The Bee Balm Murders Read Online Free Page A

1906 Antiquities Act.” He pointed to his chest with his thumb. “That’s me.”
    “It’s town land, isn’t it? Not tribal land.”
    “You excavate that field without a permit and you’ll find out whose land it is.” Minnowfish’s dark face had become a shade darker.
    Orion could see this talk turning into a confrontation, and he’d lose if that happened. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you send a tribal rep to work alongside us and watch out for artifacts. We’ll give you GPS coordinates, documenting exactly where the artifact shows up, and your rep can turn everything we find over to the tribe along with where we found it. Would that work for you? That way, we don’t have to go through all that paperwork nonsense.” He realized immediately that he shouldn’t have used the word “nonsense.”
    Minnowfish finished his donut, wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, wadded up the napkin, took another, wiped his mouth, wadded that one up, tossed it onto the table.
    Orion waited. He hadn’t touched his donut.
    “You said you’re not digging?”
    “That’s right. Whatever the guy from the town said, they’re doing the excavating, not us.”
    Minnowfish stood. “I’ll have someone from the tribe bird-dog you.”
    “Good plan,” said Orion. “Want my donut?”
    “Might as well. Thanks.”
    *   *   *
    The aspirin wasn’t helping much. Orion knew from experience that he’d better keep moving, not lie down, which is what he wanted desperately to do. He needed to think, to talk to someone. When he first arrived on the Island, he’d leased the second floor of a building a block off Main Street. He didn’t look forward to returning to his empty office where there was no one to talk to. So he headed up Island on State Road and found himself looking forward to getting home to Victoria Trumbull.
    Victoria was typing her column for the newspaper with great rapidity using the forefingers of both hands and her right thumb on the space bar. She looked up with a smile, which faded when she saw his face.
    “You’re hurting.” She pushed the typewriter aside.
    “Just my back. It’ll pass.” At her sympathetic voice he already felt marginally better.
    “Was the death an accident?”
    Orion sat down carefully next to her, keeping his back straight. “He was shot.”
    “A local man?”
    Orion sighed. “You said something about your being a police deputy.”
    “I’ve helped our local police chief on a few occasions,” said Victoria. “She appointed me her deputy.”
    “She?” asked Orion.
    “Casey, our chief of police. Mary Kathleen O’Neill.”
    “Ah.”
    “How did you hurt your back?” Victoria asked.
    “I lifted something I shouldn’t have.”
    Victoria eased herself out of her chair and went into the kitchen. “Green tea?” she asked.
    “Please, Mrs. Trumbull. I’ll get it.” He started to get up, but realized he’d better not.
    “Sit,” she commanded. “By the way, Casey calls me by my first name. You’re welcome to, if you’d like.”
    She brought him a mug of his favorite tea with a plate of graham crackers, and sat again at the head of the table with her own mug. “I know you drink it black, but I’ve dosed it with honey from Sean’s bees. A restorative.”
    Now that he was inside and warm, the rain was no longer a threat. In fact, when the rain was kept outside where it belonged, it made a pleasing susurration against the silvery-gray shingles of Victoria’s house.
    He sipped the sweet tea, debating with himself whether or not to tell her about Angelo Vulpone. Victoria sat quietly, drinking her own tea. Suddenly, he said, “Mrs. Trumbull, I knew the man in the trench.”
    Victoria said nothing.
    “Angelo Vulpone. I didn’t tell the officers at the scene that I knew him. He was about to become a major investor in my company.”
    “About to become?”
    “He had money, he understood the importance of fiber optics, and he claimed he wanted to invest. Eight