Engaged to Die

by Carolyn Hart

Frank moved past Billy. He wore a surgical glove on his right hand. He held a small pistol by the tip of the barrel. “How about this, Mr. Brandt?”

  But it was Susan who darted forward, bent to look at the weapon. “That looks like one of Dad’s guns.” She whirled toward Carl. “I thought you were going to get rid of them.”

  Annie was aware of them all, the bubble of panic in Susan’s voice, the flaccid droop of Rusty’s cheeks, the brooding frown on Louise’s face, the predatory sharpness of Irene’s elegant facial structure, Carl’s bewildered stare, but she kept her gaze on Virginia. Virginia stared across the room at the gun as if it were a snake, horror twisting her face.

  Carl pushed up from the chair, limped to stand beside his sister. He reached out for the pistol.

  Frank pulled back his arm. As the barrel dipped, drops of water spattered onto the floor. “We’ll fingerprint it.”

  Carl’s hand dropped. His face was tight and grim. “Those initials on the stock, NN. It’s Dad’s gun all right.”

  Irene’s heels clattered on the floor as she hurried to her husband’s side. “What does it mean?” Her sultry beauty was gone and in its place the drawn and tired look of a frightened woman. “Who put it in the fountain? How did they find Pop’s gun?” Her head jerked toward the windows, her eyes wide and staring. “How did they get in?”

  “Get in?” Virginia’s voice rose and cracked in a hideous parody of laughter. “Oh, that’s so funny. How did they get in? Nobody got in, Irene. It has to be one of you with Nathaniel’s gun.” She pointed at each in turn, Susan with her hands pressed against her cheeks, Carl staring at the gun in shocked disbelief, Irene plucking at the strands of a carnelian necklace, Rusty jutting his head forward pugnaciously, Louise looking like an aged, frightened crone.

  Virginia swung toward Billy. “I demand protection. I want a policeman with me until I can get off the island, get away from here.” She licked her lips, her breathing shallow, her eyes darting around the room to settle on Carl. “Listen, I’ll sign over everything to you right now.” She threw her hands wide. “The Gallery. The bank accounts. All of it. Everything. Get me some paper. I’ll sign it and they”—she pointed at Annie and Max—“can witness it. The police can sign it too. I’ll leave in the morning. I’ll only take my clothes and enough money to get a start—”

  Carl took two steps, winced as he forgot and put his weight on his injured foot. He stopped in front of Virginia, his sensitive face glacial. “Don’t be an utter fool, Virginia. No one wants what belongs to you. You’ll be safe here if I have to sit outside your room with a gun myself. There has to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. Like Dad’s guns—one day when Jake was here, I was looking for something in Dad’s desk and Jake saw them.” His eyes shifted to Billy. “They were more for show than anything else. A pair of twenty-two caliber revolvers with pearl handles, both initialed. Some old friend gave them to him years ago. A bet of some kind.”

  “I told him guns brought death.” Louise nodded like a bird over a worm. “I told him and he laughed.”

  Annie looked at the gun, small in Frank’s gloved hand. Little but deadly. A gun didn’t have to be big to kill.

  Carl took a deep breath. “Jake thought they were cool and I said he could have them. I supposed he’d taken them. I didn’t give them another thought.”

  “Jake?” Virginia shook her head. “He would have told me. I’m sure he would have told me.”

  Irene turned from a cabinet. She held a wineglass and a bottle. She filled the glass to the brim, drank it down, choked a little. “Would he have told you?” Her voice was sharp. “My dear Virginia, he didn’t tell you everything, did he? He didn’t tell you about the pretty girl he met at the point, did he? Maybe he had the guns. Maybe the girl knew about them. Maybe she got one and came here tonight—”

  Annie had heard enough. “Chloe never said a word about any guns—”

  “She would scarcely tell anyone, would she?” Irene challenged. She stalked to Billy. “Do we appear to be mad? I ask you. Why would one of us commit a murder, then try to shoot Virginia with a gun that belongs in the family?”

  Carl came up to his wife, caught her hand in his. “Irene’s right. This is crazy. None of us would shoot at Virginia.” But his eyes slid back toward the gun, uncertain, worried, frightened.

