Authors: Cynthia Riggs
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Cozy
Death and Honesty (14 page)
At the post-service coffee hour in the parish hall, Victoria approached Mrs. Willoughby, who was holding Sweetie Pie. “Lovely sermon, wasn’t it?” Victoria held a slice of banana bread in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “I’m so sorry about your mother. When is the funeral?”
“Next week. We can’t believe it, Mrs. Trumbull. She was such a kind, gentle person. Who would want to do that to her?”
“If I can help in any way …”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Willoughby jiggled the little girl in her arms.
“Is this your youngest?”
“Sweetie Pie,” said Mrs. Willoughby, jouncing the girl. Sweetie Pie ducked her head. “Her name is really Lucy. She was named after my mother.” She held a tissue to her daughter’s nose. “Blow! That’s a good girl!”
“Your mother must have enjoyed her. These spring colds can be trying,” said Victoria. “How is your rooster?”
“Everybody in town is talking about that rooster. You’d think they’d have better things to talk about. Personally, I’d like to get rid of it. He gives me a big fat headache. But …” she looked at Sweetie Pie, who stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“I understand.” Victoria nibbled her banana bread.
“Besides, you know the way my husband Lambert is.”
“I know he has a reputation for being strong-minded.”
“Stubborn, you mean. The guy next door complained about Chickee. Didn’t even complain, simply asked if Lambert would move Chickee’s pen to the back of our property. Lambert dug in his heels.”
“Oh?”
“Now we’ve got lawyers involved and nobody’s speaking to anybody.”
At this moment Delilah joined them.
“Have you met Delilah Sampson, Mrs. Willoughby?”
“Annie,” said Mrs. Willoughby, offering her hand. “Pleased to meet you. And this is Sweetie Pie.”
“What a darling baby!” Delilah extended a scarlet-tipped finger and tickled Sweetie Pie under her chin.
Sweetie Pie lurched back in her mother’s arms and screeched, “I am not a baby!”
“She’s not usually like this,” Annie apologized. “She’s not feeling good.”
Delilah forced a polite smile and turned to Victoria, her back to Annie and her contagious, squalling child. “I came over to invite you to lunch, Mrs. Trumbull.”
Victoria wiped her sticky hand on the napkin under her coffee cup. Facing Annie Willoughby, she could see her look of distaste as she examined Delilah’s back, from her brilliant red hair to her gold sandals and the flame-colored sateen in between.
“Thank you,” said Victoria. “I’d enjoy that.”
The Willoughbys arrived home from church to a scene of apparent carnage. Bertie, Ashpine’s Jack Russell, was lying half-in, half-out of the wreckage of Chickee’s cage, gnawing on what looked like the innards of a chicken.
Annie Willoughby, the first to realize what had happened, tried to hustle the children into the house.
“What is it, Mommy? I want to see, too,” whined Lambert the Fourth, who was seven.
“Me, too,” said Arnold, who was five.
Lambert the Fourth, or Quat, for short, stamped his feet and rooted himself to the ground in such a way his mother couldn’t tug him loose.
“Why won’t you let me see!”
“You never let us do anything,” echoed Arnold.
“Lambert?” called Annie, her voice on the edge of frenzy, “take care of that dog!”
Sweetie Pie, who’d been napping in her mother’s arms, woke up. “Chickee! I want my Chickee!”
Mr. Willoughby collared Bertie and dragged him to Oliver
Ashpine’s house next door, preparing a speech in his mind on controlling his mutt and figuring out how much money he could exact from Ashpine to pay for a new coop and the trauma his kids were suffering. The screen door at the back of the house was locked, but the screen had a flap at the bottom, obviously to let Bertie in and out.
Ashpine’s house next door, preparing a speech in his mind on controlling his mutt and figuring out how much money he could exact from Ashpine to pay for a new coop and the trauma his kids were suffering. The screen door at the back of the house was locked, but the screen had a flap at the bottom, obviously to let Bertie in and out.
“Ashpine!” Mr. Willoughby bellowed into the kitchen through the locked door. “Where in hell are you?”
No answer.
“Get your ass out here, and pretty goddamned fast!”
No answer.
Mr. W., furious now, wrenched the locked door open and dragged the whimpering Bertie inside. “Ashpine!”
No answer.
He hauled Bertie from room to room searching for his master. “Where in hell is the bastard?”
He found a leash hanging on the back of the screen door and attached it to Bertie’s collar and knotted the other end around the table leg. He then returned to the scene of the crime.
Annie was standing in the door of the Willoughbys’ house, still holding Sweetie Pie. “Lambert, Oliver left a message on the answering machine. He’s in the hospital and wants us to take care of Bertie.”
“I’ll take care of Bertie, all right.” Willoughby’s face turned a purplish red. “I’ll kill the bastard’s goddamned killer mutt.”
