“I don’t know about you guys,” he called out to his fellow workers, “but I’m outta here,” and he took off through the woods on the north side of the road.

  At the police barracks, Sergeant Smalley was dealing with more problems than he wanted. He had summarily dismissed both Bruce Duncan and Roderick Hill after the call from the sheriff. The sheriff hadn’t been able to reach Gus Ferreira, who was driving the county vehicle for the roadside detail.

  “His radio okay?” Smalley had asked.

  “Should be,” the sheriff replied. “We check them before use, and besides, Gus has a backup cell phone.”

  “Could be in a dead reception area.”

  “Possibly. The crew was working east from the airport along the Edgartown-West Tisbury Road. State road,” he added, with emphasis.

  “Okay, you made your point.”

  “Appreciate it if you’d locate the van, see what Gus is up to,” said the sheriff. “Stop by the jail first and I’ll give you details.”

  Smalley stowed papers in his briefcase to work on at home. He felt sorry for himself. He’d have to cancel his dinner date with Alison. Damn. All because Gus was probably taking a leak in the bushes beside the road.

  Roderick and Bruce Duncan left their names, addresses, and phone numbers with Tim Eldredge, downstairs at the front desk of the police barracks.

  “I don’t suppose I can get a ride with you?” Duncan asked, outside.

  “You suppose right,” said Roderick. “You wouldn’t let me get in a word edgewise.”

  “You heading for the theater?”

  Roderick pulled an enormous watch out of the depths of his costume. “The evening performance is scheduled in less than three hours.”

  “I’m heading that way.”

  “Thought you were avoiding the theater. You got something against my uncle and aunt? You think a serial killer is on the loose? Think you’re next? Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

  “Just a minute,” said Duncan, holding up a hand. “I only said I was heading that way. I don’t expect you to go out of your way for me.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should give you a ride.”

  “Save energy,” said Duncan.

  “Oh, hell. Get in.”

  “You can let me off in front of the theater.”

  “Right.”

  Once he had picked her up, Howland drove from the playhouse to Victoria’s. The news that Teddy had been hiding out at Victoria’s all along had put him in an evil temper. “Everybody has to be notified about Teddy being found, Victoria. The authorities, the parents, everybody.”

  “Alison contacted everyone except his mother. She can’t seem to find her,” Victoria replied.

  Howland braked for a string of mopeds. “Goddamned road hazards.” He blasted his horn and steered into the left lane. An approaching car pulled off onto the shoulder until Howland was safely past.

  “Watch it, buddy!” the driver shouted.

  “They’re all out of shape. Saving money by riding pillion.”

  “‘Riding pillion’,” Victoria repeated. “How quaint.”

  “Shorts and sandals and bare arms. Think they’re in an amusement park ride. Draining the resources of the hospital.”

  Victoria cleared her throat again. “He’s got chicken pox.”

  “Jeezus Christ, Victoria.” Howland slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

  “I had nothing to do with the chicken pox.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  They approached Whippoorwill Farm, and Howland slowed to let a truck turn out. The driver waved. Howland ignored him.

  “Who was that?” Victoria asked, turning to see who was driving.

  “Who knows. Who’s with Teddy?”

  “Dr. McAlistair is with him.”

  “Alison, yes. We have to find his mother. And his father.”

  “His father is on the way. He was reading poetry at the coffeehouse.”

  Howland braked to avoid three crows dining on fresh-killed skunk. Victoria wound up her window. The car behind him honked.

  “Following too close,” muttered Howland.

  “Teddy’s father is a poet, too. Like Roderick.” Victoria glanced over at Howland. His face was flushed.

  “So you, Madame Detective, have eliminated him from the list of suspects because he’s a poet?”

  “Not entirely. I’m open-minded.”

  Callaghan made his way to the bicycle path and hiked along it briskly, whistling a merry tune, hands in his pockets. He slowed briefly to check his watch, and continued. A half-dozen helmeted bicyclists came up from behind him.

