Free Deadly Nightshade by Cynthia Riggs

Victoria said. “Light color, gray or tan, not white. The license plate was muddy, but it started with FU.''
    “Nice going, Gram!” Elizabeth said with admiration.
    “Mr. D.'s lights are on. I suppose midnight isn't too late to call on someone.”
    “I think it's a good idea, under the circumstances.” Elizabeth opened the car door.
    “Besides, we need to tell Domingo about finding the bottle and checkbook cover.”
    Noreen and Domingo were sitting in wicker armchairs at the glass-topped table in the living room, watching a late-night rerun of the selectman's meeting on Channel 9. The room was dense with cigarette smoke. Elizabeth knocked on the sliding door and pushed it to one side.
    Noreen stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. She was small and blond, almost a foot shorter than Elizabeth, who was six feet tall. She was wearing white sweatpants and white socks and a magenta T-shirt printed with exotic blue-and-gold flowers.
    “Yo,” Domingo said to Elizabeth, and remained seated. As soon as Victoria came through the door, he stood up and took off his baseball cap.
    “Is everything okay?” Noreen turned down the volume on the TV with the remote and moved a chair over for Victoria.
    “We were being followed and decided to stop here,” Victoria said. “Besides, we found something.”
    “Did you identify who was following you?” Domingo put his cap back on and sat down again.
    “Light-colored Ford van, license starting with 'FU,'” Victoria said.
    “ FU.” Domingo laughed. “That's not Meatloaf. I don't know who it is, but I'll find out.” He waved the smoke away from Victoria. It drifted toward Elizabeth, who cried, “Hey!” and fanned at it.
    “They didn't try anything smart, did they?” Noreen asked.
    “No,” Elizabeth said. “They came out of the road next to the Harbor House and followed us here.”
    “Was the harbor busy tonight?” Noreen asked Elizabeth, who was sitting on the couch under Domingo's display of antique harpoons.
    “Did you get all the receipts entered?” Domingo asked.
    “Will you let me talk without you butting in?” Noreen turned to him, hands on her hips.
    “Okay, honey, okay.” Domingo took his cap off and placed it over his heart, then looked up at the ceiling with liquid brown eyes.
    “No.” Elizabeth yawned, then covered her mouth with her hand. “It was quiet until almost midnight. Then this weird, creepy man came by, saying a couple of huge boats were arriving.”
    “Oh?” Domingo looked at her.
    “It was only Dojan Minnowfish,” Victoria said. “I went to school with his great-grandmother.”
    “He frightened the hell out of me.” Elizabeth stretched her arms over her head. “Black hair, black beard, black eyes, black clothes, rags and feathers and bones rattling and blowing in the wind.” She looked up at Domingo's harpoons. “I hope those things are wired in place. Some weaponry.”
    “Dojan lives here in Oak Bluffs, doesn't he, Domingo?” Noreen said.
    Behind them, the TV showed two of the selectmen gesticulating at the third, Liz Tate, whose back was to the camera.
    “I think he lives in the Camp Meeting Ground, behind Harbor House.” Domingo paid no attention to the selectmen. “His family owns one of the wooden tents off Pawtucket Avenue.”
    Noreen turned to Victoria. “You went to school with his great-grandmother? She must have died twenty years ago.”
    “Yes,” Victoria said. “In fact, I wrote a poem about her. I must find it and give a copy to Dojan.” She watched the selectmen on TV. “It's better without the sound. Looks as if they're saying things I'd rather not hear.”
    “That is correct, sweetheart,” Domingo said. “You know where the name Dojan comes from?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward in the wicker chair, his hands clasped between his knees.
    “No. Where?” Victoria said, interested. “Is it Wampanoag?”
    “It's ancient Norse. It means 'dead.'” He looked first at Victoria, then cut his eyes at