“No idea at all. The caller was completely out of line divulging patient information. There are strict rules about privacy.” Mann’s voice had become tight. “A death, compounded by the fact that the patient’s family hadn’t yet been notified. I called the hospital immediately to report her and I understand she was fired. As she should have been.” He picked up his glass and took a swig of the bourbon. “Mrs. Wilmington’s granddaughter, Susan, was there at the time of Mrs. Wilmington’s seizure.”
“I know. I was there, too.”
“Of course. Apparently a grandson came by earlier but left.”
“Which grandson was that?”
“I didn’t see him. Aileen mentioned that Mrs. Wilmington’s grandson had stopped by, didn’t say which one. Maybe both.”
Victoria made a mental note to check on that. So it was Horace Mann who had notified the hospital about the call. “The caller probably told her something pertaining to Mrs. Wilmington’s death or her last words,” said Mann. “I blame the caller for causing Vivian’s suicide.”
She changed the subject. “Tell me about Dr. McBride’s assistant, Jane Douglas. She seems out of place in the clinic.”
Mann glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
Victoria wasn’t sure what she meant. “I suppose it’s because she seems so refined, so, I don’t know.”
“She answered an ad I placed for a dental assistant,” said Mann.
“I got the impression that Dr. McBride was not enthusiastic about Jane working for her.”
“Aileen recognizes Jane is competent and that patients are fond of her.”
“Apparently she came with high recommendations from you,” said Victoria, turning her glass around in circles to avoid looking directly at him. “Had you known Jane for some time?”
“Jane was a summer girl. Our paths crossed at the yacht club and tennis club. Yes, I knew of her.”
“She seems delightful, very gracious.”
“Yes,” said Mann. “She is.”
“Mrs. Wilmington seems to have had issues with her. Do you know why?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said.
“I knew Mrs. Wilmington socially, but not well. She could be abrasive.” Victoria took a small sip of her drink. It was too early in the day for her to enjoy a cocktail. “Almost every time I came to the clinic, she was there.”
Mann got up from the sofa and began to pace. He glanced at the portrait of the woman that hung above the sofa. “That woman looks half drowned.”
“She does, doesn’t she.” Victoria thought about Vivian, drowning. “She also looks like Jane, at the clinic, except the woman in the portrait has dark hair.”
“Yes. A bit.” He paced to the west window and back and looked up at the portrait as he passed it. “Her eyes follow me wherever I go.”
“When we were children, we’d crouch down or stand on tiptoe to find a place where the woman wasn’t watching us. We were afraid to fib, because we were sure she’d know and tell our mother.”
“It’s an eerie portrait. I should think you’d be uncomfortable with her watching over you like that.”
Victoria smiled. “I suppose that’s why I like it so much.”
Mann turned back to Victoria. “You know, Mrs. Trumbull, there’ve been a lot of rumors flying around.”
“I’ve heard a great many rumors. Which ones do you mean?”
“About my heritage.”
“I knew you were adopted. I didn’t think that was rumor.”
Mann sat down on the sofa, his back to the portrait. “No, not that. My parents, the Manns, adopted me when I was only a few days old. They were my true parents.”
“What were the rumors?” Victoria prompted.
“For as long as I can remember the identity of my birth mother has been a matter of speculation. A summer girl? An Island girl? A married woman? No one actually said anything to me, but I knew about the rumors and I could hear the whispers.”
“That must have been difficult, especially when you were a child.”
“I didn’t understand what the gossip was about until I was old enough to learn about sex and then I got curious. Wanted to find my birth mother. Who was she? Who did she couple with to produce me? Why was she so eager to get rid of me?” He sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I imagined her as a beautiful, innocent presence who’d been taken advantage of. I imagined she was hunting for me and it was taking years because she’d been hospitalized. Or been in prison for a crime she hadn’t committed. Or had been kidnapped. Tall, slender, golden haired.”
Victoria listened, her own drink forgotten.
