Death and Honesty (18 page)

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Authors: Cynthia Riggs

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Cozy

BOOK: Death and Honesty
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Howland glanced into the rearview mirror. “There’s an ambulance behind us, Victoria.”
They’d turned left onto North Road at the big split oak. The ambulance, coming from the fire station in North Tisbury, had turned as well. Howland pulled over to let it pass. Well ahead of them, it signaled a right turn.
“That’s Delilah’s road,” said Victoria.
Howland followed the ambulance down the dirt road for a quarter mile to the fork, where the ambulance made a left turn.
“That’s her driveway,” said Victoria. “Hurry!”
They passed between Delilah’s granite posts onto the Belgian block pavement, and pulled up behind the ambulance in front of her great house. By the time Howland parked, the EMTs had already disappeared into the house.
Howland raced after them, leaving Victoria to climb the marble steps more slowly. When she finally reached the inside stairway, she paused and heard the brusk and unfamiliar voice of a man giving directions and a woman answering. The ambulance crew. Someone must be injured.
By the time she reached the second floor, EMTs had lifted the unconscious Henry onto a stretcher and strapped him in. The two, a man and a woman, looked too slender to heft Henry’s bulk, but they carried the stretcher gently down the stairs and out the front door.
When Victoria stepped aside to let them by she saw the heap of blood-soaked clothing and broken pottery on the floor where Henry had lain.
“Accident,” Darcy explained. He brought out a chair from Delilah’s bedroom for Victoria. The others—Delilah, Lee, and
Howland—stood silently around the mess on the floor as if it were a campfire that might warm them. Darcy joined them, rubbing his hands together as though he was warming them in front of the blaze.
One of the EMTs returned to the second floor holding a clipboard. No one had spoken during his absence. “I need to get the patient’s name, next of kin, that sort of thing.”
“Next of kin … ?” Delilah clutched her throat.
“The patient is stabilized, ma’am.” He looked around, clearly trying to puzzle out who was in charge. “The hospital needs a contact, someone they can call.” He shifted his clipboard from one hand to the other.
Delilah murmured, “Darcy, take care of this. I can’t.”
“His name, sir?”
“Henry True. The Reverend Henry True, Miss Sampson’s husband.”
“What hit him?”
“He fell into a lamp,” said Darcy.
“I tried to kill him.” Delilah turned away and burst into tears.
Darcy frowned. “An accident. Miss Sampson is upset.”
 
From the open front door, Victoria and Howland watched the ambulance round the bend in the driveway and disappear from sight. Bare branches of the oak trees reflected flashing lights, marking the progress of the ambulance.
Delilah joined them at the doorway, followed by Darcy. “I can’t deal with it.” She shuddered. “Darcy, tell Lee to bring me some brandy. I’ll be in the conservatory.” She started down the hall.
“I need to get to the hospital right away,” Victoria said. “Will you be all right if we leave you, Delilah?”
Delilah turned. “The hospital?”
“Casey will be responding to this, I’m sure. I need to be with her.”
Delilah nodded. “I simply can’t face the hospital and all the questions. I can’t face Henry.”
“I understand.” Victoria headed across the porch toward the steps and Howland’s station wagon.
 
Henry came to as the EMTs wheeled the stretcher into the emergency room.
“Where am I?” Henry murmured.
“You’re in the hospital,” said Hope, who was still on duty. She looked up from the interminable paperwork she was filling out at the admissions desk. “You guys again. Not another West Tisburyite?”
“Afraid so,” said Jim. “Reverend Henry True. Head lacerations, possible concussion.”
Henry mumbled, “Fucking bitch tried to kill me.”
Hope stood up. “Room three. Doc Jeffers will be with him shortly.”
The EMTs wheeled Henry into the examining room, and in a short time Jim returned to the admissions desk.
“Someone tried to
kill
him?” asked Hope.
“Broken crockery, a lot of blood, his wife in hysterics saying she tried to kill him, and the chauffeur says the victim hit his head on a lamp. Want me to call the chief?”
“Yes,” said Hope. “I think that would be a good idea. Tell her to be sure to bring Victoria Trumbull with her.” Hope smiled. “I think this calls for my great aunt’s sleuthing ability.”
“Mrs. Trumbull’s already on her way,” said Jim.
 
