Deadly Nightshade (32 page)

“In the dining room.” Victoria handed him the arrangement and led the way into the parlor, where she had laid a fire earlier in the day.

“There'll be only five of us tonight.” She held on to the mantel and started to kneel.

Rocky quickly moved to her side. “Let me light the fire for you.” He struck a match, then waited until the kindling blazed.

“Who are the five? You and Elizabeth and me, I assume.”

“A friend of Elizabeth's, someone she met at the harbor.”

“We can exchange sea stories, then. And the fifth person?”

“Howland. You know him, of course.” Victoria glanced over at Rocky to see if his expression had changed.

He coughed and took his handkerchief from the pocket of his beige jacket. “Excuse me, Victoria, pollen. Howland and I have computers in common. This should be a most interesting evening.”

“Howland can be difficult,” Victoria said, gazing innocently at Rocky. “You seem to be able to handle him so tactfully. He's quite vain, although I can't imagine why.”

Rocky smiled faintly and stared into the fire.

“You knew, of course, I had invited Liz. I'm so sorry.” She smoothed her worn corduroys over her knees. “She was such a vibrant person. What a tragedy.”

“A great tragedy,” Rocky replied. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

“Does anyone know how it happened?” Victoria asked.

“There was speculation that because she was selectman and had access to the fireworks, Liz borrowed some for a private display. They're quite dangerous, unless you're trained to handle them, I'm told.”

“You must miss her terribly.”

“Her loss hasn't sunk in yet,” Rocky said solemnly.

He looked at the flames. “So pleasant. Comforting.”

“There's nothing like oak for steady burning. Locust, too, but that tends to snap.”

“I read your sonnet on Prometheus, bringer of fire,” Rocky said, still staring into the flickering flames. “A lovely poem.”

“I'm flattered that you remember.” Victoria changed the subject abruptly. “The fireworks were spectacular the other night. The fog actually enhanced the display.”

“The water droplets in the fog give it a wonderful soft quality,” Rocky said. “In a physicist's terms, diffraction and diffusion.” He smiled.

“Do you know where they set them off?” Victoria asked.

“In one of the parks in a roped-off area. Our gardener, the one I mentioned, used to design fireworks displays for the Holy Ghost celebrations. As a child, I was fascinated. They require great skill, and a knowledge of explosives.”

Elizabeth entered the room with a tray of sherry glasses and a platter of cheese and crackers and set it on the coffee table.

“Not quite as elegant as
Dawn Chorus,”
Victoria said, “but the thought is there.”

Rocky made a demurring sound.

“My friend should be here any minute,” Elizabeth said. “I told him I'd pick him up at the harbor, but he's hitchhiking.”

“Is he a local man?” Rocky asked.

“He's from New Zealand, quite nice.” Elizabeth blushed.

“Ah, I see,” Rocky said, smiling. “Obviously a man of discrimination.” He lifted his glass of sherry to Elizabeth, who blushed even deeper, and then to Victoria, who tilted her head.

“There are quite a few New Zealanders on the Island,” Victoria said. “The Vineyard seems to attract them.”

“People who live on islands are great travelers,” Rocky said. “Think of your whaling grandfather.”

Someone knocked at the kitchen door.

“That must be Horace.” Elizabeth unwound herself from the small chair she'd set next to the fire and went to the kitchen. She returned, followed by a chunky, tanned man with clear deep blue eyes, hair so blond, it was white, and a beard to match.

Rocky stood, towering over Horace. Elizabeth made the introductions.

“My grandmother.”

He bowed stiffly to Victoria. “Elizabeth tells me your grandmother came from Australia. A long way, in those days.”

“It's a long way today,” Victoria said. “Sailing here still takes as long as it did in the whaling days.”

Elizabeth introduced Rocky. “My grandmother's and my friend, Rocky. He has a boat, too.”

Horace turned from Victoria, and when he saw Rocky, he looked startled. He recovered immediately, but Victoria had glimpsed the expression.

He held his hand out. “How d'ya do, Dr. Folger.”

Rocky seemed surprised at being addressed by name and title. “Please, Rocky,” he said.

“A nickname derived from your family name no doubt,” Horace said. “I understand 'Rocky' is what your students call you.”

“When I was teaching,” Rocky corrected. “I'm not doing much teaching these days.” He seemed puzzled, as if he should know Horace but couldn't quite place him.