Mann picked up his glass, took a gulp, put the glass down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “In my dreams, she was always backlit, her face indistinct. Her hair was a golden halo, reddish gold, coppery like mine. She was always running toward me, wearing a long gauzy dress, her arms outstretched to me.” He reached over and lifted the bourbon bottle. Nodded at Victoria, who shook her head. She’d hardly touched hers and his was still almost full. He topped off his glass anyway.
“And?” asked Victoria.
“And then, Mrs. Wilmington came into my life.” He sat back, arms folded over his chest. “When I opened the clinic, as I said, she was my first patient along with the four grandchildren. I’d heard rumors that she’d borne a child out of wedlock, but didn’t connect the rumors with me. At least, not at first.”
“How did you learn of the rumors connecting you with her?” Victoria took another sip of her drink to keep her hands occupied.
“Sam Minnowfish was kidding around with Arthur after one of Mrs. Wilmington’s first visits and I overheard them. Arthur said something like, guess we’re stuck with her. Sam said something about keeping track of her baby boy. That was enough to trigger my curiosity.”
“Were you able to talk to her about your suspicions?”
“Good Lord, no.”
He got up and paced again, hands thrust into his pockets. He stopped in front of the portrait. “While I was sitting there, that lady’s eyes were boring a hole in my back.” He continued to pace. “A couple of months ago, I told Mrs. Wilmington I had a test I needed to do and took a buccal swab.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a way to get a sample of cells for DNA analysis.”
“DNA analysis? I thought that was not only prohibitively expensive, but time consuming.”
He stopped pacing. “Not anymore. Anyone can purchase a kit on the Internet. You rub a cotton swab on the inside of someone’s cheek to collect buccal cells, send it off to a lab for analysis, and get the results in a couple of weeks.” He began pacing again. “Since buccal cells are on the inside of the cheek a dental patient doesn’t question having her dentist swab the inside of her mouth.” He stopped again in front of the portrait. “I sent off a swab of my own at the same time.”
Victoria waited.
He jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’m the son of that goddamned bitch.”
“Not the gentle sylphlike image you’d dreamed about,” said Victoria.
“The bitch didn’t want hubby to know about me.”
“Why not simply claim he was the father?”
“The rumor was that she’d fornicated with a Wampanoag brave. Afraid my looks would give her away.”
“The Island’s Wampanoags don’t look distinctively Indian. Look at Sam Minnowfish.”
“We could pass for brothers, right? I guess that was what she was afraid of. So she gave me away.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Never acknowledged me.”
“Do you have any idea at all who your birth father is?”
He gave a brittle laugh. “One of these days I’ll get Minnowfish to check his DNA. Maybe we are brothers. Wouldn’t that be ironic.”
He reached for his glass and took a mouthful of his drink. He swallowed and began pacing again.
Victoria said nothing.
“What in hell was she thinking
when she came to my clinic when I first opened it? She wanted to come every week to look at me?” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “She made this cute hint about helping to support the clinic one of these days.”
He stopped. Walked to the west window and glanced out. His back turned to her. “When I told you the infusion of cash would be welcome, I should have said I was desperate. I decided to kill her and I planned it in detail.” He turned and bowed to the portrait. “There you have it, Madam Inquisitor.”
“Did you?” Victoria asked.
“Did I?” He swiveled around to face her and grinned. “You think maybe?” He looked at his watch and picked up the tray with its bottles and still-full glasses. “I’m certainly the number one suspect, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER 38
Victoria needed fresh air. After Mann left, she emptied their glasses into the sink, put the bottles back in the cupboard, then hiked to the police station.
She breathed deeply to rid her system of Mann’s visit. Even this late in the day, Casey would be busy.
“What were you thinking, Victoria? Alone with that cold-blooded guy who might have murdered that woman and you ask him point blank if he did it?”
