Touch-Me-Not

by Cynthia Riggs

Victoria was filling in the blanks. She studied the cross words. “The third letter might be a v. The last letter is probably an e. I suppose ‘death metal’ is considered music? What happened to Beethoven?”

  “Death metal is the Shostokovich of the future,” said Amelia.

  “I doubt it,” said Victoria.

  “Neverborne,” said Elizabeth.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Victoria firmly inked in the word.

  Monday morning was what Victoria called a “typical Vineyard day,” bright, sunny, and dry. She awoke early and went downstairs. Elizabeth had left a note on the kitchen table. “Short day today. Back around 2.”

  Victoria stood at the top of the stone steps and breathed in the scent of the new day. Wind and rain had knocked blossoms off the maple trees during the night, and the ground was carpeted with bright chartreuse flowers that sparkled in the morning sunshine.

  She went back to the kitchen and measured grounds into the coffeemaker. Soon the aroma of fresh coffee brought Amelia downstairs. “Morning, darling! A glorious day. What are your plans, more murder investigation?”

  “Not this morning.” Victoria collected cereal boxes from the closet under the stairs and set them on the counter. “The State Police and forensics team are sifting through evidence. Casey is compiling a list of people she’d like me to talk to.” She lifted down two bowls from the cabinet above the counter.

  “Shouldn’t the police be the ones to do the questioning?”

  “I won’t be interviewing anyone in my police capacity,” Victoria said. “I’ll be talking to a few persons of interest, unofficially.” She removed the half-and-half from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “The State Police and Casey believe I’ll be able to get certain types of information better than a uniformed officer, who, no matter how sensitive, can be perceived as threatening.” She reached down two mugs. “I plan to work in the garden this morning.”

  After breakfast, Amelia joined her mother, and they worked companionably, pulling weeds from the rain-softened earth, occasionally talking, mostly quiet. The air smelled of fresh green growth. A catbird mewed from the cedar tree. Four polka-dotted guinea fowl strutted past them, the hen calling out a tiresome “Go back! Go back! Go back! Go back!” until Victoria hurled a clump of grass at her and the hen scurried off. Redwing blackbirds called. The honeybees from Neil Flynn’s hives hummed in the wisteria.

  Amelia talked about her work, her travels, and the condominium she’d bought, which had a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. “I hope you’ll visit me this winter,” she said, looking sideways at her mother. Victoria listened with an occasional question. The morning passed pleasantly. Amelia carted the heap of pulled weeds to the compost heap while Victoria thinned the lettuce. Rain had spurred its growth.

  That afternoon, Elizabeth and Amelia washed the tender lettuce Victoria had thinned. Victoria was in the cookroom, working on her weekly column.

  “Would you like to come to the knitters’ group this afternoon, Mom?” asked Elizabeth. “We’re meeting every afternoon at four and,” she pushed up her sleeve to check her watch, “it’s three-fifteen now.”

  “I’d love to go, darling. Where shall I put the roots I’m snipping off? Does your grandmother still have a compost bucket?”

  Victoria looked up from her typewriter. “The compost bucket is under the sink.”

  “Righto.” Amelia opened the door under the sink, swept a small heap of lettuce roots into her hand, and dropped them into the bucket. “Why on earth did you decide to form a mathematical knitting group, darling? That seems awfully esoteric.”

  “It’s great fun, actually,” said Elizabeth. “A retired math professor started the group. She’s taken complicated equations for different shapes like Möbius strips and Klein bottles and projective planes and changed the equations into knitting instructions that we nonmath types can follow. I think you’ll like her. She’s about your age.”

  “I look forward to meeting her,” said Amelia. “Math was one of my favorite subjects in college. I almost majored in it. What’s her name?”

  Elizabeth lifted the freshly washed lettuce out of the sink and dropped it into the salad spinner. “Fran Bacon. She taught at Northeastern.”

  “Really! Fran Bacon?” asked Amelia. “I wonder if she’s the same Fran Bacon I went to college with?”

