She sat on the sandy bank next to her bike. Should she go back to the house? She recalled the empty Scotch bottle. It was so unfair. Tears of self-pity welled up and she rubbed her eyes with her shoulders. And who was this Jeep driver visiting the three up at the house? The guy Heather met on the ferry? She didn’t want to confront him.
And then she thought of Mrs. Trumbull. She’d remembered that long ago bicycle accident. A perfect excuse to go back to her house. Kind of full circle.
Susan got up unsteadily, slipped on the sandy bank, and came down hard on her bottom. This brought on more tears. Finally, she pulled herself together and tugged her bicycle out from the weeds. It would be just her luck to have landed in a poison ivy patch. She mounted the bike and tried to pedal. The front wheel was bent.
“Damn!”
She shoved the wrecked bike back into the undergrowth, brushed sand off herself as best she could, and limped the few feet to the side of South Road.
Within a few minutes vehicle lights approached from her left and she stuck out her thumb. The way things were going, it would probably be a serial killer who’d pick her up.
A truck stopped. She could see a light-colored dog in the passenger seat. The driver leaned over the dog and opened the window. He was wearing a faded baseball cap with lettering she couldn’t make out.
“Where you heading?” he asked.
“West Tisbury?” said Susan, her voice quavering. “Mrs. Trumbull’s?”
“Get in.”
She opened the passenger door and climbed into the seat next to the dog.
“That’s Taffy.” He pointed to himself. “I’m Joe.” He glanced over at her. “You one of the Wilmington kids?”
“I’m Susan.” She put an arm around the dog. It was too dark to make out much about Joe. He looked familiar, though, and she realized she’d seen him on the porch at Alley’s Store. “You’re the plumber, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.” Before he started up, he examined her more carefully. “Looks like you been in a fight. What did you do to deserve that?” He shifted a wad of something in his mouth.
“A car hit my bike,” said Susan. “The driver didn’t see me.”
“Shouldn’t be riding a bike this time of night. Roads are dark as death. You want to go to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. Do you know where Mrs. Trumbull lives?”
“Who doesn’t?” said Joe, shifting into gear.
CHAPTER 25
Lockwood had felt a slight bump when he turned onto the dirt road that led to the house of the woman he’d started to think of as “Heather the Heiress.” He was glad he drove a Jeep. These sandy Island roads could be pretty rough on a car. Better slow down, though.
The road was about a half mile long, and it was pitch-black. The moon wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. The house was lit up as though for a grand celebration. He smiled to himself as he parked in the pasture across from the front porch. As he went up the steps to the porch he saw the empty bottle. Yet another good sign.
He knocked on the door, waited only briefly for a response, and when none came, entered. That’s how things work on the Island, he thought. People just walk into other people’s houses.
Instead of the party he anticipated, he saw only a guy who was probably the older brother sitting at the dining room table alone. The table was set for four people.
“Hello!” said Lockwood cheerfully.
Scott looked up. “Hello yourself. Who in hell are you?”
“Woody. Want to offer condolences and congratulations.”
“What in hell you talking about?”
“I’m the one who brought your sister home yesterday. Understood your grandmother’s will was read today.”
Scott glared at him.
Lockwood cleared his throat. “Also, I wanted to make sure she’s okay after her dental work.”
“Dental work?” said Scott looking alarmed.
“Sorry,” said Lockwood, feeling, for one of the few times in his life, totally confused. “I know about your grandmother. Didn’t mean to be insensitive. Your sister and I met on the ferry, and she was coming back from the dentist.”
“I know, I know.” Scott had both elbows on the table and was facing a plate loaded with food—steak slathered with gravy and a good-looking salad. He was eyeing a glass of red wine.
“Where’s Heather?” asked Lockwood.
“She didn’t feel so good. Too much to drink.”
“I suppose you’re all celebrating?”
“What in hell are you talking about, buddy? We have nothing to celebrate.”
Lockwood was puzzled. “I thought the will was read today.”
Scott emitted a short bark. “It was.”
“You must be feeling pretty good about it.”
Scott leaned back. “Pretty good! Pretty shitty, you mean. She cut us out.”
“Completely?” asked Lockwood, pulling up a chair in front of a place setting. “Your grandmother cut you out of her will?”
“Left us five thousand bucks each.” Scott looked up, bleary eyed. “I owe eighty grand. How do you think I feel?”
Lockwood didn’t know what to say. He picked up the fork at the place setting and twisted it around in his hand.
“You hungry?” said Scott, suddenly. “There’s plenty of steak. No one has any appetite. Mushroom gravy. Salad. You might as well help yourself.”
“I guess you could use some company,” said Lockwood, feeling disappointed himself.
“Want a drink?”
“No, thanks,” said Lockwood.
“Well, help yourself,” said Scott again, waving a hand toward the kitchen.
Lockwood went into the kitchen with the plate, carved a large slab of meat, nicely browned on the outside, rare inside, poured a generous amount of mushroom gravy, a favorite of his, over the steak, helped himself to salad, and returned to the table.
“You must be Scott,” said Lockwood.
