Death of the Party

by Carolyn Hart

  Birds chittered. A gray squirrel near a live oak held an acorn, peered at them. Gray clouds with the texture of fissured granite layered above the clearing.

  Max glanced back at Annie. “I’ll take a look.” His tone was calm; his eyes were wary. He pushed the door open, stepped inside. He muttered an exclamation and strode across the room.

  Annie, heart thudding, came right behind him. She stopped in the middle of the room and frowned. No one was here. There was an aura of disarray, cushions awry, empty drawers tumbled to one side of the desk.

  Max banged around in the bedroom. In a moment, he came to the doorway, spread out his hands. “He’s gone. He’s taken everything with him—his clothes, all his stuff. Hey—” He dashed around her, came to a stop near the desk, staring at the emptied drawers. “Yesterday the desk was all locked up. And look—” He pointed at scored wood and a large rectangle bare of dust beneath a front window. “There was a trunk there. Locked with a padlock. And a rifle case. Everything’s gone.”

  Annie was bewildered. “Where could he have taken everything?”

  Max gripped her elbow. “I told you yesterday about the boat. A big cabin cruiser. Harry had urged Britt to hire it out for charter. Come on…”

  Max ran ahead of Annie. She loped after him though she doubted there was any reason now for haste. He burst out of the woods, skidded to a stop, stared grimly at the empty cove. “The yacht was anchored out there.” Max pointed to the deeper water. “He’s gone. And he’s made damn sure no one can follow him. There was a motorboat, too. He must have attached it to the stern with a line, pulled it with him.”

  Annie came up beside him. A raft of herring gulls bobbed near the point. There was nothing else to see but a vast, empty expanse of gray water and gray sky. “Why?”

  Max slammed a fist into his palm. “If we knew that, we might know everything. Okay”—he paced, head down—“what happened? Last night Everett told everybody Jeremiah was murdered. Harry was standing in the hall. He heard all of it. Harry knew that whatever happened this weekend, Britt promised to take the results of her investigation to the police. Now”—Max tipped his head, looked at Annie—“what do we conclude when Harry packs up and leaves, stealing a quarter-million-dollar yacht to make his getaway?”

  “He killed Jeremiah?” It was a question, not a statement. Annie bent down, scooped up a handful of crushed oyster shells. She threw a big one as hard as she could. It skipped across the murky water, then disappeared. Just like Harry. It looked as though Harry was guilty. Innocent men do not steal a yacht and sail away. But still…“Nobody’s said anything, Britt included, to suggest why Harry would murder Jeremiah.”

  Max was ahead of her. “If Jeremiah discovered Harry was involved in criminal activity and threatened to inform the police, Harry might have had a very good reason for murder. Dammit, I should have been smarter yesterday.”

  Annie looked at him quickly. “Short of reading Harry’s mind, I don’t see what you could have done.”

  “I could have insisted on knowing what he kept in that locked trunk.” Max jammed his hands in his pockets. “Last night I had trouble sleeping. I knew there was something important I needed to remember. I kept trying to think what I’d forgotten, what worried me. It was the trunk. What was the point in locking it? His cabin was in an area off limits to guests. There was no reason for anyone to be in his cabin except by invitation. That wasn’t good enough. He had a padlock on the trunk. The only possible reason was to hide something dangerous or illegal. Lucinda said he was in and out of his cabin last night and now we know why. He was hauling everything he owned to the yacht. But he’d come and gone late at night before. That sounds like drugs to me. He probably met another yacht out of sight of the island, transshipped cocaine. Then he delivered it to Savannah at his leisure, maybe even a few bricks at a time. Come on, we’ve got to tell Britt. She can radio the Coast Guard, get a search under way, although I expect he’s already landed in some out-of-the-way place. She can arrange for a charter to come to the island.”

  On the way back to the house, he quizzed Annie. “Did Britt say where she saw the light in the garden?”

  “Not specifically.” Annie frowned in thought. “Then she dismissed the idea, said she may have seen something glint when the clouds parted and there was a glimmer of moonlight.”

