Touch-Me-Not

by Cynthia Riggs

  The front door slammed open and three adolescent girls burst in, giggling about something.

  “Shhhh!” The redhead held a finger to her lips.

  “Hi, Ms. Chandler.”

  “Afternoon, girls.” Lucinda turned to Casey. “Excuse me, Chief. My clients.” Then to the girls. “What’s tonight’s assignment?”

  “Lucinda . . .” said Casey, adjusting her utility belt.

  “We’re supposed to write a five-hundred-word essay on bees,” said the redhead.

  Lucinda held up a finger. “Be right with you, Chief. Won’t be a minute.” To the girls she said, “We have lots of books on bees,” and she came out from behind the counter.

  Victoria looked at her watch. Casey folded her arms. Victoria coughed politely.

  “One second more,” said Lucinda. To the girls she said again, “There’s an article on bees in the latest copy of Junior Scholastic. You know where to find the magazines? I want to talk to the chief.”

  “Sure.” The three trooped into the reading room.

  “Sorry,” said Lucinda, turning back to Victoria and Casey. “Are you here for the knitters’ group? Fran should be back in a half hour or so, in time for their meeting.”

  “Lucinda . . .” Casey began.

  “They’ve finished the quilt,” Lucinda said. “What do you think of it?”

  “Lovely,” said Victoria. “But we need to know where Amelia and Fran went.”

  “Fran wanted to show Amelia something. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  Casey paced away from the counter, then back again.

  “How long ago did they leave?” Victoria asked.

  “About fifteen minutes ago, maybe quarter to three?”

  “What did Fran want to show Amelia?”

  “I really wasn’t paying attention.”

  Casey stopped in front of the counter. “Maybe a building or a garden or a beach, something like that?”

  Lucinda leaned back against the counter and held her chin in one hand. “Let me think.”

  Casey said, so only Victoria heard, “Quickly!”

  “Amelia hasn’t been here for two years,” said Victoria. “Might Fran have wanted to show her something that’s occurred during that time?”

  “I heard them talk about plants, and Fran mentioned a new planting at the Polly Hill Arboretum. They left shortly after that. They’ll be back in time for the knitting group, I guarantee. You know how obsessive Fran is about that quilt. She was even carrying her knitting with her.” Lucinda laughed. “Has to polish the last stitch on a brain coral or whatever.”

  “Does that seem likely, that they went to the arboretum?” asked Victoria.

  “Ummmm, yes. They were talking about plants.”

  “Thanks,” said Casey. “Let’s go, Victoria.”

  “Ask Amelia to call me if she returns with Fran while we’re gone, would you please?” Victoria gave her Casey’s cell-phone number.

  As they left the library, Victoria said, “I’m being overly concerned about this, I’m afraid.”

  “Probably. Fran has no reason to hassle Amelia.” Casey shrugged. “But your instincts are uncanny, Victoria, so let’s go.”

  They were at the Bronco when Victoria said, “Amelia knew about Fran and the physics professor. Fran wouldn’t have forgotten that.”

  “Fran’s wound kind of tight,” agreed Casey.

  Victoria climbed into the high passenger seat, and Casey walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

  “That physics professor bit was in the dim past,” said Casey, starting the engine. “Fran was, what, eighteen or nineteen? Not something Amelia is likely to remind Fran of in casual conversation.”

  “Fran moved here because of a student of hers.”

  Casey backed out of the parking space and headed out. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Fran was a math professor. One of her extracurricular tasks was to counsel students on dealing with stalkers.”

  “Yeah?”

  Casey pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto State Road.

  “You knew, didn’t you, that LeRoy Watts got his engineering degree from Northeastern?”

  “Sure.”

  “Fran taught mathematics at Northeastern.”

  “Was he a student of hers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whew!” said Casey. “A stalker being stalked by a stalker, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Something like that,” said Victoria. “The lecturer we heard at the law enforcement meeting a couple of weeks ago said stalkers often turn violent if they’re thwarted.”

