The Bone Man

by Vicki Stiefel

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s a new company called Organic Pink. Same getup as Mary Kay, but organic. I even brought the car over on the ferry. Pretty neat. Get it now, duh?”

  It sounded like a recipe for a lawsuit to me, and Bob . . . I was disturbed to hear there was a problem. And as for coincidences . . .

  But that was for later. “You look great, hon.” Carmen, at six-foot-plus, would be astonishing in a MK pink outfit, yet the scarf and car, oddly enough, worked. I hugged her. “You’re fabulous, Carm. Always.”

  She laughed. “Yup suh. Sure am, and don’t I know it.”

  “C’mon,” I said to Carmen. Penny leapt into the Caddy’s backseat, and I hopped in front. “Why don’t you come with me to visit the shop?”

  “Love to.” She put the boat of a car in gear. “Afterward, I’ll give you a lift back to Dan and Belle’s. Lots to tell.”

  “Knowing you, Carm, I can only imagine.” I gave the humongous pink convertible Cadillac another look. “I’ve really never seen a car like this in the flesh.”

  She winked. Cripes.

  The bell jingled as we entered the shop. I poked my head in. “Zoe?”

  No answer.

  Persian rugs, old wide-board pine floors, exposed beams—Delphine’s shop was a feast for the eyes. Penny’s nails went clack-clack on the wood floor as we turned left, into a modern room filled with American Indian art from contemporary artists. It drove me crazy not to look at all Delphine’s new pieces, but I needed to find Zoe. The shop took up the entire first floor of the classic Greek Revival home, and one room led into another to form a perfect square. We walked through the front, contemporary room, through an arch and into the second room, one at the back of the house. It was filled with Delphine’s collection of American Indian and Southwestern sculpture. I wondered what Didi would have thought of the place. I smiled. Unless there were bones, I doubted she would have found it very interesting.

  “This stuff is gorgeous,” Carmen said.

  “Yeah, it sure is.” This shop was where I first had seen the wonderful sculptures by Roxanne Swentzell and Allan Houser and Nila Wendall.

  Carmen walked to a bronze of a full-figured woman, reclining, her hand raised, a sweet smile on her face. Carmen smiled back, and she caressed the sculpture’s hand with her own large, capable one.

  “Don’t touch that sculpture!” barked a voice.

  We both turned. Penny let out a low growl.

  The girl in the violet jumper and long white-blond braids stood in the doorway, her eyes frightened, cell phone in hand.

  “Sedni,” I said to Penny in Czech, her native language and one I often used for commands. “Sit. Good girl. Zoe?”

  She snapped the phone shut. “Yes. Please get that dog out of here. She’ll ruin things.”

  “She really won’t,” I said. “She’ll be fine. Promise.”

  I introduced myself and Carmen. “I don’t think that Carmen will hurt the bronze, either.”

  “No. I guess not.” She moved toward us with a tentative smile. One of her front teeth was slightly crooked, which made her looks even more endearing. “No. No of course she can’t.”

  Zoe stared at the sculpture with a look of longing, and, I mouthed Go to Carmen. Take Penny.

  “Ayuh,” Carmen said in her thickest Down East accent. “Pretty stuff. I’m gonna browse the shop, yup suh. Take the dog. Okay by you?”

  “Of course,” Zoe said. “Yes. It’s fine. But I’ve got an errand I have to run in fifteen minutes. I hope that’s all right. I’ll have to lock the shop.”

  Her expression was sweet and kind, a look that would melt a man. But her skin was mottled, her eyes puffy. Crying about what, I wondered. And her nervous fingers played with the cell phone in her hand.

  As soon as Carmen and Penny left the room, I said, “Are you okay?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “You sure? Is it . . . is it Delphine?”

  Her blue eyes widened and tears pooled on her lids. “How did you know?”

  “I, well . . .” I drew in a deep breath. “You know I want to talk to her.”

  She sniffled.

  I dug a tissue from my purse and handed it to her. “Want to talk about it?”

  “I shouldn’t.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “It might help. Let’s go sit someplace and—”

  “No.” She rested a hand on my arm. “I’m being silly. I should be used to it by now.”

