Trumpet of Death

by Cynthia Riggs

  “I need to find the source of the leaves covering Samantha’s body. So far the three people I’ve spoken to all have easy access to piles of last fall’s maple leaves.” Victoria checked her notes. “Is it possible that I’m on the wrong track, following the wrong lead?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “You think the killer is one of the parents?”

  “I haven’t ruled out anyone.”

  Elizabeth looked at the scattering of notes. “Who are you talking to next?”

  “Dana Putnam.”

  “I don’t recognize the name.”

  “He’s a nurse at the hospital and is fairly new to the Island,” said Victoria. “According to Joe the plumber, he has a daughter Emily, who had some dealings with Samantha.”

  “Does he have a wife?”

  “They’re divorced. He has custody of Emily.” Victoria gathered up the notes and went through them again. “Interesting. All the teens involved with Samantha are children of single parents. Lincoln, Connie Burrowes, Anderson Jones, Dana Putnam. And all are only children.”

  “The kids were probably looking for a parent substitute. You have that thoughtful look, Gram. What are you thinking?”

  “Another lead. I keep wondering about the dump truck that must have dropped off Samantha’s body along with the leaves.”

  “There must be at least a hundred dump trucks on this Island. Couldn’t it have been a pickup?”

  “I’m going to call my friend, Bill O’Malley. He owns a dump truck and he may have some thoughts on owners.”

  O’Malley answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Trumbull! If you’re calling for a ride, my truck is in the shop.”

  “I don’t need a ride. I’m trying to track down someone who dumped a load of leaves on the bicycle path about a week ago.”

  “In West Tisbury?”

  “Yes.”

  Bill laughed. “And you’re calling me because I own a dump truck.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “It wasn’t me.” He laughed again. “Mrs. Trumbull, there are at least a hundred landscapers on this Island, and most of them own dump trucks. In addition, builders must account for another hundred. Why did they dump leaves on the bike path?”

  “I don’t know why they dumped them there. That’s a question I need to answer.”

  “Why are you interested?”

  “There was a body in among the leaves.”

  “Oh.” Long silence. “So somebody needed to get rid of the body in a hurry. They had no time to get to a more secluded spot?”

  “That’s my guess. What happened to your truck?”

  “Nothing. Just in for maintenance.”

  “How would I go about identifying the owners?”

  “My guess would be go to the Motor Vehicles Department. It’s probably not restricted information, but you’d have to have a good reason to get a list of owners. How do you intend to narrow it down?”

  “By town and by recognizing a name.”

  “Suppose, Mrs. Trumbull, someone at the garage where they’re working on my truck, decided to borrow my truck for the nefarious purpose of transporting a dead body.”

  “I suppose I’d ask you if someone at the mechanic’s used your truck during the week it’s been at the garage.”

  “You know what the mechanic would say? That a bunch of guys took my truck out for test drives. Brakes. Acceleration. Gear shift. All gotta be checked, and every one of the kids who works there is crying to drive my dump truck past his girlfriend’s house. A macho guy thing. Forget that angle, Mrs. Trumbull. Besides, could be a pickup we’re talking about, right?”

  “I suppose so,” Victoria admitted.

  After another long silence Bill said, “You’re one determined lady. I’ll ask around for you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Early Tuesday morning Sheriff Norton strolled down to the end cell, the one called the Pink Room, and rattled the cell door.

  Zack woke with a start. “What time is it?”

  “Six a.m. Time to get dressed.”

  Zack sat up in his lower bunk, hitting his head on the bunk above. “Ouch.” He rubbed his head and looked down at his clothing. “I guess I’m dressed already.” He was wearing orange prison-issued cotton pajamas.

  “Here are your very own clothes.” The sheriff unlocked the cell door. “They’re nicely washed and ironed.”

  “Well. Gee. Thanks,” said Zack. “What’s the occasion?”

  “You’re released on bail. Your lawyer, Miranda Smith, worked it out.”