  “We’ll be at the arboretum in a couple of minutes,” Casey said. She cornered Dead Man’s Curve, cutting over the center line. Victoria held onto her seat bottom with both hands. They passed Whiting’s hay field in a blur.

  “The arboretum is fifty acres,” said Victoria. “A large area to cover.”

  “They’ll be there. We’ll find them,” said Casey.

  Victoria sat back again. “It’s probably nothing. We’re worrying about nothing. They’re taking a break from that quilt before the meeting to let Amelia see the arboretum.”

  Casey’s hands were high on the steering wheel.

  Victoria said, “If we see them, we can say—”

  “We won’t need to explain a thing, Victoria. It’s perfectly natural for us to drop by the arboretum and join them.” She signaled a left turn and pulled into the arboretum’s parking area.

  As they drove around the oval area, they counted nine cars and a tour bus parked in the dozen shaded spaces, each space designed for three or four cars.

  “Any idea what Fran drives?” asked Casey.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “We can stop by the visitors’ center and ask if Amelia and Fran are here.” Casey got out of the Bronco, and the two walked the short distance to the visitors’ center.

  A dozen people milled around the center, checking the books and gifts, studying the displays. The volunteer at the desk, her name tag identifying her simply as ANN, looked over the top of her glasses. Her hair was a halo of curls, a tangled mixure of auburn and silver. A pair of reading glasses hung from a cord around her neck.

  “Hello, Mrs. Trumbull. May I help you?”

  “Has Amelia stopped by with Fran Bacon?”

  Ann shook her head. “You know, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t noticed.” She brushed curls away from her forehead. “They may not have stopped at the center.” She lifted her glasses up and perched them on her nose, then scrabbled around in a desk drawer and brought out a visitors’ guide. “Would you like a map? They may have gone on one of the walks without stopping here. They don’t need to, you know.”

  “Thanks,” said Casey. “A map would help.”

  “It’s been a lovely day,” said Ann, handing the map over. “They’re predicting rain this afternoon. Good for our gardens.”

  “Do you know where Fran might want to take Amelia to show her a new planting?” asked Victoria. “Something within the past two years, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know about specific new plantings,” said Ann. “We’re constantly adding specimens to the arboretum.” She thought a moment, tugged off her glasses, then put them back on. “I’ll show you some of the lovely spots.”

  Casey handed the map over and Ann opened it up. “The azaleas are spectacular right now.” She removed the cap from a yellow marker pen and circled the azalea plantings. “And the rhododendrons are in bud. Some may already be in bloom.” She handed the map to Victoria, who passed it on to Casey. “You know where the West Field is?”

  “Yes,” said Victoria. “Thank you. If Amelia shows up, would you mind calling Casey on her cell phone?”

  “I’d be glad to. I think I have your number, Chief, don’t I?”

  “Let me write it out for you,” said Casey, and did.

  “Thanks ever so much,” said Ann, taking off her glasses. “Have a nice walk. I hope you meet up with
them.”

  “So do we,” said Casey, and Victoria noticed that behind Casey’s back, her fingers on both hands were crossed.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Does this make sense?” asked Casey, studying the map once they were outside. “Let’s think before we go racing off in all directions. Fifty acres is a huge area.”

  “Perhaps we should split up.” Victoria pointed out the paths on the map. “You go this way and I’ll go the other.”

  “We stick together. You know the arboretum and I don’t. Is there an open area where we can look over the place?”

  Victoria thought a bit. “There are two meadows, the North Field and the West Field. The West Field is somewhat more remote.” Casey held out the map so Victoria could show her the area. “There are dense plantings on three sides, so we can’t see much from there.”

  “Dense plantings,” mused Casey. “What about the North Field?”

  “It’s bounded on three sides by buildings and the road.”

