Trumpet of Death

by Cynthia Riggs

Casey stopped abruptly. “What?! What did she do?”

  “Well,” said Victoria, “it was my suggestion that I stay in the jail overnight, but she is a more logical felon.”

  “Victoria, what are you up to now?”

  Victoria looked out the window. “Lincoln just drove up and is parking. I’ll take drink orders. Patrick, ginger ale or cranberry juice?”

  Patrick glanced at his mother, who nodded. “Ginger ale, please.”

  “Ginger ale it is. And Casey, Elizabeth and I usually have cranberry juice and rum. Or wine. Or what Patrick is having.”

  “Let me help,” said Casey. “I’ll take white wine.”

  They returned to the kitchen.

  Lincoln parked next to Elizabeth’s convertible, got out of his truck slowly, and shambled toward the stone steps. He paused, then climbed the three steps slowly. He had aged over the past week.

  Victoria opened the kitchen door for him.

  “Evening, Miz Trumbull. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You need to get out. I’ve invited Casey and Patrick to join us.”

  He nodded. “Evening, Chief. Patrick.” He held out his hand to Patrick, and Patrick shook it.

  “I’m taking drink orders,” said Victoria.

  Lincoln took a deep breath. “You know, bourbon sounds good to me. With a splash of water.” As Victoria headed for the place she kept liquor bottles, he said, “I’ll make it.”

  They took their drinks into the parlor, and Lincoln waited until Victoria was seated before he sat in the large throne chair. Victoria held up her drink. “We’re glad you could come, Lincoln.”

  He held up his drink, too. “Thanks. And thank-you to you, Chief, for breaking the news to me as softly as it could be done. I’m grateful.”

  Casey looked down.

  Patrick said, “I like your truck.”

  “Mr. Sibert, Patrick,” said Casey.

  Patrick was sitting on the bench under the window. He looked over at Lincoln. “Mr. Sibert.”

  “It’s a good truck. You can call me Linc, Patrick. Everyone else does.”

  “I like trucks. My mom gave me a model just like yours.”

  “I’ll give you a ride someday.”

  Patrick looked over at his mother, who smiled.

  “Can I ride in the back?”

  “We’ll see.”

  They talked about weather and local politics. National politics. Casey told Victoria about finding Lincoln at the beautiful place where he was planting bulbs.

  “I know that house,” said Victoria. “When I was a child. the grocer, Mr. Pease, drove his horse and truck-wagon up-Island to Chilmark once a week to deliver groceries.” She picked up her drink. “One time he let me ride with him. We stopped at that very house and had lunch.” She took a small sip of her drink and set it down again. “I remember that lunch well. The husband and wife were silent. They never spoke. Instead they waved their hands, and Mr. Pease did too. Waved his hands.”

  Patrick was wriggling in his seat. “Why did they do that?”

  “They were both deaf,” said Victoria. “Many Chilmarkers were deaf then, and they communicated with sign language. Most everyone on the Island knew how to sign.” She held up a hand and waved her fingers. “All the fishermen could talk to each other that way. That was before radios, and they could see hand signals when they couldn’t hear someone shouting.”

  They avoided talk of the fires that were burning huge areas out west. Talk of fire was too close for comfort. And they avoided any mention of death.

  Casey said, “I’ve been itching for an explanation of why Elizabeth is in jail tonight.”

  “Elizabeth in jail? What for?” asked Lincoln.

  “I’m writing a feature article about our jail for the Island Enquirer, and Elizabeth agreed to spend a night or two there to find out what it’s like. She seemed a more logical choice than me, so the sheriff has booked her on a fictitious drunk driver charge.”

  Casey shook her head.

  “Years ago when I was a teenager, I spent a night in jail.” Linc took a large swallow of his bourbon. “Taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. The nicest jail in the world is still lost freedom.”

  They discussed Elizabeth’s nerve, Victoria’s article, and then it was time for supper. Lincoln and Casey carried in the bean pot, the salad Victoria had made, the broiled hot dogs and warmed brown bread.

