Bloodroot

by Cynthia Riggs

  “The day of her death,” prompted Victoria.

  “The day of her death, Arthur drove me home. I’ve tried to keep my life and my daughter private. But Arthur knew where I lived and that I have a daughter. It felt as though he was stalking me.”

  “We were saying the Island has few secrets,” said Victoria.

  “You’re right. I just felt uncomfortable on the drive home. He invited me to have lunch with him. Lunch was the last thing I wanted after, well…”

  “Understandable,” said Victoria.

  “It sounds silly now. He’s a nice man, but he’s not my type. I suppose I was being overly sensitive.” Jane glanced again at her daughter.

  “Do you know anything about Arthur’s background? Or his relationship to Mrs. Wilmington?”

  “Just that he’s from the Island and he felt the same way about Mrs. Wilmington that all the rest of us did. The staff, except for Dr. Mann, would compare what we called our ‘Wilmington notes’ after she left and make jokes about her.” She sipped her tea and set the cup down in its saucer. “Except Roosevelt. He never took part in the discussions.”

  “Had Arthur worked with her?”

  “Before I was hired, he was the dental technician who helped whichever dentist was assigned to Mrs. Wilmington. When Aileen came, they dumped Mrs. Wilmington on her. Before I arrived, Arthur worked with Aileen.”

  “What did you think of Mrs. Wilmington?” asked Victoria.

  “Don’t ask!” Jane laughed. “You have no idea how awful that woman was. Pretending she was coming to the clinic for treatment, when she was spying on her son. I have no sympathy for Horace, but I can see where he’s coming from.”

  “What about her treatment of you?” asked Victoria.

  “Belittling, demanding, ugly, nasty, vain, egocentric.”

  “Why, do you suppose?”

  “She probably suspected a connection between Horace and me and didn’t like that one bit.”

  “And how did she treat Dr. McBride?”

  “Mrs. Wilmington was more or less civil to Aileen, but she was awfully picky and demanding. After all, Aileen was the one who jabbed her with needles and stuck her hands in her mouth.”

  There was a knock on the door and Victoria looked up to see Elizabeth, who’d come to pick her up.

  “Come in,” said Jane, getting up from the couch to greet her. “You’re Mrs. Trumbull’s granddaughter, I know. Would you care for some tea?”

  “I’d love some, but can’t stop. The harbor is crazy busy.”

  “The presidential visit. At least spare a minute. I’d like your grandmother to autograph my copies of her poetry books.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I can wait for that.”

  * * *

  In the convertible, Elizabeth shifted into gear and started up the long hill to Main Street. “Did you learn anything new?”

  “I’ve been getting a picture of Mrs. Wilmington. She was not popular.”

  Elizabeth slowed at the top of the hill and waited for a car to pass, then turned left onto upper Main Street. “That’s just the clinic staff’s reaction. Think of her grandchildren.”

  “I have been,” said Victoria. “I have a feeling the grandchildren disliked her even more.”

  “What about Dr. Mann?”

  “I’m increasingly losing respect for our Dr. Mann.”

  “You think he killed her?” Elizabeth asked with surprise.

  “I don’t think he has the pluck to kill anyone.”

  Elizabeth slowed as they approached the library where Main Street became one way against them and turned right onto Greenwood.

  “What next?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I haven’t talked to Arthur Morgan, but from what everyone has said about him, I don’t think I’ll learn anything new.”

  “I can’t give you a ride tomorrow,” said Elizabeth.

  “I knew you’d be busy. Bill O’Malley is giving me a ride,” said Victoria. “In his dump truck.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Bill O’Malley drove up to Victoria’s house in his blue dump truck the next afternoon. He set a milk crate by the passenger door for her to step up into the high passenger seat.

  “Where to, Victoria?”

  “Snake Hollow Road.” Victoria hoisted herself up into the truck with O’Malley’s help. “I don’t know the house number, but it’s on the right with a dog pen next to it.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” said O’Malley, shifting into gear. “How’s Elizabeth?”

