“I mean, what did Rolo know about the Tittletotts? Why did he change his mind about revealing it? How did he come to be killed in Dock’s boat?”
Calvin climbed the plant and sat on the windowsill, his beak pressed to the window as he made his strange noises over and over. A loud, booming bark, but not like a dog, a sound that she was surprised could come out of his small body, then the three short trills. Always the loud cluck, and then the trilling, never the other way around.
Sabrina went to stand beside Calvin, reaching down to stroke his shaking body.
“It’s all right, boy.” She looked out the window, past the roses that framed the windows into the dark copse of woods. The woods that led right to the dock where Dock usually kept his boat.
Sabrina saw twisted rose branches lying on the ground, and she felt an ugly sense of foreboding.
What had Rolo said on Tuesday? I’ll start on the Peace roses on the other side of the house tomorrow.
Sabrina looked down at Calvin, who was huddled against the window, chirping miserably.
“Did you see something Calvin? Did you see Rolo yesterday while he was clipping roses?”
“Trill, trill, trill!”
Sabrina went outside and around the side of the house. She realized she had never explored this side of the house, where the roses grew thickly and the dark woods pressed up closer than they should.
The rose branches she had seen from inside the house were on top of a thick layer of leaves and pine needles. Brown stains, which hadn’t quite washed away in the rain, were splashed across the trunks of the trees and stippled the leaves on the ground.
Chapter Eighteen
Sabrina watched out the window as uniformed personnel from Teach County Sheriff’s Department and the State Police swarmed through her side yard, trampling the roses and snapping pictures of everything.
“Calvin, I wish they’d hurry up,” she said, but he was asleep. He’d done his best to keep up with the ululating and whooping of the police cars’ sirens, but the sounds were too varied, too loud. His eyes wild, his feathers standing on end, he’d tucked his head under his wing and succumbed to pure exhaustion.
Officer Gina Tozer, a young woman with a bad case of police-talk and a chip of unknown origin on her shoulder, asked Sabrina several peremptory questions but was more interested in explaining that the police would have found the murder scene quick enough without Sabrina’s help, thank you very much.
“Ms. Dunsweeney, at what point did you ascertain that the victim allegedly became deceased in the side area of your yard?”
“I noticed rose branches on the lawn, and knew Rolo was planning to cut roses the day he died—that’s why I went around that side of the house.”
“It was reported that you have in your possession a piece of evidence that should have been immediately turned over to the TCPD.”
“You mean, the note Rolo wrote me? Let me get it. I would have given it to the police earlier, but it never occurred to me that it might be important. I’d like it back when you’re done, please.”
“As the victim is a wanted criminal, why did you not contact the TCPD 10-18, ASAP, on discovering a suspicious person in your yard?”
“It didn’t occur to me to call the police when I met Rolo. I’ve only been on the island for a little over a week. I’m afraid it would be impossible for me to keep track of all the island’s alleged criminals.”
Sabrina prided herself on not lying unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Ms. Dunsweeney, please give me your ETD and ETA in regards to your residence yesterday.”
Sabrina had to think about that one. “Oh! You mean when did I leave and return? I was out of the house from around ten in the morning to approximately three-thirty yesterday. I don’t think a murder could have occurred outside my kitchen window while I was home.”
Officer Tozer was hard put to conceal her skepticism. “You’ve reported that your avian animal alerted you to the location of the alleged murder scene. Could you give me a 10-9 on that, please?”
“A what?”
“Repeat the story, please.” Exaggerated patience.
“Yes, Calvin tipped me off. He was making strange noises and has been acting odd since yesterday afternoon.” Sabrina did her best to imitate the noises Calvin had been making.
Officer Tozer raised an eyebrow at Sabrina’s attempts and scribbled busily in her book. Sabrina could only imagine what she was writing:
The witness is allegedly displaying erratic behavior which leads this officer to conclude that the witness is most probably a 32-45-86D, in need of the loony bin…
“Unfortunately, my powers of imitation are not as well-developed as Calvin’s,” Sabrina said frostily. She arched a look down her nose and almost added, “young lady.”