Mindy LePere, the nurse on duty in Acute Care, bustled into Oliver Ashpine’s room.
“How’re we doing, hon?”
Oliver was sitting in a chair beside the window reading a magazine. His stockinged feet were propped up on the radiator under the window, and he was dressed in a hospital gown that left his back exposed. His privacy was protected by a pair of bright blue undershorts printed with red and black cartoon mice.
Oliver said, “Is the doc letting me out today?”
“I’m afraid we have to wait until tomorrow,” said Nurse Mindy. “Doc Jeffers is afraid you might have a relapse, and we don’t want that, do we?”
“We want out!” Oliver removed his feet from the radiator, sat up straight, and flung his magazine onto the floor. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Nurse Mindy thrust a thermometer into Oliver’s mouth, grasped his wrist, and checked her watch. “We’re going to have a roommate,” she said brightly. “He’ll be nice company.”
Oliver looked up and mumbled, “Who?”
“We want to keep our mouth shut for another few seconds.”
“Who?” demanded Oliver.
The nurse removed the thermometer and noted something on a chart. “A lovely man. You’ll like him.”
“Dammit,” said Oliver to her retreating back. “Don’t tell me who I’m going to like.”
He picked up his magazine and started on the crossword puzzle. A few minutes later, he heard the squeal of rubber tires on the linoleum, and an attendant accompanied by Nurse Mindy wheeled in a gurney loaded with a short, chubby man whose head was swathed in a turbanlike bandage. Oliver looked up briefly. The man seemed groggy and Oliver had no desire to talk to either the man or the nurse. He went back to the crossword puzzle.
The attendant drew the curtain that separated the new man’s bed from his. Oliver ignored the grunts of the attendants and groans of the patient as they shifted him from gurney to bed.
Nurse Mindy popped her head around the curtain. “How’re we doing, hon?”
“Great,” said Oliver, getting back to his puzzle.
“We’ll be another minute or two.”
Oliver was pondering over a six-letter definition for “create effervescence” when the nurse said something to the attendant that Oliver only half heard. The last few words included “the reverend.” Oliver lowered his feet back onto the floor and sat up straight.
The reverend? A clergyman? How many clergymen were on the Island? At least a half dozen, he supposed. It couldn’t possibly be Reverend True, could it? Delilah Sampson’s husband? That would be just his luck.
Oliver was planning to use a bit of persuasion on Delilah. He
would threaten to tell her preacher hubby about her shady past if she made even a slight fuss about her taxes. But he’d never met Reverend True or seen him in person.
He was ruminating on the identity of the patient in the next bed and didn’t hear approaching footsteps.
“Oliver!”
He sat up straight. Then stood, tried to cover his back with his hospital gown, and dropped his magazine again. Ellen and Ocypete stormed into the room. They brushed past the closed curtains, Ellen clad in a red-plaid flannel wrapper and Ocypete in a neck-to-floor muumuu.
“What do you want?” said Oliver, forgetting for a moment the man behind the curtain.
Ocypete seated herself on Oliver’s bed.
Ellen remained standing. “We need to talk.”
Oliver immediately recalled his situation and nodded at the curtained bed next to his. “This is not a good time.”
“
Someone
poisoned us,” said Ellen, ignoring Oliver’s attempts to shush her. “Tried to kill us. If Ocypete and I hadn’t vomited everything up last night, we might have died.” She studied Oliver, who said nothing. “How did you escape?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Oliver, and sank back into his chair.
“You almost got away with it, didn’t you? Pretending you were another poisoning victim.”
“Pretending?” Oliver thought of the discomfort of having one’s stomach pumped out. “What do you mean?”
“You knew we were going to expose your little game, didn’t you?” Ellen crossed her arms over her chest.
Oliver, caught off guard, shook his head.
“You figured if you killed Ocypete and me and gave yourself enough poison to seem to be a third victim, you’d get away with it, didn’t you?”
“What?!” said Oliver, suddenly remembering. “It wasn’t me!”
“We’ve had all we can take from you,” said Ellen. “We trusted you, brought you in on our little setting-aside business.”
Oliver began, “This isn’t the place …”
“I can’t think of a better place,” said Ellen. “We gave you a
golden opportunity. Partnership in a modest venture, and you betrayed us.”
“You got greedy,” put in Ocypete from her seat on the bed.
Oliver stammered, “Don’t talk about it,” and nodded toward the next bed.
“You had to go behind our backs and make your own private deal, didn’t you?” said Ellen. “Well, we’ll see who winds up in prison,
Mister
Ashpine. With attempted murder on top of embezzlement.”
“For God’s sake, shut up!” said Oliver.
Ellen unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you tell me to shut up.”