“I understand you're consulting,” Horace said.

“You seem to know quite a bit about me,” Rocky said. “I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage.”

“The disadvantage of an international reputation.” Horace bared large teeth and bowed to the taller man.

Victoria sensed an undercurrent she couldn't quite pin down. Elizabeth seemed slightly embarrassed by Horace. Rocky continued to look puzzled. When there was a knock on the door and Howland entered, Victoria was relieved, but only briefly. While the tension seemed to ease between Rocky and Horace, it was even worse between Rocky and Howland. The two men faced each other like cats defending territory, Victoria thought. As she began to regret having invited Howland, Elizabeth rang the dinner bell.

Victoria made her Boston baked beans in the traditional New England manner, soaking dried beans on Friday night, boiling them Saturday morning, and baking them all day with molasses and salt pork. Her grandmother had used the same bean pot every Saturday during Victoria's childhood.

Victoria had set the table with the sterling silver, the good china, the crystal goblets. She had polished the brass candlesticks and melted new candles into place so they stood straight. The silver teapot with Rocky's roses was in the center of the old damask tablecloth. She'd ironed the heavy linen napkins that morning, and they lay next to the forks at the left of each plate.

Elizabeth poured the wine and set the bottle on the floor next to Rocky, who nodded, as if to say he'd be pleased to take care of refills.

Horace held Victoria's chair for her, and she sat at the head of the table. Elizabeth came into the dining room from the kitchen bearing a great rectangular platter heaped with steaming baked beans, hot dogs set along the side. She set them in front of Howland, who was at the end of the table, opposite Victoria.

“You have the honor of serving, I see,” Rocky said to Howland, slightly easing the tension between them.

The conversation touched on world events, on boats and sea stories, on computers. It skirted the deaths of Bernie and Meatloaf. Avoided, at first, the demise of Liz Tate.

Rocky sat at Victoria's right, Horace at her left. Elizabeth sat between Horace and Howland.

It was her granddaughter who stumbled into the subject Victoria hadn't wanted to introduce herself.

Elizabeth turned to Horace. “What did you think of our fireworks?”

Victoria watched Rocky's face. He stiffened slightly.

“Marvelous good show,” Horace said. “Especially the finale.”

“Do you have fireworks displays in New Zealand the way we do here to celebrate nothing?”

“Christmas, the queen's birthday, that sort of occasion,” Horace said. “Usually a special event, not simply for the fun of it.” He looked at Rocky again. “Where they really put on a good show is in the Caribbean, isn't that so, Dr. Folger?”

“Rocky,” Rocky said automatically.

“You spent quite a bit of time in the Caribbean on your astrophysical work, didn't you?” Howland asked.

“I did much of my research at the radio telescope in Puerto Rico,” Rocky said carefully.

“You spent time, too, around the islands as a child, isn't that right?” Horace said.

“You seem to know a great deal about me.” Rocky smiled grimly. “May I ask how you do?”

“I'm interested in the famous.” Horace grinned.

“I'm hardly famous,” Rocky said.

Victoria watched as if she were at a tennis match, Rocky to Horace, across the table, back and forth.

“You're famous all right,” Horace said, and grinned again. Elizabeth looked from him to Rocky to her grandmother, a perplexed expression on her face. “These beans are delicious, Mrs. Trumbull,” Horace said.

“An old, old recipe,” Victoria replied. “Simple fare.”

“Served in the most elegant manner,” Rocky said, obviously relieved to have attention shift from him.

“A good traditional meal,” said Howland. “It emphasizes the pleasure of good conversation.”

Rocky darted a quick look at Howland. Horace smirked. Elizabeth looked uncomfortable. Victoria watched them all and wondered where this was leading.

Rocky turned back to Horace. “I gather you've spent time in the Caribbean yourself.”

“Righto,” Horace said.

“Did you spend much time there?” Victoria asked.

“Bought my boat there.
Clotho
.”

“
Clotho
,” said Victoria. “One of the Fates. The one who spins the thread of life.”

“That Atropos snips,” Howland added.

“You sailed from New Zealand to the Caribbean with someone, didn't you?” Elizabeth said.

“Right.” Horace looked down at his empty plate. “My much younger sister.”

“Where in the Caribbean?” Howland asked.

“The Turks and Caicos,” Horace said.

