Death and Honesty Read Online Free PDF Page B

shouted, tripping on the bottom step. “You didn’t give me the check!”
    But Victoria was smiling up at the chauffeur and didn’t hear the assessors’ clerk.

CHAPTER 6
    Victoria set down her heavy cloth bag next to the limousine. She hadn’t realized how many copies she’d made.
    “I’ll put that on the front seat for you, madam,” the chauffeur said.
    Victoria hesitated, then passed her bag to him. The only irreplaceable item in the bag was her notebook, with the start of a sonnet she was working on. While the chauffeur was stowing her bag, she studied what she could see of his face. She could make out only his bright eyes, high cheekbones, and cleft chin. And his mouth, of course, set in that twisted half smile. The chauffeur, Darcy, was taller than she was, well over six feet. He might have been playing the part of a chauffeur in a movie. Except for that smile, he had absolutely no expression.
    Why was he so familiar?
    She took a deep breath and climbed into the backseat. Darcy slammed the door with an expensive thunk. Before they turned onto South Road, Victoria saw his eyes in the rearview mirror, watching her.
    The glass partition that separated the driver from passengers slid down silently. “Madam,” he said.
    “Yes?”
    “Miss Sampson has asked that I invite you to tea.”
    His voice was familiar, too, an actor’s deep, resonant voice. Victoria’s uneasiness grew. Then she thought of the unappetizing cold tea she’d left on her table. And the police station where Casey was working without her. Did she want to ride alone with this strangely familiar man? Adrenaline kicked in. Of course she did. “Thank you, Darcy, I’d enjoy that.”
    “Shall I take you directly there, madam?”

    “By all means.”
    He said nothing more. The direction they were going seemed right for the old Hammond place. They turned off North Road between two granite posts onto a dirt track and continued for perhaps a half mile. The limousine came to a fork in the road and paused before turning onto a smaller track. Darcy was watching her in the rearview mirror.
    Victoria sat forward. It had all come back to her.
    She rapped on the partially open glass. “Darcy?”
    He glanced in the mirror. “Yes, Mrs. Trumbull?”
    “Back there, ‘Two roads diverged …”’
    “Yes, Mrs. Trumbull. ‘I took the one less traveled … .’” He smiled.
    “It’s you, Emery Meyer! Why on earth are you working for Delilah Sampson?” Victoria leaned forward. “Jewels?”
    “Please, Mrs. Trumbull. My name is Darcy.”
     
    The town clock struck five. Joe Hanover and Lincoln Sibert, two of the regulars on Alley’s porch, checked their watches.
    “Clock’s been running slow for a couple days,” said Joe. He leaned against the porch railing. “What in hell do you suppose is going on with the assessors now?”
    “What do you mean?” Sarah Germaine had stopped at Alley’s on her way home from tribal headquarters in Aquinnah. Today she wore a dressy black sweatshirt with bright feathers painted around the neck and shoulders.
    Joe switched whatever he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other. “You seen that white limo?”
    “You can hardly miss it,” said Sarah.
    “Belongs to that woman who bought the old Hammond place,” said Lincoln, who was leaning against the door frame. “North Shore. Born-again Christian or something.”
    “Hubby’s the born-again, not her,” said Joe, chewing.
    Lincoln shrugged. “The car’s hers, anyway.”
    Joe spat something off to one side. “Before you got here, the driver waves me over, rolls down the window, and asks the way to Mrs. Trumbull’s.”
    “So?”

    “I seen the guy before. Him and Mrs. Trumbull was pret-ty cozy a while back. Why’s he need to ask how to get to her place?”
    “The same person?”
    “I never forget a face. The guy was even cozier with our dear sweet little selectman, Noodles.”
    “Select- person,” said Sarah. “Her name is