  “Nice day!” the leader called out.

  “Got that right,” he called back to the waving orange pennant on the last bike.

  After he’d walked a half-mile or so, he checked his watch again, and then cut through the huckleberry brush that separated the bicycle path from the road, waited a few minutes until a dark blue Toyota approached from Edgartown, and stuck out his thumb.

  The car stopped. He opened the passenger door, and the driver, a young woman wearing sunglasses, leaned over the passenger seat. “Where are you heading?” she asked. Besides her sunglasses, she had on a skimpy bright orange bathing suit top and a towel knotted so her belly button showed.

  “Vineyard Haven,” he answered. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No problem. I’m going that way. You work there?” She glanced in the rearview mirror and took off with a squeal of tires.

  He fastened his seat belt hurriedly. “Meeting a friend.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  He shrugged. He did not want to converse. He decided he’d better not call attention to himself by being surly. “Nice day,” he mumbled.

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Going to the beach?”

  “I’ve just been. The water’s perfect.”

  So they talked about the weather, swimming, beaches, the summer crowds, and she turned right onto Old County Road.

  Callaghan saw, a moment too late, an old white Renault station wagon approaching, and turned his head away.

  “You see something?” his driver asked.

  “I thought I saw a wood lily.”

  She slowed. “Want me to stop so you can take a look?”

  “No! No thanks. I need to get to Vineyard Haven. Thanks for asking, though.” He could feel sweat trickling down his forehead and back.

  CHAPTER 28

  “What the hell … ?” Howland swiveled around to get a better look at the Toyota that had slowed after it passed them. “That looks like Red Callaghan, the jailhouse chef.”

  “Be careful,” said Victoria, bracing her hand against the dashboard again.

  Howland moved back into the right lane. “Looked just like him.”

  Victoria sat up straight. “Don’t you think we should follow that car?”

  “We’ve got to find out what’s happening at your house.”

  “But if it is the chef, shouldn’t we go after him?”

  “No.”

  Neither of them spoke again until they turned into Victoria’s drive.

  The police car Alison had borrowed from Sergeant Smalley was parked under the Norway maple next to a blue pickup that smelled of fish.

  Alison came to the kitchen door and greeted them. “Father and son are reunited.”

  “How is he?” Howland asked.

  “He’s on the couch in the library, sleeping now,” said Alison. “He feels awful, hot and achy. His father is sitting with him, reading the paper.”

  “Do we need to call the doctor?” Howland asked.

  Alison drew herself up to her full height. “I am a doctor, after all, Mr. Atherton. More than qualified to deal with chicken pox, thank you. Everything is under control.”

  “What the hell’s the matter with everyone?” Howland snapped. “Someone call Smalley.”

  “I’ve notified Sergeant Smalley. He should be here any minute.” Alison gave Howland a tight smile. “He’s taking me to dinner at Le Grenier, then to the boat.”

  “On his expense account, I suppose,” Howland said. He suddenly seemed to take in what she’d said. “You’re leaving?”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Trumbull has dealt with chicken pox patients in the past.”

  “Is that the phone?” Victoria brushed past Howland to answer.

  “I’ll get it,” said Alison. She came out a few minutes later, looking annoyed. “John’s had to cancel our dinner date. A problem’s come up at the police barracks.”

  “May I take you to dinner in his place?” asked Howland.

  Alison looked at her watch.

  “Go ahead,” said Victoria. “I’ll tend the patient. Besides, Tim Eldredge and Junior Norton plan to play an all-night poker game here tonight.”

  “Oh?” said Howland. “Two cops?”

  “Tim has invited Dawn Haines,” said Victoria. “I think he’s finally noticed her.”

  “Maybe I’ll join them after I take Alison to the ferry. But I’d like to see Teddy first.”

  “You know where the library is,” said Victoria.

  Teddy was sleeping on the sofa, a Victorian concoction with a carved wooden back depicting roses. Tucked among the rose leaves was a perfectly carved insect that looked remarkably like a Japanese beetle.

