Shooting Star by Cynthia Riggs Page B

a yawn.
     
    The storm had passed and sunlight streamed through the far clouds. Victoria, wearing black rubber boots muddy almost to her ankles from the afternoon’s rain, was out in the glorious afternoon, deadheading irises in the perennial border. Casey pulled up next to her in the police Bronco. The rain had left behind sweet-smelling air, puddles, and mud.
    Victoria shaded her eyes with a dirt-caked hand. “Rabbits.”

    Casey leaned toward the window. “What about rabbits?”
    “They ate every one of my tulips this spring. Just nipped off the buds, before they had a chance to bloom.”
    “Doesn’t McCavity scare them off?”
    “He watches.” Victoria took a swipe at a faded iris blossom with her secateurs. “I hope you got Patrick and his friends to the beach before the storm hit.”
    “They had enough time for a dip.”
    Victoria tucked her secateurs into the pocket of her trousers. “I assume you’re here on business?”
    Casey nodded. “Flights from Boston to the Vineyard were canceled because of the storm, so Teddy Vanderhoop’s mother took the bus to Woods Hole and caught the boat that gets in at four-thirty. I’m picking her up in Vineyard Haven.”
    “Why the West Tisbury police?”
    “The Tisbury and state cops are working both cases—the missing boy and the death of Peg.” Casey paused. “Understand you were at the funeral parlor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did Sergeant Smalley say anything to you, Victoria?”
    “He told me, in no uncertain tones, to keep quiet.”
    “He told me Peg didn’t die from the fall.”
    Victoria wiped her muddy hands on her corduroy trousers. “Give me a minute or two to wash up and change my clothes.”
    “Kind of wet for gardening, isn’t it?”
    “I’ve been planting some Dodecatheon poeticum. An Oregon friend sent me a dozen or so bulblets.”
    “Yeah?” said Casey. “What’s the ‘dodeca’ part. I can guess the rest.”
    “Shooting star. Poet’s shooting star.”
    “Appropriate. At least no one’s tried to shoot Frankenstein yet. Maybe he’ll do the shooting, since he’s the star.”
    Victoria ignored Casey’s attempt at humor. “The flowers are quite beautiful, a sort of rose-lavender. They look like miniature
badminton shuttlecocks. I hope the ground isn’t too wet.” Victoria splashed through a small lake in the driveway and headed into the house, stomping mud off her boots on the entry mat.
    Casey listened to the police radio while she waited. Communications was calling the West Tisbury police. Someone had thrown a brick through the window of the Rapid Express Agency’s office at the airport. Casey lifted the mike and called her sergeant, Junior Norton.
    “Right, chief. On my way.”
    A few minutes later, Victoria appeared, clean, combed, and calling out instructions to someone behind her.
    Casey opened the door. “Is your granddaughter home?”
    Victoria hoisted herself into her seat. “Elizabeth’s at work. But I’ve acquired two more guests.”
    Casey headed out of the driveway. “In addition to the doc?” She braked to let a dump truck go by on the Edgartown Road.
    “The hitchhikers the police were looking for showed up at my house. I’m putting them up temporarily.” Victoria pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. “Will Mrs. Vanderhoop want to stay somewhere other than her own house?”
    “You don’t happen to have an extra room, do you, Victoria?”
    “I have the downstairs bedroom. She should stay away from her own house until we find Teddy and solve Peg’s murder.”
    “State police are the ones who solve murders.”
    The radio crackled and Junior Norton’s voice came on. “Chief, you know the brick that was thrown through the Rapid Express office?”
    “What about it?” asked Casey.
    “A note was wrapped around the brick. On VETA letterhead.”
    “VETA?” asked Casey.
    “Vineyarders for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Says, ‘Even cannibals don’t stew innocent fish. Only REAL