“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hollywood?”
“No, no.” Henry smiled. “West Virginia. Town called Zebulon.”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave Miss Sampson, sir. And I take care of my mother. I couldn’t afford the time off. Or the travel expense.”
Henry raised his great white eyebrows and assumed his cherubic expression. “There’s a studio here on the Island. We can arrange to audition you here.” He pointed down at the slate floor. “You wouldn’t even have to take time off.”
“I just don’t know.” Lee twisted her hands, still clasped protectively in front of her.
“If your test is successful, the pay is good. Help with your expenses. Your mother’s support.” Henry’s smile broadened. “Nice clothes. Dining out. Travel. In fact, travel is part of the job.”
“Well,” said Lee. “I don’t know.”
“Think it over. Talk to your mother. See what she thinks about her little girl acting on television. Maybe on a program she watches.”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled, sir.”
Henry’s smile broadened to a grin that showed his teeth. “I see a great future for you in television.” He reached into his back pocket, drew out his wallet, slipped out a card, and handed it to her. “I’ll tell my office to set you up with an audition. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
At the jail, Darcy, too, was pacing, but in the claustrophobic cell where he’d spent a sleepless night. The vibrating color of the cement block walls, an unfortunate shade of bright pink, made him edgy.
His reverie on color schemes was interrupted by footsteps along the corridor and the cheery voice of the sheriff.
“Got a call to release you, Mr. Meyer.” He unlocked the barred cell door and slid it open.
Darcy turned. “Thanks. Am I free to go?”
The sheriff checked the papers he was holding. “If you’re Emery Meyer, like it says here. Thought we listed you as Darcy Remey?”
Darcy smiled.
The sheriff led the way out of the cell block. “Yes, sir. You seem to have some influence in the right places. By the way, there’s a redhead out front insisting that she see you.”
“She at the reception desk?”
“Want to leave by the back door?”
“No, that’s okay.”
As they came down the stairs, Darcy could see Delilah, standing in front of the desk gesticulating to the jailer. She turned when she heard them, and her angry expression faded. She stepped toward him and took his hand.
“Darcy, darling, good news. I talked to one of my lawyers, and he says he can have you released into my custody within the next forty-eight hours.”
The sheriff laughed. “Ma’am, someone else got to him first.”
Delilah swept her hair out from the collar of her puffy orange jacket as they left the jail, and tossed the car keys to Darcy. “You drive. It’s turned out to be a nice day. Put the top down.”
Darcy held the door of the convertible for her and then went around to the driver’s side. He started up the car and lowered the convertible’s top.
“Much nicer,” Delilah said. “How did you ever manage to work that out?” Her voice was full of admiration.
“My release, you mean?”
“My lawyer didn’t think he could get you out for at least forty-eight hours.”
Darcy shrugged. “They had no reason to hold me.”
“But my lawyer said …”
“Lawyers!” said Darcy, and his tone stopped Delilah from further lawyer comment.
Instead, she said, “I missed you.”
“What’s Henry up to?” asked Darcy.
Delilah smiled. “He keeps asking about you. I think he’s jealous.”
“What’s he asking?”
“Where you came from, had I checked your references, that sort of thing.”
“What did you tell him?” Darcy cut around a slow-moving red Volvo.
“I certainly didn’t tell him I hired you because you loved my show.” Delilah put her hand on Darcy’s thigh. “I told him I got you through the same agency I’ve always used, of course.”
“What if he contacts the agency?”
“I called them right away and said I’d give them the credit for finding you and pay double the usual fee.”
Darcy nodded.
“Henry said something awfully funny, though.”
“Yeah?”
“He said he could have sworn you knew the pilot from before.”
Darcy glanced away from the road at Delilah, but she didn’t seem to have meant anything sinister. She stroked her hand on his thigh and smiled up at him.
They’d reached the firehouse on the Edgartown-West Tisbury Road when Darcy’s cell phone emitted a blast of martial music. He tugged it out of his shirt pocket and turned off the insistent music. He checked the number and returned the phone to his pocket.
“Who was that?” asked Delilah.
“I don’t like to use the cell phone when I’m driving,” Darcy replied.
“Who was calling you?”
“A business contact.”
“A woman?”
Darcy nodded.
They passed Victoria Trumbull’s house, the police station, the mill pond.
“Who is she?” Delilah asked. “The woman who called?”
“As I said, business.”
“Business?”
Darcy didn’t answer.
“I employ you,” snapped Delilah, moving away from him. “Everything you do is my business.”
“During business hours,” said Darcy, and smiled.
They passed the cemetery, Whiting’s fields, the new Ag Hall. They crossed Mill Brook on the narrow bridge. In Victoria Trumbull’s childhood, there was no bridge, and she still called the crossing “the ford.” Bright green leaves glistened in the dappled sunlight.
“Skunk cabbage is up,” said Darcy “A sure sign of spring.”
“Who is she?”
They turned left onto North Road and Darcy pulled off to one side. He set the emergency brake, left the engine running, and turned to Delilah.
