“Anything else?” Dojan was shaking one leg impatiently. Only his strange eyes showed he was listening.
“He told me Jube threatened to hold up any septic request the tribe submitted. Jube said he would check every septic tank in Gay Head.”
Dojan nodded. “That would hold off action for years.”
“After that, he stalked out of the meeting.”
“Calling everybody ‘mongrels,’ ” said Elizabeth, who’d brought in the coffeepot and mugs from the kitchen.
“What else?”
“The day Jube was killed, he asked Hiram to meet him at the foot of the cliffs along with someone else.”
“The killer.” Dojan stopped shaking his leg.
“That was all Jube said to Hiram until the night I saw him on the cliff. Hiram climbed down the cliff. Before he died, Jube said to Hiram, quite clearly, ‘Sibyl.’ “
“Sibyl?” said Dojan.
Victoria nodded. “The arson squad found Jube’s computer this morning. On the side was a partly burned decal that read SIBYL.”
“Where is the computer now?” Dojan asked, leaning forward. He hadn’t touched the coffee Elizabeth had poured.
“Howland brought it here a couple of hours ago,” Elizabeth said. “I wasn’t here, so he left a note.”
“You know Howland Atherton, don’t you?” Victoria asked.
Dojan nodded. “The federal drug agent.”
“He’s also a computer expert. The computer is badly burned, but he’s going to salvage whatever he can. Do you want to see it?”
Dojan nodded. The osprey feather bobbed.
“How did you get the new feather?” asked Elizabeth. “Pluck it out of a bird?”
“Under the osprey nest near my boat.” Dojan turned to Victoria. “You must put the computer someplace safe. The police station. It’s not safe here.”
“The police station door doesn’t have a lock, either.”
“Better there than here.” Dojan padded through the kitchen and dining room into the library.
The library was on its way to becoming like Jube Burkhardt’s house. Stacks of books were piled next to the bookcases. The shelves overflowed. When she had time, Victoria intended to sort through the books, give some of them to Mary Jo for the library book sale, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. The sofa was piled with Christmas decorations and wrapping paper she hadn’t taken up to the attic yet, a jigsaw puzzle Elizabeth had completed that was too pretty to break apart. There was a big oak desk, its top covered with papers, chairs with caned bottoms in need of repair, a couple of lamps that were too good to throw out. Victoria could sympathize with Jube Burkhardt. Give her more time and she could fill up her house with things that might be useful someday as completely as he had filled his.
“Where is it?” Dojan looked around.
“Howland’s note said behind the couch,” Elizabeth answered.
Victoria bent down to look. When she didn’t see the computer, she and Dojan shifted the couch to one side.
“Where could he have put it?” Victoria said.
“Someone has stolen it,” said Dojan.
“Maybe Howland reconsidered and took it home with him, after all,” Victoria said.
“I don’t like this,” said Dojan. “Get out of this house and stay away until the killer is found.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dojan.”
Dojan grasped Victoria’s arm. “You don’t understand, my friend. The killer thinks you know something.”
Victoria scowled. “Well, I don’t.” She stood up. “I am not leaving this house, Dojan, and that’s that.” She stalked out of the room.
Elizabeth laughed. “The killer’s going to have a tough time with my grandmother.”
“This is not funny,” said Dojan.
CHAPTER 17
Howland arrived ten minutes later, and he, Victoria, and Elizabeth went into the library where Dojan was seated on the thronelike wooden armchair.
“I put the computer here,” said Howland, indicating a space behind the couch. “Are you sure none of you moved it?”
“Certainly not,” said Victoria.
Howland lifted the end of the couch and moved it still farther into the room, exposing a roll of dust, several pennies, and a golf ball.
“The computer wouldn’t have fit underneath,” Victoria said. “The couch is too low.”
“I searched under and around all the furniture,” said Elizabeth. “Definitely not here.”
Howland ran his fingers through his hair. “Who knew you’d found the computer, Victoria?”
“The arson squad, Chief O’Neill, Junior Norton, and the three of you.” Victoria sat on the arm of the sofa. “Are you sure you didn’t take it home with you, Howland?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he said curtly. “There’s still a crushed spot on the rug where I put the thing.”
Dojan, who’d been silent ever since Howland arrived, uncrossed his leg, put both feet flat on the floor, and gripped the arms of the chair. He looked, Victoria thought, like a pharaoh whose beard and hair had gone awry.
“Who’d want Burkhardt’s old computer?” Elizabeth asked.
Howland paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “The line of takers would stretch from here to Alley’s.”
“I suppose there’s a copy of his will on it.” Elizabeth plopped down on the couch, jouncing Victoria, who was still perched on the arm. “A list of his blackmail victims.”
Howland nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Victoria smoothed the frayed fabric on the arm of the couch. “Both of his nieces will want to see his will.”
Howland stopped pacing. “I have no idea where to begin looking for that computer.”
Dojan continued to sit like stone.
Victoria cleared her throat. “If I were worried about what was on that computer and then found it after the fire, I would get rid of it.”
“Without finding out what’s on it?” asked Elizabeth. “Suppose you thought it might have a copy of his will?”