  “Really? I didn’t think she liked me.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Whether he did it or not, she deserved what she got.’ You have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  Zack, baffled by everything that was swirling around him, shook his head.

  “She convinced the judge you were not likely to jump bail.” The sheriff handed the neat bundle of clothing to Zack, who got up from his bunk to take it.

  “So I’m free?” Zack smoothed his hand over his clean clothes.

  “Not exactly.” The sheriff was standing in the hall outside the cell, holding one of the iron bars in the open door. “There’s still that charge of attempted poisoning.” He paused, thought a moment, then added, “You could still be charged with murder. You’re just getting bail. Charges haven’t been dropped.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess that’s right,” said Zack.

  “Until then, we’re releasing you to the custody of Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Mrs. Trumbull? She’s taking me back?”

  “She called and offered to house you.”

  “But that means I’m free.”

  The sheriff sighed. “That means you’re under house arrest until your trial. You’ll be required to wear a tracking device on your leg until then.”

  “But I have a job. I have to get to my job.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Chilmark. The Beetlebung Café. I’m a dishwasher there.”

  “I’ll call them and make arrangements for you to go back to work. You won’t be using your car. You can take the bus.” The sheriff let go of the bar he’d been holding and relocked the cell. “Get dressed.”

  “I can get some meals at work. What about my other meals?”

  “Mrs. Trumbull said she’d take care of your breakfast.”

  “The food here at the jail is pretty good.”

  The sheriff, usually the epitome of patience, was getting testy. “What do you want, take-out? Mrs. Trumbull agreed to feed you breakfast. Baked beans, most likely.”

  “Can I get my car and drive there?”

  “No.”

  “How do I get to Mrs. Trumbull’s?”

  “Jared will drive you there.”

  “But I need to get to work.”

  “As I said, you take the bus.”

  “What about my car?”

  The sheriff turned away. “It’s still at the Park and Ride where you left it. Also where we store abandoned or unclaimed cars.”

  Zack set his clean clothes on his bunk and went up to the locked cell door. He held on to the bars with both hands. “I hope nobody steals it,” he called out to the sheriff’s retreating form.

  The sheriff, who was some distance from the pink cell, called back over his shoulder, “If they do, we’ll let them have your cell.”

  * * *

  About the same time Zack was being released on bail, Leo and Bucky drove their van up the dirt road next to Eberhardt’s drive, parked, and sat where they had a good view of his house and garage.

  “Know anything about the people who live here?” asked Bucky, pointing his thumb at the enormous house whose drive they were parked on.

  “Some dot-com guy,” said Leo. “Spends two weeks in August here. One of our cops caretakes the place, so not to worry about him showing up.”

  “No sign of Eberhardt’s Jaguar,” said Bucky. “Could be he’s off-Island. Think we’re okay to go on
in?”

  “Not yet,” said Leo.

  Bucky yawned and stretched. “What’ve we got to eat today?”

  Leo reached for the small cooler and lifted the lid. “Ham and cheese. Chips. Apples. O’Doul’s.” He lifted up the items. “Blueberry pie.”

  “Can’t fault the lunch she packs,” said Bucky, prying off the cap on one of the near beers.

  They spent the afternoon watching Eberhardt’s house. The UPS truck arrived. The driver parked in the area below the house, walked up the path to the house, and left packages on the porch. A black Subaru came. The driver went up onto the porch and knocked, then peered into the windows, then returned to his car and left. The FedEx truck came and the driver left a box on the porch next to two packages the UPS driver had delivered.

  “He sure buys a lot of stuff,” whispered Bucky.

  “Money,” said Leo.

  Around four o’clock a gray Suzuki pulled in and a small woman with dark hair got out carrying a shopping bag. She went into the house, as though she was familiar with it.

  Bucky sat up straight. “What do you make of that?”

  “Housekeeper,” said Leo.

  The woman stayed in the house for two hours. She came out, shut the door behind her, walked down the path, this time with both the shopping bag and a mop, got back in her car, and left.

