“Is that all? When?”
“Friday, of course. When you have guests and serve those mushrooms he gave me.”
“That would be a nice gesture, sweetie. Will do. Haven’t met my darlin’ girl’s boyfriend yet.”
“He thinks they’re poisonous.”
A pause. “What’s that?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“He thinks they’re poisonous. He does, Daddy.”
“And he gave them to you?” his voice rose. “Thinking they’re poisonous?”
“He gave them to me and when I invited him to stay for supper—I said I’d cook them—he refused.”
“I’d say that says something about your culinary skills. Doesn’t mean he’s trying to poison you.”
“Stop it, Daddy. Believe me. He thinks they’re poisonous.”
“And you want me to invite him to supper Friday.” Her father paused. “And he thinks those mushrooms of his are poisonous.” After another long pause he barked out a short laugh. “They are called trumpets of death, you know.”
“I don’t know anything about mushrooms.”
“Right up there with truffles, eighty bucks a pound.”
“Daaaddy! I don’t care about mushrooms.”
“Clever little girl. Chip off the old block. Give me his number before you leave town. How long did you say you’ll be gone?”
“A week or so.”
“Have a good time, then. Don’t forget to call.” He lowered his voice. “I’m going to enjoy meeting your boy. What did you say his name is?”
“Zack.”
“Fine, fine. I look forward to this meeting.”
Samantha started up her car again. By now all her landmarks were obscured and she had trouble finding her drive. When she reached her house she opened the bottle of wine she’d had in the fridge and poured herself a full glass.
Fog eddied around outside her house, closing everything in. The view below her was gone. Somewhere a foghorn moaned, unusually loud. Mournful. Every sound was magnified. Somewhere close, a vehicle engine whined then stopped. Eerie how sounds carried. Condensation dripped from the eaves, sounding like footsteps, and she shivered.
This kind of weather could drive people crazy, if they let it. Creeping on little cat feet, for sure. She sank onto her sofa bed, switched on the TV, surfed channels until she found a soap she could tolerate, and turned up the volume to block out the sounds outside.
“I’m not letting that stupid weather dictate to me.” She reached for her wineglass and held it up. “Let’s see how Mr. Asshole deals with Daddy and his ugly black mushrooms.” She swallowed a mouthful, hardly tasting it. “Sorry I won’t be here to see him react to Daddy’s dinner invite.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Samantha started out of her reverie. “Come in!” she called out.
The door creaked opened and she glanced up. At first she couldn’t see who it was in the large yellow slicker. Then she laughed. “Come on in. You’re just the person I want to be with on this creepy afternoon.”
She reached for the remote and switched the TV off.
“How about a glass of wine? Or two. I’ve already started.”
* * *
“I wonder if Sebastian’s home yet,” Sarah said to Joe later that afternoon at Alley’s. Lincoln still hadn’t shown up.
“He’s probably with Samantha.” Joe spit off to one side.
“You know, Joe, that’s disgusting.”
“Want me to swallow it?”
“Stop!”
“It kills bugs. Good pesticide.”
“It’s going to kill you, too,” said Sarah. “Sebastian’s a good kid. He’ll probably come home all apologies.”
“When he does, Linc better give him a good whaling.”
“Not Lincoln. You shouldn’t be so mean to him, Joe.”
Joe carved off another chunk of tobacco and stuck it in his cheek. “Only way to shake him outta it.”
“You know, I do wonder where Sebastian is,” said Sarah. “It’s not like him to worry his dad like this.”
CHAPTER 6
On Sunday morning the sky was the brightest blue possible, a fluorescent blue so brilliant it sparkled.
Victoria greeted the morning as though this day was prepared just for her. She put on her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, her green plaid suit, a soft white blouse with bow tie at the neck, and her everyday shoes with a hole cut in one to relieve her sore toe. No one ever noticed that she wasn’t wearing something more stylish. She clipped on the green earrings that Jonathan, her husband, had made for her out of jadeite stones he’d found washed up on the beach.