Elbows still on the table, Scott offered one of the hands with which he’d been holding his chin. “The same. And you are?”
“Woody,” said Lockwood. “Food looks mighty good. You’d better dig in yourself.”
“Might as well.” Scott sat back and picked up his knife with his right hand, his fork with his left, and started in. He glanced up. “Help yourself to wine.”
“One glass,” said Lockwood. “Got to be sharp for something I’ve got to do tonight.”
“Suit yourself.”
Lockwood sliced off a chunk of steak, loaded it with gravy, and carried it to his mouth. He chewed. “This gravy is something special.” He sipped his wine.
“Field mushrooms,” said Scott. “My sister sautéed ’em. I made the gravy.”
“I never trust wild mushrooms,” said Lockwood. “But I guess even amateurs can identify the field variety.” He finished up the steak he’d taken, sipped his wine, mopped up the last bit of gravy with a slice of bread, and sat back.
Scott was still working on his steak. He waved his fork at Lockwood. “Go ahead. Help yourself to more. Those two aren’t going to want any.”
“Two?” asked Lockwood. “Thought there were four of you.”
“Sister Sue didn’t show up.”
Lockwood pushed his chair back and stood. “Guess I’ll take you up on that. Okay if I finish up that gravy?”
“Be my guest,” said Scott. “Have another glass of wine.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Lockwood.
* * *
The evening was cool, and Victoria and Elizabeth were in the parlor with their evening drinks, the fire blazing cheerfully. So cheerfully that Victoria, wearing her usual gray corduroy trousers and rosebud-printed turtleneck shirt, opened the west window to let in some of the cool night air.
Someone knocked on the entry door.
Victoria checked her watch. “It’s late for a caller.”
“I’ll see who it is.” Elizabeth returned shortly with Susa
n Wilmington.
“Another bicycle accident?” Victoria smiled. Then she noticed Susan’s torn and bloody shirt and lifted herself out of her mouse-colored wing chair. “What happened?”
“A bike accident,” said Susan. “I’m back for more graham crackers and comforting.”
“We’ll take care of your injuries, then you can tell us what happened,” Victoria said. “Follow me. There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.”
There, Susan eased her sweatshirt over her head exposing an injury that wasn’t serious. Victoria poured peroxide on it, dabbed the area dry with sterile cotton, and covered it with a large Band-Aid. Elizabeth rinsed the bloodied shirt in cold water and put it in the washing machine.
“What happened to your bicycle?” asked Victoria.
Susan explained how she was sideswiped by a Jeep.
“A Jeep?” asked Elizabeth. “Could you tell what color it was?”
“It was too dark to make out the color. Dark, not light, though.”
When Susan was patched up, Victoria led the way back to the parlor. “You’re welcome to hot chocolate again,” she said, “but perhaps you’d rather have something stronger. We’re drinking cranberry juice and rum.”
“Sounds better than hot chocolate,” said Susan, settling herself onto the couch.
Elizabeth put another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“What happened to your bicycle?” Victoria asked.
“The front wheel is bent. I left it in the underbrush by the side of Grandmother’s road. Joe, the plumber…?” She looked questioningly at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth nodded. “We know Joe.”
“Well, he picked me up at the end of the drive and brought me here.”
“We can take you home, when you’re ready to go,” said Elizabeth. “Could you tell anything about the Jeep or driver?”
“It happened so fast, I couldn’t make out any numbers on the license plate, but it wasn’t a Massachusetts plate.”
“Have you had supper?” Victoria asked.
Susan shook her head. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“Is there any chowder left, Elizabeth?”
“Plenty.” Elizabeth got to her feet. “I’ll warm it up.”
“Can I help?” asked Susan.
“Get yourself a drink,” said Victoria.
* * *
Lockwood took his plate into the kitchen and left it by the sink. Scott had returned to brooding. Elbows on the table, head on his hands, his unfinished plate of food in front of him.
Lockwood paused at the table. “Anything I can do for you before I leave, old man?”
“Just leave,” muttered Scott.
“Thanks for a great meal.”
“Umpf,” said Scott.
“Nothing like local food,” said Lockwood.
Scott said nothing.
“I’ll see you around, then,” said Lockwood.
Scott flipped a few fingers at him in a farewell gesture.
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you except eat your excellent supper, I’ll be off.”
Lockwood stepped out onto the porch and the crisp night. He looked up at the starry sky. He could make out stars clear to the horizon. Nothing like what he’d see in Washington. Again, he felt deprived of his share of this Island, with its stars and mushrooms. The starlight was bright enough so he could see the endless sweep of the Atlantic at the foot of the meadow. The sea was a mirrored plain that reflected millions of stars. Was it the ancient Greeks who believed the sky was a blanket with holes in it that let through starlight? He could understand. Looking up at the great Milky Way marking the edge of the galaxy, Lockwood felt as one with the universe, a sense that brought him pleasure. It was there for him and him alone.
He’d made a mistake thinking of Heather the heiress, but tomorrow was another day. He had Elizabeth to think about now.
He was reluctant to leave this majestic scene, silent except for the steady drumming of surf. From here, the sound blurred into a murmur, a throbbing he could feel in his feet. From the far side of the pasture a lamb bleated.