  “Then we’ll strike out for the West Field, stop there and give you a chance to rest. . . .” She glanced at Victoria. “I meant,” Casey continued, “we can stop to reconnoiter, decide where to go from there.”

  On their way to the closer North Field, they passed through a picnic grove where trees and dense underbrush could have hidden two people, but it seemed unlikely that Amelia and Fran would stop so close to the visitors’ center and the rest rooms. The field was an easy stroll from the center. However, they strode briskly and Victoria was glad when they finally halted in the middle of the grassy area so Casey could catch her breath.

  For most of the day, the wind had blown from the southwest, a warm, sweet-scented spring air, bright and dry. Now the sky had clouded over. As they stood in the center of the field, Victoria felt a slight bite in the air, as though winter hadn’t departed entirely. The walk had warmed her and the breeze was welcome.

  Ahead of them and to their right, azaleas bloomed in masses of red, pink, and white, with a few clusters of orange and yellow. Tall rhododendrons, not yet in bloom, towered over the azaleas, their dense foliage forming a screen behind the azaleas.

  To their left, a couple with two small children strolled toward the cow barn. A group of senior citizens, who’d apparently come on the tour bus, chattered.

  The still air was full of birdcalls, cardinals, wrens, chickadees, tohees staking out their territory.

  “It’s getting chilly,” said Casey. “Are you warm enough, Victoria?”

  Victoria swept her arm in an arc that included half of the pasture. “We need to search behind the rhododendrons. Most of the visitors are heading toward the dogwood allée and the arbor.”

  “I’m not familiar with this place,” Casey said again. “What’s behind the trees?”

  “A screened-in area where Polly Hill grew special plants that needed protection from deer and rabbits.”

  “Where visitors are likely to stroll?”

  “I would think so, yes.”

  “We’re looking for a place that’s not too public. With people around, Amelia won’t get in trouble. How about over there?” Casey pointed to their right.

  “That’s off the beaten path.”

  “A good place to start,” said Casey.

  A gust of wind ruffled Victoria’s hair. “The wind’s backed around to the northeast. I smell rain in the air.”

  “We’d better hurry,” said Casey. She folded the map to show the west side of the pasture. “Any thoughts on which end to approach from?”

  “This is a good place for us to split up. I think we should. I’ll start from the north end, you from the south, and we can close in. We won’t be far apart and can call out if we need help.”

  “I don’t like it, Victoria. Cops work in pairs.”

  But Victoria was already heading off to their right, walking briskly toward the stone wall that fenced in the field. She waved at the opposite end of the wall. “You need to hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “The rain isn’t far off and neither of us has foul-weather gear.”

  “Victoria, wait!”

  “If we don’t find them here, we’ll have to look elsewhere.” Victoria strode off, flicking the tall meadow grasses with her lilac-wood stick.

  Casey stood for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the far end. Victoria’s instincts were good, at least, almost always. She doubted they’d find Amelia and Fran this easily, and even if they did, she doubted the women would be doing anything other than appreciating flowers.

  Even she could smell rain in the air. Not like Victoria, whose nose could sense smells on the slightest movement of air. Victoria was right. They’d better hurry. A lot of ground to cover and not pleasant when you’re soaking wet.

  Her cell phone rang. Before she looked at it, she thought it must be Lucinda at the library, calling to say Amelia and Fran had returned. But the call was from Junior Norton, who said results were in on the Watts autopsy.

  “Later, Junior. Can’t talk right now.” Casey closed the phone. She was at the edge of the field, where the map showed the stone wall making a right-angle turn. The rhododendrons towered above her, fifteen feet tall or taller, their leathery leaves a dense wall. She pushed through them to a sort of deer path that followed the stone wall, and headed to the right, the direction from which Victoria would come.

  Victoria, too, had slipped behind the screen of rhododendrons. Here, the stone wall extended quite a distance to the west before turning south, then halfway down the field, it turned east before turning south again, forming an extension of several acres where the rhododendrons grew thickly.