  “Busy,” said Victoria, thinking that Bill O’Malley was not only single, but was just the right age for Elizabeth. He was attractive in his red plaid shirt and worn jeans. And the owner of a fine dump truck with air-conditioning and music.

  “I moved my boat to Tashmoo,” he said, apparently unaware of Victoria’s assessment of him. “The Oak Bluffs harbor is crawling with official vessels. I figured there’d be a lot of activity there for the next week or so.”

  “Have you heard when the president is scheduled to arrive?”

  “Later this week.” O’Malley turned left onto Edgartown Road and then right onto Old County. “Who’s this guy you’re visiting?”

  “Arthur Morgan. He’s a dental technician at the clinic. Do you know him?”

  “Lot of Morgans on the Island. If he’s who I’m thinking of, he’s got a huge dog named Dog.”

  “He’s the one. Do you know anything about him?”

  “Just know him by sight.”

  They drove past the elementary school and Whippoorwill Farm’s stand and when Old County ended, right onto State Road. Snake Hollow was just before the Tashmoo Overlook and O’Malley turned onto it.

  “Does this guy know you’re coming?”

  “I left a message on his cell phone,” said Victoria.

  They drove past several turnoffs, each of which led up a steep hillside, and eventually came to a narrow dirt road marked with a sign that read MORGAN AND DOG. They drove up the steep slope until they were within sight of a small cabin with a dog pen next to it. A large dog lay in the middle, chewing on something that appeared to be a ham bone. The dog looked up. The access road narrowed.

  “I’m not sure I can get much closer,” said O’Malley.

  “It’s only a short walk,” said Victoria. “Drop me off here.”

  “I’ll pick you in a half hour then. Will that give you enough time?”

  “That should be plenty.”

  He set down the milk crate again and helped Victoria out of her seat. She glanced up at the cabin and was glad she’d brought her lilac wood stick, as the way up looked quite steep.

  “I’ll walk you up to the cabin,” said O’Malley.

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll see you in a half hour.”

  But the narrow drive, even though it was short, was steeper than she’d realized and she had to pause partway up to catch her breath. The dog watched her approach, dropped his bone, stood, and barked.

  “Hello, Dog.” Victoria rested again, leaning on her stick.

  The dog stopped barking.

  Arthur, apparently alerted by Dog, came to the door. “Mrs. Trumbull, greetings. My drive is kind of rough walking.” He hurried down the steps.

  Victoria took his offered arm. “I hope you got the message that I was coming.”

  “Sure did,” said Arthur. “Made some iced tea in case you’d like a glass.”

  “That sounds delightful.” They went up the steps onto the porch, Victoria holding Arthur’s arm with one hand, her stick with the other. At the top, she bent over to catch her breath.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit out of shape.”

  She was several inches taller than Arthur, and when she stood up straight, he had to look up to her. Victoria had only seen him before at the clinic, where he was usually dressed in khaki slacks and a white cotton uniform jacket. Now he had on jeans and a T-shirt that fit tightly across his broad chest and exposed hairy, muscular arms with fadi
ng tattoos. If it weren’t for the unfortunate scars that pitted his face, he’d have been quite handsome with his wavy dark hair and bright blue eyes.

  “Come on in, Mrs. Trumbull. Not much of a place, but it suits me.”

  “I wish more people knew how delightful a small house can be. Mine is much too large.”

  “Takes a lot of maintenance to keep up an old house like yours.” He stepped aside so she could enter.

  The interior was an open area, a combination of living room, dining room, and kitchen. A counter separated the kitchen area from the rest. A stove, refrigerator, and sink were to her right, and directly ahead of her, the living room had a large floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the hillside beyond, almost blocked by a large flowering rhododendron.

  “This is it,” said Arthur, spreading his arms to encompass his domain. “That door goes to the bathroom. My bedroom is behind this curtain.” He pulled it aside to show a room just big enough for a single bed and a bureau. “I built the house myself.”

  “Wonderful,” said Victoria. “I’m quite envious.”

