Trumpet of Death

by Cynthia Riggs

  Abilene stood. “She never intended to help me, Mrs. Trumbull.”

  * * *

  Isabella reported for work at the Beetlebung Café wearing one of her brothers’ T-shirts emblazoned with TWO BRAVE HAULERS.

  Phil opened the door for her. “I like the shirt.”

  “Free advertising for my brothers.”

  “That’ll do it,” said Phil, looking it over with interest.

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Set up the tables.”

  “Cloth napkins?”

  “Cloth napkins for dinner, at lunch we wrap the flatware in a paper napkin with a paper band around it. Come into my office and I’ll show you how to do it.”

  They moved into his office off the dining room, and both sat, Phil behind his desk, Isabella on a captain’s chair moved from the dining room.

  “You don’t need to show me anything,” said Isabella. “I told you, I’ve been around.”

  “Your coming by last night was great timing,” said Phil. “I was about to place an ad in the Enquirer.”

  “What happened to the server you had before?” asked Isabella.

  “I had to fire the previous girl. She was getting a little too friendly, if you know what I mean.” Phil leaned back.

  “With customers?”

  Phil pointed at his chest. “With me.”

  Isabella looked him up and down in return. “I can understand.”

  “Thanks. But there’s friendly and then there’s friendly.”

  “Put me to work,” said Isabella, and stood.

  Phil stood too. “First, meet Will Osborne, our chief dishwasher.”

  Isabella followed him through the swinging door, where Will was bent over the sink, immersed in soapy water up to his elbows. He stood, shook suds off his hands, and held one out to Isabella.

  She looked at it with distaste.

  “It’s clean.” Will picked up a dish towel and dried his hands.

  She turned away.

  Phil said, “We’re all family here.”

  “Not much longer if you don’t get me some help,” said Will. “How are you at washing dishes, Izzy?”

  “My name is Isabella.”

  Phil patted her on the back. “He’s kidding, Isabella. We’re advertising for a new dishwasher. We need you waiting tables.”

  The phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Will. He picked it up. “Beetlebung Café. How may I help you?” A pause. “Who?” A longer pause. “He’s what?” Another pause. “You better talk to Phil.” He handed the phone to his boss.

  “Who am I talking to?” Phil said into the phone. “Yeah, Sheriff, Zack Zeller worked here.” Phil looked around the kitchen at the pile of dirty pots. “Sure, we’ll take him back. Whatever rules you got, we’re okay. He’s a good worker.” He handed the phone back to Will.

  “We’re rehiring Zack?” Will set the phone back in its dock.

  “We never let him go,” said Phil.

  “So what’s up?”

  “He wears a tracking device on his ankle. He’s allowed here and Victoria Trumbull’s, where he’s staying, and on the bus to bring him here.” He thrust both hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet.

  “Is that your new dishwasher?” asked Isabella.

  “Zack Zeller. He worked here before.”

  “Isn’t he the one who tried to poison Samantha with edible mushrooms?” She laughed and brushed the front of her T-shirt. “He’s not the brightest star in the universe.”

  “None other,” said Will. “I served booze at that dinner party of yours.”

  “I thought you looked familiar,” she said.

  “You slumming or something, working here?”

  Isabella looked at her cell phone. “It’s almost time for your Senior Sunset diners, Phil. I’ve got to get busy.”

  * * *

  Zack took the bus to the Beetlebung Café and walked through the familiar door into the restaurant.

  Phil greeted him. “Glad to have you back.” He offered Zack his hand.

  Shaking it enthusiastically, Zack said, “Can’t tell you how glad I am to be back.”

  “Let’s see your ankle bracelet,” said Will.

  Zack lifted his jeans leg so they could admire it.

  “Can you take it off?” asked Will.

  “I think they welded it on.”

  “You better not take it off,” said Phil. “We’re supposed to be your wardens.”

  “You and Mrs. Trumbull,” said Zack. “Can’t begin to tell you how much I missed you guys.”

  “We been saving the dirty pots for you,” Will said.

