Engaged to Die

by Carolyn Hart

  Max flung himself into Billy’s chair. He made notes as he read:

  Check out Elaine Hasty.

  Why didn’t Tony Hasty mention O’Neill’s relationship with his daughter?

  Question Rusty Brandt.

  Ditto Beth Kelly.

  He saved Annie’s statement for last.

  Annie Darling

  I was not personally acquainted with Jake O’Neill. He was pointed out to me during the party. I saw him talking to Mrs. Neville. I didn’t see him again. Shortly after nine o’clock, I saw a figure coming along the garden path from the direction of the point. At the time I thought it might be Chloe Martin, who has been working for me over the holidays. However, it was a quick glimpse and I cannot be certain. My husband and I tried to find her, but were unsuccessful.

  “Annie.” Max spoke her name aloud, a chiding sigh. Talk about sins of omission. Nothing about Chloe’s infatuation with Jake, nothing about Annie’s efforts to find Chloe. Max paused, added to his notes:

  Chloe arrives, sees Jake, they talk—and both of them promptly disappear from sight.

  Max nodded. The fact that Chloe and Jake were not in the gallery when Annie looked for Chloe emphasized the likelihood they’d gone together to the point. Or, if not together, slipped away to meet each other there. That made it less likely that someone else was present. “Although we can’t forget Rusty Brandt and Beth Kelly. Why did Beth run?” Max murmured. He tapped his pen, scrawled:

  If Rusty Brandt’s jacket tests positive for O’Neill’s blood (a fair assumption since the presence of blood has been determined), Brandt was at the point. Why? To meet O’Neill? Unlikely. Did he follow O’Neill? Possibly. Why? Ah, how about Brandt spotting Jake and Chloe slipping away and going after them in hopes of discovering something compromising to report to Virginia Neville? Hmm, maybe. But where does Beth Kelly figure in?

  Max raised an eyebrow. How the hell many people had been at the point? He slapped the folder shut and pushed back his chair, eager to be on his way. He was almost to the door when Billy’s phone rang. Max hesitated for an instant, shrugged, reached the desk in two strides, and grabbed the receiver. “Broward’s Rock Police. Darling speaking.”

  “Max!” Annie’s voice bubbled with surprise, pleasure, and delight. Then a gasp and a quick, “Listen, I’ve got to go. She’s coming out to her car. I thought I had time to call and tell Billy. I’m going to follow her. She knows who killed him, I’m sure of it—” And the cell phone clicked off.

  Max yelled, “Annie.” But it was too late.

  Annie waited until the Camry flashed past. She hunkered behind the wheel of the Volvo, wished it weren’t red. Had Elaine noticed her? Well, duh. She’d know the cars of the other residents. Maybe she wouldn’t expect Annie to follow. Maybe she thought she was finished with Annie. The taillights of the Camry flashed briefly as the car turned right onto the dirt road leading to Sandspur Lane. Annie spurted in pursuit. She lagged back about thirty yards. Maybe Elaine would assume they were both going toward town. It was, after all, a small island.

  If she could stay far enough behind, Elaine might not pay any attention. Wherever she went, it had to be connected with what she had seen from the kitchen window last night. The Camry turned onto Sand Dollar Road. Annie followed. The Camry surged forward. Annie pressed the accelerator. Forty, forty-five, fifty miles an hour. There wasn’t any traffic, thanks to the island’s January doldrums. But there could always be a wandering deer or a kid on a bike. Annie hunched over the wheel, her hands sweaty. She came around a curve. No sign of the tan coupe. On the right, a rustic wooden sign announced BROWARD’S ROCK NATURE PRESERVE. Dust boiled from the dirt road that plunged into the maritime forest of live oak, magnolia, and slash pine.

  Annie slowed enough to make the turn into the preserve. The Volvo bucketed into deep shadows on the twisting, sandy lane. Annie drove as fast as she dared, braking occasionally to peer into offshoot lanes. There was no hint which road Elaine had taken. The preserve was a curlicue of paths that often intersected, sometimes doubled back, occasionally ended at a pond.

