Poison Ivy

by Cynthia Riggs

  Suddenly, they were in the lee of the jetty, protected from the wind. The waves were no longer the fury they’d been seconds earlier. Victoria bailed out most of the water and the coffee can scraped against sand in the boat’s bottom.

  They were soaked. Victoria’s outer sweater hung on her like wet seaweed. Her windbreaker had kept her inner sweater dry, but her corduroy trousers clung to her legs. The brim of her straw hat was limp. The scarf dangled under her chin. She felt half drowned, and Elizabeth looked worse.

  Elizabeth ran the launch onto the beach near the ferry dock, jumped out into the shallow water without removing her shoes, and pulled the boat high onto the shore.

  Victoria sat where she was, in the bow, high but hardly dry, catching her breath. Rainwater streamed down both sides of her hat.

  “Well!” she said, wiping salt water from her face with her hand. “That was an adventure.”

  * * *

  From the ferry terminal in Vineyard Haven, Elizabeth called Domingo, the Oak Bluffs harbormaster, to let him know they were safe and that someone had been signaling to them from a boat that might belong to Bruce Steinbicker.

  Bridget, the ticket taker, took one look at Victoria and came out from behind the counter. “You’re half-drowned, Mrs. Trumbull. Follow me. Let’s get you dried off. I’ve got towels and dry clothing upstairs.” They headed up to the crews’ quarters. “I’ve read all your books,” she said as they reached the top of the stairs. “I love your poetry.”

  She opened a cupboard and brought out a towel and a large dry sweatshirt that read STEAMSHIP AUTHORITY: LIFELINE OF THE ISLANDS.

  * * *

  The storm held up the exhumation of bodies on the Ivy Green campus. Brownie, however, continued to search. He trotted around and around in an ever widening circle, nose to the ground, wearing the yellow oilskin slicker that Joel Killdeer, the forensic scientist, had special ordered from Good Dog Goods. The slicker had POLICE DOG in bold black letters on it. Killdeer followed the dog. He wore a matching yellow slicker with a simple POLICE on the back. Every time Brownie stopped, pawed the ground, and looked up at Killdeer with large eyes, the under lids rimmed with red, Killdeer pounded a wooden stake painted orange into the ground to mark the spot for the diggers.

  Including three sites he’d found today in the rain, Brownie had identified fifteen altogether. Three were homes of field mice and one was a buried ham bone.

  The rain had just started when trooper Tim was on digging duty. He thrust his shovel into the ground, stopped suddenly, bent down, and pulled something out of the dirt.

  “What in hell’s this?” he’d called out, holding up a muddy black lace thing with underwires and dangling garters. He shook off the soil. “Only a couple inches below the surface. What do you want done with it, Doc?”

  Brownie sat down on his haunches and scratched behind an ear.

  Killdeer pushed his hat back, smoothed his already smooth scalp, and snapped his gum. “Bag it,” he said, taking an evidence bag out of an inside pocket. He sheltered it from the rain with his jacket.

  “Think we’ll find whoever was wearing it, like…?” Tim asked, dropping the garment into the bag.

  Killdeer tucked the bag inside his foul-weather jacket. “You never know.”

  Brownie yawned and lay down.

  The black lace find was as much of a mystery as the eight corpses they’d so far unearthed.

  Killdeer ordered the diggers to rebury the field mice the way he’d seen Victoria Trumbull do, with a protective cover of leaves before they shoveled the dirt back on top. The ham bone he gave to Brownie, who ignored it.

  If two of the three sites Brownie had found today turned out to contain bodies, that would make ten in all. That is, so far, Killdeer corrected himself.

  The wind picked up. Branches swayed wildly, snapped, and fell to the ground. Rain slashed sideways.

  “Enough, Brownie,” Killdeer said. “C’mon, boy.”

  Brownie glanced up, then looked back down again.

  “Time to stop. You’ve done a good job, dog.”

  Brownie sighed, shook himself, and trotted after Killdeer, who went into the house everyone now called Poison Ivy Hall, at least when the director wasn’t around. The state police had set up a sort of rough laboratory in the kitchen and had taken over Linda’s office. Linda was still out sick, worried half to death, she claimed, because sister Roberta was still missing.

