Deadly Nightshade (33 page)

Victoria moved around the dining room table, one careful foot after another, until she was in back of Rocky. Howland twisted his head slightly to look at her. His mouth turned down in his faint smile.

Rocky drew his hand back in a wide arc to avoid the low ceiling, and started to swing the bottle, full force, at Horace.

Victoria moved as quickly as she had ever moved in her life. She held her grandfather's cane by its tip and brought it down smartly with all her might on Rocky's uplifted arm. The merlot bottle dropped onto the table with a crash, rolled onto the floor, and broke, spewing shards of glass and red wine over Victoria's worn carpet. Rocky stepped back and slipped on the broken glass and the spilled wine. He grabbed at the tablecloth, which came off in his hands, scattering dishes and silverware and glasses over everything with a huge crash.

Victoria felt a surge of anger at the destruction. She lifted the cane as high as she could and thwacked Rocky on his head, stunning him.

From out of nowhere, Howland brought out handcuffs, and snapped them onto Rocky's limp wrists.

Victoria checked her grandfather's cane to make sure she hadn't damaged it.

Rocky put his tousled head in his cuffed hands. Sitting among the debris of Victoria's bean supper, his elbows on his knees, he shook his head over and over again.

Horace stood up straight. “You're a fed, eh?” Howland nodded. “I've got enough bloody documentation on that devil to seal him up live in a bloody tomb forever.” He jerked his head at Rocky. “Put me on the stand. I'll testify against him if it takes the rest of my bloody life. Shake on it.”

Howland thrust out his hand.

“To Washington? They're sending that crazy Indian to Washington?” Beanie pushed his baseball cap back and scratched his head.

“Hey!” said Shipyard, covering his coffee cup with a beamy hand. “Keep your cooties to yourself.”

“Whose crazy idea was that?” Beanie straightened the visor of his cap and put both elbows on the table.

“The tribal council,” Red said. “It was unanimous. Pass the sugar, will you?”

“Where's Dottie?” Beanie checked his watch. “I ain't got all day.”

“Sorry, boys.” Dottie bustled in with three bowls of chowder and chunked them down on the table. “This is the last of Dojan Minnowfish's quahogs. You heard about him going to Washington?”

“Yeah. To negotiate for a casino,” Beanie said.

“No!” Dottie said.

Shipyard laughed. “Don't believe what Beanie tells you.”

“What'd he do to deserve such an honor?” Red reached for a chowder cracker, broke it into his bowl, and shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.

“Musta been something bad,” Beanie said.

“I can see him working over some senator.” Shipyard laughed. “Scare anybody into doing anything.”

“The guy's not stupid,” Red said.

“Where he's going, who'll know the difference?” said Shipyard.

“Seems more like a jail sentence to me,” Red said.

“Speaking of jail, I hear they nabbed the professor,” Beanie said. “I told you there was something fishy about him.”

“They ever find out who killed Bernie?” Red asked around his mouthful of soup and crackers.

“I hear they're trying to blame that on Meatloaf.” Beanie reached for the pepper shaker and shook it over his chowder.

Dottie, who was passing the table with her hands full of an order, bent and nudged him with her elbow.

“What's the matter? Not seasoned right for you?”

Beanie flung his arm over his head and ducked.

“Who are they saying killed Meatloaf?” Red asked.

“They're trying to blame that on Medeiros,” Shipyard said.

“I hear he's testifying against the professor.” Beanie stirred the pepper into his chowder.

“Christ, I wouldn't be in his shoes,” said Shipyard.

“He's going into a witness protection program. We've seen the last of Medeiros, that's for sure,” Beanie said.

“Surprised the hell out of me when Atherton turned out to be a drug agent. I thought he was a computer nerd.” Red reached for another cracker.

“Speaking of that, you heard some company offered to buy his computer program? Pass the crackers, will you?” Shipyard took one and spread butter on it.

Dottie, on her way back with dirty dishes, scowled at him. “You guys are animals.”

Shipyard brayed.

“The harbor program?” Red said. “No kidding.”

“How much they offering him?” Beanie asked, potatoes showing in his full mouth.

“I hear it's a million dollars,” replied Shipyard.

“No shit!” said Beanie.

“How'd you find out about it?” Red asked.

“He got a registered letter from some computer company.” Shipyard bit into the buttered cracker, and flaky crumbs dropped onto his shirt front.

“You reading other people's mail again?” Beanie asked.

“Wasn't me. It was my wife's sister,” said Shipyard.

“A million dollars?” Red shook his head.

“That's what she said,” Shipyard said. “He turned it down.”

“What!” Red and Beanie said together.

“Says he developed it on government time.”

“Jee-sus,” Beanie murmured.

“I hear Mrs. Trumbull beat shit out of the professor,” Red said.

“Broke his arm with her grandfather's gold-headed cane.”

“Teach him not to mess with our senior citizens,” Red said.

“They don't make old ladies like they used to,” Shipyard added.