Hit and Run

by Sandra Balzo

  It was possible, AnnaLise thought. At least possible enough to make searching for the bag reasonable before the thing ended up filled with rocks, heaved into the water and thus anchored on the bottom of Lake Sutherton. If the police weren’t going to take what she’d seen seriously—

  AnnaLise froze, with one hand hovering over the knob to leave her room. It was true that Coy and Charity Pitchford hadn’t done a search. In fact, they hadn’t so much as questioned the other guests about the bag. Was that because they didn’t believe her? Or, given Chuck’s absence, mere oversight?

  Either way, it didn’t bode well. If the bag wasn’t here or with Debbie – meaning if it was never recovered – then the logical conclusion was that AnnaLise was lying. And the obvious follow-up question was why? To frame somebody else for a crime she’d committed?

  Enough. Get a grip on yourself.

  AnnaLise stepped out into the hallway and listened. The upstairs remained quiet, with muffled conversation and music drifting from the media room.

  The one person AnnaLise knew to currently be on the second floor was Rose Boccaccio. Accordingly, the snooper decided to start with the south-wing room farthest from the older woman.

  Sugar and Lacey’s.

  AnnaLise crept across the gangway, grateful there was nobody below to spot her. Then she tapped on the door, trying to formulate a reason should somebody answer. Happily, when there was no response, she cracked open the door and slipped in.

  The suite was nearly identical to the one Mama and Daisy shared. The two queen-sized beds might as well have been twins for the proportional amount of space they occupied. There was a sitting area with a sofa and a desk. The floor was carpeted, thank God, so nobody below would be able to hear her moving around, even without shoes.

  Nonetheless, she tiptoed to the bed. It had been made by somebody, but clothes were strewn across it, like somebody – or two somebodies – had been having trouble deciding what to wear.

  Moving to the closet, AnnaLise had just opened the door when she heard the sound of footsteps outside the room.

  ‘Hello?’

  AnnaLise turned to see Lacey Capri. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling a spare pillow off the top shelf. ‘I’m turning down the beds. I thought everybody would be downstairs for a while.’

  ‘They decided to watch The Big Chill.’ Lacey’s tone conveyed how she felt about yet another baby-boomer fave.

  ‘Daisy probably had something to do with the movie selection. She loves the music.’ AnnaLise folded down the blanket and set the pillow at the head of the bed. ‘There you go. Would you like me to do the other bed?’

  ‘I can do it,’ Lacey said. ‘I made the beds this morning. I didn’t realize there was … maid service.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ AnnaLise said. Then: ‘Though with Dickens death they seem to have abandoned us. I’m filling in.’

  ‘That’s so nice of you,’ Lacey said, moving aside a dress to sit down. ‘What do you think happened? To Mr Hart, I mean. Nobody’s telling me much.’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ AnnaLise said honestly. ‘He was hit in the head, but how and why?’

  ‘People are saying the police asked about Chef Debbie, like she had something to do with it.’

  ‘It’s anybody’s guess at this point,’ AnnaLise said, not wanting to add speculative fuel to the fire. ‘But enough about sad things. Your mother says you live near Charlotte. Where do you go to school?’

  ‘Online. We’ve moved quite a bit since Daddy died, and it’s easier than switching schools and trying to make friends all over again.’

  AnnaLise, who’d never been out of the High Country until she moved away for college, couldn’t imagine that. ‘So it’s just you and your mom?’

  Lacey nodded, and AnnaLise thought she saw the tell-tale glint of tears.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Mine died, too. When I was five.’

  A look of confusion. ‘But I thought Dickens Hart was your daddy.’

  ‘As it turns out,’ AnnaLise said, not sure how much more to tell the girl. ‘But I had no inkling of that until just a couple months ago.’

  ‘So … um, your mom and Mr Hart, were … umm … like my mom and him?’

  AnnaLise nodded, thinking that Rose Boccaccio – despite her advanced age – would be a whole lot more comfortable with this conversation than AnnaLise Griggs would. Ever.

  But Lacey seemed fine with the simple affirmation. Relieved, even. ‘Well, that’s good. That you know finally, I mean.’

  ‘It is,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Just feels a little … odd.’

  Lacey’s turn to nod. ‘You mean knowing that your mother had sex and all? Tell me about it. I mean, you’re older and know more about the world than I do, but doesn’t it kind of weird you out, too?’