The leaves, still unchanged, still on the trees, were fresh with moisture from two days of fog. Spiderwebs of the finest silk spread like drying linen on the bright green grass. Mourning doves called. A V of Canada geese flew overhead.
Not many years ago the geese would head south this time of year to spend winter in far places like Chesapeake Bay. Now they wintered on the Island. But the far places must still be calling them, for they circled overhead, honking with that nostalgic sound she recalled from childhood, a sound that meant approaching autumn.
The church bell began to ring. She could hear it clearly from the kitchen, the half-hour warning before service would begin.
“Ready, Gram?” Elizabeth, looking quite spiffy with her short sun-bleached hair and becoming tan, was wearing a light gray pantsuit with black turtleneck shirt.
At the church door they greeted friends and neighbors, and once inside sat in their usual pew in the fourth row left of the center aisle. The organ music and choir were as joyful as the day, a good day to be alive. Vases of brilliant flowers flanked the altar. Sunlight poured through the tall windows touching them and they glowed as though they had an inner light. Victoria sat quietly, the way she’d been brought up, soaking up the calmness and peace of the simple church with its plain wooden pews and clean, white-painted walls.
The music ended. The service began.
Time for the Reverend Milton Jackson to launch into his sermon. He spoke about the fire at the parsonage and about death and loss, and the day seemed less bright. He talked about the inhumanity of mankind. About the destruction of priceless treasures by senseless mobs abroad. About human thoughtlessness and cruelty. About the selfishness of politicians. About people’s abandonment of God.
The day dimmed for Victoria. She thought of the joy she’d felt an hour earlier, when the world seemed so bright, so hopeful, so innocent, and she’d believed such magnificence had been created just for her. She felt a wash of selfishness.
The final hymn. The benediction.
The congregation filed out.
“Wonderful sermon, Jack.”
Hand shaking.
“A lot to think about, Reverend.”
“Inspirational.”
Victoria slipped past.
“Are you okay, Gram?” asked Elizabeth as they went down the steps of the church.
Victoria shook her head.
Elizabeth said, “That sermon was kind of a downer, wasn’t it?”
Victoria nodded.
“Cheer up, Gram. We have a lot to be thankful for. Sunday dinner is in the oven, ham and scalloped potatoes, ready to heat up.”
Victoria smiled.
* * *
On Monday, Lincoln Sibert made a formal report to the West Tisbury police that his sixteen-year-old son, Sebastian, was missing.
By Wednesday, there was still no identification of the body in the parsonage.
Lincoln had feared from the very beginning that the victim was his son. On Wednesday he drove to the West Tisbury police station and gave Casey the name of Sebastian’s off-Island dentist and his office telephone number in Falmouth.
“I hope we can rule out Sebastian, Lincoln,” said Casey.
“There’s nowhere else he can be.” Lincoln wore his usual plaid shirt, jeans, and scuffed boots. “I need to know, Chief.”
“I’ll call over there right now.” Casey put the paper with name, address, and phone number next to her computer. “How long has it been since his mother…” She couldn’t finish.
“Five years,” said Lincoln. “Sebastian was eleven.”
“Oh, God,” said Casey. She stood.
“Drunk driver on State Road.” Lincoln was standing in front of Casey’s desk.
“I remember.” She looked down at her desk. “I remember too well. I’m sorry, Lincoln.” She came from behind her desk to Lincoln and put her arms around him. He stiffened.
Casey backed off.
“I know it’s Sebastian,” he said. “And I know who’s responsible.” Lincoln turned and stumbled out of the station.
Casey watched the tall, lanky man with his almost caved-in chest, until he’d driven away. She went back to her desk and called the Falmouth number for Sebastian’s dentist.
* * *
Before she left for the harbor the following morning, Elizabeth was having a second mug of coffee. “Has there been any word on the fire victim yet, Gram?”