“Anyone could enter a will on a computer,” Victoria said. “It wouldn’t be valid.”
“It would give someone an advantage to know what was in the will,” said Elizabeth.
“We want the computer because we hope it may have information that will lead us to the killer.” Victoria shifted on her perch.
“That’s exactly why the killer would want to discard it,” said Howland.
Elizabeth moved to the side of the couch and patted the cushion next to her. “You can’t be comfortable, Gram. Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said.
Howland began to pace again.
“How would you dispose of a computer?” Victoria asked.
“I would take it out on my boat,” said Dojan. “Drop it overboard into deep water.”
“Not everyone has access to a boat,” said Victoria.
“I’d take it to the dump,” said Elizabeth. “There’s a mountain of discarded computers and television sets. They get trucked off-Island periodically.”
“That would be too obvious,” Howland said. “Easy to spot a burned computer.”
“Then I’d toss it into a container at the dump.”
“You’re not supposed to discard electronic gadgets and appliances in the Dumpsters,” said Victoria.
Elizabeth turned to Howland. “Stop pacing, will you? You’re driving me crazy.”
Howland stopped and leaned against the mantelpiece, hands in his pockets.
“We need to think,” said Victoria. “Someone knew we recovered the computer from the fire, and someone knew that Howland took the computer away. That person would have to have been at the site.”
“The only people there were the arson team, Casey, Junior Norton, and you,” said Howland. “I showed up later.”
“None of the people you named would have any interest in the computer,” Victoria said. “Therefore, someone else must have been at Jube’s place and overh
eard us.”
“Where, though?” asked Elizabeth.
Victoria thought for a moment. “The barn loft. Of course. I heard what I thought were mice or birds in the barn,” she said. “A person could easily have been in the loft. We used to hide up there as children.”
“He could hardly have followed me to your house without being seen,” said Howland.
“We talked openly about taking the computer to my house,” said Victoria. “Everyone knows where I live.”
Howland nodded.
“He could park off the road the fishermen use. We’d never have noticed,” said Victoria. “Then walk to the barn, go in the side door, brush away footprints behind him with a pine branch, climb up into the loft, and watch from there.”
“Creepy,” said Elizabeth.
“Were you aware of anyone following you when you left Jube’s?” Victoria asked Howland.
“A horse trailer came out of one of the side roads after I passed. I wouldn’t have seen anything behind the trailer, even if I were looking. And I wasn’t looking.”
“Would you have been aware of a motorcycle following behind the trailer?” Victoria asked.
Howland shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“He didn’t need to follow you,” said Victoria. “He kept calling until Elizabeth left, then went into the house, saw your note explaining where you’d put the computer, and took it.” Victoria glanced around the room, from Howland to Dojan to Elizabeth. “Then what?”
Howland walked over to the windows that faced the road. A car drove past. The dry leaves of the horse chestnut shivered. “I hope the hell he didn’t drop it in Vineyard Sound,” said Howland.
“Or take it off-Island,” said Elizabeth.
“You don’t have a dump sticker, sir,” the dumpmaster said when Howland pulled up to the shack a half hour later.
The shack, on a knoll in the middle of the dump, was decorated with found objects. Unmatched chairs were set up around a broken- legged table, which was spread with chipped plates and unmatched glasses set on a frayed tablecloth with an off-center wine stain. The table was shaded with a torn beach umbrella.
The dumpmaster himself was enormously fat and had walked over to Howland’s car with great effort. His clothes looked as if they, too, had come from the dump, but they were so huge and tentlike it seemed unlikely that there was another person on the Island discarding clothing that would fit the dump master. His chartreuse- and-brown plaid trousers were belted with rope, his orange and magenta Hawaiian shirt was tucked into the great waist of his pants.
He leaned down to look at the passenger side of the car, peered at Elizabeth, and chuckled. “Not you again. You cleaning out your grandmother’s house?”
“We’re looking for something to take away from the dump, Mr. Lardner,” Elizabeth said.
The dumpmaster spread his arms. “Be my guest.” He leaned down to Howland. “You ought to patronize this dump, Mr. Ather- ton. Better-quality stuff than that dump of yours.”
“Anybody throw out a computer today?” Howland asked.
“How’m I supposed to know?” The dumpmaster lifted his flowered shoulders. “Everybody in town’s come by today. Some twice,” he added, looking significantly at Elizabeth. “If they threw out a computer, it would either be over there with the TVs,” he pointed toward the mound of television sets and computer monitors, “or with the appliances,” he waved his arm to a mountain of washers, dryers,dishwashers, and microwaves, “or in that Dumpster with metal stuff or the one next to it with construction stuff.” He ducked his head in thought. “Or they might have dumped it in with household trash. Never can tell where people are going to dump stuff.”
“You go through this every week?” Howland asked as they drove away from the shack.
“It’s a social occasion,” Elizabeth said. “If you’re running for town office, this is where you campaign.”
“Let’s start with TV Mountain.”
A short man with a graying goatee, his hair falling over his forehead, hustled toward them with a sheaf of papers. “Elizabeth! Didn’t recognize you in that car. Can I get you to sign this petition?”