  Victoria sat at the head of the table, Casey to her right, Lincoln to her left, Patrick next to his mother.

  The conversation was comfortable. Old times on the Vineyard that Casey wanted to hear about. Lincoln’s childhood. Victoria’s childhood.

  At one point, Patrick, who’d been politely quiet, said, “Do you really mean it about letting me ride in your truck, Mr. Sibert?”

  “I do.”

  Patrick wriggled in his seat. “When can I?”

  “Patrick!” warned his mother.

  “It’s okay, Casey. I meant it and I’d like his company.”

  On the spot, they set a day and time after school.

  Casey brought out the dessert, a blueberry pie she’d baked.

  “My favorite,” said Lincoln.

  The evening was ending well.

  The phone rang.

  Victoria answered.

  “Gram, it’s me.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. However, Bruno Eberhardt is meeting with the sheriff, right now, this minute, and I’m not where I can hear what they’re saying. I thought I should let you know.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Victoria disconnected and went into the dining room, where Casey and Lincoln were talking together.

  “Casey, I need a ride to the jail. That was Elizabeth.”

  “I have to take Patrick home first and call my sitter.”

  “I want to go,” said Patrick. “I can stay up late tonight.”

  “Why don’t I give Patrick a ride home in my truck,” volunteered Lincoln. “I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

  “That’s too much of an imposition…” murmured Casey.

  “No, ma’am,” said Linc. “Not in the least. Better than staring at blank walls at my place.”

  “Hooray!” said Patrick

  * * *

  “Hurry!” said Victoria, as Casey turned onto the Edgartown Road.

  “I will,” said Casey. “Only you haven’t told me what’s the matter with Elizabeth and why we have to go this minute. I think Sheriff Norton probably has things under control.”

  “She didn’t say exactly.” Victoria avoided a direct answer.

  “O-kay!” said Casey, stepping on the accelerator.

  They arrived at the jail fifteen minutes later. Casey let Victoria out in front and parked. Victoria hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

  Jared, the deputy, unlocked the door. “Hi, Mrs. Trumbull. Here to see your jailbird?”

  “I’d like to see the sheriff first, Jared.”

  “He’s got someone in there with him now, Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Mr. Eberhardt?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I believe I’m supposed to be joining them,” said Victoria.

  “Okay, ma’am. I’ll take you to the sheriff’s office, then.”

  The door was shut. Deputy Jared knocked.

  “I’m with someone,” the sheriff said through the closed door.

  “It’s Mrs. Trumbull. She’s supposed to be meeting with you and Mr. Eberhardt.”

  The sound of a chair being pushed back, and Victoria could imagine the sheriff squeezing himself between his desk and the bookcase to come to the door. He opened it partway.

  “Mrs. Trumbull. I didn’t expect you. Mr. Eberhardt didn’t mention that you’d be joining us…”

  Bruno Eberhardt’s voice came through the half-opened door. “Of course Mrs. Trumbull is welcome to join us. An oversight on my part. I should have invited her.”

  Victoria felt the blood rush to her face.

&nb
sp; “Jared, a chair for Mrs. Trumbull, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eberhardt rose from his chair when she entered and offered it to her. She sat.

  “Did your granddaughter drive you here?” he asked.

  “Chief O’Neill brought me.” She did not care to let him know Elizabeth had alerted her. “Didn’t you mention to the sheriff that we both planned to meet with him tonight?”

  The sheriff had seated himself again, and the deputy brought in the second visitor’s chair.

  Eberhardt sat. “I must not be thinking clearly, Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Understandable,” said Victoria. “I’m surprised you’re able to function as well as you are. You’ve had a horrid shock, something no parent should face. I can only extend to you again my condolences.”

  Eberhardt nodded his thanks. His expression was inscrutable.

  The sheriff set both of his large hands flat on his desktop, leaned back in his chair, and watched first one then the other.

  Victoria leaned toward Eberhardt. “After we discussed my belief in the likelihood of Zack’s innocence,” she said, “and agreed to be partners in finding the real killer, I am delighted to know you came here hoping to have Sheriff Norton release Zack.”