“I should hear from Casey any minute,” said Victoria. “She told me she’d call as soon as she heard from the dentist.”
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it.” Elizabeth answered and handed the phone to Victoria. “It’s Casey.”
Victoria listened, her face solemn. Without another word, she passed the phone back to Elizabeth, who put it in its cradle.
“Anyone we know, Gram?” Elizabeth picked up the coffee mug again.
“Lincoln Sibert’s son, Sebastian.”
Elizabeth held her mug tightly. “I don’t know what to say.”
* * *
That same evening, Zack’s phone barked like a dog. He checked the number, didn’t recognize it, but answered.
“Zack, my man,” said a hearty male voice. “This is Samantha’s daddy. How’re you doin’?”
“Ah…” Zack paused ever so slightly. “Fine, sir, thank you.”
“The girlfriend and I were just saying how we’d like to meet you, get to know you. Meet little Sammy’s boyfriend, you know. About time you got to know her old man, we were saying. Sammy’s off-Island, you know. Shopping. Girly get-together.”
“Yes, sir,” said Zack.
“Want you to come to dinner tomorrow night, Friday. Nothing formal.” He laughed. “A command appearance, you might say.”
Before Zack had a chance to finish swallowing the bile that suddenly rose in his throat, Daddy went on. “Tomorrow. See you at seven.”
“I’m afraid I…” stammered Zack.
“Won’t take no for an answer. According to my Sammy you’re quite a fellow. No need to dress up. We’re having a few friends over. You know where my place is, of course. Tomorrow at seven.”
“Thank you, sir, but…” he had already disconnected.
What had she told Daddy? Zack thought. I don’t want to meet him. Or his girlfriend. I don’t want to go to dinner at his house. There’s no way I’m going. I’ve gotta get out of this somehow.
He staggered down the narrow stairs and barely made it to Mrs. Trumbull’s bathroom before he threw up. Maybe he could cancel last minute. The thought made him feel sicker. Maybe he was coming down with something.
As he came out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, Victoria looked up with a smile that instantly turned to a look of concern. “Are you all right?”
“Thank you for asking,” said Zack, blotting his lips with a pad of toilet paper. “Just a little upset.”
“I’ll fix you some tea and cinnamon toast. That always helps.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sit down.” Victoria pointed to a gray-painted kitchen chair. She put two slices of bread into the toaster. “What has upset you?”
“Not exactly upset,” said Zack. “I mean…,” he paused. “Yes.” He looked down at the pad of toilet paper he still held.
“Do you care to talk about it?” Victoria took the glass jar of cinnamon and sugar from the cabinet over the sink and set it next to the toaster along with the butter dish. Then filled the teakettle and put it on the stove.
“Mr. Eberhardt invited me to dinner.”
Victoria looked up and laughed. “Why, that’s wonderful. When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You don’t need to be nervous about your girlfriend’s father inviting you to dinner.”
Zack looked up. “I told Sammy we’re breaking up.”
“Oh?” said Victoria. “How did she respond?”
“It wasn’t good,” said Zack.
The toast popped up and Victoria buttered it and sprinkled the cinnamon mixture on it. The kettle whistled. She rinsed out the teapot with boiling water, then added tea and water.
Zack watched her in silence. Then he said, quite suddenly, “She was gonna tell her father she’s pregnant.”
Victoria turned. “Are you responsible?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. No way. Definitely not.”
She went back to her tea-making. “Then you have nothing to worry about. It’s Samantha’s problem, not yours.”
“Yeah, but she said…” He didn’t finish.
Victoria set the cinnamon toast and tea in front of him. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about, Zack. From what I’ve heard, Samantha has a number of male friends.”
Zack bit into his toast. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Trumbull.”
Victoria flushed. “Yes I do, Zack.”