  “If it was Harry, there may be some trace of what he did. We’ll check to see if there’s been any fresh digging. He may have had more stuff hidden.” Max rubbed knuckles against his cheek. “Damn, if only I’d remembered about the trunk last night. It almost came to me when I was drifting off to sleep.” He was irritated with himself.

  Annie was quick to reassure him. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You were convinced Everett needed protection. You wouldn’t have left him alone. You’d have thought there would be plenty of time to check out the trunk this morning.”

  They came out of the pines into the backyard. Britt was waiting on the kitchen steps. As they hurried toward her, she looked past them with a frown. She didn’t give them a chance to speak. Her voice sharp, she demanded, “Where’s Harry?”

  Max was blunt. “Harry’s cleared out. He took everything he owned. And the yacht. And the motorboat. He made sure no one could follow him or get to the mainland before the charter comes tomorrow.”

  “Harry’s gone? The yacht’s gone? And the motorboat?” Fury hardened her face, made her look older. A lifetime of combativeness was reflected in the jut of her chin. “He’s marooned us here? He’ll pay for this.” Abruptly she stiffened, looked warily at Max. “How did you know about the boats?”

  Max’s level stare challenged her. “I don’t like being kept in the dark when I take on a job. I took a look around while you were greeting your guests. I went up the off-limits path and found the employee cabins. I talked to Harry, told him I was working for you. He was delighted to give me a tour—the inlet with the yacht in deep water, the pier with the motorboat tied to a piling, the office with the ham radio.”

  “You didn’t mention that to me.” The distance between them seemed to grow.

  Max was unruffled. “I’d say that makes us even. Maybe now we can work together. You can use that radio to get some help for us, start a search for Harry, have him picked up for questioning.”

  “Questioning? If he took the yacht, he’s a thief. I’ll have him arrested.” She plunged her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe it. Maybe there’s some explanation. Perhaps he left a note. Did you check the office?”

  Max shook his head. “There’s no mistake. His cabin’s empty. He took everything he owned—clothes, shoes, pipes, everything in his desk, as well as a locked trunk and a rifle case. There’s nothing left but old magazines and trash. Harry is gone. He probably has”—Max glanced at his watch—“five or six hours’ head start. The sooner you get in touch with the sheriff, the better.”

  “Yes. I’ll do that.” She bit off the words. She started to turn away.

  Max called after her. “Tell the sheriff Harry’s armed and dangerous.”

  Britt stopped, faced Max. “Dangerous?”

  Max’s face was grim. “I said he took everything with him. That includes a rifle case. A man doesn’t steal a quarter-million-dollar yacht on a whim. Last night Harry was in the hallway when Everett dug up the bones. You made it clear there would be an investigation into Jeremiah’s murder and whatever we learned would be presented to the authorities. Harry didn’t wait around. You need to lay it out for the sheriff from start to finish. That will give him enough to put out an APB for a murder suspect.”

  For an instant, Annie thought Britt was going to refuse. Or, at the least, disagree. Her expressions changed with the rapidity of cards flipped by a dealer, but Annie was certain she saw surprise, assessment, calculation, and decision.

  Then she nodded. “I’ll do that.” Still she made no move to go, an air of abstraction still evident.

  Annie was afraid Britt had dealt with one crisis too many. Perhaps she�
�d always taken great comfort in the knowledge that she had a boat at her command and was never marooned. Annie understood island fever. Even though she and Max lived on an island, Annie’s sense of security was based on the knowledge that Ben Parotti’s ferry was always available as well as Max’s motorboat. Moreover, Broward’s Rock was not Hawaii or Bermuda. On visiting those far-distant outposts, Annie had never been able to shed the persistent uneasiness engendered by the knowledge that hundreds of miles of ocean separated her from the mainland. And here was Britt looking as if she’d taken a step and found the floor missing.

  Annie said quickly, “Do you want us to come with you?”

  Britt gave her a grateful look but shook her head. “There isn’t anything you can do. I’ll take care of everything. Why don’t you and Max finish breakfast?” She frowned. “Don’t say anything to the others. I’ll explain when I get back.” She gave a short laugh. “Explain! That won’t be easy since I don’t understand myself. Harry gone. And”—she glanced toward Max—“you think he killed Jeremiah. I don’t know. I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else.” She swung away, moving fast toward the pines.