  “Cleaning woman,” said Bucky.

  “Yeah,” said Leo. “What I told you.”

  Just before sunset, a light-colored pickup pulled up to Eberhardt’s. The driver went up to the house, knocked once and waited, knocked again, waited, then came back down the steps.

  “Eberhardt didn’t answer, that’s for sure,” said Leo.

  “He’s not home,” said Bucky.

  “You think?”

  The driver got back into the truck and left.

  It was dark now and lights flicked on in the house.

  “He’s home,” said Bucky. “Let’s get outta here!”

  “The lights are on a timer, dummy, can’t you tell? They went on all at once.”

  “He’s away for sure, then,” whispered Bucky. “Time to get to work?”

  Leo thought for a few moments. “I reckon.”

  “Same drill as before?”

  Leo thought some more. “He’s probably replaced the safe. If I was him I’d have an alarm on it this time.”

  “No problem,” said Bucky, no longer whispering. “Bet he’s off-Island.”

  Leo nodded. “Could be.”

  “Well, then, let’s go,” said Bucky, opening the van’s door. “What’s holding you up?”

  “I don’t like the feel of it, that’s what,” said Leo.

  “So he comes, our van is parked in front of his house, we’re loading baby sister’s stuff into it. What’s he going to do?”

  Leo sighed. “Get back in. We’ll do it.”

  Bucky thrust a fist into the air. “Right on. Good to go.”

  They drove back to the main road and turned onto the dirt road to Eberhardt’s, with the bright green grass in the middle. A rabbit was nibbling on the tender grass and hopped out of the way when their headlights flicked on him.

  “Shoulda hit him,” said Bucky. “Love a nice rabbit stew. Get Izzy to cook it for us.”

  “Tularemia,” muttered Leo. “Two days and you’re dead.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Never seen you so negative.”

  “Things stink,” said Leo.

  “No they don’t. We get Izzy’s jewelry that she owns, her clothes that she owns. Nobody can say we’re stealing anything.”

  “Breaking and entering,” said Leo.

  Bucky shook his head. “Can’t touch us. We open the safe and take out the fifty grand—”

  “If he put the money in a new safe.”

  “He figures he’s safe—get it, new safe?” Bucky chortled.

  “Very funny,” snapped Leo.

  “C’mon, lighten up, Lee. Eberhardt has Chief VanDyke on his side. He wants to show the world he can put his money where he wants.”

  “We’ll find her jewelry and clothes, but I’ll give you ten to one we don’t find the money.”

  “No bet, Lee. Be stealing your money. We’ll get the dough.”

  Leo parked the van at the foot of the path and they walked up to the porch steps, onto the porch, and to the front door. Leo lifted the whale-shaped bronze door knocker and slammed it down a couple of times.

  They waited.

  No answer.

  Knocked again.

  No answer.

  “Okay?” asked Bucky.

  “Yeah.” Leo tested the door handle, as though he expected the door to be locked, but it opened.

  “That’s the Vineyard.” Bucky was whispering again. “So we’re not breaking and entering. We’re neighbors dropping off a pie.”

  Leo turned on him. “Where’s your goddamned pie, shithead? Keep your damned mouth shut, will you?”

  “Okay, okay. I already ate the pie.”

  “We get the clothes and jewelry first, then open the safe last, in case it’s alarmed.”

  “Guess if someone was about to dynamite me I’d be alarmed, too,” cackled Bucky.

  “Shut. Up.”

  They went into the house and tiptoed up the front stairs to Izzy’s former room, opened the closet door, and … no clothes. Nothing but the same empty hangers they’d left on the floor. They checked drawers and cabinets, went into other rooms on the second floor.

  Nothing.

  “Well, we shouldn’t’ve expected to see he’d hung them back up,” said Bucky.