“Don’t even think of returning to Town Hall,” said Ocypete, slipping off the high bed, and the two women swept out of the room.
Oliver heard, from behind the curtain, what sounded like a chortle.
He jerked the curtain open. The plump man’s eyes under shaggy white eyebrows were open, watching Oliver, and he was smiling. Oliver checked the name on the chart at the foot of the bed. Goddamn his luck. “Henry True, is it? Reverend Henry True.”
“Attempted murder, eh?” Henry wheezed. “Strong stuff, there. I take it you’re Ashpine, the tax collector, right?”
Oliver said nothing. The consequences of this man knowing about the tax scam were horrendous.
“Those little old ladies got you by the short hairs, I gather.” Reverend True let out another chuckle, at which he groaned and put his hand up to his bandaged head. “The wife got me good.” He tucked his hand back under the blanket. “Got a temper, she has.”
Oliver’s throat constricted. His stomach rumbled. He steadied his shaking hand on the table between the beds.
“Sounds as though we have—ouch!—some business to discuss, once we get out of here,” mumbled Reverend True.
Oliver took a deep breath to calm himself and looked around frantically. What could he do? How was he going to get out of this mess? If only Ellen and Ocypete had kept their goddamned
mouths shut. He could have apologized to the taxpayers, said he’d made an unfortunate mistake.
Henry moaned. “They didn’t give me enough painkiller. Got to keep awake. Possible concussion, you know.”
Now that Reverend Henry True, Delilah’s husband, had heard about the scam, he, Oliver, was going to prison, for sure. Prison! He’d die in prison. The very idea of being shut in with a bunch of criminals … ! Locks, bars, steel doors …
He glanced at the heavy water carafe next to his bed and reached out his trembling hand. What was he thinking? He drew his hand back.
“Owwwww!” said Henry. “When I get out of here …”
Oliver could feel the sharp acid of bile rising up from his gut. Again, he glanced around. In a panic he snatched up the pillow from his own bed and thrust it down firmly over Henry’s face.
“Hey!” said Henry, voice muffled. “Help!” He let out a series of muffled noises, kicked his feet, and tugged at the pillow. Oliver forced it down with all his strength.
He was intent on holding the pillow against Henry’s struggles and didn’t hear footsteps approaching the room.
“Henry?” said the low, clear voice of Victoria Trumbull. She stopped. “Oliver! What in heaven’s name are you doing?” She snatched the pillow off Henry’s face and jabbed the button to summon the nurse.
Oliver stumbled away from Henry’s bed. “He was trying to …” he gasped.
Victoria was bending over Henry’s inert body, head close to his face, when Howland stepped into the room.
“Sorry it took me so long, Victoria. Couldn’t find a parking—What the hell?”
Victoria glanced up. “I’ve rung for the nurse.”
“Is he dead?” The crisp white bandage that swathed Henry’s head contrasted with his flabby gray face. “I didn’t realize he was that badly hurt.”
Henry’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped, lips moving in and out.
Oliver slipped to the side of the room next to the windows. He’d apparently recovered enough from the shock of Victoria’s arrival to realize he had to get out of there, and right now. He clutched the sides of his hospital gown together behind him and sidled past Howland. He was almost at the door when Victoria called out.
“Stop him, Howland. Don’t let him get away.”
Howland seized what he could of the back of Oliver’s gown and hauled him into the room.
Oliver stammered, “Reverend True was trying to—I just—He would’ve—”
“Would’ve what?” Howland held the gown firmly.
At that moment, Nurse Mindy bustled in. “How are we doing, Reverend … Oh my!” Reverend True lay like a beached codfish, occasionally gasping for air. Mindy, too, hit the button on the side of Henry’s bed to summon more help. She lifted Henry’s eyelids, and held her finger against the side of his neck.
Before anyone answered Mindy’s summons, Casey arrived with Junior Norton. “Victoria? What are you doing here? I got a message that Henry’s wife attacked him.”
Howland twisted the fabric of Oliver’s hospital gown even tighter. “Victoria just saved Henry from this creep.”
“I can’t breathe!” gasped Oliver.
Howland loosened his grip. Oliver said, “Reverend True threatened me …”
“He was holding a pillow over Henry’s face,” said Victoria. “Trying to smother him.”
At that point, Ellen appeared at the door, tying the belt of her plaid wrapper. “What’s Ashpine done now?” she grumbled. Ocypete followed her.
Before anyone could respond, a deep male voice echoed down the hall. “Where’s the Meadows-Rotch room? Anybody tell me where they’re at?” and Lambert Willoughby shambled up to the door carrying an enormous basket of flowers. “Well, Miz Meadows, just the person I want to see.”
“Leave them across the hall,” said Ellen, waving toward their room.