  Thackery was moving his work from Woodbine (Poison Ivy) into Honeysuckle, the classroom building.

  “Have you any word on the missing female, Professor Chadwick?” Killdeer asked Sergeant Smalley, who was filling out paperwork at what had been Thackery’s desk.

  “She’s the least of our worries,” said Smalley, clicking his pen. “All indications are she’s been attending a conference off Island. She won’t be getting back tonight with the ferries not running.”

  * * *

  The Vineyard Haven harbormaster’s office was a short walk in the downpour from the ferry terminal. Elizabeth was so wet, she didn’t care. She couldn’t get wetter. She pushed the door open and entered, rain lashing her back.

  “It’s Steinbicker’s boat and I know he’s not aboard,” said Richard Williams, the harbormaster, after she’d explained about the person waving. “Wonder who is?”

  Williams was about Elizabeth’s age, early thirties, and deeply tanned. He wore khaki uniform slacks and a short-sleeved shirt with a U.S. flag patch on the sleeve.

  He nodded toward the window, where rain beat against the panes. “No point in going out in this.” He got up from his desk and returned from the washroom with a less than clean towel. “Afraid it’s been used.”

  “Looks good to me. Thanks.” Elizabeth toweled her hair.

  “I don’t know who’d be on his boat. He had no need to inform me, of course. They’re safer staying put on board than trying to make it to shore.”

  “Did the person on the boat radio you?” asked Elizabeth, running the towel over her wet shirt.

  “I tried to raise the boat on the radio, but no answer. Was there any indication of a problem?”

  “We were too far away. He was waving something pink,” said Elizabeth. “I decided we’d better head for shelter before the storm hit.”

  “Lucky you did,” said Richard. “Dirty out there.”

  From the harbormaster’s shack they could see the harbor and Vineyard Sound beyond through rain-drenched windows. The northeast wind had whipped up breakers in the normally sheltered harbor.

  Elizabeth finished blotting her shirt and slacks, and handed him back the towel. “Thanks. That helped.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Trumbull?” he asked.

  “Bridget took her under her wing.”

  “She’s a great fan of your grandmother’s,” said Richard. “If there’s a break in the weather, I’ll check out Steinbicker’s boat. The wind and sea will probably die down later this afternoon. Rain’s no problem. Want to come?”

  Elizabeth checked her watch. “I’d better call Domingo.”

  * * *

  Roberta stayed out on deck until the boat was out of sight. Fat drops of rain splattered on the teak woodwork and the once calm water was now confused. Her prison pitched and rolled, swinging in an arc on its anchor line. Feeling demoralized and abandoned and sick, she went down below into the cabin. Rescue had been so close.

  CHAPTER 23

  Price Henderson, Jodi Paloni, and Christopher Wrentham had spent the past week on Price’s sailboat, a twenty-eight-foot O’Day anchored off Lambert’s Cove. The three coconspirators were about five miles by water from where Roberta’s prison boat was anchored.

  “Gorgeous morning.” Price brushed his white-blond hair out of his eyes. “Too gorgeous.” He slid his sunglasses into place. “NOAA is calling for a severe storm tomorrow. I’d better row ashore while I can and pick up bread, milk, and eggs. How are we doing for other things, Jodi?”

  Jodi opened the ice chest and peered down into it. “We’r
e out of salad stuff.” During the past week the sun had bleached the tips of her cropped dark hair giving it a silvery frosted look. She was wearing the cutoff jeans and purple tank top she’d alternated with a sweatshirt and long cotton skirt during the week. She was barefoot, as were the others. “Tomatoes and lettuce. Otherwise, we’ve still got plenty of canned and dried food, carrots, potatoes, onions.”

  “What about fuel for the stove?” Christopher looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working. He’d stayed out of the sun as much as possible, but even with sunblock he’d acquired a painful burn.

  Jodi opened the cabinet under the stove. “Looks like three half-gallon jugs of alcohol.”

  “That’s more than enough,” said Price. “While I’m gone, one of you run the engine for a couple hours to recharge the batteries.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Jodi. “Chris has got to stay out of the sun.” She shut the cabinet door. “Bring back whatever news you can.”

