Deadly Nightshade (8 page)

“Good idea.” Elizabeth moved her head so the lights behind them were not reflected into her eyes from the side mirror.

She signaled a right turn onto Barnes Road, and the other driver did, too.

“I suppose it's possible that he happens to be going the same way we are.” Elizabeth adjusted the mirror again.

“Unlikely this time of night.” Victoria leaned forward to look into her side mirror again. “It's after midnight.”

They halted at the stop sign by the fire station and the vehicle behind them stopped, too. No other cars were in sight.

“We're almost at Domingo's,” Elizabeth said. “When I turn into his drive, see what kind of car it is, if you can.” She passed the boxy privet hedge in front of the de los Fuerzos's and made an abrupt turn, without signaling or braking until she'd turned into the drive. Brakes squealed on the vehicle behind them before it accelerated and sped into the night.

“A Ford van,” Victoria said. “Light color, gray or tan, not white. The license plate was muddy, but it started with FU.''

“Nice going, Gram!” Elizabeth said with admiration.

“Mr. D.'s lights are on. I suppose midnight isn't too late to call on someone.”

“I think it's a good idea, under the circumstances.” Elizabeth opened the car door.

“Besides, we need to tell Domingo about finding the bottle and checkbook cover.”

Noreen and Domingo were sitting in wicker armchairs at the glass-topped table in the living room, watching a late-night rerun of the selectman's meeting on Channel 9. The room was dense with cigarette smoke. Elizabeth knocked on the sliding door and pushed it to one side.

Noreen stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. She was small and blond, almost a foot shorter than Elizabeth, who was six feet tall. She was wearing white sweatpants and white socks and a magenta T-shirt printed with exotic blue-and-gold flowers.

“Yo,” Domingo said to Elizabeth, and remained seated. As soon as Victoria came through the door, he stood up and took off his baseball cap.

“Is everything okay?” Noreen turned down the volume on the TV with the remote and moved a chair over for Victoria.

“We were being followed and decided to stop here,” Victoria said. “Besides, we found something.”

“Did you identify who was following you?” Domingo put his cap back on and sat down again.

“Light-colored Ford van, license starting with 'FU,'” Victoria said.

“ FU.” Domingo laughed. “That's not Meatloaf. I don't know who it is, but I'll find out.” He waved the smoke away from Victoria. It drifted toward Elizabeth, who cried, “Hey!” and fanned at it.

“They didn't try anything smart, did they?” Noreen asked.

“No,” Elizabeth said. “They came out of the road next to the Harbor House and followed us here.”

“Was the harbor busy tonight?” Noreen asked Elizabeth, who was sitting on the couch under Domingo's display of antique harpoons.

“Did you get all the receipts entered?” Domingo asked.

“Will you let me talk without you butting in?” Noreen turned to him, hands on her hips.

“Okay, honey, okay.” Domingo took his cap off and placed it over his heart, then looked up at the ceiling with liquid brown eyes.

“No.” Elizabeth yawned, then covered her mouth with her hand. “It was quiet until almost midnight. Then this weird, creepy man came by, saying a couple of huge boats were arriving.”

“Oh?” Domingo looked at her.

“It was only Dojan Minnowfish,” Victoria said. “I went to school with his great-grandmother.”

“He frightened the hell out of me.” Elizabeth stretched her arms over her head. “Black hair, black beard, black eyes, black clothes, rags and feathers and bones rattling and blowing in the wind.” She looked up at Domingo's harpoons. “I hope those things are wired in place. Some weaponry.”

“Dojan lives here in Oak Bluffs, doesn't he, Domingo?” Noreen said.

Behind them, the TV showed two of the selectmen gesticulating at the third, Liz Tate, whose back was to the camera.

“I think he lives in the Camp Meeting Ground, behind Harbor House.” Domingo paid no attention to the selectmen. “His family owns one of the wooden tents off Pawtucket Avenue.”

Noreen turned to Victoria. “You went to school with his great-grandmother? She must have died twenty years ago.”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “In fact, I wrote a poem about her. I must find it and give a copy to Dojan.” She watched the selectmen on TV. “It's better without the sound. Looks as if they're saying things I'd rather not hear.”

“That is correct, sweetheart,” Domingo said. “You know where the name Dojan comes from?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward in the wicker chair, his hands clasped between his knees.