  Eberhardt said nothing.

  The sheriff leaned his chair further back.

  “I’m proud of you,” said Victoria, “for being willing to let go of your strongly held belief in his guilt.”

  “Mr. Zeller can’t be released under any circumstances until he’s been cleared legally,” the sheriff said. “Mr. Eberhardt hadn’t suggested a release.”

  “Oh,” said Victoria, turning to Eberhardt. “I understood from,” she paused, not wanting to incriminate Zack, “from you that you planned to get Zack out of jail tonight or tomorrow. Am I mistaken?”

  The bell rang at the front door, Jared, the deputy, answered, and a moment later he knocked on the sheriff’s door.

  “Chief O’Neill is here, sir.”

  “Can you find another chair?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sheriff stood as Casey entered. “Are you involved in this matter?” he asked her.

  “What matter?” Casey looked at Victoria. Victoria looked away. Then she looked at Eberhardt, who stared coldly back at her. Then at the sheriff. “No, I’m here unofficially to give Victoria a ride home.”

  “I believe that’s the signal it’s time to leave,” said Eberhardt. “I’ll talk to you another time, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff was still standing. It seemed as though he was taking up most of the small room, yet three others had been squeezed in.

  “If it concerns Zack, of course you’ll let me know,” said Victoria to the sheriff. “Mr. Eberhardt is under considerable strain and may neglect to tell me.”

  Casey said nothing until they were outside, stepping down onto the sidewalk. Then she said, “I don’t suppose you want to check on your granddaughter?”

  “I can explain everything,” Victoria said.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The next morning, Sunday, Elizabeth phoned Victoria from the jail. “I think I’ve got enough material for your article. Including quotes from Zack and the pals he’s made here. Any chance you can get me released? Nice as it is in some ways, it’s still jail. If you get me out in time, I’ll drive you to church.”

  Victoria phoned the sheriff. “Thank you so much for allowing us to get the firsthand material for my article.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Trumbull. We’ll release Elizabeth right away.”

  “I’ll be sure to show you the article before I send it to the editor.”

  “I’d appreciate that. By the way, I was interested in that meeting with Bruno Eberhardt last night. Care to shed any light on it for me?”

  “Only what I said last night. Mr. Eberhardt is under a terrible strain and I wouldn’t blame him for forgetting a meeting.”

  “By coincidence the night your granddaughter is here to help with the article.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Victoria.

  “Here’s my take on things, Mrs. Trumbull. Eberhardt is a powerful man who can pull strings right and left to get his way. I don’t trust him one inch. He hinted, not so subtly, that he wants Mr. Zeller released to his custody.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible if you have enough money and connections.”

  “Mr. Eberhardt wants to take matters into his own hands,” said Victoria. “Zack didn’t kill that girl.”

  “I’m inclined to believe you, Mrs. Trumbull, but he’s not helping his case by all his talk.”

  “I suppose planning to poison someone, even though the supposed poison is innocuous, comes with a penalty?”

  “Depends. I don’t want to speculate on what the legal system is likely to do,” said the sheriff. “Me, I’d put him in jail for a couple of weeks to teach him a lesson. Who knows, though. They may send him away for months or they may let him go with a slap on the wrist.”

  Victoria had just hung up the phone when Casey stopped by.

  “That was a really nice supper last night. Many thanks.”

  “Lincoln and Patrick seemed to hit it off,” said Victoria. “Elizabeth is due back any minute. Do you have time for coffee?”

  Casey looked at her watch. “I guess there’s time before church.”

  They took their coffee into the cookroom and settled in their usual seats.

  “How did Patrick enjoy the ride in Lincoln’s truck?” asked Victoria.

  “Couldn’t have been nicer.” Casey stirred two spoonsful of sugar into her coffee, tasted it, and added a third. “Linc tucked him into bed and read him a bedtime story from The Wind in the Willows.”

  “Mr. Toad’s wild ride?”

  “You guessed it.”

  “I was Patrick’s age when The Wind in the Willows was first published. Every few years I reread it.” Victoria drank some coffee. “About the necklace. Are there any new developments?”