  She stopped to rest, leaning heavily on her stick, when she was out of sight of Casey. She didn’t want to sit down, only to have to go to the trouble of getting up again. Somewhat rested, she continued along the path. The rhododendron screen blocked out sound from the outside world. She could no longer hear cars on State Road or the voices of the sightseers or children calling to one another. If she weren’t so concerned about Amelia, she would treasure this place of silence. She moved slowly, trying to respect that silence. She took twenty steps, then rested.

  She had almost reached her second twenty-step rest stop when she heard voices. She stopped. Was she entirely sure she’d heard voices? The sound was indistinct and might have been birds chatting or even wind in the treetops. She wanted desperately to hear Amelia and Fran.

  The wind had started to move the leaves above her, making human sounds. She could feel the rain approaching. She moved ten steps and stopped. The voices had stopped, too. Perhaps they were in her imagination after all.

  She moved another ten steps, and heard the voices again. People, not the voices of leaves moving in the rain-wind.

  Another ten steps. She was no longer tired.

  And another ten.

  Women were talking, low, musical voices, like Amelia’s and Fran’s. She could see nothing ahead of her except the deer path. The branches over the path were low, and in places she had to crouch. She moved one step at a time, stopping to listen each time until she could make out words. She tried to peer through the rhododendrons but could see only more leaves and fat buds. The blossoms would be out in another week or two, she thought briefly.

  Then she realized where she was and what she was doing and knew that she was frightened for Amelia, the caring young daughter who’d grown up to be a caring woman. Retired. How quickly that had happened.

  Victoria heard, “I’ve never been to this part of the arboretum. It’s lovely.” Amelia’s voice, and Victoria’s heart skipped. “What a perfect spot for this bench, protected from the world.”

  Victoria felt a rush of relief. Amelia was safe. She was about to call out, but stopped herself. Was Amelia really safe? Victoria told herself she was being overly protective, the very reason she’d been so critical of Amelia. Victoria leaned on her stick and waited.

  “It is lovely here, isn’t it. Quiet and private. I come here often, summer and winter, to think.” Fran’s vo
ice. A friendly voice, soft and mellow. Victoria felt as though she were intruding, and again, almost called out.

  “I’m so glad to meet up with you again,” said Amelia. “What a surprise to find you here on the Vineyard, and my daughter working with you.”

  “I must admit, I was surprised to see you at the library,” said Fran. “At first, I hadn’t connected Elizabeth Trumbull and her grandmother with you, for some reason. When your daughter said you were visiting, well, things snapped into place.”

  “I’ve been away for too long, I’m afraid.”

  “Two years, your daughter told me. But I do understand why you came back.”

  Amelia responded. “Yes, of course. It was time for me to be with my mother and daughter. I thought my mother—”

  Fran interrupted. “That’s not really the reason, though, is it?”

  “What?” Amelia sounded puzzled.

  Fran’s voice was clear. “You know precisely what I mean, Amelia.”

  CHAPTER 38

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Amelia.

  “Professor Breznikowski. Does that ring a bell?”

  Silence.

  Victoria leaned on her stick to ease the strain on her leg muscles, which were beginning to cramp.

  “Professor Breznikowski! You were there when the dean forced us to separate.”

  “Ahhhhh . . .” said Amelia.

  “ ‘Ahhhhh,’ ” mimicked Fran. “Comes back to you, doesn’t it? Professor Breznikowski. He was in love with me.”

  Amelia cleared her throat. “I recall something about—”

  Fran interrupted. “He was in love with me, did you know that? He was going to leave his wife and marry me.”

  “I didn’t know that. It was a long time ago.”

  “Forty-three years,” said Fran. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Victoria moved a few steps closer. She could see the edge of a small glade where the rhododendrons had been cleared away. She supposed Amelia and Fran were sitting on a bench within the clearing. She leaned on her stick and thought how nice it would be to sit. She was stiffening from standing still.