Dojan put his hands in his jeans pockets and gazed across the fields and hills that overlooked the ocean.
“The chief may tell you what to do, but you answer to me, too. The tribe is paying your Washington salary, not the chief. Housing, too, right? On a yacht at a yacht club? Ha! If you know what’s good for you—and the tribe—you won’t push real hard to get that casino permit through.”
“You threatening me?” Dojan asked.
“I wouldn’t think of threatening you.”
Dojan clenched and unclenched his hands.
Peter laughed. “You and I know the uproar there’ll be if the tribe builds a casino on the Island. It’s not worth the fight there’s sure to be.” Peter paced to the window, where he stopped to watch a hawk soar over the field.
Dojan was silent.
“The only plan that makes sense is a floating casino,” Peter said. “Privately funded. Patience doesn’t see that. She has an agenda of her own. Where is she getting the money for the land she’s bought, tell me that, Dojan.”
Dojan said nothing.
“Where’s her money coming from?” Peter said again. “The owners have been selling land to her at cut-rate. Why? If a casino is built on tribal lands, her property values will soar. Is that conflict of interest, or what?”
Dojan turned toward the desk. “I must call.”
“Go ahead.” Peter leaned against the door frame and folded his arms.
“In private.” Dojan set his bare feet apart and folded his arms over his chest.
“There’s a pay phone in the hall.”
Dojan unfolded his arms and stepped toward Peter. “Get out.” He took another step.
Peter backed out of the office. “I hope you heard what I was telling you, Dojan.”
“Shut the door behind you.” Dojan pointed.
While Dojan and Peter conferred with each other in Chief Hawk- bill’s office, Elizabeth and Victoria were eating lunch by the fishpond to the east of the house. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the old maple and scattered sparkling sun coins onto the water. Two small frogs perched motionless on lily pads, one submerged except for its eyes.
The six goldfish Victoria had acquired two years ago were now eight inches long and had produced dozens of bright offspring. Victoria tossed crumbs from her sandwich into the pond, and the fish converged in a frenzy.
“Did Hiram have any family?” Elizabeth asked.
“Cousins, but no children. He never married.” Victoria tossed more crumbs. Victoria’s face was partly shaded and entirely somber.
“What a horrible way to go.” Elizabeth flicked an insect off the table with her fingernail.
“He was already dead, I’m sure. Someone must have killed him right after he left me that message.”
Elizabeth studied her grandmother’s solemn face. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, Gram. Don’t feel bad. I mean, about preventing anything.”
The sunlight had shifted so it shone in Elizabeth’s face, and she moved slightly so she was shaded again. “Do you suppose he found something at Jube’s house?”
“Found something or suspected something.” Victoria sipped her glass of iced tea.
“Why would anyone want to kill Hiram?”
“I don’t believe he had an enemy on the Island.” Victoria set her glass down. “Hiram told me in confidence when he was here the other day about a close friend of his who spends two weeks with him every year.”
“A gay friend?”
Victoria nodded. “Married, pillar of the community, two children, church deacon.”
“Still in the closet, I suppose?”
Victoria nodded.
“Where does the friend live?”
“Nebraska.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Where is the friend now?”
“I don’t know,” said Victoria. “Hiram told me he was here on the Island up until the night Jube was killed. Tad, that was Hiram’s friend, called him from the ferry.”
“Cell phone?”
Victoria nodded.
“He could have been anywhere.”
“Hiram also told me that before he met Tad, he and Jube had been lovers.”
“Ouch,” said Elizabeth. “Did Tad know?”
“Hiram didn’t say.”
“I can imagine this repressed gay guy, pillar of the community, dah de dah, living out each repressed year just waiting for his two weeks of freedom. Then he finds out about Burkhardt and Hiram, and Wham!” Elizabeth slapped her hands together, “he explodes. Maybe he killed both Burkhardt and Hiram, who betrayed him.” Elizabeth shaded her eyes with a hand. “Have you told the police?”