  “I think she graduated from the University of Massachusetts, too.”

  “I didn’t know Fran Bacon well, but it seems to me she did major in math.”

  Elizabeth ripped a paper towel from the roll above the sink and dried her hands. “Want to join us, Gram?”

  “No, thanks. I need to finish my column. I’ll have supper ready when you come home.”

  “You’ve had an awfully full day, Mother,” said Amelia. “You needn’t go to all that trouble. I’ll pick up some takeout in Vineyard Haven.”

  “Thank you, but I’d prefer to make supper.”

  Amelia sighed. “I’m trying to be helpful, Mother.”

  “Enjoy the meeting,” said Victoria with a regal wave.

  Elizabeth gathered together her knitting. “We’re off, Gram. See you a little after seven.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “Your grandmother is certainly testy these days,” Amelia said as they were on their way to the library. “I’m glad to have some time with you, Elizabeth. You’ve been so busy, between work and the knitting project.”

  “Ummm,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “I want to talk to you about your grandmother.”

  At that, Elizabeth looked up from the road. “What about Gram?”

  “She’s not as young as she thinks she is. I know she’s busy with her important work, but there comes a time . . .”

  “Ummm.”

  “You’re so involved with her, you don’t realize how much you’re missing out on. You’re really not able to lead the kind of life you . . .” Amelia looked over at Elizabeth and stopped before she finished the sentence.

  Elizabeth had tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I’m leading exactly the kind of life I want to lead, Mom. And Gram isn’t keeping me from doing anything.”

  “I like to hear you defending her, darling.”

  “I’m not defending her. She may be ninety-two, but her mind is better than yours and mine put together.”

  “Really, now, darling.”

  The two said no more until they reached the library.

  “We can continue the discussion on our way home,” Amelia said.

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” said Elizabeth. “If you think Gram is holding me back in some way, you’re wrong. She’s taking care of me, not the other way around.”

  “Well. We’ll discuss it later.”

  Daughter and granddaughter strode into the library, looking much like Victoria, tall, heads high, jaws set in identical firm lines.

  “Hi, Elizabeth,” someone called out. “This must be your mother.”

  Elizabeth nodded, still annoyed by the exchange in her car. “My mother. Amelia.”

  “Welcome!”

  “Nice to have you here, Amelia.”

  Elizabeth glanced around the group. “Where’s Fran?”

  “Here she comes now,” said Jim.

  “Fran,” Elizabeth said, “this is my mother, Amelia.”

  “For heaven’s sake!” said Fran. “Amelia Trumbull. Of course!” She dropped the package of yarn she was carrying on the table and held out both hands. “With Elizabeth Trumbull in the group, I ought to have put two and two together. How are you? It’s been a long time. Sit down and let’s talk while I work, if you don’t mind.”

  “I understand. A deadline coming up,” said Amelia, sitting next to Fran. “I had no idea you’d settled on the Vineyard. I thought your family had a place in Maine?”

  “A student of mine invited me to visit and, well, I fell in love.”

  Amelia smiled. “With the student or with the Island?”

  Fran flushed. “One doesn’t fra
ternize with one’s students.”

  “I’m sorry.” Amelia put her hand on top of Fran’s. “That was tasteless. Tell me about the quilt.”

  The color slowly faded back to normal in Fran’s face. “The quilt needs only a few minor adjustments before we ship if off for the exhibit.” She moved a pink anemone closer to a green ribbon of kelp, shifted a small blue-and-yellow fish on a wire nearer a red coral.

  “How are you going to ship this creation?” Amelia asked, fingering the hem. “It seems so fragile.”

  “Jim and Casper are in charge of packing and shipping.” Fran nodded at the two men. “That was an interesting comment you just made. That’s precisely the point we hope to make.”

  “You mean about the fragility of the quilt?”

  “The fragility of coral reefs,” said Fran.

  “It’s wonderful,” said Amelia, studying the colorful display. “Just wonderful.”

  On the way home, Amelia reminisced about Fran Bacon, recalling times they’d had together that she hadn’t thought about in years.