  At the back door, Annie hesitated. “What do we tell Lucinda?”

  Max shrugged. “Whatever we tell her, she’s going to be mad.”

  Annie reached for the door. “Let me handle it.”

  When they stepped inside, Lucinda paused in lifting a slotted spoon holding a poached egg. “Well?”

  Annie hurried across the room, smiling. “Harry won’t be up. Britt is going to explain in a little while. I’ll help you with everything as soon as I finish breakfast.”

  Lucinda eased the poached egg atop a steaming potato pancake. She gave Annie a harried glance. “If you could refill the serving dishes, I’d appreciate it.”

  Pushing through the door, Annie carried a plate of sausages and bacon. Max followed with an apple egg casserole. As they moved toward the buffet, conversation in the dining room fell away.

  “Look who’s back!” Slouching at ease in Jeremiah’s chair, Everett looked as replete as a cat with a mouse tail dangling from its chops. His pale eyes gleamed with amusement. And intelligence. “Talk about suspense. Clearly disturbed, our hostess summons the detective-in-chief. He is followed by his lovely wife and helpmeet”—Everett inclined his shining pompadour toward Annie—“and we”—his gesture encompassed the long table—“are left to wonder what further misdeed has been discovered. As if the weekend weren’t exciting enough with an announced murder, assorted suspects, and incipient investigation, now we await—with bated breath—elucidation. What the hell is going on? Has Britt misplaced a pet cobra? Found a map to a buried treasure? Another body?”

  Max slid into his place, reached for his coffee. “Sorry to disappoint you, Everett.” He drank the remainder of his coffee. “You and the others”—Max looked up and down the table—“can address all questions to Britt. She’ll be here shortly with some information. All of you might want to relax with coffee and stay to hear her.”

  Annie settled into her place and returned to her breakfast with enthusiasm. Though the food had cooled, it was still delicious, especially the apple egg casserole. The coffee was magnificent. She wondered at Max’s easy assurance that Britt would be with them shortly. That didn’t seem likely. Annie thought the sheriff might have a good many questions when apprised out of the blue about a murder unreported for more than a year and a missing yacht. And the sheriff had yet to hear Max’s theory about drugs. But if Max’s reply staved off Everett’s snide queries, so much the better.

  As she ate, she darted interested looks at her companions. Sitting opposite her were Millicent McRae, Gerald Gamble, Craig Addison, Kim Kennedy, and Max. Nick McRae was at Annie’s left. To her right were Isabel Addison and Dana and Jay Addison. The brilliant light of the chandeliers was unflattering to most. Nick’s angry color had subsided, but his thin nose looked pinched. He hunched over his plate, stiff as a man marching through a snowstorm. Gerald ate as if the food were a problem to be solved. Craig made monosyllabic replies to Kim’s enthusiastic description of the latest Falcons game. Kim looked young and vivid and eager, and was clearly making every effort to charm the CEO of Addison Media. Millicent twisted in her seat, her glance irritable. “When will we get more coffee?”

  Annie smiled and said, “I’ll see to it.” She hurried to the kitchen, refilled the coffee carafe.

  Lucinda turned from the sink. “Do I need to come?”

  Annie shook her head. “Everything’s fine. I’ll clear the plates when they finish.” In the dining room, Annie moved around the table, offering coffee, filling most of the cups.

  Millicent held the steaming cup in both hands, lifted it to her mouth. She no longer had the aura of a successful, powerful woman. She drank, avoiding her husband’s gaze.

  Isabel had put very little food on her plate and eaten only a bit. Her dark beauty was somber. “Yes, I’d like coffee.” She looked across the table at her husband, sighed, looked away.

  Dana bent toward Jay. “You haven’t eaten a bite. The pancakes are wonderful. Would you like some, honey?”

  Ignoring his wife, Jay frowned at Max. “Where did Britt go? She said she’d show me that note Mom may have written.”

  Max buttered a croissant. “Britt should be here soon.” He spread the pastry with marmalade.