Victoria shook her head.
“Hadn’t you better?”
“I need to think about this,” said Victoria. “Somehow, I can’t see Tad as the killer.”
“Have you met him?”
“No,” Victoria said slowly. “No, I never have. The first time I heard about him was the day Hiram disappeared.”
“Maybe they went off together and the body’s not Hiram’s.”
“I dismissed that as not likely,” said Victoria.
“Go on, Gram. You were about to say something when I interrupted.”
Victoria rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Jube was blackmailing Hiram.”
“With what? Everyone knew Hiram was gay. He didn’t make a secret of it.”
“Jube was threatening to expose Tad. That’s why Hiram signed the noncompliance paper for the septic system.”
“That’s positively antediluvian. No one cares these days. Even spies can be openly gay without worrying about blackmail.”
“Apparently Tad was vulnerable, and Hiram cared. I urged him to convince Tad to talk to his wife.”
“What did Hiram say?”
“He said I didn’t understand.”
Elizabeth laughed.
“The key to Jube’s and Hiram’s death is in that computer, I’m sure of it,” said Victoria.
“I almost forgot to tell you. While I was doing some errands this morning, Howland must have brought the computer back. He left you a note saying he’d put it on the library floor behind the couch.”
Victoria swept crumbs from the table into her hand and tossed them into the pond. “I told him you might let him use your computer if he recovers something.”
“Sure. Of course. I can’t imagine that data on the computer would have survived the fire, though.”
Victoria’s face set stubbornly. “Howland can find something.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Before I went to the dump, we got three phone calls. Each time I answered, the person hung up. Strange.”
“Perhaps they were calls for Linda?”
“The caller didn’t leave a message, didn’t say a word,” Elizabeth said. “Not even any heavy breathing.”
“Is there some way to know who called?”
“Star 69, but it won’t work on your dial phone, Gram.”
Victoria stacked the lunch dishes and set the utensils on the top plate. “Where is Linda, by the way?”
“I don’t know. She left after you did this morning.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Victoria asked.
“I assumed she was going to her uncle’s place.”
“She didn’t show up while I was there.”
“There goes the phone again.” Elizabeth ran into the house and returned in a few minutes. “It was Dojan. He wants to see you right away.”
“Now?” Victoria asked.
“He said he’ll be here in a half hour. He said for you to be careful.”
“Be careful?” said Victoria. “What am I supposed to be careful about?”
“He didn’t say.”
CHAPTER 16
Seven four-man tents ringed the edge of the field in back of Maley’s Gallery, beyond the dancing statues, not far from the brook, and half-hidden under tall pines and oaks. Behind the tents, the soft earth was bare except for a fallen tre
e. Beside the fallen tree, a patch of ghostly translucent white plants, about seven or eight in all, had grown through the pine needles. They stood about five inches high and had fleshy stems and waxy flowers. The flowers arched over toward the ground. The flowers and stems were the same deathly color. When the bikers set up the tents, they had avoided the plants. Someone said they were Indian pipes. Someone else said they were corpse plants. Someone picked one of the flowers, and within a few minutes, it turned black. From then on, everybody avoided the patch of Indian pipes.
A half-dozen bikers, all men, had set up folding tables in the shade next to the tents, well away from the Indian pipes, and the women had set out lunch, cold chicken and potato salad. There was laughter and giggling and the snap and hiss of beer cans being opened. Rock music blared from a Cape Cod radio station.
A motorcycle jounced across the field toward the group. A heavyset man seated in a canvas lounge chair looked up as the driver stopped and turned off the engine.
“What’s up, Toby?” The man in the lounge chair held out a can of beer.
Toby lifted his leg over the back of his bike, kicked down the stand, removed his helmet, reached for the beer, popped the top, and held it up. “Thanks, Bugs.” Toby was tall and wiry, and wore his hair in long dreadlocks. He was one of the few bikers without a beard. He was also the only black biker in the group.