  “Goes without saying.” Price unhooked a backpack from inside a storage locker, slung it over his shoulder, and picked up his boat shoes. “If that’s it, I’ll probably be back around two. Once I get to shore, I’ve got that long hike to the road. I’ll hitch a ride to North Tisbury.” He checked his watch. “It’s around nine now. Even if I don’t get a ride, it’s only a couple of miles to the store.”

  “Looks like a good day for whatever,” said Christopher, stretching his arms over his head, pencil in one hand. “I might even go for a swim.”

  “Be careful,” said Price. “The water’s colder than you think.” He went to the stern of the sailboat and tugged on a line. The dinghy wobbled to the boat like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash. “Take care, you guys. Even if I have to walk both ways, it shouldn’t take more than four hours.”

  “Got your life jacket?” asked Jodi.

  “Always.” Price held the dinghy close and stepped in carefully. “Pass me the oars, Jodi.”

  * * *

  Jodi turned on the blowers to evacuate fumes from the bilge. Christopher finished his puzzle and returned the puzzle book to the bookshelf behind him.

  “Need a hand, Jodi?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Stupid of me getting this badly sunburned.”

  “Your wife’s going to wonder where you’ve been.”

  “She’ll think golf course. She’s so excited about Bruce Steinbicker staying in our guesthouse, she doesn’t give a damn about me.” He yawned and stretched. “I believe I’ll take my morning constitutional before the sun gets any higher.” He slid out from behind the table, climbed up the short ladder to the cockpit, and walked the few feet to the bow, testing the tension on the wire shrouds as he swung around them. He stopped and shaded his eyes with a hand to watch Price pull the dinghy high onto the shore almost a half-mile from the boat. He waved and Price waved back.

  When the engine started up its vibration added to the sway and roll as the boat swung at anchor. Once she’d started the engine, Jodi, too, made her way to the foredeck.

  “Hard to believe it’s October,” she said. “It’s more like summer. Look at those puffy clouds over the mainland.”

  “I’m going in the water.” Christopher released his hold on the stay. “I could sure as hell use a bath.” He tugged off his jeans and T-shirt, dropped them onto the deck, and wearing only his briefs made a smooth dive into the clear green water. He came up spluttering, shook his head. “Whoosh! Cold, all right.” He ducked under a couple of times, then swam around to the boarding platform on the stern and hoisted himself up.

  Jodi passed him a towel. “Wouldn’t catch me diving into something I didn’t feel the temperature of first.”

  “At least I’m clean. First bath in a week.”

  Jodi ran her hands over her exposed arms with the snake-and-vine tattoos and sat next to him in the cockpit. “You know, Chris, I can’t help worrying about her.”

  “Nothing to worry about. When she woke up she probably had one helluva headache. Price and I were careful not to hurt her.” Christopher toweled his bright hair, and got up, leaving a wet spot on the seat. He made his way to the bow and retrieved his shirt and pants, then sat down again. “She’s got everything she needs on that yacht—food, clothing, blankets, books.”

  “But still…” Jodi’s words trailed off.

  “Look, Jodi, we went over the plan ad nauseam. We three agreed. Plain and simple. We didn’t want her dead, we wanted her to miss that deadline.” He smiled at his small joke. “We didn’t want to harm her, we didn’t want to get ourselves in trouble, and we didn’t want to worry our families. Your husband and kids or my wife and kids. Everything’s working out just fine.”

  Jodi gazed at the deck. “When is Bruce Steinbicker returning to his boat?”

  “He said two weeks. Another week to go.”

  “The journal’s deadline is Friday, two days from now. We’re, like, cutting it kinda close, having her on the boat for a week. The journal might extend the deadline.”

  Christopher shook his head. “She has several days’ work to do on our papers—references, footnotes.” He blotted his sore face and arms gently with the towel. “She has to edit our writing for her style.”

  “Her style,” repeated Jodi, scowling. “Bitch.”