  “Used to it?”

  She walked over to the Swentzell sculpture and wrapped her hand around the sculpture’s much smaller one. “I yelled at your friend because, um, well, she’s my friend. At least I think of her that way. I’m sorry.”

  She straightened, brushed her hands down her linen jumper. “There. Better. I shouldn’t let her get to me. That’s so dumb.”

  “Delphine?”

  She nodded. “I love her. She’s really good to me. But when she’s on these trips, she can be such a witch. She gets crazy with work, and she was just yelling at me when you came in. I . . . I lost it, I guess.”

  I walked closer to Zoe, so I could see her eyes. “Delphine. It was Delphine on the phone.”

  “Yeah. I told her you wanted to talk to her. But, no. She didn’t have the time. She never has the time. I wish she didn’t lay all this stuff on me.”

  “I understand.” But I wasn’t paying total attention. Delphine really was alive. Alive. Yet . . . why couldn’t I just let it go?

  “You want to call her back?” Zoe thrust the cell phone in my direction.

  “I thought she said no.”

  Zoe shrugged. “So? She can’t always have it her way.”

  I took the phone, flipped it open and pressed the button for calls received. Delphine’s cell number popped up. I pressed send and held the phone to my ear.

  But what I saw was a woman in panic. Zoe looked terrified. She turned away. Delphine’s phone rang once, twice . . .

  “What do you want now, Zoe?” growled the voice.

  Delphine’s voice. Angry. I flipped the phone closed.

  Carmen varoomed the Cadillac around island curves, while I held on to Penny with one hand and dug my heels into the floor.

  “Cripes, Carm. Drive slower around these . . . dammit! You’re crazy!”

  I looked across at the lapping water. Not that far, really, but enough to kill us if we flipped over. And I thought I was a wild driver.

  Penny whined.

  “Oh, come on, you two,” Carmen said. “It’s fun.”

  “Fun? It’s crazy. You’re being crazy and scaring Penny!”

  “Well, in that case . . .” Her foot eased off the pedal, and the car slowed to a nearly normal speed for the serpentine roads.

  I checked my watch. “Are Dan and Belle expecting us at any time?”

  “Not really. I don’t think so. Belle said they’d have cocktails waiting whenever we arrive.”

  “Okay. So how come we’re taking this scenic journey?”

  “I need to let off some steam,” Carmen said. “I’m pissed.”

  “Because Zoe yelled at you?”

  “Are you kidding?” She snorted. “That story about how the Delphine woman yelled at her. What a bitch. I hate people like that.”

  I puffed out some air. “Yeah. But I never saw that side of Delphine. I really didn’t. Which is why I found the whole thing sort of strange. I wonder . . . Let’s go back.”

  “Huh? Where?”

  “To the shop.”

  “Why?” she said.

  “It’s complicated, Carm. Go.”

  “I am not your chauffeur,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re right. I’m being unfair. Just gimme a sec, okay? I’ve got to think this thing through. While I’m doing all my thinking, will you please turn around?”

  Her U-turn sent the tires screeching and Penny howling and my heart just about leaping from my chest. I was thrilled, thrilled that no cars had been
headed our way.

  “Carm, how the frick many years do you think that took off my life, huh? How many? And Penny’s? That’s it. I am never letting you drive again. Never.”

  A grin of satisfaction split her lips. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Speaking of . . .” She careened to a stop at the side of the incredibly narrow cliff road, pressed a button on the dash, and the canvas roof began to canopy over us. “We can go faster this way.”

  “Oh, joy,” I muttered to myself.

  She straightened her head-scarf, cleaned her sunglasses. “You can always walk, you know.”

  “Shut up, Carm.”

  “Why are we going back?”

  The top flopped to a stop, and Carmen pressed levers that secured the top to the windshield.

  “Something’s off,” I said. “I’ll explain as we go. I should have talked to Delphine. Not hung up like that. I thought it was her voice, but . . . well, maybe it wasn’t, y’know?”