  Jefferson Vanderhoop sat next to Teddy’s bed, reading the sports section of The Boston Globe. He looked up and grinned as Howland entered the room.

  “How about those Sox, hey?” Vanderhoop said.

  “I don’t follow football,” said Howland.

  Vanderhoop stared at him and stopped chewing whatever he had in his mouth.

  “Your son okay?” asked Howland.

  “Red Sox,” said Vanderhoop, starting to chew again.

  “He okay?”

  “I guess. You ever have chicken pox?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “If you haven’t had chicken pox, you better stay away from my kid. You don’t want to catch it. Complications like scars, shingles, arthritis, joint disease. Can sterilize you.”

  Vanderhoop returned to the sports pages, and Howland backed out of the room and headed for the kitchen.

  “Would you like some wine to take with you?” asked Victoria, reaching into the refrigerator. She held up a three-quarters-full bottle.

  Howland didn’t respond. Instead, he asked Alison, “Will contracting chicken pox as an adult cause sterility?”

  “Rarely,” said Alison. “The disease is worse for adults, though. More adults than children die of chicken pox.”

  “Wine?” asked Victoria still holding the bottle.

  “Thanks, Victoria,” said Howland. “I’ll replace it.” He took the bottle from her.

  Alison looked puzzled. “To a French restaurant?”

  Howland checked the label. “Australian wine at that. Le Grenier is in Vineyard Haven.”

  “And … ?”

  “Vineyard Haven is dry,” Howland explained. “Don’t try to make sense out of Island regulations. You can buy wine in Oak Bluffs or Edgartown, and restaurants in the four dry towns will serve you.” He shrugged. “They just can’t sell it to you.”

  “Is Teddy still asleep?” Victoria asked.

  Howland nodded. “Have you had chicken pox, Victoria?”

  “Of course. Everyone’s had it. Haven’t you?”

  “I was coddled as a kid. I didn’t catch anything.”

  “Highly contagious,” said Alison. “Ten-day incubation.”

  After Howland and Alison left for the restaurant, Victoria checked on Teddy, who was sleeping. His father looked up and grinned. “So the kid asked for me, eh?”

  “According to Dr. McAlistair. How do you feel about dogs?”

  “Teddy’s always wanted one, but the wife wouldn’t hear of it. Too messy.”

  “Is Teddy responsible enough to take care of a dog?”

  “Teddy’s got more sense than me. You got some dog in mind?”

  “I don’t know,” said Victoria, and left the library.

  “Sure, I’ll be happy to release Sandy to you, Victoria,” said Doc Atkins when Victoria reached him at the animal clinic. “He’s as good as new. Misses the boss, of course. You’d expect that. Want me to deliver him?”

  “Would you bring some dog food with you?”

  “Dog food, a couple of toys, and a bed. How’s the boy?”

  “He’s come down with chicken pox.”

  The vet laughed. “Sandy’s what the doctor ordered, then. I’ll be there in a half-hour. You still got some of that Australian wine around?”

  While she waited, Victoria rummaged around in the closet, found an unopened bottle of the same wine she’d sent off with Howland and Alison, and put it in the refrigerator.

  As she was setting wine glasses and crackers and cheese on a tray, an ambulance pulled up in front of the kitchen door, red lights rotating. The siren whooped a couple of times. Victoria hustled out to see what had happened. Doc Atkins emerged from the driver’s side, grinning.

  “Don’t get to use the siren and lights often.” He opened the back door of the ambulance and lifted out a dog that in no way resembled the filthy creature Victoria and Joanie had taken to the clinic. He was a pale golden tan with fluffy fur. His tongue hung out as though he was smiling. His eyes were bright.

  “Sandy?” asked Victoria.

  “A couple of days can make a difference. Let’s see the patient.” Doc Atkins carried the dog into the library.

  Jefferson Vanderhoop stood up and set the newspaper on the chair. “That was quick.”