  Now the girl sounded like a true teenager. AnnaLise laughed, thinking that Lacey’s mother was not so much older than AnnaLise herself. This must be the way Daisy felt when AnnaLise treated her like a dinosaur. And a sexless one, at that.

  ‘So you take classes online,’ AnnaLise said. ‘That’s interesting. Back in my day— Yikes, I sound old, even to me.’

  ‘Not as old as the people downstairs,’ Lacey said with a little smile. ‘Or the movies they watch.’

  ‘You weren’t a fan of When Harry Met Sally either?’

  ‘I bailed. It was kind of fun seeing Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal when they were young, but …’ Lacey shrugged.

  ‘I take it you’re a little bored?’

  ‘A lot bored,’ the girl admitted.

  AnnaLise smiled. ‘I have my iPad with me. There are some books loaded on it, and a bunch of apps. Would you like to borrow it?’

  Lacey’s face lit up like a firecracker. ‘That would be awesome. Do you have any mysteries?’

  ‘I do, in fact,’ the journalist said, pleased the girl chose ebooks over video games. ‘Let me go grab it now.’

  AnnaLise retrieved the iPad from the desk in her bedroom. When she came back, Lacey was waiting at the door, hands bobbing eagerly. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Have you used one of these before?’

  Lacey shook her head, looking a little embarrassed.

  ‘Not to worry, there’s nothing you can do that I can’t undo,’ AnnaLise said, handing the tablet over. ‘Just play around with it.’

  ‘Ohmigod, thank you so much,’ Lacey Capri said again, clutching the iPad to her heart. ‘I’ll return it to you tomorrow, first thing.’

  ‘Any time before you leave is fine,’ AnnaLise said. And then, after the door closed, added in a whisper, ‘Whenever that is for any of us.’

  Uncertain whether she had time to continue her snooping under the guise of turning down beds, AnnaLise slipped over to the gangway to look down. Nobody in the Lake Room and most of the noise still seemed to be coming from the ever – if not universally – popular media room.

  A door opened below and AnnaLise crossed to the other side of the gangway to peer down into the front foyer. Boozer Bacchus shut the front door behind him and, locking the deadbolt, turned left into the dining room.

  AnnaLise padded down the steps and found him in the kitchen. ‘Hey, Boozer.’

  Bacchus’ head had been in the refrigerator and now he yanked it out, startled. ‘You scared the daylights out of me, AnnaLise.’

  ‘Sorry. I was upstairs and saw you come in. I wanted to ask how you were. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since … well, since we found Dickens.’

  If AnnaLise felt weary, Bacchus looked sucked utterly dry of energy. ‘I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been a tough day.’

  AnnaLise pulled out a chair. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll heat up some leftovers.’

  He let out a sigh. ‘That would be mighty nice. Thank you.’

  Collapsing into the seat, he said, ‘I want to apologize for my state yesterday. And this morning.’

  AnnaLise turned with a foil-wrapped turkey leg in her hand. ‘Your state?’

 
‘My drunken state.’ His head had been down, but now he lifted it and met her eyes. ‘I gave up the bottle a lot of years ago, knowing it was always poison for the men in my family. But these last few weeks have been taxing, and …’

  AnnaLise took out white turkey meat sliced off the breast, added the leg and some thigh meat to it and brought the platter to the table. ‘Want dressing and mashed potatoes?’

  ‘Maybe just the dressing, cold, and some cranberries and bread. I’ll make me a sandwich.’

  ‘A turkey, dressing and cranberry sandwich,’ AnnaLise said, bringing the components. ‘One of my favorites. Mayonnaise?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Bacchus accepted it from her and slipped a couple of slices of bread from the loaf. ‘Can I make you one?’

  ‘Don’t mind if you do.’ AnnaLise smiled warmly and snagged another plate. ‘Probably the last kind of meal I need this late, but it sounds good.’

  ‘A turkey’s not the only thing that needs stuffing sometimes,’ Bacchus said.

  ‘You told me the last few weeks have been tough,’ AnnaLise said. ‘And I’m guessing that’s because of all the preparations for this weekend.’

  ‘It wasn’t all that bad and the boss did all he could. He even hired those young people from the university to play valet, so I wouldn’t have to do all the heavy lifting. Very kind of him, I thought.’

