“I don’t have time for this,” said Victoria, standing up. “The chief and I need to interview the women who appeared on the videos.” She turned to Casey, her face still flushed. “Are you ready?”
“We need lunch,” said Casey. “I don’t suppose you want to stop by your house?”
Victoria didn’t answer, but strode to the door, opened it, and marched down the steps.
Casey called back to Junior. “We’ll pick up some chowder at Fella’s, the place next to the post office.”
“Have fun,” said Junior.
“I raised my children to be independent,” said Victoria when they were in the Bronco, heading toward North Tisbury. “I raised them to respect one another’s privacy. I can’t understand why . . .” She stopped talking and rolled down the window. “Chowder sounds good. I am hungry.”
CHAPTER 28
Casey bought two carryout containers of chowder at Fella’s and gave one to Victoria, who was sitting on a bench, protected by the overhanging roof.
Victoria hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She finished her chowder before Casey, who set her cup aside and went back for seconds for her deputy.
Victoria blotted her mouth with a paper napkin. “Thank you. I’ll be in a much better mood now to talk to Amelia.”
“Ah,” said Casey. “Are you going to confront her?”
“I’m going to win her over.” Victoria sprinkled oyster crackers over her second helping of chowder and dug in.
Casey glanced up. “How, may I ask?”
“I’ll invite her to come with me to interview the women who were in the shower videos.”
“But . . .”
“That way, you needn’t be involved in any official way until I report back to you.”
“You’re assuming Amelia will then realize her mother isn’t ready to be put out to pasture.”
“Something like that.” Victoria had finished her second cup of chowder while Casey was scraping out the last spoonful of her first. “Don’t you want seconds? I’ve been quite greedy.”
“I’m fine, Victoria.” Casey stood, collected the cups, and tossed them into the trash barrel next to the bench. “I’ll stop by the station and get that list of women and their addresses.” She looked at her watch. “Most of them probably aren’t home now, but you’ll find one or two.”
“I’ll keep trying,” said Victoria.
Amelia had awakened from her nap when her mother came home. She stretched her arms and yawned. “That’s such a comfortable bed. It has a better mattress than mine at home. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you. Casey and I had lunch.”
“That’s nice. I’m so glad our police chief is female. I imagine West Tisbury is a quiet town, not too difficult to police.”
Victoria’s jaw tensed. No matter what she said in defense, she would insult either the town or its police chief. She changed the subject. “I have a few interviews to carry out this afternoon. Would you care to come along? You can drive. You might be interested in the work we do.”
“I’d love to. Let me freshen up. I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Victoria spent the time studying her list and making new notes.
“What sort of interviews are you doing, Mother?” Amelia asked when she emerged from the bathroom.
“We believe LeRoy Watts was spying on young women, taking videos of them in their showers.”
Amelia hugged herself. “How horribly intrusive.”
“I want to find out when they discovered the cameras and their reactions, learn more about the women and offer support.”
“What kind of monster was he? You said he was the electrician working on your blown outlet?”
“He wasn’t a monster. He was a polite man, a college graduate, active in church, active in the community, with a nice family. Twin boys and an attractive wife. It’s distressing to everyone who knew him or worked with him.”
“Are you sure he was the one who took the videos?”
Victoria paused before she answered. “Everything seems to indicate he was guilty. We may learn more as we talk to the women.” Victoria got up from the table, found her cloth bag and her lilac-wood stick, and headed for the door.
The first person they found at home was Jim Weiss. He came to the door, the latest copy of the Island Enquirer in hand, glasses pushed up on top of his head. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and his feet were bare.
“Afternoon, Victoria. What brings you here?”
“This is Amelia, my daughter, Jim. She’s visiting from California.”
Jim reached out his hand. “Glad we have nice weather for you. How long are you here for?”
“I’m not sure,” said Amelia. “At least a week.”
After the civilities were over, Victoria said, “Our reason for calling on you is semiofficial.”