At Delilah’s, Victoria looked around. “Where are the chicks?”
“In their new home. Lambert Willoughby has built the nicest pen for me. It will hold both my goats and my chickens.” Delilah fluffed her hair. “And the nicest man called me out of the blue and offered me a rooster. I told him I plan to raise chickens, and he said I would need a rooster.”
“You need only one rooster.”
“He’s bringing me only one.”
“But …” said Victoria, thinking the odds were against two dozen chicks growing up to become two dozen hens and no roosters. She suddenly had an uneasy thought. “What’s the name of the man?”
“I don’t recall. Something biblical, I think. Aesop, or something. I wonder where Lee is?” She pushed a buzzer next to the refrigerator, and in a few moments, Darcy appeared.
“Can I help you, madam?”
“Where’s Lee?”
“I believe you gave her the morning off.”
Delilah checked her watch. “It’s quarter to twelve now.”
“Yes, madam. Is there something I can do for you?”
Delilah turned away. “I want to see her when she comes in.”
“Certainly, madam.” Darcy glanced at Victoria, who smiled, and he left.
“Let’s go into the conservatory, Mrs. Trumbull. I can’t imagine what Lee’s doing, taking off this morning.”
Victoria followed her down the long hallway into the orchid-filled plant room, and settled into a wrought-iron garden chair. She’d been standing during the coffee hour and was glad to sit.
“I can’t imagine what’s got into her,” Delilah said, sitting on the sofa across from Victoria. “She’s usually trustworthy. Yesterday afternoon she took a personal call and was quite mysterious about it.”
Victoria waited politely for the rest of the story.
Delilah stretched her arm along the back of the sofa. “I’m very lenient with my staff, but one thing I can’t stand is having them make personal calls on my time.”
“You have such a lovely view,” said Victoria. “I can see the water tower on the mainland.”
“I’m sure her taking time off today had something to do with that call yesterday”
“What call?” said Henry, who strode into the conservatory at that moment. “I need a drink. Can I fix one for anybody else?” He ambled over to the wet bar across from the orchids.
“Lee, darling. She got a mysterious personal call yesterday afternoon, and then asked for this morning off.”
“Church,” said Henry, pouring scotch into a glass. “Tell Darcy to come in here, will you?”
Delilah raised her eyebrows at Victoria and whispered, “Lee’s not a churchgoer.” She jingled the silver bell.
“Scotch, Mrs. Trumbull?” asked Henry. “Bourbon, sherry, white wine?”
“White wine,” said Victoria. “Thank you.”
“Madam, you rang.” Darcy appeared suddenly. Henry turned abruptly, spilling the drink he was pouring.
Delilah smiled. “Reverend True wants to speak to you.”
“Sir,” said Darcy, bowing.
“Who the hell are you?” said Henry. “Who sent you? Where did you come from?”
“Mrs. Sampson’s agency sent me, sir.”
“Miss Sampson,” said Delilah.
“She’s Mrs. True, when she’s not acting,” Henry snapped.
“Yes, sir,” said Darcy.
“You didn’t answer me. Who are you, anyway?”
“Mrs. Sampson’s, that is, Mrs. True’s, chauffeur, sir.”
“The hell you are. You knew my pilot, didn’t you?”
“The pilot looked familiar, sir, but I’d mistaken him for someone else.”
“How did you get out of jail so quickly? A murder rap is serious stuff.”
“The sheriff had no reason to detain me, sir.”
Henry held his drink in his right hand and pointed his forefinger at Darcy. “I don’t like you, whatever your name is. I don’t trust you, and if you were working for me, instead of my wife, I’d fire your ass.”
“Oh, Henry. Stop it!” said Delilah.
Darcy bowed. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Goddamned right, that’s all. Watch your goddamned step. ‘Will that be all, sir?”’ he mimicked.
Darcy backed out of the room.
“What’s the matter with you, Henry, making a scene like that in front of my guest?” Delilah paused. “Jealous, that’s what. You’re jealous.”
Henry handed a glass of wine to Victoria, who thanked him.
“goddamned banty cock. Nothing to be jealous about.”
“By the way,” said Delilah, “I’m expecting a Mr. Jericho.”
“Jericho?”
“Some name like that. He’s bringing me a rooster.”
At which point, Lee entered. “A Mr. Rivers to see you, ma’am.”
Victoria sat up straight and set her wineglass down.
“Show him in, please, Lee. And I want to talk to you later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jordan Rivers, usually nattily dressed in pressed chinos and crisp shirt, straggled in, his shirt partly unbuttoned, and his chinos exuding a strong barnyard smell. He dragged a swollen burlap feed bag behind him and the contents of the bag squirmed, squawked, and flapped.