  “Have a seat,” said Arthur. “The couch is pretty comfortable.” He indicated a battered leather couch pushed against the wall ahead and to the right.

  Victoria settled onto it. When she turned slightly she could see the mass of shell-pink rhododendron blossoms. Light filtered through them giving the room a warm glow.

  “Such a lovely sight,” said Victoria.

  “You know, I got that rhododendron plant about five years ago.” Arthur moved into the kitchen area and poured tea into glasses. “On sale, end of season.” He set the pitcher down. “Only about so big.” He held his hands a foot apart. “It’s pretty happy there. Acid soil. You take sugar in your iced tea, Mrs. Trumbull?”

  “Just plain, thank you.” Victoria moved slightly to a more comfortable part of the couch.

  He set the tray with the glasses of tea on the wooden crate that served as a coffee table. “Here you are, Mrs. Trumbull.” He handed one of the glasses to her.

  “Thank you.” Victoria took a sip. “That hits the spot.”

  An easy chair with worn green upholstery faced the couch where she was seated. “Dog’s place,” said Arthur, brushing dog hairs off a striped Mexican blanket that covered the seat. He sat down and lifted his own glass as a kind of toast. “You said you wanted to talk to me. About Mrs. Wilmington, I guess.”

  “I was interested in your impressions of the clinic’s staff,” said Victoria. “And their reactions. Apparently Mrs. Wilmington wasn’t well liked.”

  He nodded. “You got that right.”

  “You worked with her before Dr. McBride arrived. What sort of person was she?”

  Arthur leaned back in the chair, his fingers laced over his stomach. “You know, before Dr. McBride was hired the other two dentists, Ophelia and Sam, had to work with her. I was always the tech she asked for. She didn’t like Roosevelt.”

  Out in the yard, Dog started to bark.

  Arthur stood. “Mind if I let him in? He’s a good dog.”

  “Please do. I like dogs,” said Victoria.

  Dog bounded in, stopped by Victoria and sniffed her outstretched hand. She patted his head and he lifted a paw.

  “He likes you,” said Arthur.

  “He’s a nice dog,” said Victoria. “Well behaved.”

  “Thanks.” Dog settled himself next to the chair with his head on his forepaws. “You wanted to know about Mrs. Wilmington. She was definitely a pain in the…” He paused. “A real pain.”

  “Was she especially disliked by anyone on the staff? Dr. Mann, for instance.”

  Arthur laughed. “She was especially disliked by everyone.” Dog lifted his head and Arthur bent down and scratched it. “She was always bugging Dr. Mann.”

  “In what way?” Victoria picked up her glass of iced tea.

  “She’d drop by the clinic every week like clockwork. On her way to go shopping, you know. She usually brought a present of some kind, cookies or a box of candy.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad.” She took a sip and waited.

  He stopped scratching Dog’s head. “It was disruptive. Dr. Mann had to stop what he was doing and butter her up, you know. Had to be polite. She was a patient, after all.” Dog lifted a paw and Arthur scratched his head again. “Patients sit there, uncomfortable, you know. Dental appointments are no fun.”

  Victoria nodded, thinking about her last few visits.

  “I understand she willed him a large sum. Do you know why?”

  “Well, it was rumored that she’d had a baby and the baby died. This was before my time. You know how Island stories are.”

  “I do indeed.”

  Dog’s eyes were closing and Arthur continued to scratch his head. “Once she hinted she’d leave the clinic something when she died.”

  “That’s a powerful motive for him to wish her dead.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How did the other staff members relate to her?”

  “Well, starting with Roosevelt, the other tech, she didn’t want him to work on her because, you know, of his skin color. So he was lucky.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s a quiet guy. Got a good education. He didn’t care. The staff would talk about her and he’d listen and smile.”

  “What about the dentists—Ophelia, Sam, and Aileen?”

  “Well, before Horace hired Aileen McBride, Sam and Ophelia had to work on Mrs. W. I was their tech whenever. She wasn’t too bad with Sam, kind of picky was all. But with Ophelia, nothing was right.” He lifted his glass, took a couple of sips, and set it down again. “The light was too bright, the place was too cold, the bib wasn’t large enough, that kind of stuff. Sometimes she got personal, criticized her hair, whatever.”