“Come in, won’t you?” Jim stood aside and ushered them into the living room. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
Amelia smiled. “No, thanks.”
Victoria got right to the point. “I understand your daughter was one of the victims of the video voyeur—”
She didn’t finish. Jim practically exploded. “That freak. My daughter’s only a kid.” He slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “She’s just turned sixteen. It’s as though she’s been date-raped, didn’t have a clue.”
“Who found the camera?” Victoria asked. “Did you?”
“Lily’s girlfriend found the camera. I had no idea there was one hidden in the downstairs shower. Lily’s the only one who uses that one.”
“Where was it, in the exhaust vent?”
“Yes. Lily’s girlfriend had come for an overnight. She noticed it, told Lily. Lily told me the next morning, and I went to the police at once.”
Amelia was sitting quietly in an armchair over to one side. Victoria took notes. “Do you have any idea when the camera might have been installed?”
“I have a good idea. The heater in the downstairs bathroom wasn’t functioning properly, so I called LeRoy Watts. This was about three months ago. I have the bills and can give you the exact date.” Jim started to get up.
“That’s not necessary,” said Victoria. “It may be later. You know, of course, that LeRoy Watts was killed.”
“So I’d heard.” Jim sat back down.
“His office manager found his body yesterday.”
Jim got up again and started to pace. “He was not only filming women—girls, really—in their showers; he was phoning them. Five women in my knitters’ group.” He stopped pacing and faced Victoria. “You know all about that. Casper Martin and I were feeling as though we were suspects.” He sat down again and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I hope you don’t need to talk to Lily. I’m not sure what that would accomplish. Just upset her still more.”
“I don’t think so,” said Victoria. “I know it’s difficult for her.”
“She’s mortified.”
“As we all are.” Victoria stood.
He dropped his head into his hands. “The kids in school found out about it.”
“Her girlfriend, I suppose. The one who found the camera,” said Victoria.
“Now they’re teasing her about her future as a porn star. They think it’s funny. They think teasing her will lighten things up.”
“How cruel!”
Jim turned away so Victoria couldn’t see his face. “That’s kids for you,” he said.
CHAPTER 29
“I don’t blame Mr. Weiss for being so upset,” Amelia said when they were in the car after talking to Jim Weiss. “Some lecher spying on his daughter? I can’t imagine how I’d feel if some man were spying on Elizabeth. And his daughter’s only sixteen.”
“A sophomore in high school.”
“Elizabeth is old enough to take care of herself, but I might have been tempted to do violence to whoever did that to her.” She looked away from the road briefly. “Mr. Watts was stabbed in th
e throat with a knitting needle, wasn’t he? And Jim Weiss is one of the knitters?”
“The weapon that killed LeRoy wasn’t necessarily a knitting needle. He was stabbed right about here.” Victoria ran her fingers down the side of her neck.
“But that would have done the job, right?”
“It was my thought that a knitting needle could be the weapon. Doc Jeffers, the medical examiner, said the weapon was a sharp, pointed implement, like an awl or screwdriver, or fid, or even a pencil or ballpoint pen.”
The afternoon had turned a misty gray. In the glacial swales, mist had thickened into dense fog that rose fender-high, an opaque cloud that flowed like batter toward the sea to their right. Wisps of fog drifted through the branches of the oaks and spangled the new grass.
“The knitters’ group Mr. Weiss belongs to isn’t exactly an old ladies’—” Amelia stopped abruptly.
Victoria ignored the implied slur. “The group hopes to finish the quilt by mid-June. All of them carry around at least one set of knitting needles. . . .” She stopped, thinking again of LeRoy’s widow with her mismatched needles.
“What is it? What were you about to say?”
“Nothing,” Victoria replied.
Amelia tightened her grip on the wheel. “Whether one’s daughter is sixteen or thirty, it’s equally upsetting.”
“Of course.”