  Virginia’s voice shook. “Carl, I’ve always liked you the best. You’ve been nice to me. But somebody shot at me. If it was that girl…Oh, God, I hope it was. But I don’t see how she could get Nathaniel’s gun. And Carl, my God, where’s the other gun?”

  Eleven

  “OKAY, PEOPLE.” Billy might have been addressing marine boot camp recruits on Parris Island. “Eat your dinner. Wait here until called for an interview. Max, Annie, come with me.”

  They followed Billy out of the breakfast room to the huge central hallway, its black-and-white marble flooring muddied by the investigators but still incongruously cheerful beneath the glittering chandelier with tier after tier of almond-shaped globes. The door to the courtyard stood open, and the sound of the steady rain was a dismal accompaniment to Billy’s heavy steps. In the center of the hallway, a Sheraton drum table held a huge jade green porcelain vase filled with spectacular blossoms, including bird of paradise with brilliant orange and blue flowers.

  Billy stopped by the table, looked at them, his face grim. “How the hell did you find her?”

  Max described their determination to talk to Elaine, their arrival at her cabin, the packed boxes, the messages from Elaine’s father and from Chloe Martin—

  Billy’s eyes gleamed. “From Chloe Martin? How did she know about Elaine Hasty?”

  Annie took a deep breath. She didn’t want to answer, but she had no choice. “I was trying to encourage Chloe when I talked to her this afternoon. I told her about Elaine working at the party and that Elaine knew Jake. I told her Elaine saw somebody follow Jake. I wanted to make it clear that the police would talk to Elaine, find out what she’d seen.” She didn’t say anything about Billy dismissing that idea. But her eyes accused him.

  “You talked to Hasty today. Max talked to her. We knew what she was up to.” Billy was dismissive, not defensive. “I was going to interview her Monday. I didn’t go after her tonight, but you did. And you missed her. We can’t help it if she set herself up for trouble.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “Thing about it is”—he was thinking aloud—“she didn’t know Brandt and his lady friend had come to us. So she didn’t know there wouldn’t be a payment. She went ahead out to the point.” His eyes swung toward Annie.

  “Maybe Martin followed her.”

  Annie clapped her hands on her hips. “Why would Chloe shoot Elaine? And where did Chloe get the gun? Remember, the gun came from this house.”

  His response was quick as a dart. “Sure, the gun was in this house originally, but O’Neill took the set. Where would he keep the guns? In his cabin. Thing about it is, Annie, you won’t see the forest for the trees.” Billy was patient. “Martin said she was coming to see Hasty. Who lived next door? You can bet Martin figured that out. Maybe he’d told her about the guns, said he had them at his place.” Billy nodded his head at Max. “Max, go to Nightingale Courts, check out O’Neill’s cabin, see if there’s any trace of a search. Nothing was disturbed when Lou looked it over earlier today. I’ll bet Martin found out Hasty was another one of O’Neill’s girlfriends—”

  Annie pushed away her memory of Chloe’s ragged sob on the telephone.

  “—and that may be the whole story right there. Martin killed O’Neill because she was jealous. Tonight she decided to blow away both Elaine Hasty and Virginia Neville. Annie, you’ve tangled with something you don’t understand.”

  “I understand that Elaine was trying to blackmail a killer. She saw someone besides Chloe and Rusty and Beth.” Annie clenched her hands. “And I understand it was a lot easier for someone in the Neville family to get that family heirloom gun than for Chloe to search Jake’s cabin and find it.” She st
ared into Billy’s stubborn eyes.

  “Furthermore”—Billy was insistent—“if we’re going to talk probabilities, how crazy would somebody in the family have to be to shoot Hasty at the point then trot right up here and shoot at Virginia Neville? That’s nuts. The end result was to tie the crimes to this house. No, the only thing that makes sense is what we started with, a jealous woman who’s out of control. Now”—he took a deep breath—“I still want to know how you got from Hasty’s cabin down to the point.”

  Max flicked a fallen leaf from the table. “Beth Kelly. Just like we figured, Billy, Rusty lied when he said he hung up before the blackmailer specified a drop-off place.”

  Billy frowned. “So Hasty told Brandt and Kelly where to bring the money?”

  Max was crisp. “Right. The deadline was six o’clock.”

  Annie could be crisp, too. “If Beth knew about the drop-off, so did Rusty. I figure at least three people knew—Beth, Rusty, and the person Elaine saw following Jake.”