  Annie reached the rookery, looked across winter-dull water at the rocky island, a haven for heron, wood ibis, and snowy egrets. She rolled down her window, listened for the sound of a motor, heard the chirp and wail of the birds, the sough of the high pines, a rustle in a nearby shrub.

  And nothing more. She yanked up her cell phone.

  Max answered on the first ring. “Annie, who are you chasing?” He didn’t pause for a breath and his voice was sharp with worry. “Don’t go around following people in a murder case, for God’s sake.”

  “Elaine Hasty. Anyway, I lost her.” She blew out a puff of exasperation. “She was at the kitchen window at the gallery and she saw everybody who went to the point. But she won’t say who she saw. Other than Chloe.”

  He was silent.

  “She saw somebody else,” Annie insisted. “I know she did. Anyway, Billy needs to know about her, and the police have to talk to her.”

  “Okay.” He tried to soothe. “I’ll see to it he gets a full report.” There was a pause, a reluctant, heavy pause. “Annie—”

  She held tight to her cell phone. Whatever Max was going to say, she wasn’t going to like.

  “—I guess you haven’t heard my message on your cell. Chloe didn’t show up this morning. She’s a fugitive and will be arrested as a material witness.”

  “Oh.” Annie heard the rustle of the trees and the croon and chitter of the birds, lonely sounds. Where was Chloe? Where could she possibly be?

  “Come on to Parotti’s. I’ll meet you for lunch. We’ll see what we can come up with.” There was kindness in his voice.

  Annie clicked off the phone. She drove slowly, dust fluttering around the car. Once out of the preserve, she picked up speed and headed for the harbor. Chloe, a fugitive…Why had she run? There was nothing she could have done that would have made her predicament any worse.

  Annie was almost to Parotti’s parking lot when she braked and made a U-turn, then parked in front of an old two-story brick building a half block from the café. Gilt letters on the plate glass window proclaimed HASTY’S GOURMET MEALS TO GO. CATERING. FINE FOODS FAST. Light from the window spilled into the narrow yard. Annie hurried up the steps. A bell jangled as she stepped inside.

  The glass of the display cases sparkled with cleanliness. Tony Hasty was pulling a dish from the case to her left. He looked up. Annie wished she had a freeze-frame of his initial expression. Had there been an instant of tenseness? Or had his rough-hewn face simply reflected its ordinary toughness?

  “Hello, Tony.” She walked to the counter with the register.

  He stared at her for a moment, then carried the dish to a table. His steps were heavy on the wooden floor. He came to the counter, wiping his huge hands on a cloth. “Yeah, Annie. What can I do for you? Got smoked tenderloin today. Oysters and rice. Jambalaya.”

  “When you found the body”—she forced herself to meet his light eyes, the gaze remote and cold—“was that your second trip to the point?”

  A scowl twisted his heavy face.

  “Did you go down there after we talked to you? Did you find Jake? Were you—” Her words tumbled out faster and faster. She belatedly remembered that she was alone with Tony Hasty. In one great stride he could swing around the end of the counter and grab her with hands big as the kitchen mitts slung on a worktable. “—mad at the way he was treating Elaine? Did you kill him?” She began to back toward the door.

  He slapped his arms across his chest. “Oh, sure. In between moving dishes, being in and out of the kitchen, seeing those women dash by. Yeah, sure. Just a little extra I forgot to mention.” He gave a bark of angry laughter. “As for Elaine, she got what she deserved, panting after him, playing his game. I don’t put up with men abusing women, but half the time women bring all the trouble on themselves. Elaine’s just like her mother.” His eyes held pain. “I didn’t say anything to the police about Elaine and him because tha
t was over. He’d dropped her. He was going for the gold. I don’t know what happened to him last night. And Elaine doesn’t either.” He was emphatic. “Elaine was in the kitchen. I’d just come outside to the van right before that girl ran past and I can tell you that Elaine was at the sink. That girl ran past, then you and your husband came, then I was back in the kitchen and out again in time to see Beth Kelly. And Elaine was at the sink the whole damn time. You mark Elaine right off your list.”