“Delilah, the woman who called is a business associate, that’s all I have to say. She has nothing to do with you.”
With that, he released the brake and continued along North Road.
When they arrived at the big house, he stopped in front of the entrance and held the car door for her. She got out without looking at him, and skipped fairly lightly up the marble stairs. On the wide porch at the top of the stairs, Henry was standing, hands jammed fiercely into his pockets, jaw thrust out. Before Darcy moved the car to the garage, he saw Delilah give Henry a peck on the cheek. Henry scowled and gestured at the car. Darcy smiled.
He stopped in front of the garage, hosed down the car, wiped it carefully with a chamois cloth, and called Victoria.
“I’m out of jail, Mrs. Trumbull. Thanks to you. A free man. May I come to your place in about fifteen minutes?”
“Howland Atherton is here with me,” said Victoria.
“An hour, then.”
CHAPTER 18
After Darcy called Victoria on his cell phone, he left the parked and polished convertible in front of the garage, and went up the outside stairs to the apartment above. Windows along the northwest side looked over the pond and Vineyard Sound beyond. A small window on the east looked over the guesthouse.
He sat at the table that served as his desk and dialed the number that had been left on his cell phone.
The phone was answered on the first ring. “Senator Hammermill’s office.”
“Emery Meyer, here,” said Darcy. “She called me.”
“Yes, sir. I’m Kathy, her assistant. She asked me to tell you to fly the plane back to Boston on Monday, then return to the Island. Tickets are waiting for you at the Cape Air counter at Logan Airport. I guess you understand what that’s all about? I think it’s her church business.”
“Right,” said Darcy.
“Wel
l, that’s it,” said Kathy, and hung up.
Darcy returned to Delilah’s convertible where he could keep an eye on the house, and continued to polish the already spotless car.
Delilah and Henry were still standing close together on the porch. Even though the garage was some distance away, Darcy could hear his name batted back and forth between them. He still had a lot of work to do for the senator, and with Henry’s attitude toward him growing increasingly suspicious, he didn’t have much time in which to do it.
Henry went inside and slammed the door behind him. Delilah stuck her thumbs in her ears and waggled her fingers at the door, then descended the stairs and headed toward Darcy. He touched his hand to the visor of his hat.
“That man … !” said Delilah.
“I seem to be a problem for him. And you.”
“Tough. The car looks nice.”
“It should. It’s a nice car,” Darcy responded. “I’ll get the oil changed this afternoon.”
“He’s suspicious of everyone. He thought the pilot was some kind of spy. Now you. He’s sure you killed the pilot.” She touched his upper arm and said softly, “He even thinks we’ve got something going between us.”
Darcy nodded, slipped his arm away from her hand, and went into the garage. He hung the chamois cloth on a rack inside the door, and came back out. Delilah was standing by the car.
“I need to take Monday off,” said Darcy. “Is that a problem for you?”
“What for?”
“Personal business.”
“That woman who called?”
“Don’t go there, Delilah.”
She turned away from him. “I suppose so.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back before five.”
When Delilah returned to the house, Henry was waiting for her on the porch. “Who let that guy out of jail?”
She plopped down into one of the porch rockers and fluffed her bright hair. “They had no reason to hold him.”
“Murder is a damned good reason, I’d say.”
“Henry, darling, I do believe you’re jealous.”
He started to answer, but just then the FedEx truck pulled up in front of the house and the driver got out with a clipboard. She ascended the marble stairway and held the clipboard out to Delilah. “Express delivery for you, Miss Sampson. Live animals.”
“Live animals?” Henry came out from behind the chair. “What kind of live animals?”
“No idea.” The driver descended the stairs to her truck and after rummaging around a bit in the back, brought out a cardboard box with holes punched around the upper edge and ascended the stairway again.
“What’s this all about?” said Henry.
The driver looked at the box. “Fowl. Live chickens.”
“Chickens?”
“Something I ordered last week,” murmured Delilah.
The driver set the large light box, which was about the size of a deep-dish pizza box, on the arm of one of the rockers, setting it in motion. She handed Delilah a pen and pointed to the form on the clipboard. “Sign here, ma’am.”
From the inside of the box came an insistent cheeping. The FedEx woman steadied the rocker with one hand.
Delilah dashed off her signature. “Thank you so much. Henry, give the girl ten dollars.”
“What for?” said Henry.
“A tip, Henry. She came all the way down here …”
“That’s not necessary,” said the driver, with a tight smile.
“Have fun with your chickens,” and with that she descended the stairs, whistling the whole way, got back into the driver’s seat, shifted into gear, and drove down the long, Belgian block driveway.
“What the hell?” demanded Henry.
Delilah sashayed toward the door, which Lee opened for her, and called over her shoulder. “Bring the box into the kitchen, Henry darling. Be careful!”
Henry had tipped the box on its side, and the cheeping turned into pitiful squawks.
In the center of the kitchen was a large island with a granite top, a double sink, and a ceramic stovetop. Henry set the box down on the stovetop. The squawking grew louder and more insistent.
