The Bee Balm Murders (20 page)

“Decals, that sort of thing.”

“Bumper stickers?”

“Well, yes. That, too.”

“Is Blake and Brown a printing company?”

“That was one of their functions,” said Finney.

“How large a printing firm is it? How many employees do they have?”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” Finney squirmed slightly.

“As many as twenty employees?”

“Probably not that many.”

“As many as five?” asked Victoria.

“It’s hard to say,” said Finney.

Victoria turned a page. “Tell me about Osborne, Steere, Williams, and Devons. I’ve never heard of the company, but then, I’m not really knowledgeable about finances. It sounds like a law firm.”

“It is,” said Finney, enthusiastic again. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Your resume says you were assistant to the partners. What was it that you did for the firm?”

“Whatever it was the partners needed. Research, paperwork, that sort of thing. Courier.”

“You worked as a messenger?”

“Well, I did that, too.” Finney blotted his face with his napkin.

Victoria went through one job after another that Finney had listed. She put the resume aside. “Tell me, Finney. Have you done much fund-raising?”

“Certainly,” he said, sounding indignant.

“What are some of the organizations?”

“I can’t recall all of them. They’re in my resume.”

Victoria flipped through the resume. “I noticed a Boy Scout Troop in Hoboken. Yours?”

He nodded.

Victoria changed the subject. “How long have you known Dorothy Roche?”

“I met her when I came to talk to Orion.”

“And how did you first meet Angelo Vulpone?”

Finney took a sip of his by-now cold coffee. “My father and Angelo were both in the construction business. My dad took me to see him, and, well, the rest is history.”

“He must have been a wonderful man.”

Finney nodded. “A great teacher.”

“Had he talked to you about the fiber-optics project?”

“He planned to invest in it heavily.”

“So you said.” Victoria pushed her own coffee mug aside. “I suppose you know Angelo’s family well.”

“Not well. He was a private guy.”

“Did you know Angelo’s brother, Basilio?”

“I heard mention of a brother.”

“He owns a television studio called Vulpone’s Vampire Venture. Does that mean anything to you?”

Finney shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t know that’s what Angelo’s brother does.”

Victoria looked at her watch. “Finney, I’m afraid my time’s up. I have to finish my column for the paper.”

“I hope you’ll talk to Orion?” said Finney.

“Yes, indeed I will,” said Victoria. “Thank you for coming by.”

C
HAPTER
26

Finney thought about his meeting with Victoria on his way to Edgartown. He felt as if he’d lost a Ping-Pong match, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Mrs. Trumbull didn’t act like someone with money. But according to Dorothy, rich Island eccentrics liked to pretend they were ordinary folks.

How nice it would be to pretend you were poor when you had a chauffeur-driven Bentley at your disposal.

Mrs. Trumbull was interested in his resume and his answers to her probing questions. She’d gone over every item, and he felt he’d answered in a straightforward way. She assured him she would talk to Orion.

Since he wasn’t having success with venture capital firms, perhaps he could get her to invest three or four million. He shuddered at the thought that Dorothy expected him to invest. At the moment, twenty dollars would stretch his budget. As he passed the airport, he thought about the best way to approach Mrs. Trumbull.

He shrugged to loosen the tightness in his shoulders. In a few minutes, he’d be talking to Dorothy, and he needed to be in control. She’d been distant this morning. He reached into his jacket pocket for his tin of mints and popped two into his mouth.

By the time he reached the outskirts of Edgartown, the mints were half-dissolved and he’d convinced himself the meeting with Victoria Trumbull had gone well.

Since Orion hadn’t yet signed the contract, the next step was to suggest that Dorothy invest. Two or three million from her along with three or four from Mrs. Trumbull should loosen the purse strings of other investors. Nothing like an infusion of seed money.

He chewed up the remaining slivers of mints before he turned onto North Water Street so he wouldn’t have to think about them when he met with Dorothy, and he brushed any possible crumbs of Victoria Trumbull’s muffins from the lapels of his navy blazer.

Now he was ready to act his financier part.

He turned onto North Water Street and was almost abreast of Dorothy’s house when he looked over to his left.

Orion’s car was parked in Dorothy’s space.