  Annie’s tense muscles relaxed. There was nothing to fear from Tony Hasty. Billy and Max could check to be certain, but if his story was true and he was seen both by Annie and Max and by workers in the kitchen during that critical period, he could not have made an earlier trip to the point and found and killed Jake. Tony said she could mark off Elaine as a suspect. Well, she’d already done that. Now, as Elaine had insisted, Annie marked off her father.

  But she wasn’t finished. “Elaine’s not a suspect. I know that. But she may be an important witness.”

  A dull flush rose from his neck, turning his face dark as a peach pit. “Goddammit, you don’t listen. I tell you, Elaine never left that kitchen. There’s no damn way she could know anything about what happened at the point.”

  “The window, Tony.” Annie flung out her hands.

  “She was at the window. She saw who went to the point. She saw Jake and she saw Chloe, and I know she saw someone else. But she won’t say who it was. I’m afraid she’s going to try and blackmail that person.”

  “The hell she is.” He reached back, untied his apron, pulled it off. “I’ll see about that.” He waved his hand at Annie. “Gotta close now. Come on, I’ll lock up.” He shepherded Annie ahead of him through the door.

  He pulled the door shut, locked it, and ran, moving fast for a big man, to the van parked in the side drive. The motor roared to life. Oyster shells spit from beneath the wheels, and the van lurched into the street.

  Annie looked at the cloud of dust and wondered what she’d unleashed.

  Eight

  CREAM-VOICED DORIS DAY crooned “Sentimental Journey” on the jukebox. Annie stirred her chili, watched the mound of grated cheese soften. Hmm, steamed corn kernels and onions, too. Vidalia, of course, and as sweet as heaven. Annie loved Ben Parotti’s chili even though a Texas purist would take exception to the beans. And yes, she’d had a bowl for lunch yesterday, but she could never get enough.

  Even before she spoke, Annie knew it was an exaggeration, but she was determined to get Max’s full attention. “Obviously Elaine knows who killed him, and she’s going to try a spot of blackmail.” Annie slapped the scarred wooden table of the booth for emphasis.

  “That’s a pretty serious accusation.” He poured his beer, watched the foam rise.

  “You should have heard her.” Annie had a clear memory of her conversation with Elaine. “She was gloating. I think she’s already counting the money in her head. Oh, Max, if only I hadn’t lost her in the preserve. If I could have followed her, found out who she was going to go see or call…” But as her sensible Texas mother had often observed, there was no point in playing cards from the what-if deck. “Anyway, somebody’s got to stop her. Maybe her dad will find her.” Annie looked satisfied. “I can tell you he’s going to give her an earful. But now that I’ve reported what she said, it’s up to the police.” She flicked him a glance. “You and Billy.” As if it needed explanation. “When you find out what Elaine knows, Chloe will be cleared.” Annie’s tone was forceful, recognizing the resistance in her husband’s dark blue eyes. Annie took a sustaining spoonful of chili and wished this were an ordinary Saturday, free of the omnipresent sense of impending disaster that wrapped around her denser than any fog.

  Max squeezed lemon over his baked flounder, forked a piece with a scoop of spinach. “Annie, that’s like spotting a raccoon with a pizza box and deciding he likes pepperoni—”

  Annie frowned. The logic escaped her.

  “—when all it proves is that the raccoon likes pizza. Anyway”—his words were hurried, perhaps he felt his simile lacked application—“all you can be sure of is that Elaine saw—or claims she saw—people go down the path. She doesn’t know who killed Jake.”

  “She knows someone went to the point in addition to Chloe.” Annie had no doubt that was true. “You—the police—can’t ignore that.”

  “We won’t. Billy won’t.” But he frowned.

  Annie was afraid she understood. “Billy’s mad, isn’t he?”

  Max added a dash of salt to his fillet, didn’t meet her eyes. “He’s worried. And embarrassed. He feels like he’s let Pete down, made the department look foolish. He keeps saying Pete wouldn’t have been dumb enough to let Chloe leave last night. He says”—Max lifted his gaze, looked at her somberly—“that innocent people don’t run away.”

  “Chloe’s scared.” Annie took a gulp of iced tea.

  “You remember how upset she got when Billy said he was going to put her in jail.”