“No. Where?” Victoria said, interested. “Is it Wampanoag?”

“It's ancient Norse. It means 'dead.'” He looked first at Victoria, then cut his eyes at Noreen and then at Elizabeth.

“Christ!” Noreen sat up straight in her chair. “You're making that up.”

Domingo shook his head. “His name means 'dead.'”

“Where do you get this stuff?” Elizabeth said.

“He's full of it.” Noreen turned to Elizabeth. “What did Dojan want?”

“He told us a sheik was going to bring two huge boats into the harbor tonight.” Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the couch.

“He does that a couple of times a season,” Domingo said.

“It's the first time I've seen him.” Elizabeth yawned again.

“Why didn't you warn her, Domingo?” Noreen said. “He'd frighten anyone, sneaking up to the window at midnight.”

“I assumed they had him locked up somewhere,” Domingo said. “That nice jail in Edgartown. Country club.”

“Cut out that shit, Domingo,” Noreen said. “You're not funny.” She turned to Victoria. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Trumbull.”

“A couple of months ago, before you came on board, he got into an altercation with a drunk,” Domingo continued.

Elizabeth waved her hand to direct his cigarette smoke away from her face. Domingo opened the window.

“When I arrived at the scene, this drunk was lying on the ground. Dojan was hitting him over the head with what appeared to be a leg.”

Noreen got up. “I've heard this before. Want some coffee?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth covered another yawn.

“Then what happened?” Victoria said.

“There was blood all over the place,” Domingo continued. “I thought Dojan had torn the guy's leg off.” He looked at Victoria, who was watching, enthralled. “He had.”

Victoria sat forward in her chair.

“It was an artificial leg,” Domingo added, and sat back with a smirk.

“That's sick,” Elizabeth said.

“It's the truth,” Domingo said.

“Domingo, you're full of it,” Noreen said.

“Come to think of it, Dojan drives a light Ford van.”

“Talk about nightmares!” Elizabeth said. “Would you rather be tailed by Meatloaf or by some crazed Wampanoag named Dead.”

“You said you found something.” Domingo turned to Victoria. “What did you find?” He leaned forward again, bright eyes fixed on her.

“We stopped by the East Chop dock on the way to have lunch at the lighthouse.”

“You went to the crime scene. You couldn't help yourself. Go on.”

“Let her tell her story her own way, Domingo,” Noreen said.

Domingo reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighted one.

“Why don't you just light it from the old butt?” Elizabeth said. “Save lighter fluid.” She waved the smoke away.

“We walked along the beach toward the spit that goes out to the osprey pole,” Victoria said.

“Go on.” Domingo watched Victoria.

“Someone had pulled a boat above the high-tide mark.”

“A lot of people do that.” Domingo watched Victoria's face.

“Let her talk, Domingo,” Noreen said.

Elizabeth held the mug in both hands, sipped her coffee, and looked at her grandmother over the rim.

“Not many people,” Victoria said. “It's a kind of backwater. Flotsam washes up on the beach there, plastic oil containers, sunblock bottles, eelgrass. I would think boats would prefer to land on the beach near the dock, where it's cleaner. No one would want to swim there.”

Domingo's expression never changed. “Do I understand you to say, sweetheart, you think that a boat landing several hundred feet north of the dock has something to do with the killing?”

“For God's sake, Domingo,” Noreen said. “Shut up.”

“Footprints led from the keel mark to a sort of path....”

“A path?” Domingo said.

“Not exactly a path, a trodden-down place at the top of the bank, where the rosebushes and bayberry were disturbed, and the grass was crushed down.”

“Go on.” Domingo took another drag on his cigarette.

“I sent Elizabeth along the path—the stepped-on place—to look for anything she could find that might seem unusual.”

“Go on,” he said. “She found something.”

“Yes. A broken rum bottle.”

Domingo slapped his hand on the glass tabletop. The vase of flowers clattered.

Noreen stood up. “You can't let anyone else say a word, can you? Don't pay any attention to him, Mrs. Trumbull.”

“No, no, honey,” Domingo said. “Do you understand what my girlfriend is saying? Three-quarters of the men on the New York force—men and women, that is—wouldn't have thought to do what she did. You realize that?” He looked at Noreen, then back at Victoria. “Go on, sweetheart. Where was the bottle?”