Slightly ahead of them to the left was a large patch of showy pink flowers. Victoria was absorbed in her thoughts and didn’t notice them.
Amelia slowed the car and stopped. “Lady slippers, Mother. Just look! I remember how every May around this time you pointed them out to us.”
Victoria sat up. She welcomed the first sight of the Vineyard’s rare, showy orchids. The Island had as many species of orchids as Hawaii, but they tended to be tiny and inconspicuous. These were neither. About a dozen plants clustered together, standing almost a foot high. The flowers had light pink pouchlike lower petals with dark pink veining, overhung by dark magenta upper petals.
Victoria turned to her daughter and smiled. “Every May my mother pointed them out to me, too. Old County Road was nothing but rutted sand then.”
“Would you like to get out?”
“Perhaps tomorrow. I want to interview as many women as we can today, then get home to write up my notes. Before I forget them,” she added, then felt ashamed of herself, hoping Amelia hadn’t noticed the wicked little dig.
Amelia checked behind her and pulled away from the side of the road, and they drove in companionable silence.
Victoria said, “I recall distinctly how I felt as a teenager. I trusted adults, and no adult ever betrayed that trust. At sixteen, I felt awkward and unsure of myself. I was painfully modest. In part, that was the times, but I don’t believe teenagers have changed much.”
“I don’t believe they have, either.” Amelia slowed to a crawl to pass a horse and rider. The rider, a helmeted young girl, lifted her hand in thanks. Victoria waved back.
“What’s our next stop?”
Victoria consulted the list Casey had drawn up for her and sighed. “This is not going to be pleasant.” She gave Amelia directions to the home of one of the victims.
That afternoon, they spoke to three women and heard their identical reactions when they’d found out about the videos. Shock. Embarrassment. Violation. Anger. Disgust.
On the way home, Victoria was silent.
Amelia said, “Thank you for letting me come with you. You’re quite a remarkable woman.”
Victoria continued to gaze out the window.
“You were sensitive,” said Amelia, eyes back on the road. “You always were sensitive to our feelings when we were growing up.”
Victoria smiled faintly.
“You must feel drained. Let’s light the fire and have a good strong drink.”
“That sounds good.” Victoria looked at her watch. “Elizabeth should be home by now.”
Elizabeth had lighted the fire and it danced welcome warmth and light into the parlor.
Victoria held her glass up. Firelight flickered through the ruby red drink. “I invited Bill O’Malley for dinner tomorrow night, Elizabeth. He’d asked about you.”
“He brought his boat into the harbor to show me,” said Elizabeth. “Only I was off duty and didn’t see him.”
“The dump truck person,” said Amelia. “So he has a boat, too?”
“A boat and an airplane,” said Victoria.
“I’ll cook,” Elizabeth offered. “The striped bass are running, and I bet I can get Janet to give us one.”
“Boston baked beans tomorrow.” Victoria eased herself out of her chair. “I’ll put the beans to soak.”
“Beans go nicely with fish,” said Elizabeth.
“What do I wear to dinner with this man?” asked Amelia.
“Clean jeans, Mom,” replied Elizabeth.
The following morning, a day of drizzling rain, Victoria boiled the beans she’d soaked all night, then spooned them into her bean pot with an onion, molasses, and salt pork and put them in a slow oven to cook all day.
Then she and Amelia set out again.
“Who’s next on our list?” Amelia asked before she started the car.
Victoria looked down at the paper. Too many names. What a swath LeRoy Watts had cut. How many lives he’d hurt. “We should probably talk next to Jackie, LeRoy’s sister-in-law. She and Sarah don’t get along. After LeRoy was killed, I made the mistake of asking Jackie to stay with her sister. A poor choice on my part.” She looked up. “You’ll want to head toward Up-Island Cronig’s.”
Jackie lived in a small house in Island Farms. She came to the door with a towel wrapped like a turban around her head. She was almost as tall as Victoria and had a perfect peaches and cream complexion.