“I already did, Les. Get Howland to sign.”
Howland pulled on the emergency brake. Les hurried over to his side and thrust the petition and a pen at him. Howland signed with a flourish.
Elizabeth leaned across Howland. “Les, did you see anyone dump a computer this morning?”
“Several people, three or four at least. Do you need one? There’s at least one good 386.”
“Did anyone bring in a burned CPU?” Howland asked.
“I don’t think I’d recognize it as part of a computer without the monitor.”
“Where did they leave them?” Howland asked.
“I didn’t notice.” He held up one of his fingers. “Excuse me. Here comes Mrs. Summerville.” He hurried off with his petition.
The mound of television sets was much larger than they had expected. They looked up at it.
“If the computer’s here, it would have to be in plain sight,” How- land said. “He would hardly have moved stuff to bury it underneath.”
They walked around the mound, trying to see under easily shifted objects, and finally moved on.
They tried the appliance heap next, and then the large Dumpster. The dumpmaster waddled down the knoll to where they stood figuring the best approach to searching it.
“Someone threw out an aluminum ladder a couple weeks ago. Thought it might come in handy.” He reached behind the Dumpster and started to haul out a bent ladder.
“Absolutely,” said Howland, helping.
The dumpmaster brushed off his hands. Between short gasps he said again, “I knew it would come in handy.”
Howland climbed to the rim of the Dumpster, then jumped in. There was the sound of breaking glass. Howland swore.
A flock of seagulls rose from the inside. Elizabeth couldn’t see Howland from where she stood, and she waited while she heard him shove things around. The gulls circled. One started to land inside, and squawked and soared away when a chunk of metal that looked like the arm of an aluminum lawn chair flew up at it. The gull opened its beak and let out a long cry and a series of short barks. Elizabeth heard Howland walk around on metallic things that sounded as if they were shifting under his weight. He thumped his hand against the metal side of the Dumpster at one point.
“It’s hopeless,” she heard him say finally. “Nothing but garbage. I’ve got to get out of here before I pass out.”
When Howland reached the ground again, Elizabeth sniffed. “You stink.”
“Thanks.”
“I thought it was supposed to be metal, not garbage.”
“Someone dumped a plastic bag of fish guts. It’s been in the sun all morning.”
“Come back to my grandmother’s. You can take a shower outdoors and I’ll put your clothes in the washer.”
Howland sat in his car, the door open. “This dump is not better than mine.”
CHAPTER 18
As they drove back toward Victoria’s, Howland muttered, “I don’t know why your grandmother is so convinced we need that computer. It’s a lost cause.”
“She insists you can recover whatever is on it,” said Elizabeth.
Howland grunted. “I can’t work magic.”
“Maybe they dumped it in the woods somewhere,” said Elizabeth.
Howland shook his head. “Someone would find it and make a public furor about improper rubbish disposal.”
“Maybe they tossed the unit in a Dumpster someplace. The trash gets shipped off-Island. Nobody would notice an old computer.”
Howland slowed at Brandy Brow and waited for a car to pass. “Let’s say someone picked up the computer from Victoria’s. He’d want to move fast, before your grandmother showed up. He’d put it in the trunk of his car…”
“Or on the back of a motorcycle, and it could have been a woman,” said Elizabeth.
“Right. Car or mo
torcycle. She—or he—would take the computer someplace nearby where they could examine it without being disturbed. If she or he knows something about computers, she or he might take it apart, remove the hard drive, and discard the rest.” Howland paused. “This ‘he or she’ stuff is nonsense. If he doesn’t know computers, he might think the data were destroyed. Where would he go?”
“Probably not into the village. Everybody would notice a strange car or a motorcycle with a computer strapped on back. They’d have to pass the police station and Alley’s.”
“So he’d probably head toward Edgartown.”
Elizabeth sat up. “The baseball field this side of the firehouse has a trash bin.” She wrinkled her nose. “Would you like to take a shower first?”
“Can’t waste the time. I don’t know how often they empty the Dumpsters.”
“I’m not sure I can stand you much longer.”
“Likely to get worse, unless you intend to crawl around in the next few trash bins.” Howland tapped the horn as they passed Victoria’s house. Tall tiger lilies in front of the house were an orange blaze in the shade of the horse chestnut tree. “Dump day being a social event, every scanner in West Tisbury will be reporting about Victoria’s granddaughter and the fed crawling around in the trash.”
“Twenty-first-century party line.”
The baseball field was about a quarter mile beyond Victoria’s house, behind a thick screen of scrub oak and pine. Howland missed the turnoff and had to back up. He turned left onto a grass road.
“New car tracks,” he said.
“Baseball games go on all the time, almost every day.”
They parked in the shade of an oak, got out, and looked around.
“Two trash bins,” said Howland. “One for the kids playing ball and one by the firehouse.”
A steady buzz came from the first Dumpster.
“Goddamn!” said Howland. “Yellow jackets.”
“Going after soda cans, I bet.”
A cloud of wasps hummed around the candy wrappers, soggy ice cream cones, juice boxes, apple cores, half-eaten oranges, and fermenting grapes.
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