“Off to the right side, under the rosebushes. Elizabeth picked it up with a paper and put it in the back of the car.”

Domingo stared at her, his expression wavering between admiration and horror. “You've got to remember, I'm an ex-cop. You don't mess casually with evidence.”

“We had no reason to think it might be evidence.”

Domingo shook his head.

“That's not all,” Elizabeth said. “Tell him the rest, Gram.”

“What else?”

“We were walking back to the car; I was turning things over with my stick, looking for interesting stones or shells....”

“Go on,” Domingo said.

“She's telling you just as fast as she can, asshole,” Noreen said. “Give her a chance to talk.” She turned to Victoria. “Sorry, Mrs. Trumbull.”

“I turned over a clump of eelgrass, and found a plastic checkbook cover. No checkbook inside, but there were a couple of deposit slips that had not been filled out and a deposit receipt.”

“What makes you think that had anything to do with the events of two nights ago?”

“The plastic was still pretty fresh-looking,” Victoria said, “and the paper deposit slips and receipt were soaking wet, but not turned to mush by being in the water. I would guess it was in the water less than two days, maybe washed up yesterday.” Victoria looked at Domingo. “It probably has nothing to do with the murder. But who knows?”

Domingo stubbed his cigarette out in the full ashtray and looked intently at Victoria. Noreen took the ashtray from him and went into the kitchen, then brought it back clean.

“Where are they now?” Domingo said.

“In the backseat of the car,” Elizabeth said.

“The proper procedure is to turn evidence over to the police,” Domingo said.

“But we have no reason to believe this is evidence,” Victoria said again.

Domingo nodded. “Yas,” he said. “That is correct.”

Noreen sighed.

Elizabeth got to her feet and stretched. “I need fresh air. I'll bring the stuff in.”

Victoria watched her lanky granddaughter slide the door open and head toward the car.

The papers in the plastic cover were still soggy. Domingo carefully peeled the plastic flap away from them.

“Get me a knife, honey.” He reached out his hand without looking at Noreen, and she went back into the kitchen. She returned with a thin-bladed knife, making a gesture for Victoria's benefit, as if she were going to impale her husband with it before she put it in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes bright.

Noreen went back into the kitchen and returned with a clear plastic cutting board and a handful of paper towels. Domingo looked up at her. Their eyes met. There was a faint smile on his face. Victoria felt a touch of electricity in the air. Noreen gave him a soft slap on his cheek and sat down again.

As carefully as a surgeon, Domingo slid the knife under the corner of the top paper and carefully separated it from the one beneath. He laid paper towels on the cutting board and gently set the two deposit slips and the yellow receipt on top.

“Can you make out any printing?” Victoria got up and leaned over Domingo's shoulder.

“Still too wet, sweetheart.”

Noreen left the room again and came back with a clear piece of glass, a small windowpane. Domingo made a kissing sound in her direction, and Noreen punched him on the shoulder. He sandwiched the wet papers between paper towels and the glass and set a dictionary on top.

“It's probably nothing,” Victoria said.

“Kept us entertained for a half hour,” Domingo said. “By tomorrow morning, we may be able to see something.”

Elizabeth yawned.

“I've got to get my granddaughter home.” Victoria looked at her watch. “Good heavens, it's one-thirty.”

“You want to spend the night?” Noreen said. “We have plenty of room.”

“No thanks,” Victoria said. “We'll be fine. I'm just curious to know what's on the papers we found today, that's all.”

“They need to dry slowly,” Domingo said. “The glass will keep them from curling as they dry. Air can get in around the edges, so it won't mildew.”

“I guess we'll know tomorrow,” Victoria said.

On the way home, Victoria looked in the side mirror.

“There's a car following us. A different one. The lights are lower and closer together.”

“It must be Domingo.” Elizabeth frowned, and Victoria could see her face in the reflected light from the car behind, high cheekbones and wide mouth. “Funny, he didn't say anything about seeing us home.”

The car followed them along Barnes Road, turned right when they did onto the Edgartown Road, followed them past the airport, and when they turned into the driveway, it continued on past them, turned right on Old County Road, and Victoria could see its taillights disappear into the night.