“Did you get to the hospital, Toby?” A slim woman with bright metallic blond hair asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
“How’s Jesse?” asked a small man hunched at the table.
“Not bad, considering.” Toby sat in a white resin chair someone had purchased at the hardware store. “Broke his leg, two ribs, and his collarbone. He’s bruised and scraped, but he’ll live. Nothing real serious, no internal injuries.”
“That was stupid.” Bugs’s voice was raspy. “He and the rest of you were hot-dogging it with the local police.”
Toby looked down at the beer can in his hands.
“How long before they let him out?” the man at the table asked.
“Another couple of days, he thinks. He hurts bad.”
“Tough.” Bugs growled. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
One of the women forked chicken and salad onto a plate and gave it to Toby. He smiled at her, teeth white against his dark skin. “Harley was supposed to get in touch with her sister. Anybody know if she did?”
The people around the table looked at one another and shook their heads.
“Haven’t seen her all morning,” said another blonde with long tightly curled hair. “She said something about hitching a ride into Oak Bluffs.” She waved her hand over the chicken to discourage flies that were buzzing around.
“What was she doing in Oak Bluffs?” Toby looked around.
“She didn’t say,” the blonde answered.
“You’ve heard the latest, I trust?” Bugs asked Toby.
“Latest about what?”
“Her uncle’s house burned to the ground last night, according to the radio.” Bugs shifted in his chair, eyes on Toby. “They found a body.”
Toby stopped chewing.
“The police are looking for a biker who was at his place three days running.”
Toby swallowed his mouthful of chicken. “Yeah?”
“You and Harley go there?” Bugs asked.
“What’s it to you?” Toby pushed himself out of the white chair and tossed his beer can at a plastic trash container.
“Pick it up,” Bugs ordered.
Toby picked up the can and dropped it into the container.
“You want to know what’s it to me? I’ll tell you.” Bugs got up from his chair, knocking over a butterfly net that had been leaning against it. The metallic-haired blonde picked up the net. Bugs was huge, six foot six at least, with an enormous stomach, huge muscular thighs, and arms like a weight lifter’s. His head was small by comparison. He was bald, with a fringe of hair above his ears and a heavy black beard flecked with white and red. He wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses. “Sit down, brother.”
Toby sat again in the white chair.
“We’re here to have fun, right?”
Toby looked up at Bugs and nodded.
“We’re not here to cause trouble, right?” Bugs growled.
Toby shook his head. “Right?”
Toby nodded and looked at Bugs.
“We’ve got a reputation for being bad, right?” Bugs stared at the black biker.
Toby nodded.
“We don’t mind being bad. But we’re not BAD bad, right?”
Toby nodded.
“So you stupid shits try to outrun the local cops.” Bugs pounded a fist into his open hand. “On an Island, for Chrissakes. Where did you think you were going? Round and round in circles until you ran out of gas? Smart, boy, really smart.”
Toby said nothing. The rest of the group watched Bugs. The blonde waved her hand over the chicken.
“Lucky for us a biker got hurt, not some toddler.”
Toby leaned forward in his chair and looked down.
“We’re here to raise money to buy toys, for Chrissakes. We’re here to change our image. Bad but decent, right?”
Toby stared up at Bugs, who was now pacing back and forth in front of his chair, his eyes fixed on Toby. He paced from shadow into sunlight. His bald head glistened.
“You know what the cops think now?”
Toby said nothing.
“Do you?” Bugs stopped pacing.
Toby shook his head and closed his eyes.
“The cops believe Uncle Jube was killed. The cops think a biker killed Uncle Jube, right?”
Toby opened his eyes.
Bugs leaned over him. “Am I right?” he rasped.
“I don’t know.” Toby leaned back, away from Bugs’s too-close face.
“Well, I am. I’m right. Uncle Jube was making a big scene about bikers’ attitudes and bikers’ noise and bikers’ mess. The cops are asking, did Uncle Jube make so much fuss that he upset the bikers?”