“How do you do?” said Delilah, extending her hand. Jordan apparently didn’t see her hand and Delilah returned it to her lap.
Victoria rose to her feet. “Jordan, you didn’t … ?”
Jordan pushed his glasses back on his nose and smoothed his hair into place. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Mrs. Trumbull.”
Delilah, too, rose to her feet. “How lovely. You two know each other.” She eyed the burlap bag. “Is that my rooster?”
“Who’s this guy?” demanded Henry.
“Jordan Rivers,” said Victoria.
“Would you care to stay for lunch, Mr. Rivers?” Delilah asked. “We’re having Lee’s special chicken salad. She can set another place.”
“Thanks, I would,” said Jordan. “Where would you like me to put him?”
“Take him the hell outta here,” said Henry, waving an arm.
Jordan looked from Henry to Delilah and back.
“Give Jordan a drink, darling. He looks as though he needs one.”
“Just water,” said Jordan.
Henry smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, then poured a glass of wine and handed it to Jordan, who set it aside. “Perhaps someone will tell me what’s going on?”
“Is that Chickee?” asked Victoria.
“What?” said Henry.
“Let’s see him,” said Delilah. “Open the bag, right now.”
“Okay,” said Jordan. He untied the knot that held Chickee captive and stepped back.
An angry rooster made his way out of the bag, looked around, ruffled his disarranged feathers, scratched himself, lifted his head with its angry red comb, and crowed.
Darcy parked Delilah’s red Jeep under Victoria’s maple tree early the next morning and strolled through the bright new grass. Cobwebs, sparkling with last night’s dew, were miniature sheets spread out to dry.
Victoria greeted him at the kitchen door. “I’ve never seen that car before. Is it new?”
“I have the use of it while I’m at Delilah’s. I’m flying to Boston today and won’t be back until later this afternoon. I’m on my way to the airport now.”
“Have you had breakfast? What time is your flight?”
Darcy grinned. “The flight’s whenever I schedule it. I’m returning the church’s plane. Are you offering me breakfast?”
“I am. Come in.” Victoria set out bacon and eggs, cereal and milk. “I didn’t know you were a pilot.”
“Multiple talents,” said Darcy. “I stopped by,” he said, once they were seated, “because the goats arrive today. Delilah would like your company.”
“When are they due?”
“Sometime this afternoon.”
“I’ll talk to Lee while I’m there, find out what I can about her relationship with Henry.”
“I suggested to Delilah that she show you the new goat pen Lambert Willoughby built. She’s sending Lee to pick you up. You can tell her you’d like to rest in the conservatory for a few minutes because you’re feeling faint or tired …” He stopped when he saw Victoria’s expression. “You can fake it. Lee will want to make sure you’re okay and will probably stay with you. If not, you can ask her to. Something like that.”
Victoria lifted her crisp bacon and bit the end off. “I suppose I can do that.”
“It’s important to know what Lee and Henry are up to,” Darcy said. “Also, whatever you can find out about Lee’s background, without being too obvious. Where she’s from, how come she’s working here. Delilah was upset about a call Lee got yesterday. What was that call about?”
“I wonder if she knew Tillie?”
Darcy looked up from his eggs. “What?”
“Lee might have known her. Tillie was Lambert Willoughby’s sister.”
“He’s the guy who built the goat pen.”
“He works for the town and owns, or owned, the rooster Jordan Rivers kidnapped.”
Darcy had just forked a mouthful of eggs into his mouth, and burst into laughter, sputtering egg onto the tablecloth. “Sorry,” he said between guffaws.
Lee picked Victoria up in her own car, the one held together with duct tape, and Victoria sat beside her in the passenger seat.
“Sorry it’s such a mess,” said Lee, picking up a lone takeout coffee cup.
Victoria, accustomed to her granddaughter’s car, dismissed the mess. Lee concentrated on her driving and they were at Brandy Brow before Victoria spoke.
“Quite exciting about the chickens and fainting goats, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you have any animals yourself, Lee?”
“My mother has a cat, ma’am.”
“I have a cat named McCavity,” said Victoria. “Have you had other animals at some time?”
“Yes, ma’am. I had a horse named Marblehead.”
It was warm in the car, and Victoria unzipped her sweater. “My husband Jonathan was in the cavalry in the world war and had a horse named Hammerhead. I guess his horse and yours shared common traits.”
Lee warmed slightly. “Stubborn. Like a mule,” and she turned to Victoria and smiled.
“Did you grow up on the Island?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right here in West Tisbury.”
Victoria frowned. “I don’t recall seeing you. What’s your last name?”
“Miller, ma’am. Lee Kauai Miller.”
“From Deep Bottom? The horse farm?”
“Yes, ma’am. My family didn’t mix much. My mother came from off Island. Hawaii. And I went to school off Island.”
