Shooting Star by Cynthia Riggs Read Free Book Online Page B

much trouble, Mrs. Trumbull?”
    “She’s got a great old house. It’s haunted,” said Howland, not looking at Victoria.
     
    Jefferson Vanderhoop the Fourth was bent over the engine of his forty-foot lobster boat, which was moored in Lagoon Pond, when the Oak Bluffs harbormaster’s launch pulled alongside. A short, stocky, dark-skinned man was at the wheel. When he spoke, his cigarette stuck to his lower lip like a growth of some kind. A cap with NYPD in faded gold stitching was pulled down over thick black eyebrows. He left the controls, dropped a fender between the two boats, and looped a line over a cleat on the lobster boat.
    A small wooden skiff tethered behind Vanderhoop’s boat bobbed in the wake of the launch.
    The launch passenger, a weary-looking guy wearing a day-old beard, a rumpled state trooper’s uniform, and leather boots coated with dust, stood up and made his way unsteadily forward from the stern.
    A flock of gulls took off into the wind, circled overhead, then settled back on the water.
    Vanderhoop straightened up and wiped oily hands on a rag. He grinned at the harbormaster, who’d stepped on board the fishing boat. “What d’ya say, Domingo?”
    “How you doing, Jefferson. You know trooper Tim Eldredge?”
    Eldredge started to scramble awkwardly onto the deck of the larger boat.

    “Hey!” said Vanderhoop, glancing at Eldredge’s boots. “No hard soles on my boat.”
    Tim dropped back onto the launch, undid his boot laces, tugged off his boots, exposing holes in both socks where his big toes stuck out, and made his way slowly to Vanderhoop’s boat.
    Vanderhoop scowled at him. “Not been around boats much? You live here long?”
    Tim nodded. “Born here.”
    “What brings you to my boat?” Vanderhoop asked the harbormaster.
    Domingo leaned against the pilothouse, crossed one leg over the other, and pointed his cigarette at Tim. “His show.”
    “State police business?” asked Vanderhoop.
    “Yes, sir. Need to ask you a few questions.”
    “What’s up?” Vanderhoop looked from Tim to Domingo.
    Domingo put his hands in the pockets of his khaki trousers and shrugged.
    Tim took a plastic card out of his shirt pocket and began reading out loud. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say …”
    “ Miranda ?” cried Vanderhoop, standing up straight. “Why in hell are you reading Miranda to me?”
    Tim kept reading and finished,” … will be provided for you at government expense.”
    “What kind of asshole are you, anyway?” said Vanderhoop.
    Tim put the card back in his pocket and pulled out a notebook. “Would you mind telling me where you were last night, Mr. Vanderhoop?”
    “What’s this about?” Vanderhoop gave his hands another wipe and tossed his rag onto the engine block. Stripped to the waist and barefoot, he stood about six-foot-three and probably weighed two hundred thirty pounds. The small amount of excess fat he carried formed a slight bulge over the belt of his jeans. His dark hair curled below his ears and he was clean-shaven.

    “Sorry, sir. I’m not at liberty to give out information at this point in time.”
    “I suppose my soon-to-be ex-wife filed a complaint?”
    “No, sir. This is strictly informal. Answers to a few questions. We can do it here on your boat, or, if you’d prefer, we can go back to the police barracks.”
    Vanderhoop leaned over the side of his boat and spat into the water. “Where was I last night?” He pointed down at his deck. “Right here.”
    “Can anyone verify that, sir?”
    “I doubt it.”
    “Mind if I look around?”
    Vanderhoop set large, callused hands on his hips. “What?”
    “I’d like to look around your boat, sir.”
    “You got a search warrant or something?”
    “I can get one, if necessary,” said Tim.
    Domingo grinned and turned away.
    Tim continued. “I was hoping you’d cooperate.”
    Vanderhoop’s face flushed. “What is this, anyway?”
    Tim shook his head.
    Domingo dragged on his