He started up the Jeep and turned into the rutted drive. He’d head back to West Tisbury, check on Elizabeth.
He’d lucked out again with that supper. Three helpings of steak and gravy. Those tasty wild mushrooms are nothing like the ones you buy in the store.
He headed away from the house down the drive, careful not to hit that bump again before he turned onto South Road.
CHAPTER 26
By the time Susan had finished her supper and was ready to leave, the evening had become downright chilly. Victoria closed the west window, put on her heavy sweater, and they headed for the car.
When they reached the Mill Pond, a ground fog had filled the slight valley. Streamers of mist drifted in front of them, writhing and twisting in the headlights. Elizabeth turned on the windshield wipers.
Susan, in the backseat, shivered.
Victoria turned to her. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine. It’s the way that mist swirls around.”
“We often get fog in low places where the water is warmer than the air,” said Victoria. “It makes familiar landmarks seem mysterious.”
They passed out of the fog and the familiar slope of Brandy Brow was on their left. The windshield wipers squeaked and Elizabeth switched them off.
They had crossed the town line between West Tisbury and Chilmark when a Jeep came toward them.
“Lockwood!” Elizabeth said over her shoulder, “Could you tell, was that the Jeep that hit you, Susan?”
“Can’t tell.”
“Would he recognize our car?” asked Victoria.
“He’s one of those guys who knows every make of car, who owns it, and what it cost,” said Elizabeth.
“Who’s Lockwood?” asked Susan.
“Elizabeth’s former husband,” said Victoria. “He wants to restore their relationship and that’s not necessarily in Elizabeth’s best interest.”
“Oh.” Susan sat back. Abruptly she sat forward again. “Yesterday, my sister Heather met a guy named Woody on the ferry. He gave her a ride home in his Jeep.”
Elizabeth glanced in the rearview mirror where Susan was reflected. “Which ferry?”
“She got home a little after five, so it must have been the three forty-five ferry.”
“Oh, my God!” said Elizabeth.
“What’s the matter?” asked Susan
Victoria answered. “We were waiting for Lockwood to show up at our house and he never did.”
“He will, Gram, believe me, he will.”
No one spoke again until they reached the turnoff to Susan’s grandmother’s house.
“We might as well pick up your bike,” said Elizabeth, slowing to make the turn.
“Thanks. Yes. Good idea.”
Elizabeth stopped and put the top down on the convertible and they stowed the bicycle in the backseat along with Susan.
“I wonder what he was doing here this evening?” said Elizabeth.
“My sister gave him her cell phone number, but the cell reception is so poor, he probably decided to call on her.”
Victoria turned in her seat and asked, “Are you warm enough back there?”
“I’m okay. It’s not much farther.”
They saw the lights of the house long before they reached it.
“Looks like a celebration,” said Victoria.
“More like mourning,” said Susan.
They maneuvered the bike out of the car, Susan thanked them for supper and the bike transport, bid them good night, and trundled the bike on its good wheel toward the barn.
Elizabeth was putting the top back up when Susan returned from putting her bike away.
“Do you need help?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” said Elizabeth. “Won’t take me more than a couple of minutes more.”
“Well, thanks again and good night, then.” Susan went up the porch steps slowly
.
Elizabeth was snapping a side latch into place when Susan came dashing back down the steps.
“Wait!” she called out. “Something’s wrong with Scott! A heart attack! He’s flushed and gasping and can’t talk. Can you call 911?”
Elizabeth reached into her pocket and brought out her phone. “I’m not getting a signal.”
“What about the house phone?” asked Victoria.
“We don’t have one.”
Victoria moved out of the car quickly, went carefully up the porch steps, and into the house. Scott was standing outside the dining room, bent over, face twisted in agony.
“Can you talk?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Elizabeth and Susan had followed Victoria and were standing behind her.
“We’ll take you to the hospital,” said Victoria. “Can you walk?”
He stumbled toward her.
“Get him into the car,” Victoria said. “Keep trying to get a signal on your phones, and when you do, call 911. The ambulance can meet us and get him to the hospital faster than we can.”
Once Scott was in the backseat, Susan climbed in next to him. Elizabeth drove, cornering onto South Road with a screech of tires on sand, and sped down-Island. As they dipped into the valley that marked the West Tisbury town line, the car swooped and lifted as if they were about to take off into the night sky.
Scott groaned.
“I’ve got a signal.” Susan punched in 911 and gave the operator information about Scott and their location.
When they reached the Mill Pond, they heard a distant siren and Elizabeth turned on the emergency flashers. The Tri-Town Ambulance pulled out of Old County Road, stopped in front of them, and two EMTs, a slender young man and an equally slender young woman, got out.
Elizabeth unlatched the convertible’s top. “Easier to get him out with the top down.”
“Right,” said the man.
The lights of the ambulance swept across Scott’s face. His eyes were closed.
The EMTs lifted him out of the convertible, onto a wheeled stretcher, and into the ambulance.
“One of you want to ride with him?” asked the driver.
“I do.” Susan climbed into the back, and the ambulance took off.
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