  “She was dedicated to her studies. I don’t think she ever dated in college,” Amelia said. “She was always in the mathematics lab. Do you know if she married?”

  “I have no idea. I never thought about it.”

  Elizabeth slowed as they passed the Mill Pond, and they both looked toward the head of the pond, where the swans nested. While they watched, a swan sailed out of the rushes and dipped its head underwater to nibble the sprouting marsh grass.

  “I wonder how many generations of swans have lived in the pond since I left,” said Amelia. “I remember when the town introduced the first pair to control the weeds.”

  “I always thought the swans had been there forever.”

  “It seems that way,” Amelia said. “Does Fran use a title? Mrs. or Miss or Dr.?”

  “I’ve only known her as Fran Bacon.”

  “She’s kept her maiden name, then,” said Amelia. “I did, too, of course. And you chose to be a Trumbull instead of taking either Daddy’s name or your husband’s. I must say, it always seemed terribly unfair for the male side of the family to carry the name through the generations.”

  They turned in at Victoria’s drive, and Elizabeth parked under the maple tree, mightily relieved they’d never had that threatened talk.

  “What an interesting afternoon at the knitting group,” Amelia said. The three women were having drinks in front of the fire. “Fran Bacon of the knitters is the same Fran Bacon I went to college with. The coral-reef quilt is absolutely amazing. You wouldn’t think you could knit something like a coral using a mathematical equation and have it actually look so real.”

  “The knitters are remarkable,” said Victoria.

  “Fran is the one who’s amazing,” Elizabeth said. “She’s absolutely obsessed with the quilt competition. She started the mathematical knitting group, found out about the competition, designed the quilt, and converted equations into knitting instructions. I mean, it’s like magic.”

  “I never did find out whether she ever married,” said Amelia, holding up her glass the same way Victoria did. The fire snapped and a shower of sparks flew up the chimney. McCavity leaped to his feet, then flopped down again and cleaned himself.

  Amelia set her glass down. “She had an odd reaction when I made a little joke about some small thing.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Elizabeth said. “Fran told Mom she came to the Island at the invitation of a student and fell in love. Mom teased her—”

  “I didn’t really tease, her, just a light comment.”

  “All Mom said was, ‘in love with the student or the Island?’ ”

  “That seems innocuous enough,” said Victoria.

  “You would think so. But Fran got all bent out of shape. She practically snapped at Mom, saying professors don’t fraternize with students, or something like that.”

  “They do, of course, even though that’s totally unethical,” said Amelia. “I wonder what set her off?”

  “She undoubtedly feels under great pressure to have the quilt finished and sent off,” said Victoria.

  Elizabeth got up and put another log on the fire. “That’s true. Fran’s been snappish for the past week or so.” She returned to her seat. “It’ll be a relief to have the quilt shipped off, even though it’s been fun. But Fran had the responsibility of showing us how to knit these weird shapes and making us stick to our deadline. She deserves a medal.”

  “It’s a work of art,” said Amelia. “It should run away with whatever the top prize is. I’ll get refills on our drinks.” Amelia gathered up the glasses and headed for the kitchen.

  Victoria’s thoughts had drifted from Fran Bacon and the deadline to the people she wanted to talk to in the morning. She said, “Elizabeth, Fran had a student who was stalked, didn’t she?”

  “More than one.”

  “I’d like to talk with her. She may have insight into why LeRoy Watts, with all the positive things going on in his life, would become a stalker. Nothing I’ve read sheds much light.”

  “Is that likely to help identify the killer?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I don’t know,” said Victoria. “I really don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Tuesday morning was bright, sunny, and dry, another typical Vineyard day. Spiderwebs were spread on the grass like freshly washed sheets. Dewdrops caught in the webs cast rainbows into the air.

  Victoria, Amelia, and Elizabeth were finishing their breakfast in the cookroom. Victoria brushed toast crumbs into her hand and dropped them on her plate.

  “I’d like to talk to Fran Bacon today,” she said. “Do you know what time she’s likely to be at the library, Elizabeth?”