  “You’re right, for once,” said Leo. “The cops brought the stuff back.” He thrust both hands into his pockets and thought. “If I was the cops, I’d have laid hanging stuff on the dining room table, left boxes of other stuff on the floor.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  They went back downstairs, across the hall, through the great room, and into the dining room. The floor was littered with empty cardboard boxes. A dozen hangers were scattered on the table. More on the floor.

  They stood and surveyed the mess. “How come the cleaning woman didn’t clean in here?” asked Bucky.

  “Who knows,” said Leo. “She obviously didn’t.”

  “What in hell did he do with all her stuff?” asked Bucky.

  “Probably called the Good Riddance Girls. They hauled it off.”

  “He gave away fifty grand of jewelry?”

  Leo thought. “He’s not that dumb.”

  “Let’s open the safe.”

  “You know, Bucky, this is not a good idea. Let’s get outta here. We’ve done nothing they can get us for. Door was unlocked, we just stopped by. Neighborly visit to the grieving father, you know.”

  “I keep thinking of that safe.”

  “Just keep thinking about it. I’m gone,” said Leo.

  “I wanna see if he installed a new safe.”

  “You look. See you back at the ranch.”

  “Wait a sec, will you? I’ll just look in the study.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Leo,

  “If he did, we could come back later…”

  “Don’t even think about it. Hurry up, will you?”

  Leo headed for the front door while Bucky headed for the study door. He turned the knob. The door opened inward. He pushed it slowly away from him. The study was dark. It smelled kind of rusty. He reached for the light switch and flipped it up. The desk light went on and he saw the source of the smell. A man lay behind Eberhardt’s desk, his head resting in a pool of congealed blood.

  Bucky backed away, slammed the door shut, and yelled out, “Lee! C’mere, quick!”

  “Now what, for Christ’s sake,” said Leo. “We gotta get out of here, Bucky.”

  “We got a problem, Lee.”

  Leo strode over to the study door and Bucky turned the knob and pushed it open again. The desk light was still on, illuminating the man behind the desk. The man was lying facedown. The short white hair on the
back of his head was covered with black blood.

  “Is it Eberhardt, Lee? What are we gonna do? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “We leave. Now,” said Leo. “Did you turn on that light?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Turn it off. You got something to wipe it off with?”

  “The light switch?”

  “What d’ya think I meant, the body?” said Leo. “Fingerprints, dummy.”

  “Don’t get funny with me,” said Bucky. “I don’t feel so hot.”

  “You better not throw up. Wipe off that light switch.”

  “I don’t have anything to wipe it off with.”

  “Your shirt. Use that. Hurry up, will you?”

  Bucky stretched the bottom of his T-shirt up to the light switch.

  “Take off your shirt. We got to erase everything we touched,” said Leo. “Come on, get to work.”

  They backed out of the study, leaving the door open, and for the next ten minutes Bucky wiped everything they recalled touching with his T-shirt, and Leo followed with a used paper towel he had in his pocket.

  “Okay, we get outta here,” said Leo.

  The two went down the path and got into their van with its bright scarlet logo in sixteen-inch-high letters and headed for their garage.

  “Who do you think whacked him?” asked Bucky.

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “You suppose it was the guy in the pickup?”

  “Same answer,” said Leo. “The pickup guy didn’t even go in the house, stupid.”

  “Would you have taken him out?” asked Bucky.

  Leo glanced at his younger brother. “Are you kidding?”

  “No. I mean it. I would have done it, Lee.”

  “Yeah, sure, you hothead.”

  “I mean it, Lee. What he did to Izzy…”

  “He didn’t do a thing to Izzy she didn’t deserve.”

  “Someone didn’t like him,” said Bucky.

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Do you think we should’ve called the cops?”

  “Surely you jest,” said Leo.

  Their headlights picked up an occasional pair of bright eyes reflecting the light, peering out from the verge. Only a couple of cars passed them coming the other way.

  “Pretty creepy at night,” said Bucky. “Expect to see more cars this time of year.”

  “Tourists aren’t driving around this time of day,” said Leo. “They’re out to dinner, the show, whatever.”