  CHAPTER 34

  Phil Smith and Isabella were having a celebratory drink after her first day of work. She, a Scotch, neat. He, bourbon on the rocks. They held up their glasses in a toast.

  The sound of the dishwashing machine in the background was a pleasant obbligato. Will and Zack’s voices were pure harmony.

  Isabella was a born waitress. The Sunset patrons, usually not much for tipping, had opened their hearts and change purses. The later diners had opened their wallets.

  This was a night to celebrate.

  They were on their second drinks.

  Zack came out of the kitchen. “Gotta catch that nine thirty bus, Mr. Smith.”

  Phil stood. “Can’t begin to tell you how glad we are to have you back. Stay out of trouble, now, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Zack.

  “Is that leg thing painful?” asked Isabella.

  “No, ma’am, not really. Just a nuisance. I’m so glad to be out of that jail I’d put up with a ball and chain like they used to do in the old days.”

  “Did you get dinner?” Phil asked.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. You should have tried the food at the jail.”

  “I hear it’s good. Get me their recipes, next time you’re there.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Zack. “See you tomorrow for the lunch dishes.”

  After Zack left, Isabella passed her glass to Phil for a refill.

  “You’ll be okay driving?” asked Phil.

  “No problem. I’m just up the road in Aquinnah. The Chilmark cops know me.” She took a small sip. “Who was the waitress you fired?”

  “You don’t want to know. She’s not around anymore.”

  “I do want to know. You seem like an easy boss to work for.”

  “Too easy, I guess.”

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  “The daughter of your friend, Bruno Eberhardt.” He picked up his drink.

  “Omigod!” Isabella sat back abruptly and some of her Scotch spilled. “Samantha worked here?”

  “Yeah,” said Phil. He reached for a bar towel and wiped up the small puddle of whisky.

  “I don’t know what to say. What happened? You told me it was a long story. Well, we have time.”

  Phil took a deep breath. “I was married. Samantha came along.”

  “That figures,” said Isabella. “Go on.”

  “Nice, clean-cut girl. Sweet. Innocent.”

  “I know it all,” said Isabella.

  “I got swept up by all that innocence, and the next thing I knew my wife left me.”

  “I don’t blame her. What did Sammy, sweet Sammy do then?”

  “She blackmailed me.”

  “What for?”

  “I really don’t want to say.”

  “Come on, Phil. We’re all on the same page.”

  “Taxes.”

  “You mean, like, IRS audit? Did she report you?”

  “She was about to. I can’t afford an IRS audit. I’d go out of business if the IRS was on my back.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I upped her wages.”

  “How did you get away with firing her?”

  “I told her if the IRS came after me anytime over the next five years, whether it was her fault or not, I would kill her. She knew I meant it.”

  “Wow,” said Isabella, laughing.
“But you didn’t, because the IRS didn’t audit you.”

  “I was ready to kill her anyway.”

  “You’re too nice a guy.”

  “You think so?” asked Phil.

  “Is your wife still on the Island?”

  Phil nodded. “She’s an attorney. Public defender. Name’s Miranda.”

  * * *

  Isabella, a comfortable two drinks fueling her, was so warmed by Phil’s confession of his feelings for Samantha, that she decided she would confide in him.

  “You know, Phil, I hated that little bitch from the moment I met her.”

  “Oh?” said Phil. “You were living with her father.”

  “That phony all-American girl was an act. I saw through it right away. She was a druggie.”

  “It wasn’t obvious.”

  “Sure it was, if you knew what you were looking at. I had a good thing going with Bruno. I liked him okay. He gave me stuff, clothes, jewelry.” She sighed. “He was planning to set up a bank account for me. Darling daughter stopped that. Now it’s all gone, thanks to the bitch.”

  “What triggered it all?” asked Phil.