  “That must have been unpleasant.”

  “Well, we’d sit around later and tear her to pieces. Except for Roosevelt, like I said.”

  “When Dr. McBride was hired, did things get better?”

  “Yes and no.

  “Mrs. W was just as bad to McBride, and still worse to Jane Douglas. Jane came on board just a few months ago.”

  “Tell me about her,” said Victoria.

  Arthur colored slightly. “She’s pretty classy.”

  Victoria nodded. “She told me how much she appreciated your taking her home.” She picked up her glass and took a sip.

  Arthur looked down into his own glass. “She was sure upset that day.”

  “With good reason. She was there when Mrs. Wilmington collapsed. Why was Mrs. Wilmington so hard on her?”

  He shrugged. “Got no idea. I have to tell you, Mrs. Trumbull, the abuse Jane put up with, anyone else would have killed that woman a lot sooner.”

  “You’re not implying that Jane…?” Victoria left the sentence unfinished.

  Arthur looked startled. “You mean, do I think Jane killed her?”

  “I haven’t ruled out anyone,” said Victoria.

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Trumbull. No, no, no. Not Jane.”

  From her seat on the couch, Victoria could hear the murmur of bees mining the blossoms. A breeze moved the rhododendron’s branches against the big window. Inside, the soft pink light quivered.

  Victoria thought it wise to change the subject. “I assume you know Mrs. Wilmington died of arsenic poisoning. How difficult is it for someone working at the clinic to obtain arsenic?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m just a tech. I suppose any of the docs could get it by contacting a chemical supply house and giving them his or her credentials.”

  “I would think it might be hard to administer it to a patient.”

  “Well”—he paused—“arsenic has no taste, you know, so you can mix it with something the patient is going to drink.”

  Victoria watched the bees at work and was quiet for a few moments. She hadn’t really learned anything she didn’t already know. After a bit she said, “Such a shame about Vivian drowning on the same day.”

  “Yeah.
I guess she couldn’t take it.”

  Obviously, the police had not released the fact that Vivian had been struck on the back of her head.

  Arthur stood, took his glass to the counter, and poured himself more tea. He turned to Victoria. “You want more?”

  “I’m fine,” said Victoria, who still had an almost-full glass. “Were you at the meeting when she got the phone call?”

  “Everyone was there.” He reached down a sugar bowl from a shelf above the counter, dumped several spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, and stirred vigorously. “She wasn’t very bright.” He shrugged. “I guess Mrs. Wilmington’s death was too much for her.”

  Victoria looked at her watch. “I believe my ride will be here shortly.” She took a few more sips of her tea. “You’ve been most helpful.” She set her glass down. “I visited Jane yesterday and we had a nice chat.”

  Arthur returned to his seat and Dog snuggled up to him again. “Did she say anything about me?”

  “She told me how kind you’d been to her that day.”

  “She’s a very nice lady.”

  “Have you met her daughter?”

  “I’ve seen her. You heard about the tragedy?”

  “Tragedy?” Victoria wondered where this was leading.

  “Her husband was a pilot and died in a plane crash.”

  Recalling her conversation with Jane, Victoria wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I didn’t know she’d been married.”

  “Of course she was married. She has a daughter. The father never knew their child.”

  Victoria, who’d been feeling comfortable up until now, felt relief when she heard the rumble of Bill O’Malley’s dump truck climbing the narrow access road.

  “Guess your ride is here,” said Arthur, standing. “Don’t know how much help I’ve been.”

  “You’ve given me a great deal to think about,” said Victoria.

  CHAPTER 40

  “How did your interview go, Mrs. Trumbull?” asked O’Malley once he’d backed down the steep drive and could relax a bit.

  “I learned nothing new until just before you showed up.”

  “Did I spoil things?” They’d reached the beginning of Snake Hollow Road where it met State Road. O’Malley looked both ways and waited for a pickup and two cars to pass.