Before Lambert could leave, Ocypete pulled an envelope out of the bouquet and opened it. “How sweet. Look at this, Ellen. From Selena.”
“Out of the way, please!” Doc Jeffers strode into the room and scowled at the assemblage. “Out! All of you! Get out!” He peered at Henry, who was lying on his back, pale but breathing. “Get Hope in here, right away!”
“The reverend had a relapse, Doctor,” said Mindy.
“It was no relapse,” said Victoria. “Oliver was smothering him.”
Mindy glanced with concern at Victoria. “I’ll fetch Hope,” and she hurried out of the room.
“It’s all a terrible mistake …” said Oliver.
Casey referred to her notes. “Says here, Miss Sampson attacked her husband, Reverend True.”
Henry gasped.
“Everybody clear out of here,” ordered Doc Jeffers.
Oliver perched on his bed. “I’ve got to lie down.”
Doc Jeffers held his stethoscope against Henry’s chest. Henry’s breath wheezed in and out.
Light footsteps raced down the hall, and Hope entered. Doc
Jeffers pulled the earpieces away from his ears and turned to her. “Get them out of here. Now!” “Right.” Hope herded everyone into the hall.
“Can we be of help?” asked Ellen.
“Stay out!” said Doc Jeffers.
When they were out in the hall, Casey asked Hope, “How sick is Ashpine?”
“He was to be discharged today.”
“I want to talk to him. Is there a room with some privacy we can use?”
“The nurses’ lounge. Follow me.”
“Hope! I need you here,” Doc Jeffers bellowed.
“I’ll take them,” said Victoria. “I know where the lounge is.”
“Thanks, Auntie Vic.”
“I’ve got to get back to bed,” said Oliver.
“I don’t think so,” said Hope. “You go with them.” She returned to Henry’s bedside.
Victoria led the way down the hall to the lounge. Oliver, with Casey and Junior Norton on either side of him, trailed after her with Howland following.
The nurses’ lounge was off a long corridor, a small drab room with a gray-and-black speckled linoleum floor, no windows, several armless plastic chairs in yellow and orange, and a brown tweed couch. A table on the other side of the room held a coffeemaker with an inch of dark liquid that smelled like road tar, bubbling on a hot plate.
Victoria perched on one of the yellow chairs.
“Sit,” said Casey to Oliver.
He slumped onto the couch. “I’m sick.” He lifted himself up slightly and tucked in the sides of his gown.
Casey ignored him. “What are you doing here, Victoria? Reverend True claimed his wife tried to kill him.”
“I’m not sure what happened,” replied Victoria. “I got to Delilah’s house after the skirmish was over.”
“What was all
this
fuss about?” Casey indicated Oliver, who was looking aggrieved.
“When I entered Henry’s room, Oliver was trying to smother Henry with a pillow.”
Oliver squirmed on the rough couch cushion. “I was trying to make him more comfortable.”
“He was smothering him,” said Victoria. “Trying to kill him.”
Oliver struggled to his feet. Junior Norton pushed him back. “Don’t you touch me!” Oliver cried.
“I think it’s likely that he killed Tillie, the pilot, and Lucy Pease. It’s sheer luck that Henry wasn’t victim number four.”
“No!” shouted Oliver. “Never! I never killed anyone! I didn’t even know those people.”
“He wanted Tillie’s job,” said Victoria. “An audit will show you how lucrative her job was. Once Oliver got himself hired, he set up his own scam the assessors didn’t even know about.”
“I didn’t even know Tillie! I didn’t know any of them.” Oliver was almost sobbing. “I was making the reverend comfortable, that’s all. Adjusting his pillow.”
“Mr. Ashpine, I want to hear what Mrs. Trumbull has to say,” said Casey. “You’ll have your chance to talk.” She turned to Victoria. “Care to comment?”
“I had nothing to do with any scam,” Oliver sobbed. “Delilah Sampson’s bill was a perfectly honest mistake. I’ll correct it. I’ll apologize.”
“Please, Mr. Ashpine. Let Mrs. Trumbull talk.”
“She’s lying!”
“Enough!” snapped Casey. “Sit down!”
“Delilah Sampson wasn’t the only person to get an inflated bill,” said Victoria.
“I’m new at the job. Honest mistakes, all of them!” cried Oliver.
Junior Norton eased Oliver back onto the couch. Oliver leaned forward and dropped his head in his hands. He looked up suddenly. “I’ll sue you for false arrest!” Oliver cried. “Undue force!”
“You’re not under arrest, sir,” said Casey. “We’ll listen to what you have to say, and you’re entitled to have a lawyer present, if you want.”
“I don’t need a lawyer! I haven’t done anything!”
Casey turned away from him. “We need to talk in private, Victoria.” She glanced at Junior Norton, who raised his hand in acknowledgment.
Victoria and she went into the hall and closed the door to the lounge behind them.
“It’s your word against his, Victoria. You claim Ashpine was smothering Henry, he claims he was fixing the pillow. Let’s hope Henry recovers. If he does, he can speak for himself.”
“Don’t let Oliver back in the same room with Henry,” Victoria insisted.
“I’ll have Henry switched to another room and one of our guys will be on duty until we sort this out.”

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