  Of course, when we arrived back at the shop, we were greeted with a sign that said BE BACK SOON and a clock dial pointed to three P.M. Bummer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  We drove down a neatly paved road lined with trees and very little retail and a few houses, yet we were on the main road from Vineyard Haven to Edgartown. We were headed for the Blacks’ home. They lived on Third Street or Fourth Street or maybe it was Seventh Street—I could never seem to remember—which was a side road off the main one to Edgartown.

  “You know where you’re going?” I asked Carmen.

  “Sure.”

  I sat back and relaxed. Carmen was incredibly competent, which impressed me from the day we became buddies in kindergarten in Maine. She turned left, and we bumped down an unpaved road. We soon saw the pond, a lovely body of water connected to Nantucket Sound. I could never pronounce its Indian name. Minutes later, I spotted my friends’ driveway.

  “There,” I said.

  “I know,” she answered, and turned left into their dirt driveway. The bursts of flowers that rimmed Belle and Dan’s fence and outlined their post-Modern home had started to yellow. Some had already turned brown and died, and a few of the trees sported their bright autumn party colors.

  New England’s fall always came later and stayed longer on the Vineyard, which held great appeal to me. But I could never stand her summer tourist crowds for very long.

  We parked in front of their garage and walked down the path to their screened-in porch. Belle stood on the steps, beaming. I rushed forward, and she gave me a big hug.

  “Hey, hon,” I said. “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”

  Her Egyptian brown eyes gave me the once-over. “It’s been tough, yes?”

  I compressed my lips, nodded. “Veda. Yes. And Didi, too. I’m okay, though.”

  “Of course you are.” She smothered me in another Belle hug. “You two come on in. Cocktails await.”

  We sat around their harvest table spooning chowder and sipping wine. All except for me, with my Diet Coke, of which Belle and Carmen heartily disapproved.

  “How do you guys know each other?” I looked from Carmen to Belle to Dan.

  Dan’s deep laugh bubbled up, and, as always, I saw him as the perfect Santa. A very cool one.

  “We met years ago,” Belle said. “Long story. But when Hank called, we—”

  “Pardon?” I said. “When Hank called?”

  Belle’s chagrined smile told the tale.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell,” Carmen said to her.

  “Of course I wasn’t,” Belle said. “Ouch.”

  Carmen looked at me. “Well, Hank, he suggested I come down to the Vineyard and keep an eye on you. He said you were upset about your friend’s murder, and he was worried.”

  Anger squeezed my gut. I tightened my jaw, forced myself not to explode when all I wanted to do was scream. I leaned forward, and the trio mirrored my movements as they recoiled in their chairs.

  “Just like last time.” My voice was a whisper. A hiss. “Hank is doing his paternal thing again. Just. Like. Last. Time. And you, Carmen, are his minion!”

  A collective sucking-in of breath.

  “I do not need a father,” I said.

  Carmen threw her balled up napkin, and it bonked me on the nose. I glared at her. “I’m in no mood, Car—”

  “Get over it!” she said. “Just get over it. Hank means well. I wanted to come. I needed the break. So what? End of story.”

  I turned away in a sulk. I was really sick of Hank and his control-freak attitude. “So your being on the island wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Duh,” Carmen said. “Of course not. But I have made some really good sales here.”

  “You mean all the Pink Organic stuff is true?”

  “Ya got that right,” Carmen said. A giggle.

  “This isn’t funny, Carm.”

  “Yo-uh chowda’s gettin’ cold,” Carmen said in her best Down East dialect. “Ayuh. Colda than a witch’s tit.”

  Belle giggled.

  I did, too. Ticked or not at Hank, I couldn’t stay mad at them for long.

  Carmen, Dan, and I were washing dishes. Belle had gone to lie down. She was in the midst of a Lyme’s disease relapse, and I worried about her.

  “Something’s not right,” I said.

  “So you say.” Carmen handed me a freshly rinsed dish to dry.

  “Sounds like,” Dan said. He took the dish I’d dried and put it away. “Mebbe.”

  “Something’s off. You know what I mean, Dan. I’ve got this really weird feeling, like the whole scene with Zoe was a performance. I’d like to go back up there now.”

  “When didja say that girl was getting back?” Dan said.

  “Three.” I folded the damp dishtowel and laid it on the counter. “I’m not going to wait. Mind if I take your car?”