“I just stepped out of the shower. I looked for hidden cameras first.” Jackie made a wry face. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Trumbull?”
“May we come in? This is my daughter Amelia. I wanted to talk to you about LeRoy Watts’s murder.”
Jackie offered her hand to Amelia. “Come in. I don’t know what I can tell you. LeRoy was an asshole—excuse me, Mrs. Trumbull.” She led the way to a small, neat living room with an L-shaped couch facing a gigantic TV screen with a game show playing. Jackie turned off the sound. Victoria was transfixed by the characters, who were emoting soundlessly with great enthusiasm. “Keeps me company,” Jackie said. “Have a seat. Don’t mind me if I comb out my hair.”
Amelia glanced at her mother, who nodded. Victoria had been strict about the impropriety of fussing with one’s hair outside the privacy of the bedroom or bath.
“I hadn’t realized he’d changed his name to Watts,” Victoria said.
“Oh, sure. He thought that was terribly smart. He’d changed it before I knew him, so I never heard his real name,” said Jackie, unwrapping the damp towel from her head.
“I was hoping to get your reactions to the murder. Do you have any thoughts?”
“Damn right I do. I know for sure who killed him.” Jackie shot up. “Excuse me. I have to get my comb from the bathroom.”
She returned, running a large pink comb through her tangled damp hair. She picked out loose hairs from the comb and tossed them into the wastepaper basket.
Amelia smiled.
Victoria frowned.
“You asked if I had any thoughts about who killed him. Don’t hold me to it. The obvious killer is my dear sweet sister, his wife. Widow. What I said in the first place.”
“But you denied what you said.”
“Look at it logically,” Jackie went on. “She’s married to God’s gift to the Island, and all of a sudden—wham!—the guy’s done worse than sleeping around. Drooling over chickies in their showers, Island chickies he knows, calling women and breathing at them. Slavering. You know? Totally disgusting. The entire Island is snickering behind her back. ‘Wasn’t she giving out at home?’ You know, that kind of stuff. Blaming her for the way he acted.”
<
br /> “Really?” said Victoria.
“I know my sister.” Jackie combed her hair over her face, then swept it to one side. “You know the way this Island is, Mrs. Trumbull. We love weird stuff like this.”
“But why would she kill her husband?” Amelia put in. “Sorry, Mother. I should keep quiet.”
“Quite all right,” said Victoria.
“I know my sister,” Jackie repeated. “She’s wound so tight, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”
Amelia coughed politely.
“You think she snapped?” asked Victoria.
“Of course she snapped. She sees that video that Emily Cameron got from her boyfriend. She could hardly believe her dear gentle Roy would do such a thing. Then her twins get caught playing with Roy’s Taser at school. Coulda killed someone. The same day, Roy is handed a court date for owning the Taser and thinks he might go to jail. The last straw is he hits her. Did you see the bruise?”
Victoria nodded.
Jackie combed, shook out her hair, and combed again. “He had the hots for me. For years.” Jackie smiled. “I told Sarah he was hitting on me, and my dumb sister thought I was making it all up. That it was the other way around. She accused me of hitting on him.”
Victoria waited to see if Jackie had anything else to say, but she continued to fix her hair. “Can you think of anything to add? That you’d like to tell me?”
“It’s so obvious, Mrs. Trumbull. I mean, who else could it be?” Jackie stood up. “Excuse me a sec. I’m going to the bathroom to get my nail polish. Paint my toenails.”
Victoria got up. “This has been . . .” she paused, searching for the right word. “I appreciate your taking the time. May I come back if I have more questions?”
“Sure, Mrs. Trumbull. Anytime. It’ll be hard to pin it on her, but believe you me, she’s guilty as sin.”
Victoria got up, and so did Amelia.
“Thank you.” Victoria glanced at Jackie’s hands, one holding the comb with a few more loose hairs, the other holding the damp towel, and didn’t offer to shake.
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