“Do not leave the vicinity as I may need to conduct another interview at an as-yet undisclosed time.”
“Please?”
“Don’t go anywhere. I’m not done with you,” the policewoman said over her shoulder before going outside. Sabrina could almost imagine her practicing the line in front of the mirror.
Sabrina was left to watch out the window, and think.
If Rolo was killed in her yard—and from the amount of blood splattered on the trees, it seemed certain—then the killer had dragged or carried Rolo’s body through the copse of trees to Dock’s boat. Why? Why not leave Rolo in Sabrina’s side yard? Why not carry the body into the woods and leave it there?
There was no plumbing a killer’s mind, but perhaps he or she was naive enough to think that the police would never backtrack the killer through the woods to Sabrina’s house. Perhaps it was just a way to throw the police off for a while. Or maybe the murder was so spontaneous that the killer didn’t get a chance to think his/her actions through.
Rolo was shot. It wasn’t normal for people to carry around a gun, especially on Comico Island where crime was almost nonexistent, and hunting had been outlawed by the National Park Service when they took over most of the island for a wildlife preserve.
Sabrina looked down at Calvin, who looked so small and vulnerable as he swayed from side to side in his sleep.
She thought about his strange, loud BARK. Was he trying to imitate a shot? Did Calvin really see the murder take place?
“Poor little guy.” Sabrina stroked his back with one finger. He fluffed his feathers a little and went back to swaying.
“A gun,” Sabrina said. “That would seem to imply that someone planned to kill Rolo, now wouldn’t it? That puts a whole new spin on things. But on the radio this morning, the announcer said Rolo was shot and ‘stabbed with an unknown weapon.’ Why bring a gun, and then kill someone with another weapon? Strange.”
She checked to see that the coffee was finished brewing and set coffee cups, creamer and sugar on the table. After a moment’s thought, she placed the remainder of Nettie’s millionaire cookies on a plate beside the coffee cups.
“And if it was planned, how did the killer get here unobserved? It’s a very small island. If I were gong to kill someone on this island, I wouldn’t come prancing down the road and not expect someone to see and notice me. It would be easy for someone to say later, ‘Yes, I saw so and so walking down toward the Wrightly’s. I didn’t think much about it then, but now…’ That leaves two possibilities: Either the killer was someone who had every right to be on Jolly Roger Road, or it was someone in disguise.
“And how did the killer know Rolo would be at my house, assuming the killer had come to murder Rolo?” Sabrina stared at the ceiling, but no answer was forthcoming.
“And what about the note left anonymously under Nettie’s door? How does that enter into this? Was it a request that Rolo meet his murderer here so he could be killed? What else could it have been? But why in the world would the murderer pick my house to commit murder?”
Sabrina shook her head, frustrated. So many questions unanswered. The police were not very forthcoming about what was happening, and though s
he saw Jimmy McCall arrive in a car, she didn’t feel comfortable asking him questions.
“I can’t take this any longer,” Sabrina said. “How can you sleep at a time like this, Calvin? I’m going into town.”
She scooped up a protesting Calvin and put him in his cage. Then she headed for the front door.
“Ms. Dunsweeney, as I informed you earlier, I would appreciate it if you—” Officer Tozer was at the front door, her sturdy arms crossed.
“Officer Tozer, just the person I wanted to see. I’ve prepared cookies and coffee in the kitchen, so please tell your colleagues to feel free to help themselves.”
“Thank you, ma’am!” a young man said from behind Officer Tozer and he and several others made a beeline for the house.
Officer Tozer was not impressed. “I would like to advise you—”
“Oh, and I’ve been thinking. I know you’re the police officer and I’m just a civilian, but I think I might have an idea about the murder weapon. Mr. Wrightly was pruning roses when he was killed, right? So where are the pruning shears?”
Officer Tozer was speechless as Sabrina made her escape down the steps.
***
There were more multi-hued uniforms at the Wrightly dock as she passed. Sabrina thought with relief that at least the discovery of the murder scene had cleared Dock. He was a small, frail man and it would have been physically impossible for him to drag his son’s body through the woods and deposit it in his boat.
