Read The Bee Balm Murders for Free Online Page A

gray corduroy trousers and a shirt printed with tiny rosebuds for the occasion of the arrival of the Ditch Witch drill. She plucked a straw hat from the selection hanging in the entry, made sure her police deputy hat was in her bag, just in case, and was ready before Orion had finished shaving.
    Orion held the passenger door of his fine vehicle for her and she swung her long legs in. He went around to the driver’s side, patted the car, and got in. The car was roomy, solid, and luxurious, not like today’s models. Victoria sighed and sat back to savor the ride.
    They drove to the end of Old County Road and turned toward Vineyard Haven. Along the way, Victoria pointed out the grove of beech trees. She’d written a poem, she told him. If she were to be turned into a tree, like Baucis and Philemon, she hoped it would be a beech. Orion listened with his pleasant expression, although he’d heard Victoria tell the very same story the last time they’d driven into Vineyard Haven together.
    He pulled into the Packer’s Marine parking area. In the distance, coming around the jetty, a tug was hauling a barge, and on the barge was a magnificent orange machine that glistened in the bright morning.
    Victoria held the brim of her floppy hat against the breeze, examining the Ditch Witch drill as the barge drew near. “Isn’t Dorothy going to be here?”
    “She’s supposed to be,” said Orion, looking behind him down Beach Road. “This must be her car now.”
    “A Mercedes roadster,” murmured Victoria.
    The woman who got out of the car was, as Victoria knew, fiftyish, fleshy, and a bit over five feet tall. Victoria stood as straight as she could, pushing against her lilac-wood stick to give herself added height.
    The woman was enveloped in an aura of musky perfume. She was dressed in a Lilly-something outfit, too young for her, big splashy pink flowers with chartreuse leaves. Her shoes, scarf, and hat, all a horrid shade of pink, matched everything else she was wearing, including the frames of her sunglasses.
    Victoria glanced at Orion and knew he was smitten.
    The woman’s hair, an aggressive metallic auburn, clashed with all that pink. She ignored Victoria, and thrust her small arms out to Orion, who responded with a warm embrace. “Darling!” she cried. “Isn’t this exciting! Our very own Ditch Witch drilling unit!”
    Orion disentangled himself, apparently recalling that this was not one of Victoria’s favorite people. “Dorothy,” he said. “You know Mrs. Trumbull, don’t you?”
    “Of course, darling! Everybody, just everybody knows Mrs. Trumbull. Hello, dear. How nice to see you.” She looked up at Victoria and held out a small hand. Victoria took it in her large gnarled one, only slightly concerned that she might crush it.
    There was sudden activity at the Packer barge ramp, the sound of powerful engines reversing and churning an awful lot of water. The tug maneuvered the barge next to the ramp with a soft thump. The vehicle aboard wobbled against its wooden chocks. As if by magic, the machine—the Ditch Witch drill and all its accoutrements—was off-loaded onto a flatbed trailer, and without ceremony, the truck attached to the trailer drove off, heading up Island.
    “That’s it,” said Orion, smiling down at Dorothy Roche.

 
    C HAPTER 6
    That evening, Elizabeth made supper: lamb chops, Swiss chard from the garden, and tiny new potatoes dug out from under the potato plants. Victoria was unusually quiet.
    “How was the arrival of the drilling machine, Gram?”
    Victoria set her napkin down beside her barely touched food. “Anticlimactic. Packer’s tugboat brought the Ditch Witch drill over. A couple of men winched it off the barge onto a trailer; the men got into the truck and drove off.”
    “Where to?” Elizabeth finished the last of her lamb.
    “Behind Trip Barnes’s moving and storage place.” Victoria rearranged her knife and fork on her plate.
    “Did Dorothy Roche show up for the