  Christopher pulled his jeans over his legs, stood up, and zipped up the fly. His wet briefs soaked through the seat of his jeans. He sat down again and pulled on his T-shirt. His drying hair curled around his temples, a bright red-orange.

  He tossed the damp towel over the steering wheel. “The journal editors are strict. They can’t cut her much slack. They’ve got their own printing deadlines to meet.”

  “Suppose someone in a passing boat spots her?”

  “Come on, Jodi. Unlikely. We went over all that. Every possible contingency.” He reached over and patted her leg. “Don’t be such a worrywart.”

  “I can’t stay out here any longer, Chris. Jonah thinks I’m at that conference for a week. A week with the kids, he can handle.” She stood up, moved the towel aside to reach the throttle, and pushed the lever forward. The engine vibrated at a higher pitch and an even rhythm. “Price sure takes good care of this boat.”

  “It’s his home.” Chris stood up again. “I’d better get inside before I get more sun.” He turned. “If you recall, we never intended for you to stay away longer than a week. You’ll be home tomorrow or the day after.”

  “Yeah. I guess. I’m homesick, I want my kids. What about your wife and kids?”

  “They think the conference was a week. I told them I might stay another day or two to schmooze with colleagues.” He watched the clouds rising over the mainland. “I also said I might go up to Boston, spend a few days doing research at the library.”

  “I hate lying to Jonah.” She tugged her cutoffs down so they were more comfortable.

  “I know how you feel. You’re not really lying, you’re dissembling.”

  “Lying,” said Jodi.

  “It’s kind of late to be having second thoughts, Jodi. We discussed your situation, all of us. You were in on it. Price is single, doesn’t matter what he does. Anyway, this boat is home for him. You can leave tomorrow. We’d put the word out, hinted, that you and Roberta were going to the same conference I was going to.”

  Jodi curled her hands, palms up, and looked at her fingernails. “When we planned this, I didn’t expect to look so cruddy. How do I explain this?” She straightened out her fingers so he could see the dirt under her nails.

  “Fieldwork,” said Christopher. “Take a swim. It’s a great way to get clean. Invigorating.”

  Jodi shuddered. “No, thanks. What do I say about Roberta?”

  “You seem to have forgotten everything.” Christopher’s voice was exasperated. His blue eyes looked through her and beyond. “Jonah thinks you’re at a conference, right?”

  Jodi squirmed. The cutoffs were really too tight for comfort. “I told him there was a conference. I didn’t say I was going. I said
I was thinking about going.”

  “What did we tell you to say to him when you get home?”

  “I’m exhausted, which is almost true, I need to take a long, hot bath, and that is true, and that I’ve missed him a whole lot, and…” She looked up and smiled.

  “He’ll have missed you, too. You’ll be so wrapped up in your reunion, nothing else will matter, right?”

  “Sort of. Yeah.”

  “He’ll ask you about the conference. What do you say?”

  “‘You can’t imagine how many people were there,’ and then I’ll say, ‘Did the boys behave?’”

  “Um, hmm,” said Chris. “He’ll ask you about Roberta.”

  “She and I didn’t see much of each other at the conference.”

  “Good girl,” said Chris. He looked at the horizon. “Those clouds are building up fast.”

  “Pretty.” She looked back at Chris. “Are you sure Roberta won’t connect us with her kidnapping?”

  “Not kidnapping,” said Chris, moving into the shade of the furled sail. “Detention.”

  “Whatever.” Jodi stood and tugged down what remained of the legs of the cutoffs. “You never told us how you got to know Bruce Steinbicker.”

  “We went to prep school together. Mount Herman.”

  “La, de dah!” said Jodi.

  “We’ve been friends for years. Long before he became a star. Like I told you, he asked to borrow our guesthouse for a week or so, I said sure. Make it two weeks.”

  “A girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t ask. I said I’d keep an eye on his boat.”

  “So that’s where the kidnapping idea came from.”

  “Foolproof. Hasn’t the engine been running long enough?”

  “What’s the matter with you? It hasn’t even been an hour.”

  “Cabin fever,” said Christopher. “I really got to get below out of the sun.”

  “Tell me again. Bruce returns to his boat, and Surprise! A woman’s aboard, all upset.”