. “Sweetheart, let me have the searchlight under your seat.” Victoria felt around until she found the plastic-encased light and handed it to him. “You.” He gestured to Elizabeth. “Back and forth, starting here.”

Elizabeth gave the boat more power.

“What's your hurry? Slow down.” He turned back to Victoria. “Sit still, sweetheart. Tell me if you see anything.” He swept the searchlight across the dark surface of the water. The light reflected on foamy white wave tops.

Elizabeth turned the boat and steered slowly toward the light on the Harbor House. When she was even with the last of the moored boats, she turned again and steered toward the barely discernible osprey pole, a line against the pinkish gray evening sky. They were broadside to the waves now, and the launch rolled, shipping water with an occasional slurp, until an inch or so sloshed around in the bottom of the boat.

“The bailer is under the seat, Gram.”

Victoria fumbled until she found the Clorox bottle scoop tied to a thwart with a length of fishing line. She spread her knees apart and leaned over to scoop up the water at her feet. She heaved it over the side, careful to toss it away from the wind.

“Your grandmother's a better sailor than you are.” Domingo nodded at Victoria. Elizabeth snorted, a sound Victoria interpreted as a muffled laugh.

Domingo swept the light back and forth as they moved closer to shore. Victoria bailed. The Clorox scoop scraped against sand in the bottom of the boat. As they neared the shore, the harbor surface, sheltered by land, calmed, reflected the stars, the lights from the hotel. The boat steadied.

“Whoa!” Domingo said. “I see something.”

Elizabeth idled the motor. Domingo held the light on a floating dark mass a couple of boat lengths from them. They drifted past, and Elizabeth steered the launch toward it, letting the boat's momentum carry them.

Victoria rose slightly in her seat.

“Watch it!” Domingo said, balancing the boat. “Looks like we found the source of your scream.” He held the light high and aimed down at the dark mass.

“My God!” Elizabeth gasped.

“Careful!” Domingo ordered.

Victoria sat back. “How awful.” She stared at the object. “He's not dead, is he?”

“Doesn't look too good, sweetheart.”

“I heard him scream.” Victoria stopped, then continued. “He screamed for help. And I did nothing.”

“There was nothing you could do, sweetheart. Don't start thinking that way.” Domingo turned to Elizabeth. “You!” he said. “Get the boat hook.”

Victoria moved slightly so Elizabeth could slide the boat hook out from under the seat. She stared at the mass bobbing in the light from shore.

“Are you okay?” Domingo asked. “You're not cold, are you?”

“No,” Victoria replied. “I was thinking about that man.”

Domingo nodded and looked beyond Victoria to Elizabeth. “Pull it in. Get it next to the boat. That's it,” he added as Elizabeth leaned out and hooked the neck of the dark sweatshirt, navy blue or black, although Victoria couldn't tell which. “Go easy. That's it.”

“For Christ's sake, Domingo,” Elizabeth said, exasperation in her voice. “You don't need to tell me every single thing.”

The body was that of a heavyset man. He was floating facedown, arms spread over his head. His jeans were pulled down, so his plump bottom was exposed, two pale, gelatinous globes. His legs had sunk into the water, out of sight. It was difficult to tell much about him in the dim light. His wet hair seemed to be gray, held back in a short ponytail with an elastic band.

“Don't rock the boat.” Victoria had leaned over to get a better look. “You,” he said to Elizabeth, “get a line out of the box and secure him. That is,” he added, “if I'm not telling you too much.” The sound Elizabeth made was the same noise Victoria had heard her make as a little girl when her mother told her to clean her room.

“Get the line under one of his arms,” Domingo ordered. The boat shifted as Elizabeth unlatched the box, took out a length of line and reached out toward the body bumping against the right side of the boat. Victoria leaned slightly to her left for counterbalance.

Domingo undipped the handheld radio from his belt and switched it on, twisted the dial until the static stopped, and spoke into the mike.

“Oak Bluffs harbormaster on channel sixteen to Coast Guard.”

“Coast Guard on sixteen, sir,” a woman's voice answered. “Switch to channel twenty-two.”

Domingo entered the numbers, two small beeps of sound. “We have a floating body in the harbor near the yacht club.”

“Yes, sir.” The Coast Guard woman repeated what Domingo had said.

“We're taking it to the dock.”

“You're taking it to the dock, sir.”

“I'm calling the state police and the Oak Bluffs police on channel four oh four.”

“Yes, sir.” The voice repeated that information.

“Switching back to sixteen, and standing by,” Domingo said.

“Standing by channel sixteen, sir.”

“I've got his arm tied,” Elizabeth said in a thick voice. “The other end of the line's around the thwart.”

“Start her up and take the boat to the dock. We can secure him to the pilings until the police get there.”

He radioed Communications on channel 404. “Send the hearse.” He refastened his radio to his belt. “Not that I expect much from them.” He adjusted his cap and sat back in the bow seat, folded his arms over his chest again. “Hope you don't have to go anywhere, sweetheart. This might take awhile.”