  “I told Bruno she was on drugs and ought to get treatment. He told her. From then on she was out to get me. Nothing I said to him made any difference. He kept excusing her. She wasn’t asking him for much money. She had lots of nice friends. Something wrong with me.” Isabella was quiet for several moments. “I decided the world would be a better place without her. I didn’t even know about the high school kids she was destroying. She wrecked Bruno’s and my relationship and cheated me out of a soft life and a hundred and fifty grand.” She paused again. “I planned exactly how to kill her, right down to the last detail.”

  “Tell me you didn’t,” said Phil.

  “Someone beat me to it.”

  * * *

  When Victoria answered the phone the following afternoon, a young-sounding female voice said, “Mrs. Trumbull? You don’t know me, but can I come and talk to you?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Victoria. “May I ask who you are?”

  “My name is Brooke Burrowes. I’m Connie Burrowes’ daughter.”

  “I’m delighted to hear from you,” said Victoria. “I met with your mother recently.”

  “She told me you talked to her and to Benjy’s dad.”

  “I understand you and Benjy are friends.”

  “Close friends, you know, I mean, not close close.”

  “You’re welcome to come here whenever it’s convenient for you.”

  “Would you mind if Benjy came too?”

  “Isn’t he off-Island?”

  “He’s here now, you know, visiting his dad. He’s on a two-day leave from the drug center and he has to go back tomorrow.”

  “Then come this afternoon. Do you have transportation?”

  “My mom will bring us after school, if that’s okay with you.”

  * * *

  Victoria prepared for the arrival of Brooke Burrowes and Benjy Jones with cookies and hot chocolate.

  She didn’t know what to expect from the visit of the two high school students who’d been swept up in Samantha Eberhardt’s net.

  Around three fifteen a car pulled up, and Connie Burrowes came to the door followed by two teenagers, a slim girl, her face concealed by a soft black hat with a wide brim, and a tall boy who looked very much like his father, Anderson Jones.

  “Come in,” said Victoria. “Would you like to stay, Connie?”

  “No, thanks,” said Connie. “I’m going to spend some time in the library. Brooke can call me and I’ll pick them up.” She kissed Brooke on the cheek, shook Benjy’s hand, and left.

  Both teens were wearing raggedy jeans. Benjy had on a gray V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt. Brooke, a blue denim shirt.

  They sat around the cookroom table, Victoria in her usual chair.

  “I know your father misses you, Benjy. I’m glad you’re able to visit.”

  “Me, too.” Benjy smiled, his teeth white against his dark skin.

  “Benjy and I, and Emily Putnam?” Brooke looked questioningly at Victoria.

  “I know who she is. I’ve talked with her father.”

  “Well, we all wanted to see you, but only Benjy and I could make it at the same time.” She stopped and looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Actually, Emily isn’t allowed to visit her dad.”

  “Why not?” asked Victoria.

  “Her mother got a lawyer to say her dad couldn’t see Emily.”

  “That sounds harsh,” said Victoria.

  Brooke shrugged. “I guess.”

  “What we have to say is really hard,” said Benjy. “We agreed we had to talk to someone, you know. We decided you were the best person to talk to.”

  “It helps to talk things out with someone,” said Victoria, not sure where this conversation was headed.

  Brooke removed her hat and set it on the chair next to her. Long blond hair tumbled out in a cascade that fell well below her shoulders. “You go ahead, Benjy. You tell Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Well.” He glanced first at Brooke, then at Victoria.

  Victoria let the silence grow. A titmouse landed on the birdfeeder, poked his bill into the small hole, and grabbed a seed. A shower of seeds fell to the ground.

  “Go on, Benjy. I can’t,” said Brooke. “I just can’t.”

  Benjy nodded. “It’s like this, Mrs. Trumbull.” Benjy looked directly at her. “A bunch of us used to meet in the old parsonage?” He cleared his throat.

  Victoria nodded.

  “The town cops never checked it out. I mean, they drove by and looked, but there was nothing to see, you know. I mean, we weren’t making noise or anything. And we didn’t have any lights except flashlights and candles.”