  Sandy barked. Teddy opened his eyes. Doc Atkins set the dog down, and Sandy bounced over to Teddy and started licking his face. Teddy grinned. “Sandy, hey Sandy, old buddy.”

  Vanderhoop looked from the doc to Victoria to his son and back at the doc.

  “Can I keep him, Dad? Please, Dad?”

  Vanderhoop glanced at Victoria’s face before he said, “Damn right, kid.”

  “Care to join us in a glass of wine, Mr. Vanderhoop?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Name’s Jefferson.”

  Le Grenier was on the second floor of a building only a short walk from the ferry. Chef-owner Jean Dupon escorted Alison and Howland to a table by the window, where they could look out through green leaves to the street below. He examined the wine label, shrugged, and took the partially full bottle to chill. Looking down on Main Street, it was as though they were in a tree house, a secret hideaway. Alison ordered tuna. Howland ordered swordfish.

  “Did Smalley say what the problem was at the police barracks?” Howland asked, while they were waiting to be served.

  “He said something fishy was going on.”

  While they were eating, they talked about the theater, their jobs, life on the Island, Alison’s work in Washington.

  Chef Dupon returned to their table. “Monsieur Atherton, you naughty man.” He shook a finger at Howland, and Alison looked up with concern. “Since you jail my sous-chef, business is off.”

  “Chef Callaghan?” Alison asked. “The chef at the county jail? French chef?”

  “The cooking is French. The chef is not.” Chef Dupon bowed and left.

  Alison talked to Howland about her lost son, Douglas, for the first time in years. Teddy’s sudden appearance had opened some door she’d slammed shut a long time ago. She thought of Teddy’s swollen eyes and the spots that weren’t itching, yet.

  “Teddy cried for his dad,” she said. “Not his mother.”

  “I got the impression that his father was kind of rough.”

  “He’s the one Teddy called for. He’s certainly not afraid of his father. Have you any idea who the mother’s boyfriend is? Teddy’s afraid of him.”

  Smalley was driving toward the county jail along the stretch of beach between Oak Bluffs and Edgartown when his cell phone rang. He pulled over to the side of the road.

  “Smalley, here.”

  “A shooting at the playhouse,” said the nine-one-one operator.

  “Goddamned shit,” said Smalley, and made a U-turn across summer traffic on Beach Road.

  CHAPTER 29

  Alison and Howland had almost finished their main course when they heard sirens—first one, then another—coming toward them on Main Street. The vehicles turned off a block or two before reaching the restaurant.

  “Police?” asked Alison.

  “Police, fire, or the town ambulance. Can’t tell. We don’t hear many sirens on the Island.”

  They were still speculating on what the sirens meant when Alison said, “There goes my cell phone.”

  “No symphonic phrase or catchy tune?”

  “Vibration mode.” She smiled, took the phone from her jacket pocket, and looked at the display. “I’ve got to call back.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll take the phone outside.”

  When she returned, Howland said, “Serious?”

  “It was John Smalley.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “The bride of Frankenstein has been shot.”

  “Dead?”

  “She’s at the hospital, waiting to be airlifted to Boston.”

  “Dearborn’s wife?”

  “I assume that’s who it is.”

  Howland raised his hand, and the waitress came over. “We’ll skip dessert. My check, please.”

  “Was everything all right?”

  Alison kissed her fingers. “C’est magnifique,” she said.

  Tim Eldredge had just walked into Victoria’s kitchen, following Dawn Haines. He was freshly showered and shaved and was wearing a clean uniform.

  “You look trim,” Victoria told him.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Eldredge. “Sergeant Smalley gave me a couple hours off this afternoon.”

  “You clean up pretty good,” observed Vanderhoop. “You were a mess when I saw you on my boat.”

  Jefferson Vanderhoop, Victoria, and Doc Atkins were sitting at the kitchen table with what was left of the bottle of wine and a plate with a few cracker crumbs. Teddy was sleeping, his dog curled up next to him on the library sofa.