  Billy shook his head. “Good try, Annie. Lots of luck proving it.”

  As she switched on the kitchen lights, Annie’s eyes went immediately to the counter and the telephone caller ID. The little red light blinked rapidly, signaling a message. She didn’t take time to shrug out of her jacket or to pick up Dorothy L., who paced near the sink, her meows making the point that supper was way overdue and the dry food still in her bowl was stale, thank you very much.

  Annie grabbed the phone, punched the message number and the code. She kicked off her wet shoes, wriggled out of her sopping jacket, grabbed a thick dish towel and dried her hair. Tucking the receiver under her chin, she listened as she opened a can of cat food and spooned it into Dorothy L.’s bowl.

  Message 1—“Annie, Henny here. I hung around until six. Mr. Giggle called again. Nastier this time, possibly drunker. I know Billy’s got a full plate, but he needs to check this out. No other calls. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” A pause. “Stick with Max.”

  Message 2—“Dear Children—As Publilius Syrus so wisely—”

  Annie retained the receiver between her ear and shoulder while slapping together a sandwich. Laurel sounded in her usual good form. A smile tugged at Annie’s lips.

  “—exhorted, ‘Do not turn back when you are just at the goal.’” A pause to encourage commitment and rededication. “When I called and there was no answer, I knew you and Max were abroad despite the inclement weather, still seeking truth. I’m sure you are making progress. As Cicero remarked, ‘For how many things, which for our own sake we should never do, do we perform for the sake of our friends.’ I applaud your zeal and remain ever confident that you shall prevail. Huzzah.”

  Annie smiled. Huzzah was surely a fetching farewell. Annie hung up and took a bite of her sandwich. The microwave pinged and she pulled out her mug of hot chocolate. She sat at the kitchen table, ate, and wished she felt as sanguine as her mother-in-law. The one call she’d hoped for had not come. Annie had almost recovered from her exposure to the cold, steady rain, but a chill touched her heart. Where was Chloe? She’d left her aunt’s house on a bicycle. She was out in the cold, rainy night with no shelter. She must be sodden and miserable, chilled to the bone. Yet she hadn’t called for help. There was no word from Chloe, nothing at all to explain why she hadn’t called the police station as she’d promised. Annie could understand if Chloe’s fear of being locked up kept her on the run. But was that the reason? Chloe had tried to contact Elaine Hasty. Everything conspired to further implicate Chloe. If Max found that Jake’s cabin had been searched, Billy would be convinced the intruder was Chloe and her trophy the set of matched .22-caliber pistols. If only Chloe would call…

  Dorothy L. jumped onto the table, oozed toward the plate, pink nose twitching.

  Annie flapped her hand.

  The plump white cat’s paw whipped out toward the plate.

  Annie jerked the plate away. “Ham is not good for cats.” She bent forward until her eyes were inches from Dorothy L. “Are you laughing at me?” In fact, Dorothy L.’s round face looked amused. “What would you say if you could talk?” Annie picked up the last half of her sandwich in one hand, stroked thick fur with the other, looked deep into mesmerizing but unknowable golden eyes. “Let’s see. Maybe: Cats are beautiful, people are stupid. Or possibly: Why did you come home by yourself? Or emphatically: You’re okay in a pinch, but I want Max.” Annie finished her sandwich, picked up the soft, sweet-smelling cat, and buried her face in Dorothy L.’s thick white ruff. “Oh, Dorothy L., so do I.”

  In a moment, Dorothy L. wriggled free, dropped to the floor, and waited until Annie poured fresh dry food into her blue plastic bowl. Yes, it was a bad idea to continue to feed a cat at almost midnight, setting in train who knew what unfortunate habits and importunate expectations. But Annie knew whose will was strongest, and it wasn’t hers.

  As she rinsed the dishes from her late supper and put them in the dishwasher, Annie felt a flicker of the old resentment. Dorothy L. was right. Max should be here. In fact, it was he who normally fixed their late night snacks. She pushed away the pang of sympathy. He’d probably not yet had a bite of dinner.