That still bothered her. Why put the body in Dock’s boat? Stirring that proverbial pot, Sabrina decided. Suspicion had fallen onto Dock, and perhaps that was what the murderer intended.
Or was there another reason? Perhaps the killer planned to come back that night and take Dock’s boat out far enough to drop the body overboard. Then it would have been impossible to say where the murder took place. Or maybe no one would have known a murder took place at all. The few people who knew Rolo was on the island would just assume he had left again.
If the killer’s plan was to make it look as if Rolo left the island on his own, then it did not work. First Dock had taken his boat out and found Rolo’s body, and then Sabrina discovered the murder scene. How angry the killer must be that his or her carefully planned plans had gone awry!
It still seemed absurd to her that the killer would plan a murder in the middle of the day, at Sabrina’s rental cottage, no less! Why not at night? Someone was in a hurry, Sabrina decided. If Nettie was right, the killer wanted to silence Rolo before he spoke out against the Tittletotts at Bradford’s rally. Which, of course, pointed a suspicious finger right at the Tittletotts: Brad, Elizabeth, Gary and Virginia.
What did Rolo know about the Tittletotts that was so damaging?
***
Sabrina was not surprised to see several people gathered on the porch of Tubb’s Community Store. Lima was holding court, enthroned in his rocking chair and talking loud and fast.
“Everyone knows,” he was saying as Sabrina sat beside Bicycle Bob on the steps, “that Dock has been dee-tee-ree-ating for the last five years or so. Mad as a Mitchell’s Day crabber. Kind of like Jack Nicholson in that movie, ‘One Fell Off the Cuckoo’s Nest.’ Hell, Dock’s not been the same since Rolo left fifteen years ago. But I’ve known the man for years, and—”
“Humph,” said a solid man wearing an apron and swinging jowls. He reminded Sabrina of some type of dog: Pit bull? Rottweiler? Doberman?
“Miss Sabrina!” Lima called, dashing Sabrina’s hopes of gleaning information anonymously. “I hear they think Rolo was killed at the Old Wrightly place. Is that true?”
Everybody turned to stare at Sabrina.
“Looks that way,” she admitted.
“So Dock killed him there,” said the man in the apron with the air of someone who has been arguing unsuccessfully for some time. A bulldog, Sabrina decided, that’s what he was. “Still doesn’t mean Dock didn’t kill him.” He glared around the porch, daring anyone to contradict him.
“And carried him three hundred yards through heavy undergrowth and put him in his own boat?” Sabrina asked acerbically.
The man turned astonished eyes on Sabrina, but before he could say anything, Stacey Tubbs, looking young and appealing in pink shorts and a white “Ride the Big One” T-shirt spoke. “Dock didn’t kill anyone. He wouldn’t do that.”
“That old Waver—” began the Bulldog and Stacey interrupted him.
“Daddy, come on. Who cares about that Waver-Towner nonsense in this day and age?”
“Weeeell,” Lima said. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I don’t think Dock did it neither. But what I want to know,” he leaned forward dramatically, “is what was Rolo doing back on the island?”
“Nettie’s going around saying that it’s all the Tittletotts’ fault,” said Sondra Lane from Sweet Island Music Store as she pushed back her long, black hair. “Sounds like more feud nonsense to me.”
“God knows Rolo had reason to hate the Tittletotts,” Lima said. “Especially Brad Tittletott.”
“Brad didn’t kill Rolo Wrightly,” Stacey said sharply.
There was a moment of silence while Stacey looked at her sandal-clad feet.
“Had you seen Rolo, Sabrina?” Lima asked.
“Yeah, strange he ended up dead at your house,” Mr. Tubbs said suspiciously, his jowls swinging like slabs of tender, pink ham.
“I understand he grew up around there.” It was hard telling the truth all the time. She didn’t feel right giving out information about Rolo that might be important to the investigation. Not that anybody else had any qualms, it seemed.
