Authors: Cynthia Riggs
Shooting Star (20 page)
After he’d driven through town and was on a clear stretch of road, Howland dialed Alison’s cell phone.
“Can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m with John.”
“What’s his problem?”
“The roadside cleanup crew escaped.”
“Damn,” said Howland. “That was Callaghan, the cook, I saw in the Toyota. I should have listened to Victoria.”
“I can’t talk now,” she repeated. “I’ll call back later.”
“Smalley got his cell phone with him?”
“Yes,” she said, and disconnected.
Smalley explained what he wanted Alison to do and left the theater. Alison took his place on stage. Spread out below her was a vast field of bobbing faces. She was terrified of public speaking. The murmur of voices stopped. She felt as though she were about to perform, to sing an operatic role she didn’t know, when she’d never been trained to sing, something like that.
She spotted Roderick on the set, reassuringly familiar. He had pulled off most of his gummy makeup and had dropped the mess onto a copy of
The Island Enquirer.
He was scrubbing his face with a colorful beach towel.
The Island Enquirer.
He was scrubbing his face with a colorful beach towel.
George Byron, still wearing the Arctic explorer’s costume, was on the end of the front row, as far away from his cousin Roderick as it was possible to get.
The stage manager, Nora Epstein, dressed in an all-purpose
costume that apparently served for the several roles she was reading, strode up to the stage apron.
costume that apparently served for the several roles she was reading, strode up to the stage apron.
“He can’t expect me to be in four places at once.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Alison, leaning down to hear the woman above the growing murmur of the audience.
“Dearborn Hill has me reading three parts. I can’t watch the prop table and be on stage at the same time.”
“Please sit down, Ms … . ?”
“Epstein,” called out George from the side. “Nora Epstein.”
“Thank you,” said Alison. “Sit down, Ms. Epstein. No one’s blamed anyone yet.”
The murmur of the crowd grew louder.
Roderick, in the front row, tossed aside the towel. “It’s all my fault.”
Nora whipped around. “Trying to get attention as usual, are you?” she snarled.
“Return to your seat, please, immediately,” Alison ordered. After Nora was seated, Alison stood tall and raised both hands as if she were holding back traffic. The murmuring stopped. That was satisfying.
“We’ll be taking statements from all of you.” She looked down at the front row. George Byron grinned at her. “To expedite the process, count off, from one to three. All ones up on stage with Sergeant Norton, twos in the back of the auditorium with Trooper Eldredge, and threes downstairs in the café with me.”
While the audience was shouting out “one,” “two,” “three,” one by one from the first row all the way to the back of the theater, she moved from the stage apron and dialed Howland’s cell phone.
“Where are you now?” she asked.
“Almost at the town line.”
“Any thoughts?” she asked.
“I believe we’re dealing with one killer.”
“I agree,” she said.
“He’s either a lousy shot, or didn’t have a clear view of the
bride. She was on the bed in that scene. Damn these mopeds,” Howland grunted. “Four of them strung out, so I can’t pass. Was it Becca for sure?”
bride. She was on the bed in that scene. Damn these mopeds,” Howland grunted. “Four of them strung out, so I can’t pass. Was it Becca for sure?”
“Yes.”
“As soon as the killer learns Teddy’s at Victoria’s, he’s going after him. Victoria can’t keep him safe all by herself.”
“His father’s there,” said Alison. “So is Dawn.”
“The killer missed Teddy the first go round. He’ll try again. Bruce Duncan is right.”
“Fits the profile of a serial killer.”
“I’ve got to pass these mopeds,” said Howland. “No sense of self-preservation.” After a moment, he continued. “Besides you, me, Victoria, and his father, who knows where Teddy is?”
“I called his dad, and Victoria called Sergeant Smalley. I’m sure John’s informed all the other Island police departments. With the good news that Teddy’s safe, he probably announced it over the scanner.”
“Everyone on this Island has a scanner.”
“What about Teddy’s father?”
“I don’t know,” said Howland. “Wait a sec. I have to turn onto Old County Road.” Moments later he came back on. “I don’t know about Dawn Haines, either. Or Roderick. Or Bruce Duncan. Or that smart-ass George Byron.”