“Deep Bottom is so far from town, it must have been difficult to make friends.”
“Not really, ma’am. Kids used to come to our place all the time to ride. I had lots of friends.”
“Do you still see them?”
“Not much anymore.” Lee looked away. “My best friend was Tillie Willoughby. But we all thought she ran off with that man from Edgartown. Then it turned out …” she stopped.
“I can imagine how terrible you must feel. How did you end up working for Miss Sampson?”
“When Tillie disappeared, I was disgusted with her. Now I feel so guilty. At the time, I thought she’d run off with this married man who was about twenty years older. His kids are older than me.” Lee shivered. “I figured he was her ticket to get off the Island.”
“We Islanders need to see the rest of the world before we settle down,” Victoria said, sympathetically.
Lee nodded. “But when I leave, Mrs. Trumbull, I intend to pay my own way. The employment agency sent me to Miss Sampson’s on a trial basis and after a couple of weeks, she asked me to stay full-time.”
“That’s quite a compliment to you. I can imagine that she might be difficult to work for.”
Lee shrugged. “She has good days and bad. Mostly she’s okay.”
They turned into the road that led to Delilah’s, and Lee was quiet until they pulled up in front of the house.
“Miss Sampson told me to take the limousine to fetch you, but I’d be scared to scratch it or something. Darcy treats it like a baby.”
“Your car is just fine.”
“Actually, Mrs. Trumbull, it’s Tillie’s car. I always feel a little funny driving it, you know? Her brother lets me use it because we were friends.” Lee helped Victoria out and went up the stairs with her.
Delilah met her at the front door. “I’m so happy you’re here, Mrs. Trumbull. The goats should arrive any time now.”
“Would you mind if I rested a bit first, Delilah? May I sit in the conservatory?”
Delilah looked concerned. “Certainly, Mrs. Trumbull. I’ll take you there, then when Lee reparks her car, she can stay with you.”
Victoria settled herself on the soft couch and waited. She felt much too warm and she felt left out of the action involving the arrival of the goats. She wore her usual gray corduroy trousers and the heavy wool sweater Fiona’s parents had given her. In a short time, she heard Lee’s quick footsteps and assumed a weary attitude.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Trumbull? Can I help you in any way?”
“I’m fine,” said Victoria. “I’d just like someone to sit with me for a few minutes, that’s all.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Shall I get you a glass of water?”
Victoria was about to say yes, when she thought about the limited time she had to quiz Lee. “I’d rather not have you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When I was here yesterday,” Victoria began, “Miss Sampson seemed upset about your taking a half day off.”
“She’s mostly pretty fair, but she doesn’t like the staff getting personal calls on her phone. I never give anyone her number, but someone called me on her phone and she went into orbit.”
“One call doesn’t seem unreasonable.”
Lee smiled. “I had the most amazing experience.”
“Oh?”
“Reverend True asked me to audition for a part on one of his television shows. My mom watches Miss Sampson’s show all the time. He asked me not to say anything about it to his wife.”
“Why not?”
“I guess he thought she’d be jealous.”
“Go on.”
“The call I got was from a man from the TV station. That was the call that got Miss Sampson all bent out of shape.”
“Did she know who was calling and what he was calling about?”
Lee shook her head. “No way. I called him back on my cell phone, and after I got off work, they did a test film of me.”
“Here on the Island?”
“In the lobby of the Harbor Motel. People came in and out and stared at me like I was a celebrity. It was fun, actually. I wasn’t nervous at all.”
“How exciting. Was it an interview?”
“Sort of. It was really exciting when they asked me to come back yesterday morning for a further audition. That’s why I wanted the morning off, and I didn’t want to tell Miss Sampson why. They said I was a natural. That the camera liked me.”
“What sort of show might you be in?”
“Reverend True has several shows besides the one Miss Sampson stars in. Hers is an inspirational, religious show, and I told him that wasn’t my thing.”
“Your mother must be pleased.”
“He asked me not to tell her, didn’t want to get her hopes up, I guess. She’s pretty protective of me.”
Victoria eased herself out of the sofa, and immediately Lee got up to help.
“Thank you, Lee. I’m rested. Do you suppose the goats have arrived yet?”
Lee walked beside her for a few steps. “I enjoyed talking to you, ma’am.”
“Perhaps I’ll get to see you on film.”
Lee blushed. “You’re sure you’re okay now, Mrs. Trumbull?” She hurried ahead of Victoria, looking back occasionally, down the long hallway past the portraits and doors that led to rooms on either side. She opened the great front door and Victoria marched briskly out onto the high wraparound porch. From there, she had a panoramic view of the long driveway and Vineyard Sound to her left.
“Can you see the goat van?” asked Lee.
Victoria shaded her eyes. “Not yet.”
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