*   *   *

Why was Orion here? Finney parked next to his Chevrolet and followed Courtney to the library. Dorothy and Orion were sitting by the fireplace. She didn’t look any better than she had earlier. Perhaps worse.

Orion stood and they shook hands. Orion sat again, leaned back comfortably, and crossed his ankle over his knee. His smile made Finney uneasy.

“Have a seat,” said Orion, gesturing to a third chair, a straight-backed, rush-seated antique.

Finney glanced at Dorothy.

Dorothy waved vaguely at the chair and he sat.

“I’ve been telling Dorothy about an opportunity for the company,” Orion said. “A way to attract investors, draw attention to our project.” He smiled and Finney shivered.

Dorothy’s expression didn’t tell him anything. She sat primly in her chair, surrounded by bright red chintz roses.

Orion continued pleasantly. “I’m sure Finney’s not heard about the annual auction. Would you like to tell him about it, Dorothy?” He turned that smile in her direction.

Dorothy shook her head.

Orion turned to Finney. “The auction is held every summer to benefit the Outstretched Palm Fund.” He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair.

“Outstretched Palm?” asked Finney, bewildered. He looked at Dorothy, whose expression was not helpful.

“Forbes’s wealthiest, film celebrities, socialites, movers and shakers,” at this Orion smiled again at Finney, “money, power, influence, in a congenial setting. People you already know, Finney.”

“What about them?” Finney asked, still bewildered.

“They attend the auction,” said Orion. “For Island charities, of course. The rich and famous come to be seen, to bid,” he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

“To bid?” asked Finney.

“A movie star may contribute a dinner with the star cooking and serving. A TV anchor may offer a luncheon cruise on his yacht. That sort of thing.” Orion turned to Dorothy. “Tell Finney what you’re offering.”

Dorothy stared at the never-to-be-burned birch logs.

Orion said, “She’s offered the winning bidder a ride on the Ditch Witch drill. She’ll drive it.”

“Oh?” said Finney, looking from one to the other.

“The drilling unit can travel at speeds up to two miles an hour,” Orion said to Finney. “Right, Dorothy?”

Dorothy was now staring down at her hands, which were crushing the scented hankie in her lap.

“Great publicity,” said Orion with enthusiasm. “The Outstretched Palm coordinators want Dorothy to drive the winner from the Yacht Club to her house on North Water Street and serve luncheon for twenty-five of the high bidders’ friends. This will put Universal Fiber Optics on the map. And you, Finney”—he turned to him—“will have an opportunity to meet even more movers and shakers.”

“We need to keep a low profile,” murmured Dorothy.

“Nonsense. This is a great contribution. We’ve already ordered a pink hard hat for you. And a pink safety vest.”

Finney, doubtful at first, was warming to the idea. This would lure investors. “He’s got something. Let’s make it luncheon for fifty. Drive up the bids. Only someone with money will bid, and that someone will have a dozen friends dying to invest in UFO.”

“But…” Dorothy looked her age.

Finney stood. “That’s brilliant!” Demonstrating the drill to investors, Mrs. Trumbull’s three or four million, Dorothy’s two or three million—well, it was simply brilliant. “What do we need to do to get this going?”

“I’ve already spoken to the organizers. Some of the biggest names on the Island. Dorothy’s already signed up.” Orion smiled again. “I knew she’d be thrilled. I’ll call tomorrow to let them know the luncheon is for fifty, not twenty-five. Splendid, Finney.”

*   *   *

Shortly after Finney left for Edgartown in the Mercedes, Primo arrived at Victoria’s in the Bentley.

“Good news, Mrs. Trumbull.” He stood at the kitchen door, grinning. “Umberto has hired an assistant.”

Victoria dropped onto a kitchen chair. She rested her head on her hand. “Primo…”

“You’ll love her, Mrs. Trumbull. We’ve booked her a room at the Harbor View.”

“She’s not from here?”

“We thought it unwise to hire an Islander. Everyone seems to be related, and everyone seems to know everything before it happens.”

“But…” She sighed, defeated. “Who is this person?”

“You wanted to know about a television actress?”

Victoria was aghast. “You haven’t hired the true Dorothy Roche have you?”

“No, no. Better than that. We know your interest in the true and false Dorothy Roches is to be confidential.”

“You’d better tell me whom you’ve hired.”