  “Before we get into that,” said Casey, pushing her coffee mug away from her, “What is going on between you and Eberhardt? How about you explaining that mad dash to the jail last night.”

  “I wanted to see Elizabeth and it happened that a meeting was going on between Mr. Eberhardt and the sheriff. So I joined them.” She glanced at Casey, who had pulled her mug back and was stirring her coffee vigorously. “I don’t believe my joining them was any sort of interference with the authorities’ investigation.”

  Casey sighed. “I wanted to let you know the state cops are working on another case that’s come up that takes precedence over the parsonage fire. They’ve set it aside for now.”

  Victoria, surprised, said, “Even though the parsonage fire involves arson and a death?”

  Casey shrugged. “They’re shorthanded. Budget cuts. We’re all shorthanded.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Smalley told me to give you free rein to see what you can come up with. You stir up ideas and new ways of thinking about a problem, he said. I already knew that.” She set her mug down. “I don’t know what I’d do without your help, Victoria.” She stood, leaving her mug on the table. “See you in church in a little while.”

  * * *

  Isabella topped the silk undies that she had been allowed to keep with one of Tank’s T-shirts and the jeans she’d worn the previous day. She started to say something, but Tank held up a hand. They were in their bedroom.

  “I’ve heard it all, Izzy. Enough, already.”

  “I wasn’t going to say another word about Bruno the Ape stealing my clothes. And my money. And my jewelry, the bastard.”

  “Izzy!” Tank leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest.

  She bent over and straightened out the rumpled sheets and blanket. “All I was about to say is I’m going over to see my brothers.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, will you?”

  She looked up. “They don’t know about Bruno the Thief.”


  “Keep those two hotheaded bozos out of it, will you?”

  “I want my clothes back.” She gave the blanket a final smoothing and then fluffed up the pillows. “And don’t you call my brothers bozos.”

  “You can’t wear that stuff anywhere on this Island.”

  “It’s the principal of the whole thing.”

  “Oh for Christ’s said,” said Tank, turning away.

  * * *

  Isabella made the short walk from Tank’s to the garage that housed Two Brave Haulers in less than five minutes. A moving van was parked outside the garage. A cartoon on the side showed one man carrying a piano, another sitting on his shoulder, playing the piano. The logo TWO BRAVE HAULERS was scrawled across the side of the van in scarlet letters sixteen inches high. The haulers’ office was a two-car garage that housed a pickup on one side, and on the other side a desk with a computer on it and a card table where Isabella’s brothers, Bucky and Leo, sat playing cards.

  “Hey, Sis, what’s up?” asked Leo, the older of the two. He laid his cards facedown on the table and stretched his arms over his head. “Thought you’d be wearing that pretty stuff we released for you.”

  “You haven’t heard?” said Isabella.

  “Heard what?” Leo brought his arms down and crossed them over his chest. His arm muscles bulged. He wore his mane of light brown hair in a loose, single braid that hung down his back. Like other members of the tribe, he had hazel eyes.

  Bucky, the middle child of the three siblings, turned to examine her. “You look like hell, Izzy. You and Tank at it already?”

  She gave him a light slap on his arm. “Tank and I are good. Wait until you hear what happened.”

  Bucky and Leo traded glances. Leo said, “Now what, baby sister?”

  Bucky and Leo were enough alike to be mistaken for twins, except for Bucky’s hair, which he wore in a Mohawk, shaved on both sides. He called it a scalp lock and claimed it was a courtesy to his enemies, who would have something to hold on to when they scalped him.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?” asked Isabella.

  “Fetch a chair, Bucky,” said Leo.

  It was a mild day, and the garage doors were open. A breeze wafted in from the Atlantic, the view hidden by a house like Tank’s that blocked it.

  Bucky shoved his chair back and ambled over to the far side of the garage where two folding chairs leaned against the wall, and returned with one. In the meantime, Isabella had taken his seat. She picked up the hand of cards he’d set facedown on the table and looked at them. “Whooee!” she said.