“His mother owns the playhouse. She wouldn’t want her son acting in this particular play, would she?”
“No love lost between Ruth Byron and her sister. Wonder if anyone’s thought to inform Ruth that her sister’s been shot?”
“I’ve got to get back to my audience. They’ve finished counting off.”
“What?” said Howland, but she hung up without answering.
The woman driving the blue Toyota dropped Red Callaghan off at Cronig’s State Road Market. Atherton had seen him, he knew, and he wanted to distance himself from the blue Toyota as soon as possible. He waited until the car was out of sight, then hitchhiked
past Vineyard Haven and into Oak Bluffs. At the crowded steamship authority ticket office, he picked up a boat schedule and sauntered past the restrooms to the seawall beyond, where he leaned against the railing, studying the schedule and gazing out at Nantucket Sound.
past Vineyard Haven and into Oak Bluffs. At the crowded steamship authority ticket office, he picked up a boat schedule and sauntered past the restrooms to the seawall beyond, where he leaned against the railing, studying the schedule and gazing out at Nantucket Sound.
“Darling!”
He turned, smiled, and held out his arms to the small woman with dark hair who rushed up to him and snuggled against him.
“God, it’s good to see you, Amanda. Two months in that crummy lockup …”
“You got all the stuff I sent you?”
He opened his arms. “I’m here, thanks to you.”
“No trouble?”
“Like a charm. Assigned to roadside cleanup duty, prepared snacks, coffee, and lemonade for the driver, driver dozed off, and I left. Easy as that. You bring a shaving kit and money?”
“And a wig and a clean shirt.”
“You doll. Let me have it. I’ll hit the john and shave off my mustache before we get the tickets.”
“Not your gorgeous mustache?”
He stroked the lush auburn growth. “Afraid so.”
When he returned, he was clean-shaven and no longer bald. Amanda was leaning against the railing, her back to the water.
She laughed. “Hello, stranger. I wouldn’t have recognized you. You look so … so dignified.”
Callaghan ran his hand over his smooth upper lip. “What do you hear about your kid?” he asked as they sauntered toward the ticket office.
“The police called off the search for him.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know what it means. They haven’t told me.”
They bought two round-trip tickets and stood where they could watch traffic on the roads that led to the wharf.
“They’re not going to call off a search for a missing kid.”
Callaghan leaned against the railing next to her and scanned the roads. “Cops don’t give up when it comes to kids.”
Callaghan leaned against the railing next to her and scanned the roads. “Cops don’t give up when it comes to kids.”
“If they’ve found him, they’d call me right away, wouldn’t they? His mother?” Her eyes were moist.
“They know where to reach you?”
She pulled her phone out of her pocketbook. “Damn! I forgot to recharge it. They’ve got my number at Mrs. Trumbull’s. I’ll check when I get back.”
“Since the kid isn’t that keen on California, you think he ran away?”
“He wouldn’t do that. He’s a good boy. I hope his blankety-blank father didn’t snatch him.”
“That likely?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“About California … ?”
Amanda sighed. “The TV deal fell through.”
“What?” Callaghan opened his eyes wide. “I thought the contract was signed and sealed?”
“I thought so, too. But they wouldn’t close the deal without Teddy’s father’s signature, since we’re not divorced yet.”
“And the old man wouldn’t sign?”
She shook her head. “He refused. Point blank. I told you what they offered me, didn’t I?”
“Offered
you
? Thought it was Teddy who got the offer.”
you
? Thought it was Teddy who got the offer.”
“The contract was made out to me. Close to a million dollars. Nobody hands out that kind of money to an eight-year-old boy. I’m his mother.” She patted her chest. “His legal guardian. But the lawyers at the studio insisted on both parents signing. Sexist. If I were Teddy’s father, you can bet the lawyers wouldn’t insist on the mother’s signature, too.”
Callaghan looked thoughtful. “So you won’t be sharing the million with his old man.”
“Looks like I won’t be sharing the million with you, either. We’re wasting time.” Amanda moved away from the railing
and started to walk toward the dock. “We’ve got to get you off the Island.”
and started to walk toward the dock. “We’ve got to get you off the Island.”