“Her younger sister, Virginia!” said Primo with a triumphant smile.

“How old is Virginia?”

“Eighteen. Two years younger than Dorothy.”

“Virginia Roche?”

“Virginia Carroll. The true Dorothy’s name is Dorothy Carroll. Dorothy Roche is her stage name.”

Victoria was having trouble concentrating. One more day of doxycycline. Presumably, the Lyme disease would be eradicated from her system along with the dismal effects of the doxycycline. She could go out in the sun again and concentrate. She could stand up to her two young men. Then she thought about the Bentley. Independence has its price.

“When does Umberto return?” she asked.

“He’s here on the Island, settling Ginny—Virginia, that is—into her quarters.”

Victoria sighed. “Does Virginia play Scrabble?”

Primo was still standing at the door. “I’ll ask.” He took out his notebook and pen.

“Don’t you want to come in and sit down?”

“I can’t stay, Mrs. Trumbull. Besides, there’s a nice breeze coming through here.”

“Did your father ever mention a Finney Solomon?”

Primo shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

“Might you have seen him at your father’s office? He’s tall, light hair, hazel eyes. About your age.”

“Father never mentioned a Finney Solomon.”

“Finney claims Angelo Vulpone was his mentor and taught him what he knows about finance.”

Primo looked astonished. “Father mentored some kid?”

“That’s what Finney claims.”

Primo shook his head vigorously. “My father trained Umberto and me to take over his business. He was very close-mouthed. He would never have discussed his business outside our family. Never.”

“Would he have given a young man advice on finance?”

“Never. My father wouldn’t tell anyone anything that might in the future put him in competition with us.”

“According to Finney, your father told him Orion’s company was a gold mine.”

Primo looked baffled. “Who is this character?”

“He claims he’s got a degree from Hudson College.”

“That’s a community college in Jersey City. He’s got a two-year associate of arts degree?”

“It looks that way,” said Victoria. “Finney’s held a number of clerical jobs that he’s inflated on his resume to sound like positions of great responsibility.”

“It’s true my father was planning to invest in Universal Fiber Optics. I heard him call it a gold mine. But how did this Finney latch onto that?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Victoria.

C
HAPTER
27

Aunt Maria Rosa, contrary to what Primo believed, had not passively accepted her role as betrayed wife. She knew full well what her husband Basilio was up to and with whom he was doing it, and she bided her time.

She’d learned about Basilio’s activities in December, six months before her brother-in-law, Angelo, was killed.

This is how she learned. The phone rang. She answered.

“Mrs. Vulpone?” An unfamiliar female voice.

“Speaking,” said Maria Rosa.

“Your husband’s cheating on you with some bimbo.”

“Who is this?” asked Maria Rosa indignantly.

“A friend,” and the friend hung up.

Maria Rosa’s first reaction was anger. Who was this
strega
, this bitch, who’d called? She hadn’t recognized the voice. My Basilio is a good man. He’s a good provider. He goes to church. He’s a caring father. And he’s a … She paused. He’s a faithful husband.

She thought about the anonymous call. Who could that caller be? Unfamiliar voice. What had she hoped to prove by that call? Maybe she was jealous. Basilio was, after all, a good provider, caring father. But then she thought about the faithful husband bit.

Now that she thought about it, he
had
been working a great many late nights recently.

But the television business was demanding, why shouldn’t he work late? And furthermore, he was involved in a new business venture.

Then, too, he’d been going out of town more than usual. Which was understandable, new business and all.

But, she was embarrassed to even think this, there was a certain lack of performance by a normally lusty male.

Stress of his job, she told herself. Maybe she’d let herself go a little. She ought to take off a few pounds, maybe pay more attention to her clothes. But her hair was as dark as it had been when she was at Notre Dame High, and now, with that stylish streak of silver, she looked distinguished. People still commented on the unusual color of her eyes, a clear emerald green.

But, then …

What reason did that person have to call her, anyway?

After her anger at the caller cooled somewhat, she decided, out of curiosity, to look up private investigators in the Yellow Pages. A half-page ad cried out at her in bold capital italicized letters:
CHEATING SPOUSE?
She slammed the directory shut, stood up, and brewed herself a cup of tea. While she sipped her tea, she turned again to that page in the directory and quickly dialed the number.