  “From about noon on,” Elizabeth said. “She’s making last-minute adjustments to the quilt before Casper and Jim pack it for shipping. Can I take your plate, Mom?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Amelia handed the empty dishes to Elizabeth, who carried them into the kitchen.

  “Fran has to make sure everything’s exactly right,” Elizabeth explained when she returned to the cookroom. “More coffee, either of you?” She held up the coffeepot.

  “Please,” said Victoria. “Fran certainly runs a tight ship.”

  “Typical of the Fran I remembered,” said Amelia. “That discipline of hers has paid off in that quilt.”

  “Before I meet with Fran this afternoon, I’d like to talk to Emily Cameron again,” said Victoria. “She didn’t have much to say when we had lunch with her on Saturday. I assume she’ll be at the boatyard today.”

  “You can use my car if you want,” said Elizabeth.

  “Thank you,” said Victoria. “We can give you a lift to the harbor, since it’s on our way.”

  Elizabeth gathered up her black uniform sweater and smoothed her khaki shorts, Amelia went into the bathroom to repair her face, and Victoria headed out to the car.

  After they dropped off Elizabeth at the harbor, Amelia and Victoria continued on to the boatyard, driving the longer, more scenic way around East Chop.

  “It’s early,” said Amelia. “Shall we park at the lighthouse? We can have a nice chat.”

  Victoria hesitated. She didn’t really want a heart-to-heart talk with her daughter. But she thought of the magnificent view from the lighthouse of Nantucket Sound and the distant mainland and nodded.

  They parked at the top of the hill, walked to the benches at the edge of the cliff, and sat down. Below them on the sound, one lone sailboat heeled over in the brisk southwest breeze. The mainland seemed close this morning, so close they could make out individual buildings.

  “I’m trying to fit the pieces of this puzzle together,” Amelia said after they’d admired the view for a while. “The body you found in the library book shed was Emily’s boyfriend, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” This wasn’t a conversation Victoria wanted, but it was preferable to the conversation she’d expected—namely, Amelia deciding to be overly daughterly.

&n
bsp; The wind sighed in the pines at the cliff’s edge, moved on to twist the leaves of wild cherry, then ruffled Amelia’s neat hair. She brushed it away from her face.

  “You think LeRoy Watts killed the boyfriend?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Amelia frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Victoria shaded her eyes with a hand and gazed out at the sailboat. It was early in the season to be out on the water. “Certain things we know to be facts.” She turned to Amelia. “LeRoy Watts owned a Taser. He’d fired Jerry Sparks because of his problem with drugs. According to Emily, Jerry headed to Watts Electrical to ask for his job back. Emily and Jerry planned to go to the movies that evening. I suppose she called Jerry’s cell phone to confirm their date and got no answer.”

  “Jerry Sparks was dead by then?”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  A dandelion had grown beside the bench where they sat. Victoria plucked one of the fluffy seed heads and held the stem so the breeze could scatter the seeds on their filmy parachutes.

  “We hadn’t found Jerry Sparks’s body yet when I asked LeRoy Watts to repair the outlet in the East Chamber. LeRoy said he needed to spend more time on the repairs, and left his tool chest there, intending to finish the work later. At the time, I had a feeling he’d left the chest for some reason other than simple convenience.”

  A gust whisked away the last of the dandelion seeds and Victoria dropped the stem and its buttonlike head onto the ground. “We found LeRoy’s body the day you arrived.”

  “I know. That was quite a shock.”

  “You were there, of course, when I looked inside his tool chest and found the spent Taser cartridge.”

  “I’m surprised you recognized it. I barely know what a Taser is. I wouldn’t know a Taser cartridge if I saw one.”

  The sailboat tacked. Victoria watched the boat change direction, the sails luff, then fill again. A fishing vessel, outriggers lifted high out of the water, passed on its way to the Georges Bank fishing grounds. A stream of seagulls followed, dipping into the trailing wake. The two women watched until the boat was out of sight.