  Annie returned to her place, refilled her own cup. She finished the rest of her breakfast, drank the excellent coffee, welcomed the ever amazing surge of energy from caffeine.

  Lucinda bustled into the dining room, moved toward the buffet. Annie started to rise. Lucinda waved a hand, indicating she would clear the dishes.

  Everett rubbed his nose. “What well-bred guests, patiently awaiting their hostess.” His disdain was evident. “Come on, people. Show a little life. Being well bred is a sure ticket to boredom. Let’s get a pool going. After all, Britt’s known as a gambler. She’ll be pleased. This is a well-heeled crowd. Everybody throws in fifty bucks. I’ll round up paper and pencils. Make a guess as to what new disaster has occurred and whoever’s guess comes closest wins the pot. If all the guests play, the total will be four hundred and fifty bucks. If our sleuths join us, the pot goes up to five fifty. If nobody wins, we’ll draw straws. At the very least, we can read the entries aloud and avoid keeling over from ennui as we wait for Britt’s return.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll nose around, find some pencils and paper.”

  “Take your time.” Gerald’s tone was sardonic.

  Craig’s blue eyes followed Everett. His gaze was not admiring.

  Annie studied Craig. He had the look of a bulldog ready to snap. He was not a man to trifle with and he had ultimate power over Everett’s future at Addison Media. Annie was puzzled. Everett might be obnoxious but he certainly wasn’t stupid. Why was he willing to aggravate the boss?

  As Everett strolled into the hall, Millicent hissed, “He’s disgusting.” Despite delicately applied makeup, her face was splotchy. Harsh lines flared from her mouth.

  Isabel smoothed back a lock of raven black hair. Her dark eyes worried, she turned to her sister-in-law. “Do you think something has happened?”

  Dana’s round, gentle face squeezed in uncertainty. “It can’t be anything major.” She glanced up and down the table. “Everyone’s here.”

  Lucinda returned from the kitchen, moved toward the buffet.

  Quick footsteps thudded in the hall. Everett stopped in the doorway, his face alert and suspicious. “I’ve been gone from the dining room a minute and a half. You can all swear to it. You haven’t heard any crashes and bangs, right?”

  Craig slammed down his cup. Coffee splashed on his hand. “Crenshaw, I’m getting damn sick of your performance. I suggest you—”

  Everett was gruff. “Not a performance.” His voice had lost its mocking undertone. “Simple self-preservation. I don’t intend to get the blame for smashing into Britt’s desk.”

  Annie came to her feet. “Are you talking about th
e desk in the library?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She ran across the room, passing an openmouthed Everett. She skidded into the hall, her shoes slapping on the heart-pine floor. Max called out her name. There was the sound of voices and clatter of movement behind her.

  She dashed into the library, skirted a chair near the desk, jolted to a stop with a clear view of the bottom drawer, which dangled from the gouged and chipped right side. The front of the drawer had been prized loose. The drawer was empty.

  Max came up beside her. “Annie, what’s…” He saw the vandalized desk.

  She pointed and somehow managed to keep her hand steady. “Britt put the gun there last night. She locked the drawer.”

  Behind her a murmur rose…gun…gun…gun…

  Annie glanced at the doorway. Anxious faces peered at her. Dana held tight to Jay’s arm. Nick and Millicent moved uneasily, restless as thoroughbred horses scenting a snake. Isabel pressed her hand to her lips. Eyes bright and eager, Kim called out, “What gun? Who does it belong to? Is it loaded?” Gerald, cadaverous face even longer than usual, muttered, “Did somebody get Jeremiah’s gun? Why?” Craig bulled his way through the throng. Lucinda, holding a casserole, peered worriedly into the library.

  Everett tried to push past Annie to reach the desk, but Max held out an arm to bar him. “Keep back. We don’t want to mess up evidence.”

  The others edged into the room, straining to see.

  “All right, everybody. Quiet.” Craig stood in the middle of the library, both hands held up. He gave a short, peremptory nod at Annie. “You said Britt put a gun in that drawer last night. Why did she have a gun? What was going on?”

  Dana murmured, “I don’t understand. Why would anybody break into the desk and take the gun?” Her round face was frightened.