Lee stepped forward. “I believe you turned the stove on by accident, sir.”
“Oh, hell,” said Henry, and moved the box off the burner. “Give me a knife, someone.”
Lee handed him a boning knife, a wicked-looking implement with a slender blade.
Henry held the knife up to the light and grinned. “Fresh chicken, anyone?”
“That’s not funny, Henry.” Delilah pouted. “I wanted to surprise you. The chickens are my little pets.”
“You’re joking.” Henry sliced the strapping tape along the sides of the box lid and handed the knife back to Lee. He folded down the four sides of the box top, one after the other, and stood motionless, staring into the box.
“For God’s sake,” he said.
Delilah, who’d been watching the box-opening from the other side of the island, came around to her husband’s side and peered into the carton.
She clasped her hands under her chin. “Aren’t they cute?” She reached into the box and drew out three Day-Glo-colored chicks, one pink, one orange, and one blue. She lifted them up, kissed each one, and then cuddled all three against her cheek.
“How the devil many of those damned things do you have in that box?” asked Henry.
Delilah’s voice was muffled by chicken down. “Two dozen.”
“Two dozen!” Henry repeated. “Twenty-four! What in hell are you planning to do with twenty-four chickens?”
“I’m going to collect nesting material now, darling.” She set the three chicks back in their shipping box, then opened the pantry door, brought out a cardboard liquor box, and skipped out the front door with it.
“What about these animals?” Henry called out.
“I’ll be right back.” Delilah went out to the lawn and collected newly cut grass the mower had tossed aside.
Henry stalked out after her. “Where are you going to keep them?”
Delilah called over her shoulder, “Lambert Willoughby has built a little enclosure for the chickens and goats.”
“Goats?!”
“I wanted to surprise you,” said Delilah. “I’ve ordered six goats.”
Delilah was giving her chicks water when the phone rang. “Get that, will you please, Lee?”
After a few moments she looked up from where she was kneeling. “Who is it?”
Lee shielded the mouthpiece. “A call for me, ma’am.”
“I’d rather you didn’t use my phone for personal calls.” Delilah got to her feet. “Who is it?”
“This afternoon would be fine,” said Lee into the phone.
Delilah strode over to the phone table. “Hang up,” she demanded.
“Call me at …”
And Delilah pressed the disconnect button.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“And just who was that?”
“I was making an appointment.”
“What for?” demanded Delilah.
Lee flushed. “It was personal, ma’am.”
“When you call on my phone, it’s my business.” Delilah, too, flushed. “Why did you give out my number?”
“I didn’t give your number, ma’am. I don’t know how …”
“You have a cell phone, don’t you?” Delilah moved closer to her.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lee backed up.
“I don’t want you taking personal calls on my phone. On my time.”
“I understand, ma’am.”
Delilah spun around and returned to her chicks. She missed the look the usually impassive Lee gave her.
She finished giving the chicks their water and apparently forgot the exchange of words.
Lee walked out of the kitchen, her back straight.
In the staff office next to the conservatory, she called back on her cell phone. “I’m sorry we were cut off, Mr. Bronsky. Technical difficulties, I’m afraid.” She
gave him her own number. “Thank you for offering me the opportunity for an audition, but I have to tell you, I don’t have any acting experience.”
“This is video, Lee, not the movies. No experience needed. We can give you an audition wherever it’s convenient.”
“Well,” said Lee. “I don’t know.”
“There’s no charge, Lee. Your only commitment is the time. An hour at most.”
“I can’t get off before five.”
“No problem. Six o’clock okay with you?”
“I just don’t know.”
“No big deal. Nothing to lose, Lee. Shall we say six o’clock? Wear your normal working clothes.”
“Well …”
“The only thing you have to lose, Lee, is an hour of your time. At worst, you get experience in front of the camera. And at best … well, who knows how far your looks and ability will take you.”
“My mother …”
“Invite your mom. I bet dollars to doughnuts she’d love to see her daughter on TV.”
Lee shook her head. “My mother never goes out. Where do you do the filming?”
“Your place, or we can meet you at the Harbor Motel in Vineyard Haven.”
“Motel?”
Mr. Bronsky laughed. “We film in the lobby No problem. See you tonight at six?”
“I guess,” said Lee, and hung up.
Howland was still at Victoria’s when his cell phone rang. He tugged it out of his pocket, flipped it open, and looked at the display.
“Sorry, Victoria. I’d better answer this one.” He went out to his parked car where cell phone reception was better, and returned a few minutes later, frowning.
“Is something the matter?” asked Victoria.
“Something is seriously the matter.” Howland rubbed his nose. “The call was from one of my contacts at the hospital. Oliver and two of the assessors were taken to the emergency room last night.”
Victoria pushed her chair away from the table. “What happened?”
“Suspected poisoning.”
“Good heavens!”
“The hospital won’t give out any further information.” Howland put the phone back in his pocket.
“Which assessors?” asked Victoria.
Death and Honesty Page 11