  Max spooned more tartar sauce onto his plate. “Billy’s looking at all possibilities—especially Rusty Brandt—but the evidence is a lot stronger against Chloe. She’s going to jail as a material witness, that’s for sure. Since she ran away, there’s no chance a judge will set bail. Not that she could likely make bond anyway.”

  “Oh, Max.” Annie stared at him, misery in her eyes.

  He put down his fork, reached across the table, grabbed her hand. “Chloe blew it when she ran away.” His grip tightened. “If you find out where she is—if she calls you—you’ve got to turn her in.”

  Annie’s face stiffened. “No.” She pulled her hand away.

  “That’s like harboring a fugitive.” His blue eyes were insistent.

  They looked at each other across a divide.

  “How’s everything?” Ben Parotti leaned into the booth. A chili-spattered apron only partially protected his bright green wool blazer. He glanced from one to the other, his leprechaun face concerned, and started to back away. “Not meaning to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay, Ben.” Annie managed a smile. “Don’t you and Miss Jolene sometimes”—her eyes turned to Max—“agree to disagree?”

  Ben rubbed his nose. “Hmm, the missus and me”—a sudden sunny smile created an angelic leprechaun—“we’re boppin’ to the same tune.” He shuffled his shoes to a dance Annie vaguely remembered from home movies of her mother. He finished with a slap of his hands on his knees, stood straight, cleared his throat. His wrinkled face turned a rusty color. Hurriedly, he loosened his apron to search the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a folded note card. He looked at Max. “Your mama dropped by a minute ago and asked me to bring this to you. Said she thought it was something you needed.” He held out the card on a calloused hand. “Both of you.”

  “Thank you, Ben.” Annie took the card. Clasped hands rimmed the border.

  Ben looked bemused. “She came and she went with a smile and a wave of her hand and a perfume that reminds me of fields of lavender.” Bemused, enchanted, and uplifted. “I don’t hold with saying she’s a one from without the world as we know it, but I do believe she’s got a sight beyond our ken.” Ben backed away, then scooted toward the kitchen.

  Annie held the card where Max could read, too: “Richard Barnfield, ‘Address to the Nightingale’: He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need.”

  In her unmistakable looping script, as if every word ended in a butterfly, Laurel had added: “Remain steadfast, Dear Children. Friendship shines with an everlasting light.”

  Max absently buttered a cornbread muffin. “I’m surprised she isn’t holding up the boy on the burning deck as an inspiration.” His eyes glinted with amusement and irritation. “Sometimes I’d like to wring her neck.” Fondness warred with exasperation. “She’s certainly been busy. There’s another card for you at the store.”

  Annie raised an eyebrow.

  “I called a while ago. Henny’s there. She figured you needed someone to run the cash desk. She sai
d to tell you she’s sold four books. She also reported a card from Laurel.” He repeated the verse from Ecclesiasticus. There was a little dimple just at the edge of his lips when he frowned. Annie wondered what he would do if she leaned across the table and kissed him there.

  He caught her glance and his face brightened.

  She shook her head though her eyes were soft. “Max, it’s clear as clear! Laurel’s been communing.” Annie decided it would be unprofitable to suggest in what manner and with whom. “Anyway, she’s urging us on. If you do your thing and I do mine, it will all come right.” She held aloft a heaping spoonful of chili in salute.

  Annie watched Max’s car pull away. Maybe her brave words to Max would come true. It would certainly improve matters if Chloe came back of her own accord. Annie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Finding Chloe was essential. Annie pulled out her cell phone, clicked it on, called Death on Demand.

  The salutation was upbeat. “Death on Demand, the finest mystery bookstore east—”

  Annie smiled. “Henny, you are a sweetheart. I appreciate your taking over.”

  The answer was swift, if not to the point. “The newly appointed magistrate to the Peng-lai district.” Henny’s voice purred like a cat surfeited with cream.

  Annie’s tone was equally unctuous. “Judge Dee, of course. One of his early cases, The Chinese Gold Murders, by Robert van Gulik.”

  “Humph. Very good.” The accolade was gracious.

  “Well, everything’s fine here. Not much to report. Max rang up. Oh, there was one other call for you,” she said carelessly. “Some young woman.”