“What about the note?” Stacey asked. “Someone said something about a note found in one of Rolo’s pockets.”
“Note?” Heads turned at Sabrina’s sharp tone. Yet another note?
“Yep,” Bicycle said.
“I mean—what note?” Sabrina asked in a more moderate tone.
“Why, the note, all covered with blood, reading: ‘Meet me at the pirate’s tree—”
“No, it was treasure,” Sondra said. “I’m pretty sure it was ‘treasure tree.’”
“That’s right. ‘Meet me at the treasure tree at two p.m.’ That’s right. I know, because Billy saw it, and he told his girlfriend, Mary, who’s my niece, three times removed—well, anyway, nevermind all that,” Lima said.
“Where the world is the ‘treasure tree’?” Stacey asked. “I’ve never even heard of it.”
There were murmurs of agreement all around the porch. No one had heard of it.
“Wonder if it’s got something to do with Walk-the-Plank Wrightly’s buried treasure,” Lima said. “People used to sell treasure maps to the tourists for fifty cents when I was a boy.”
“And who drew up the maps?” Sondra asked the old man with a grin.
Lima didn’t answer but his smug expression said it all. “Humph, well, anyway, everybody knew that Walk-the-Plank Wrightly’s treasure was buried somewhere. They searched all over the island after he died, and no one could find his loot.”
“Well, if Rolo had never come back, all this wouldn’t be happening,” said Mr. Tubbs.
“Who in the world killed Rolo? What if it was one of us?” Stacey said in a small voice.
There was a moment of silence, and Sabrina felt every inch the outsider.
“Weeell, they’ve already checked out everybody who came over on the ferry yesterday,” Lima said. “Only four cars, and they’re just ordinary tourists. Looks like it must have been somebody on the island.”
“Keystone cops at work,” Mr. Tubbs said. “We’ll be lucky if they can find their way out of a paper bag, much less a murderer. I’m certainly not holding my breath.”
Sabrina’s stomach grumbled, and she rose and slipped away without anyone noticing. Sabrina wondered if Gary was cooking lunch, and if he was, what delectable treat he had prepared.
And she was just a little curious about what the Tittletotts thought about this whole business.
Chapter Ni
neteen
Elizabeth Tittletott couldn’t remember the last time she felt so angry. She hoped her complexion wasn’t suffering—one had to be careful as one advanced in age. She checked the mirror over her son’s shoulder, but her skin was as tight as a drum, leaving no possibility for wrinkles. She couldn’t resist smiling.
“If you are done admiring yourself, I have things I need to do,” Bradford snapped, and Elizabeth turned an astounded look on her son. Nobody talked that way to Lady Elizabeth. She loved it when people called her that, though it infuriated her that some of her more irreverent neighbors shortened it to Lady E.
“Bradford Huntly Tittletott! Apologize at once! How could you speak in such a horrible way to your poor mother?” She decided that a small pout and welling tears might be in order. Men could never resist a crying woman, she learned that a long time ago.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” Bradford sighed. He looked so handsome, enough to make a mother’s heart swell with pride. Tall and blond with good posture (she had made sure of that—so many tall boys slouched), charming and confident. He was perfect.
“But how could you?” she whispered, reminded again of his betrayal. He wasn’t quite perfect after all.
“What were you doing going through my trash?”
Elizabeth couldn’t help checking the mirror again to admire her oh-so-offended expression. Yes, very nice. “I wasn’t going through your trash, Bradford. I was merely—assisting Julie with her duties. She’s so slow, and the waste baskets simply had to be emptied.” Elizabeth batted her eyes and dropped her voice an octave. “Sweetie, I just don’t understand why you would want to throw everything away. We’ve—you’ve worked so hard to get where you are, and look at you, on the brink of becoming president! It’s everything we ever dreamed of. And then I read the rough draft of that speech you were going to give last night, and I was shocked! Astounded—” Artfully widened eyes, Katherine Hepburn couldn’t do a better job “—how could you say all that? You know it’s not true!”
“And you know it is, Mother,” Bradford said grimly. “You know better than anyone that it’s all true.”
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