She fixed her own tea and turned to him. “If you’re not the father, it’s not your problem. Go to dinner tomorrow night. Don’t let him intimidate you. And you have a good time.” She sat down and helped herself to a piece of toast. “The best defense is a good offense.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Zack set the uneaten portion of his toast on his plate. The one bite he’d taken was still dry and crumbly in his mouth and he couldn’t swallow it.
“Get a good night’s sleep, Zack. Things will look better in the morning.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps you’re coming down with something.”
Zack looked down at his uneaten toast. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER 7
On Friday morning, Zack hadn’t appeared at eight o’clock, the time he usually got up. At eight thirty, Victoria knocked on the door at the foot of the steps and opened it. “Zack? It’s getting late,” she called up.
The bed frame squeaked, she heard his feet thud onto the floor, and a sleepy voice called down. “What time is it?”
“Half-past eight. I’ve made coffee for you and an egg sandwich. You can take it with you.”
“Omigod, thank you, Mrs. Trumbull. Be right down.”
A few minutes later he stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen. “Thank you for waking me up.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to sleep until the birds started singing.” He rubbed his stubbly chin.
“If you’re worrying about dinner tonight, stop, this very minute.” Victoria was wondering as she spoke to him, how he had managed to keep the unkempt growth on his chin the same length for the entire four months he had lived here. “You’re worrying about nothing. Dinner will be delicious and you’ll enjoy meeting the people.”
“Thanks again.” Zack picked up the thermos of coffee and the sandwich bag. “I’ll wash the thermos and bring it back.”
He darted out the door just as Elizabeth appeared, dressed for work in her uniform of tan slacks and a white, short-sleeved shirt.
“What’s his problem?” she asked.
“He overslept.”
“One thing I’ll say in his favor, he’s conscientious about that dishwasher job.” Elizabeth went over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.
“I’m glad you found something redeemable about him.”
Elizabeth joined her grandmother at the kitchen table. “Was he out late last night with that girlfriend of his?”
“Samantha? No. He’s broken up with her.”
Victoria nodded.
Elizabeth took a sip of coffee. “I didn’t think he had the guts.”
“Apparently she didn’t take the news well.” Victoria got up and poured herself more coffee. “He told me he’d gone back and apologized to her, and she said something about their being friends again.” She returned to her seat. “I don’t think he’s happy about the situation. He’s been invited to dinner tonight at her father’s.”
“That would be enough to cause anyone a sleepless night. Dinner with Samantha’s father? Brrr.”
“Have you met him?” Victoria sipped her coffee, her eyes half-closed in the steam.
“No, but I’ve heard enough about him.”
Sunlight poured through the east door, creating a warm path on the wood floor. McCavity stalked in, stopped in the sunlit area, turned around several times, and laid down.
Elizabeth watched. “What a soft life cats lead.”
“I’m going to walk over to the police station and talk to Casey.” Victoria took a deep breath and stood.
“I’ll give you a ride,” said Elizabeth.
* * *
The station house door was open and Casey was sitting at her desk, staring out the window, when Victoria entered. The police chief was focused on something other than the waterfowl on the pond.
“Casey?” Victoria interrupted her thoughts.
Casey turned to her. “Sebastian was a nice kid. What was he doing in the parsonage? He wouldn’t break into an unoccupied building.”
Victoria took her seat in front of Casey’s desk. “He was smitten by the Eberhardt girl.”
“Samantha. You know anything about her?”
“Not really.” Victoria rested her hands on her lilac wood stick. “The boy who’s renting that room from me, Zack Zeller, is, or was, dating her.”
“What are you thinking, Victoria?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Victoria glanced up.
Casey picked up her beach stone paperweight and tossed it from one hand to another.
“Yesterday afternoon,” Victoria continued, “her father called and invited Zack to dinner tonight. Zack is so apprehensive, he’s sick to his stomach.”
“I don’t suppose he can very well decline.” Casey dropped the stone back on top of a pile of papers and sat back. “Why I asked about Samantha is because of what Lincoln Sibert, Sebastian’s dad, said to me yesterday.”
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