Toby said nothing.
“It all comes through on the scanner, what the cops think.” Bugs gestured to the battery-operated scanner on the picnic table. “You and I know what upset Uncle Jube about the bikers, don’t we?” Bugs jabbed a finger at Toby. “It’s because some black dude biker is screwing his favorite niece, right?”
Toby said nothing.
“You know what else the cops think?”
Toby shook his head.
“The cops think a biker parked in Uncle Jube’s barn and killed somebody in Uncle Jube’s house. The cops think a biker came back the next day and maybe stole something from Uncle Jube’s house. A will, maybe? Would you happen to know about that, Toby? The cops think a biker came back the day after that and torched Uncle Jube’s house to get rid of the body and the evidence, then swept away the bike tracks in the barn. You know what I’m saying?”
“Oh God, no!” Toby stood up suddenly, and his chair tipped over.
“You and your girlfriend are in deep doo-doo.” Bugs grabbed the butterfly net and strode out into the field, flourishing it by its frail handle like a sword.
The curly-haired blonde whispered to Toby, “Bugs says there’s eighty species of butterflies on Martha’s Vineyard.”
Casey saw Dojan’s van fly past the station house going at least twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. She sighed, heaved herself out of her swivel chair, fastened on her belt, and went after him, blue lights flashing. Dojan turned into Victoria’s drive. Casey followed.
She got out of the vehicle and was tugging her belt into a more comfortable position, ready to give Dojan a scolding or a speeding ticket, when she saw his expression.
“What’s the matter, Dojan?”
“Victoria.” His voice was low.
“What are you talking about?”
“The engineer was murdered. Now Hiram is dead.”
“We don’t have confirmation yet that it was Hiram.” Casey stuck her thumbs in her
trouser pockets. Dojan’s head was thrown back, and he stared down his nose at Casey. His eyes were wild. He wore his black mesh shirt and black jeans, and his bare feet were dirty. Ragged strips of peeling sunburn hung from his forehead, nose, and upper arms. His tattoos looked as if they were covered with shredded plastic.
“Three people knew something that nobody else knew. Jube Burkhardt, Hiram Pennybacker, and Victoria Trumbull.”
“She’s not involved in this, Dojan.”
“Yes she is. The sewage engineer spoke to Hiram before he died. Hiram spoke to Victoria before he was killed. Hiram told Victoria something. She does not know what she knows. But she is next.”
“What do you expect me to do? I can’t guard her round the clock just because you’re worried about her.”
“I don’t want your help. Victoria is my friend.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I will take care of her.”
“Lord!” said Casey.
Victoria appeared at the kitchen door. “I thought I heard you drive up. Elizabeth’s made a fresh pot of coffee. Come in and have some.”
“No, thanks, Victoria, I’ve got to get back to my paperwork.” Casey turned to Dojan. “Will you please slow down when you drive through my town? Next time I’m giving you a ticket.” She climbed into the Bronco and drove off.
Dojan wiped his bare feet on the grass mat in the entry, and ducked his head so the new osprey feather in his hair would clear the doorway.
Victoria studied him with concern. “What’s wrong, Dojan?”
“Is Hiram dead?”
“The arson squad found human remains. I think it’s Hiram, but the forensics people need to go through dental records.” She paused. “There wasn’t much left to identify.”
Dojan shook his head. “That day I came to your house, Hiram left when he saw me. What did he say to you?”
“Not much,” Victoria said. “Jube Burkhardt, the engineer…?”
“I know who he was.”
“He and Hiram had a long talk at Hiram’s house the night before Jube was killed.” Victoria moved away from the doorway. “Let’s sit down.”
Dojan followed her into the cookroom and perched on the edge of his chair.
“Hiram said Jube was keyed up, ranting all over the place,” said Victoria. “One minute against the casino, the next minute for it.”
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