  He still wasn’t home when she padded downstairs a half hour later in her robe and pajamas, warmed by a hot shower. Max had dropped her off at the station to pick up her Volvo. The last she saw of him, the red tail-lights of the Maserati were disappearing in the gloom. So here she was, fed, comfortable in her oversize pink terrycloth robe, and fixing another mug of hot chocolate. She carried the cocoa and a notepad and pen and the portable phone—just in case—to the family room. She decided against a fire, settled on the sofa.

  Dorothy L. leaped onto the sofa and wormed beneath the afghan draped over Annie’s legs. Annie put the mug on the coffee table and flipped open the pad. She stared at the empty sheet. Wouldn’t it be nice if automatic writing really worked, if she could close her eyes—à la Arthur Conan Doyle—and summon a useful spirit who could tell her who shot Elaine Hasty and carried the gun through the night to blast the windows of the study where Virginia Neville awaited her dinner tray.

  Annie scrawled in thick black letters: Why Virginia?

  She stared at the query, drew a line through it. First things first. She printed: Why Elaine Hasty?

  That was easy. Whether Billy agreed or not, Elaine’s death proved that she had indeed seen Jake’s murderer and it was someone other than Chloe. Everyone knew Elaine had seen Chloe. She’d admitted as much to Annie, so Chloe had no reason to wish her dead. Chloe had been hurt when she realized Elaine was another of Jake’s women, but she emphatically had not turned into the unreasoning and deadly figure of jealousy envisioned by Billy.

  Oh, if only they’d found Elaine in time. But the result might have been the same. She’d refused to tell Annie whom she saw from the window of the gallery kitchen. She’d refused to tell Max. There was no reason to believe she would have revealed what she’d seen even if they had reached her at the point before the murderer.

  Annie flipped to a fresh page, repeated her original question: Why Virginia Neville?

  A white paw shot from beneath the afghan, knocked the pen from Annie’s fingers. Annie lifted the soft cover, looked at bright eyes. “Are you making a cat statement? Of course, if you could talk, you’d make pithy, cogent comments encapsulating everything that mattered. Right?”

  Dorothy L. purred.

  Annie fished for the pen, found it. Maybe Dorothy L. had a point. Some things were obvious. Elaine Hasty tried to blackmail Jake’s murderer. The price wasn’t right and Elaine was killed. In fact, Elaine was shot. Moments later someone shot at Virginia Neville. So here’s what mattered—

  Annie wrote fast.

  1. Murder weapon and gun used to shoot into the study one of a pair that had belonged to Nathaniel Neville.

  2. Who had access to the guns? Everyone in the Neville house, plus Jake O’Neill. According to Carl Neville, Jake expressed interest in the pistols, but there was no proof Jake had taken possess
ion of them. If Jake had the guns, it was possible, though unlikely, that Chloe Martin might have known about them and obtained them.

  Annie glanced at the phone. It was too late for Chloe to call tonight. Surely she would call tomorrow…if she was innocent….

  3. Everything depended upon when Elaine Hasty was shot. If she was killed immediately prior to the shots being fired into the study, there was no time for the murderer to regain the house and dry off. If, however, Elaine was gunned down a few minutes earlier, the murderer had time to walk up to the Neville house, go inside, put away a coat and wet shoes, and then, protected by an umbrella and perhaps bare feet—Carl Neville in his swim trunks?—step into the courtyard, fire into the study, regain the house. A quick return of an umbrella to a stand, dry feet in shoes, and there would be nothing to distinguish the murderer from the other shocked members of the family, especially after they came out into the rain to investigate the shots.

  Annie sketched the courtyard. The gunman could shoot, toss the gun and gloves into the fountain, and dash into the house, ready to jettison an umbrella.

  As for Chloe, why would she discard the gloves and gun? Annie could see a reason. The gun was a link to Neville house and its occupants. How awkward for the family to try and explain its use as a murder weapon.

  Annie massaged tired eyes. More than awkward actually. The gun and the shots into the study brought murder home to the Neville house. Wasn’t it crazy to focus suspicion there? Until the gun was fired into the study, police suspicion had centered upon Chloe Martin. Why change that perception? What could possibly be motive enough? Granted, the members of the family had every reason to be resentful of Virginia. But was a desire to assure an inheritance worth becoming suspect in two murders? No matter how much one of the clan might want the money, not a one of them would have wanted to make so dreadfully clear and unmistakable the link between the house and the death of Elaine Hasty.