Elizabeth geared up and headed toward the shore, where the dock was barely visible.

“Not so fast. Slow down.” He looked down at Victoria. “Recognize him, sweetheart?”

Victoria looked at the body tied alongside, dragging through the water with a sloshing sound, and shook her head. Water washed over the head, lifted the ponytail, rippled down the back, dividing into three streams when it reached the pale, round buttocks.

“Who is it?” Elizabeth said from behind her grandmother.

Domingo didn't answer immediately, and Victoria looked up at him. “Bernie Marble,” he said finally.

“Oh no!” Elizabeth gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Domingo said.

“How can you tell?” Victoria, one hand on each side of the boat, kept gazing at the body.

“Ponytail and fat ass,” Domingo said.

Sirens whooped in the distance. Vehicles with blinking emergency lights sped toward the dock, then stopped on the road leading to it, red and blue lights still flashing.

Domingo turned around in his seat, his hands on the gunwales. “Ambulance and police cruisers.” He turned back to Victoria. “I told them we needed a hearse. Watch Chief Medeiros's reaction when he sees whose body it is.”

Domingo's face was hidden in darkness. Behind him, the strobing red and blue emergency lights backlit his chunky torso, framed his capped head.

“I mean it,” he said to Victoria. “Watch the chief's face carefully. See what he does when he recognizes his crony.”

Elizabeth throttled down the outboard engine, and the launch drifted toward shore. As they got closer, the dock loomed over them. Five or six figures—Victoria couldn't tell exactly how many—stood on the end of the dock, silhouetted by the eerie red and blue strobe lights that swung round and round on the vehicles.

A voice came down from the dock, five feet above them. “That you, Mingo?”

“Yo!” Domingo said.

“What the hell have you done now?”

“Come and see.” Domingo turned to Victoria. “You okay, sweetheart? Can you get up that ladder?” He paused. “You'll have to go to the police station to give a statement.”

“There's nothing I can tell anyone.” Victoria's eyes avoided the floating corpse a foot from her.

“I don't trust that chief,” Domingo said under his breath. “But there's a procedure we have to follow.”

“I can get up on the dock.” Victoria looked up over her head. “Where's the ladder?”

“Yo, Chief!” Domingo shouted up to the man on the dock above them.

“Yo, yourself,” Chief Medeiros said.

“How about giving Mrs. Trumbull a hand up, like a gentleman?”

“What the hell's she doing here?”

“She's a witness.” Domingo turned to Elizabeth, who was attempting to secure the left side of the launch to the piling while the harbormaster and police chief talked. The body was outboard. Victoria looked up at the dock far over her head. Of course she could climb up there. She simply had to make sure she had a firm handhold and move slowly.

Elizabeth looped a line around the barnacle-encrusted piling.

“You,” Domingo said to her. “What are you doing?”

Elizabeth looked up at him. Victoria had turned slightly so she could see her granddaughter.

“Tying the boat up, of course.”

“Those barnacles are razor-sharp.” Elizabeth retrieved the line quickly. “You come back and the boat would be in the middle of the harbor, with crabs feeding on the corpse.”

“Ugh!” Elizabeth said.

“Nice fat crabs,” Domingo said. “Tasty.”

A voice came from above them. “I'll take the line.” Elizabeth, balancing herself cautiously, passed lines up to an extended hand. Someone tied the lines around dock cleats. A young man, his hair blond in the lights from the vehicles, scrambled down the ladder and got in the boat next to Victoria, then helped her to her feet. When she had straightened her legs, she reached for the uprights of the vertical wooden ladder. She looked up and saw faces peering down at her from the dock. Thank goodness I don't wear old-lady shoes, she thought. Her hiking shoes with the hole cut in the top of one to ease the pressure on her toe had lugged soles. She put her right foot on the ladder, slick with seaweed, and held tightly to the sides. The blond boy was behind her. Left foot on the same rung. Right foot on the next rung. Left foot. She looked up and could see the top of the dock, hands reaching out to her.

At the top, two more people, another young man and a stocky woman Victoria recognized as an emergency medical technician at the hospital, helped her onto the dock.

Chief Medeiros stood off to one side, waiting for Domingo to climb the ladder.

“You,” Domingo ordered Elizabeth, “stay there until I tell you to move.”

“Asshole,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

Chief Medeiros looked down at her and grinned. “You got that right, girlie.”

Domingo's cap appeared at the top of the ladder, the faded gold NYPD showing clearly in the light from the vehicles.

Victoria realized how short the harbormaster was when she saw him next to the police chief on the dock. He was even shorter than the woman, whose name she couldn't recall. Domingo was probably five foot seven, a squat, dark man with broad shoulders. His chest widened to an ample stomach that hung over his belt buckle, then narrowed to slim hips.