“He never answered seriously.” Victoria settled herself into the armchair in front of Casey’s desk. “In fact, I don’t think he did kill her. He doesn’t have the strength of character a killer needs.” She folded her hands on top of her lilac wood stick. The stick had several scars along its polished length, one fresh.
“You never learn, do you.” Casey sighed and sorted papers into piles on her desk. “Speaking of would-be murderers, what’s happening with Lockwood?”
“We haven’t heard from him since he hurt his wrist.”
“You mean, since you broke it. He’s probably hiding in a cave somewhere, licking his wounds.” Casey shoved one of the piles toward Victoria. “Here’s the guest list. Anything you can do to help identify these people will be much appreciated. I’ll sign off on them.”
It took Victoria less than an hour to go over the list. She had known most of the wedding guests for years and had mentioned all of them in her weekly column.
“Can’t believe I didn’t think of signing off on your work,” said Casey as she drove Victoria home again. “Thank you, Victoria.”
* * *
The following day Victoria got Jane Douglas’s phone number from Tiffany at the dental clinic.
Jane answered on the first ring.
“Mrs. Trumbull, I’m so glad you called,” Jane said. “When you came to the clinic I wanted so much to meet you—”
“But too much was happening,” Victoria finished. “I’d like to talk to you today if possible. Can we meet in some convenient place?”
“Of course. Do you mind coming to my house? It’s my nanny’s day off.”
Elizabeth dropped her grandmother off at the foot of the long hill that ended at the Vineyard Haven harbor. Jane’s house was tucked in among low trees and overlooked the harbor. Victoria tapped on the sliding glass of the front door. She could see through the house’s open plan to the harbor beyond, sparkling in the late-afternoon sun, dotted with boats of every description.
Jane came to the door holding a small child. “Come in, Mrs. Trumbull. This is my daughter, Davina. She’s almost two.”
Davina, thumb in her mouth, ducked her head into her mother’s shoulder.
“You’re very pretty, Davina,” said Victoria. “I have a cat who has fur almost exactly the color of your hair.”
Davina took her thumb out of her mouth. “Kitty cat?”
“Yes. His name is McCavity. He’s a marmalade cat and I call him Cavvy for short.”
“Shall we go into the living room?” asked Jane. “I have some lemonade and cookies.”
“Cookies,” said Davina.
“I just recently heard you had a daughter,” said Victoria, seating herself in an armchair where she had a view of the harbor.
“I like my privacy,” said Jane. “It’s not easy on the Island where everyone seems to know everyone else’s business.”
Victoria smiled. “True. That’s what makes people behave themselves.”
At that, Jane smiled, too. “I wish.” She got up from the couch holding her daughter. “I’ll take her out to her sandbox to play. Be right back.” She slid open the door that faced the harbor and deposited the baby in the sand patch bounded by landscaping ties. She dusted sand off her hands and returned to the living room, leaving the door open, and sat on the couch at right angles to Victoria. “I assume you want to talk about Mrs. Wilmington.”
“I’m trying to get some picture of the staff and the dynamics involved.” Victoria said.
Jane nodded. “I’m relatively new at the clinic. I applied for a dental assistant job that Dr. Mann advertised.”
Victoria nodded. “You have a college degree, don’t you?”
“Yes, in art history.”
“That’s Roosevelt’s field, too.”
“We have art in common, but he has a Ph.D. I don’t.”
“Why did you choose Dr. Mann’s clinic? There are other Island dentists.”
“I’d known Horace for many years.” Jane’s smile seemed forced. “I wanted to work for him.”
“Dr. Mann told me that you and he were active in the tennis and yacht clubs during summer,” said Victoria. “That must have been quite a romantic time.”
Jane nodded. “It was. I spent summers with my grandmother here in this very house. We teenagers went sailing and swimming, played tennis. Those were golden times.”
“Not far back from what I see. You’re hardly out of your teens.”
Jane glanced out the window at her daughter, who was running a toy dump truck along the wooden borders of her sandbox. “Davina is Horace’s daughter,” she said suddenly.