“Damn right. Atherton spotted me.”
“What!” She turned and stared at him.
“The two round-trip passenger tickets will throw them off temporarily. The cops will look for a single guy, bald with a mustache, not a couple with a distinguished, clean-shaven, gray-haired gentleman.” He patted the silver wig. “Return to the Island on the next boat, and I’ll get myself lost.”
“What about us?”
“Recharge your phone. I’ll give you a call when I’m somewhere safe. In the meantime, we’ve gotta get on that boat,” he nodded at the boarding ferry.
“Now.”
“Now.”
People and cars were moving down the long dock.
“Walk,” said Callaghan. “Don’t run.”
They boarded. Callaghan and Amanda went up the stairs to the upper deck.
As the ferry pulled away from its slip, they looked back at the town. A police car, blue lights flashing, was driving the wrong way up the one-way street that led to the dock.
Leonard Vincent, Peg’s ex-husband, was working on his new house in Chilmark, listening to WMVY’s album sound and halfway listening to the scanner, when he heard the announcement that a missing boy had been located and was safe.
He set down the nail gun, turned WMVY down, and the scanner up. Had to be the Vanderhoop kid. Guarded conversation on the scanner went back and forth, and pretty soon Lennie Vincent guessed that Teddy Vanderhoop, age eight, definitely was the found boy. Where had the kid been hiding? Quite possibly with Victoria Trumbull, he thought. The kid had seen something the night Peg was killed. But what?
Lennie laughed. He cleared up the loose tools on his construction site, packed everything in the toolbox that lay athwart the pickup bed, and headed down Island.
“Idiot cops,” he mumbled to himself, grinning hugely. “So they think he’s safe, do they? Assholes.”
Ruth Byron discovered the hideaway in the costume barn when she went there with a pillow in a clean pillowcase for George, who’d forgotten it.
The first thing she saw was a padlock on the door, hanging open from the old rusty hasp that had always been held shut with a wooden peg. A padlock? Surely, George hadn’t decided to lock himself in. Or out? There was a key in the padlock with a brown and white ribbon looped through it. Strange.
She pushed open the barn door and stopped in astonishment at what she saw inside. The setup was certainly not George’s doing. His bed, stored in the barn while his room was being papered, was made up with a blanket, sheets, and a shabby pillow she didn’t recognize. The bookcase had been pushed close to the bed and was stocked with canned and packaged food and boxes of crackers. The kind of food George didn’t normally eat. A pile of comic books was set next to a reading lamp on an end table beside the bed. What in the world was this all about?
She hurried back to the house and called George’s cell phone. A robotic voice announced that George was unavailable, she could leave a message or press “one” for other options. She told the recording to have George call her, right away.
She dialed Victoria Trumbull’s number. An unfamiliar sounding man answered and said Victoria was busy and would have to call back. Who was he?
She called the West Tisbury police station and got Chief Casey O’Neill.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” said Casey. “I ordered Victoria to stay out of this murder investigation, and she hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“Would you check her house, please? Some man answered the phone and refused to put her on.”
“Sure,” said Casey. “But all hell has broken loose in town,
and I’m here late coordinating stuff. It’ll take me at least a half-hour to check on her. Don’t worry about Victoria.”
and I’m here late coordinating stuff. It’ll take me at least a half-hour to check on her. Don’t worry about Victoria.”
Ruth, against her better instincts, called the theater, and Junior Norton answered.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“There’s been an accident,” Junior reported.
“An accident?” Ruth was alarmed. Her theater building on fire? She’d put off fixing the electricity until she had some money. She should never have waited.
Other books
Redhead Blitz by Janie Mason
The Polar Bear Killing by Michael Ridpath
Cold Killers by Lee Weeks
Dragon Tears by Nancy Segovia
Blood Game by Ed Gorman
H. M. S. Cockerel by Dewey Lambdin
The Dragon Delasangre by Alan F. Troop
The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Moore, Laurence
Also Known as Elvis by James Howe
Grand Cru Heist by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Jean-Pierre, Balen, Noël