“Isn't that where you keep your boat, Rocky?” Victoria asked. “I seem to recall your saying you sailed
Dawn Chorus
up from Grand Turk.”

Horace was looking at Rocky in an oddly expressionless way.

Rocky nodded. He had bitten into a piece of brown bread before Horace mentioned the Turks and Caicos, and he seemed to be having trouble swallowing it. He avoided Horace's pale eyes.

“Where's your sister now?” Elizabeth asked Horace.

“She was killed.” Horace never took his eyes off Rocky.

Silence thundered in Victoria's ears. Elizabeth stared at her new friend. Rocky stopped chewing his mouthful of brown bread. Howland sat up straight, put his hands on the arms of his chair, and watched Rocky.

“Killed!” Elizabeth said weakly. “How awful!”

“What happened?” Howland turned to Horace.

“Howland ...” Victoria began.

“She'd got into drugs in New Zealand,” Horace said, his eyes fixed on Rocky's face. Rocky chewed, shifting his mouthful from one side to the other, like a cud.

“I got her away from that scene. Took her with me on my boat. She sailed with me and dried out, cold. You can't imagine the agony she went through.”

The others were silent. Victoria heard the house creak. Bicyclists went by on the road in front of Victoria's house, laughing. The sound of their laughter was jarring.

“There were days and nights when I had to hold her while she screamed and thrashed. Let the boat drift. She hated me, she did. We went through nightmare storms together, when every bit of rigging shrieked and moaned and sang, high-pitched, like a banshee. Where the waves rose as high as the spreaders, breaking. Sometimes we'd ride over the tops of the waves and get caught on a steep slide on the backside, and plunge the bow into a trough and keep going down and down. Sometimes the waves would break over us, fill the cockpit, start a regular waterfall into the cabin. We'd throw the door boards off, and use a toilet plunger in the scuppers to get the water to drain out before the next wave swamped us.”

Victoria stared at him, her mouth open.

“The boat would heel over fifty, sixty degrees to starboard, then in an instant whip over to port. I never knew whether it was my sister who was screaming or the wind. Or the boat, or me, or all three Furies. You know what I'm talking about, Dr. Folger?”

Rocky took a sip oi wine from the goblet and swallowed. He continued to stare at Horace.

“She came out oi it. The sea does that. When we reached Grand Turk, she was clean. Strong and brown and healthy. She was beautiful, wasn't she, Dr. Folger?”

Rocky stood abruptly, and his wineglass toppled over, spilling merlot over Victoria's damask cloth. “That's why you look familiar,'' he said in a whisper. “Arabella's brother.”

“You thought you could dodge me forever, eh?”

Victoria felt the hair on the back oi her neck lift.

“I must say, mate, I didn't expect to find you here at this supper table.” Horace put his chunky hands on the table and looked up at Rocky, who loomed over all of them. “I'd traced you to the Island, mate, and I'd have traced you to hell.”

“This is neither the time nor place to discuss this.” Rocky said. “Why don't we meet tomorrow at my boat.”

“I don't think so, mate.”

“What do you want of me? I never intended to harm her,” Rocky said. “In fact, I didn't harm her. She did it to herself.”

Horace made a strange choking noise and stood, both hands flat on the table, his back hunched like a gargoyle, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

Victoria felt the violence build.

“I'm not a fighter,” Rocky said. “Come to my boat tomorrow, and we can talk like civilized people.”

“Civilized!” Horace spat. “Heroin. Cocaine. Crack. Speed. Civilized!'” His voice rose. “How many people have you slaughtered so you can live like a bloody emperor! Look at your fine threads.” He reached across the table and seized the lapels oi Rocky's cashmere blazer, knocking over the arrangement of roses m the silver teapot. One of the candlesticks fell over. Elizabeth picked it up quickly and snuffed out the flame. Howland stood at his end of the table and glanced from Rocky to Horace. He held his hands tensely at his side. Victoria lifted herself up from the table and got her grandfather's cane from beside the bookcase.

“Stop this minute!” She shouted over the two raised voices. “Stop! I won't have violence in my house.”

Horace glanced at her, briefly distracted. Rocky reached under the table and brought out the half-empty bottle of merlot.

In that instant, Victoria was aware of the smells around her: the baked beans that had been cooking all day, the lavender hand lotion Elizabeth used, the camphor-wood sea chest in the front hall, the fear scent of Rocky.