Victoria nodded.
Jane went on. “I didn’t know he was already married.”
Victoria waited.
“I said earlier that everyone on the Island knows everyone else’s business. But I was a summer kid and had no knowledge of anything that went on outside the tennis and yacht clubs. That was my world.” She stood and went to the open door, watched Davina for a moment, then returned to her seat. “Horace had two worlds, the world of the working Islander and the moneyed world of his Mann parents.” She looked up at Victoria.
“He wanted me to have an abortion, too. I didn’t understand why he was so insistent. I know, now.”
“This was before you went to work for him.”
Jane smiled again. “Working for him is my way of getting back at him. He sees me every day, knows I am rearing the child he wanted me to abort.”
“Isn’t that difficult for you, working in such a hostile environment? I know Dr. McBride is an uncomfortable boss.”
“Dr. McBride has her eyes on Horace, Mrs. Trumbull. Especially now that three million dollars is involved. It’s hardly a secret. In his mind, Horace is irresistible to women. Some of us are stupid enough to fall for his”—she made quotation marks in the air—“‘sincerity.’ Bullshit. All bullshit.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Victoria.
“I don’t blame you. Horace came by the other day, wanting to bond with ‘his’ daughter.” Again, she glanced out the window at Davina, who was now pouring sand out of a bucket onto her legs. “I don’t want my baby to have anything to do with him. He had the gall, the audacity, the temerity to send me a dozen yellow roses.” She looked at Victoria. “You know the traditional meaning of yellow roses, don’t you?”
Victoria shook her head.
“Well”—Jane smiled—“yellow roses mean infidelity. What do you think of that?”
Victoria didn’t know what to think and said nothing.
“Last week I met with his wife, Charlotte. I wanted her to meet my baby. I thought she should know.”
“Good for you,” said Victoria. “That was exactly the right thing to do. How did she respond?”
“We’re friends. I wasn’t Horace’s first conquest and Charlotte was aware of what he was doing to their sons. She’s filed for divorce.”
Victoria nodded. She waited a moment and then asked, “Did you have any idea Mrs. Wilmington was bequeathing Dr. Mann such a large sum?”
“Mrs. Wilmington hinted that she had money and someday some of it might go to the clinic. None of us believed her. Well, maybe Aileen did.” Jane stood again, went to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the open door, and watched her daughter.
Victoria waited. She could hear Davina singing to herself.
Jane turned back again. “The way Mrs. Wilmington kept pestering him, the staff suspected she was Horace’s mother.”
“Did Dr. McBride have a special dislike of Mrs. Wilmington?”
“Aileen? She hated her. But to give Aileen credit she never was anything other than professional when it came to treating that woman.” Jane returned to her seat on the couch. “You know, it would have been easy for any of us, after one insult too many, to administer arsenic to Mrs. Wilmington. In Aileen’s case, I can imagine her thinking it would not only get rid of the worst possible thorn in her flesh, but would help Horace.” She stood again. “Would you like a cup of tea? I’m getting one for myself.”
“That would be lovely.”
While Jane was in the kitchen, Victoria tried to absorb all the information she was getting.
When Jane returned with a tray and tea things, Victoria asked, “Tell me about the other staff members, Ophelia Demetrios, Sam Minnowfish, and the two technicians, Arthur Morgan and Roosevelt Mark.”
“I don’t really know Ophelia.” Jane poured tea into delicate cups and handed one to Victoria. “Sam likes to flaunt his Wampanoag heritage. He’s a good dentist. He doesn’t like Horace, but tries not to show it. Arthur”—she hesitated—“he’s competent. Patients like him. Roosevelt and I talk about art when we’re not busy. He’s very knowledgeable.”
“You seem to have some doubts about Arthur?”
Jane picked up her own cup but didn’t drink. “It’s embarrassing. He has a schoolboy crush on me. He’s careful not to show it in the office, but the day Mrs. Wilmington…” Jane stopped.
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