  “I’ll come with,” he said.

  “You’re nuts,” Carmen said. “The both of you. I’m sure not going.”

  Boy, it’d be nice to have Dan come along. But his son was a cop, which meant bad news for father and son and Belle if a misadventure occurred. I stretched on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, while I reached for the car keys on the table. “Thanks, but no. I’m just going to walk around, check a couple things out. Keep an eye on Penny, eh? And no surveillance, Carm. Got it?”

  “Scout’s honor,” she said.

  “Good.” I looked at my watch. “One-thirty. Back in a flash.”

  I parked down the street and walked to the back of the shop. I’d brought my Leatherman and crowbar, just in case some tool might come in handy. Behind the house, a huge screen of trees, planted millennia ago, blocked prying eyes. What I was about to do was wrong. But then I imagined Didi lying in her own blood, throat slashed, gasping for breath, and I couldn’t seem to help myself. A large rock off to my left invited sitting. I put the Leatherman in my pocket and sat.

  What I planned was plain stupid. I heard Hank’s voice. And Kranak’s. And Veda’s.

  But Veda also always told me to listen to my gut. That same gut was telling me something was very wrong with Delphine. Okay, so I’d heard her voice on the phone. Maybe. Be easy enough to fake.

  Except it, the voice, whatever was off. Only as Carmen and I had driven around the island did I realize how wrong. The words, the tone almost sounded canned.

  No, I had to learn more. Had to.

  I picked up my Leatherman and worked at jimmying one of the back windows open. Vintage windows looked great, but were lousy at keeping out drafts and people. A dog yipped, and I jumped.

  I looked around, saw nothing. I was cool. Of course the place was alarmed. I wanted the cops to come, just not too soon. If I bumbled much more, they’d be here before I’d made it inside.

  “Damn!” I sucked my bloodied finger. I wasn’t so hot at this. Plus, my jimmying efforts weren’t working. All I’d achieved, besides stabbing my finger, was wrecking the poorly painted white window trim which, sadly, was the thing keeping the window from opening. The pain
t was like glue. I reached for the crowbar.

  “Idiot!” hissed a voice.

  I dropped the crowbar on my toe. “Shit!”

  “Stop with the noise and the cursing,” Carmen said as she crouched toward me across the back lawn.

  “I’d like to bop you with the damned crowbar. What happened to Scout’s honor?”

  She grinned. “Who said I was ever a Scout?”

  I stood and stared. She’d doffed her Mary Kay kerchief for her iconic red bandana and overalls. Carmen in full granola mode was Valkyrie-esque and a welcome sight.

  “Babe,” I said.

  “Don’t ‘babe’ me, Tal. You couldn’t break into a laundry basket. You really suck at this.” She walked up to the shop’s back door, looked around once, and pulled out her picks. “I just hope you haven’t triggered the alarm yet.”

  Insulting. “Of course I haven’t.” Talk about memories. We’d done this before, with teeter-totter results. “I thought there was no way.”

  “Way! I just didn’t want Dan to know I was an expert lock picker.”

  “So what’s taking you so long?” I was thrilled to see her, but the last thing I wanted to do was admit it. “You’ve gotten slow in your dotage.”

  “My ass.” I watched with fascination as she tugged on a pair of latex gloves and went at the doorknob with the care and gentleness of a lover. She inserted one pick, moved it around, withdrew it, then glided another pick into the lock. She appeared to have all the time in the world.

  “There,” she said as she twisted the knob. “We’re in.”

  I heard the silent alarm in my head shrieking Break in.

  She closed the door behind us, and we walked down a short passage lined with treasure-stuffed shelves. The pieces were contemporary, and none warranted a second look. We spilled out into a room we hadn’t seen earlier that day. It was filled with cases and shelves that held vintage and new baskets and Inuit carvings.

  Carmen walked toward the right, where we’d been earlier that morning. I went straight ahead in search of the artifact room. A board creaked, and I jumped. We had minutes. That was it.

  I passed beneath an arch that once must have divided front and back parlors and entered the room. In that instant, I knew what I feared, and there it was—a large photograph of Delphine holding an Old Ones pot.