  The titmouse left the feeder. A chickadee landed, snatched a seed, and flew off. Three wild turkeys, a male and two females, wandered into the drive and were dining on seed Victoria had thrown out for the cardinals and doves.

  Brooke helped herself to an Oreo, split it apart, and bit into the part that had no filling. That was the way Victoria, too, ate Oreos. Saving the part with filling for last.

  Benjy took a deep breath. “We didn’t plan to meet that night, but Emily, Brooke, and I were all on leave from the rehab center, and Samantha called everybody in the group to say we were going to have a reunion and also have some fun with Sebastian Sibert. She promised no drugs.”

  “She kept her promise,” Brooke put in. “We all knew Sebastian had a big crush on Samantha and she was kind of, like, egging him on, and we thought it was funny. Sebastian was a lot younger than us, really shy and awkward and we laughed at him behind his back.” She picked up her mug. “This is hard to talk about. After what’s happened.”

  “I understand,” said Victoria, still not sure where this was leading. “How many were involved in the group?”

  “About eight altogether,” said Brooke, “including Benjy, Emily, Sebastian, and me. Four others. Maybe five. Only us three showed up.”

  Benjy said, “Like Brooke said, three of us showed up. Me, Brooke, and Emily. There was an older friend of Samantha’s. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Abilene,” said Brooke.

  “Yeah. Abilene. Sebastian hadn’t got there yet. Samantha said we should all hide except for Abilene, and she was to wait outside until after Sebastian came. So that’s what we did.”

  Victoria had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what was next.

  “Sebastian came, all cleaned up, hair combed, he had a present all wrapped up in blue paper with a ribbon. He lit the candle in a bottle we keep on the table. We were hiding behind some old screens at the side of the room.” Benjy leaned his forearms on the table.

  Victoria was silent. So was Brooke.

  “Then Abilene comes in, says hi to Sebastian and says, ‘You have a present for Samantha. I’ll take it.’ Sebastian says, ‘I’m giving it to her, not you.’ Like that. Then Abilene says, ‘Let me see it,’ and
he says, ‘It’s for Samantha. I love her and she loves me,’ And then Samantha comes out from behind the screen yelling ‘Surprise!’ and we all come out.” Benjy paused.

  Victoria said, “I suppose Sebastian was embarrassed.”

  Benjy nodded. “He was. Samantha thought it was real funny and she was laughing. When I saw him all upset … well, it wasn’t a good feeling.”

  “It was mean of Samantha,” said Brooke. “We’d gone along with her, just following her like she said. Sebastian was a nice kid. He didn’t deserve that from her. Or from us.”

  One of the turkeys made a gobbling sound. The other turkey joined in. Victoria heard them, the others didn’t seem to notice.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “I left. Emily and Brooke did too. The only people still there were Samantha, Abilene, and Sebastian.”

  “No one else?” asked Victoria.

  Brooke and Benjy looked at each other. Benjy shook his head.

  “Do you have any idea how the fire started?” asked Victoria.

  “Benjy and I were talking about that. The only thing we can think of is the candle, but, you know, it would have burned down and gone out stuck in the bottle the way it was.”

  “Unless the bottle got knocked over,” said Victoria.

  “I suppose that could have happened.”

  “Were there papers around?”

  “Yeah,” said Benjy, taking up the lead again. “A big stack of old newspapers on the floor, like they were going to the recycling center or something. They weren’t anywhere near the candle. We’d been careful about that. An open flame in an old building wasn’t a smart idea. We put the bottle on, like, a throwaway aluminum pan.”

  “That was it, Mrs. Trumbull,” said Brooke. “We left. Samantha and Abilene were still laughing at Sebastian, and he was really, really upset. He started to come with us, and Samantha got real serious, told him she was sorry, said please don’t go, so I guess he stayed.”

  “Do you have any idea how long they were there?”

  Brooke and Benjy looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “When did you hear about the fire?” asked Victoria.

  “Not until the next day after school,” said Brooke.

  “I was home and heard on my dad’s scanner there was a fire somewhere, but I never thought it was the parsonage.”