  Not to mention that a fleet of uniformed valets and waiters and waitresses were more impressive than one aging veteran meeting guests. ‘Are the kids still here somewhere, Boozer? I haven’t seen anybody but Nicole Goldstein since the valets helped clean up the broken glass in the Lake Room.’

  Boozer snapped his fingers. ‘I knew I was forgetting something. The insurance company. They’ll likely need to send somebody out before they authorize a repair this size.’

  ‘It’s Thanksgiving,’ AnnaLise reminded him. ‘You wouldn’t have reached anybody anyway.’

  ‘That’s true now, isn’t it? So much has happened today, it feels more like a week.’ He shook his head. ‘Not what you were asking, though?’

  She had to think for a moment. ‘Oh, about the kids from the college. Whether they’re still around?’

  ‘Nah, that was a one-day hire. That way they could all travel home to their own families for the holiday itself.’

  Made sense. Nicole was probably the only full-time local amongst the group. ‘Still, I hate that so much fell on you. I should have taken over more.’

  ‘Oh, no. No, that was just fine as it ’twas. It’s more,’ Bacchus looked at his fingers, ‘my pa’s been real bad.’

  ‘Daisy said you’d moved him here to be close by?’

  ‘I did. But he’s been failing steadily ever since.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. How old is your dad, Boozer?’

  ‘Ninety-three, but he’s been fighting the cancer now for more than two years.’

  ‘What type?’ AnnaLise’s earliest memories were of a hospital waiting room, while Timothy Griggs – the man she’d always think of as ‘Daddy’ – was taken inch-by-inch by his cancer in a hospital room she never entered.

  ‘Esophageal, they say most likely from his smoking. And drinking. One more reason I should know better.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ AnnaLise said again, taking the bread away from him and spreading mayonnaise on a slice. Then she piled on turkey, a spoonful of cold dressing and, finally, a slice of jellied cranberry sauce before adding another piece of bread and cutting the sandwich diagonally. She slid the plate over.

  Bacchus hefted his triangle, then nodded for her to sit and take the other. ‘If we’re still hungry, I can make another fresh when we finish off this one here.’

  ‘Good idea,’ AnnaLise said, helping herself.

  Bacchus took a bite, chewing, swallowing and wiping his mouth before he continued. ‘My pa, he can’t do this anymore.’

  ‘Eat, you mean?’

  Bacchus nodded. ‘Started out having some trouble swallowing, but we barely took note of it. “Just getting old,” he said.’

  ‘But it was the cancer.’

  ‘Problem is, most people don’t even know they have this esophageal kind until it’s too late. Every day seems like his last, but the next one I go and there he is, suffering bad but hanging on.’

  Bacchus picked up his half-sandwich only to put it down again. ‘My dad was a veterinarian for years – no, decades. Couldn’t stand to see an animal suffer. He’d say to people – the owners, mainly – “You’ll know when it’s time, when she’s gone away inside and there’s nothing left but a shell.” Well, my pa’s brain’s been gone for a long, long time.’

  AnnaLise put her hand on his. ‘And now … well, I know how close you were to Dickens.’

  Bacchus’ eyes welled up. ‘When you and me went in there this morning, I … I couldn’t believe it. The man who should be taken is still here, and the lieutenant, he, he—’

  The kitchen’s overhead light went off.

  ‘Hello,’ AnnaLise called, as Lacey had earlier.

  ‘Oops.’ Daisy’s voice came from the doorway. ‘I didn’t know anybody was in here.’

  The light went back on and she peered at the table. ‘Is that a turkey, dressing and cranberry sandwich?’

  ‘It is,’ Boozer said, his face lighting up. ‘Would you like me to make you one?’

  ‘Well, it is awfully late,’ Daisy said, without much conviction behind the words.

  AnnaLise stood up and swept a hand, inviting her mother to take her place. ‘If your movie’s over, Daisy, sit down and keep Boozer company. I—’

  But her mother had already appropriated her chair, and Boozer Bacchus, tired as he had been, seemed happy to be constructing a meal for her.

  Neither of them seemed to hear AnnaLise say good night.

  TWENTY-ONE

  AnnaLise Griggs took coffee to Officer Fearon before going to bed and, again, the next morning.

  ‘How long is your shift?’ she asked, setting the cup and saucer on the end table she’d brought into the hallway outside the master suite the night before.

  ‘Long as I’m needed, ma’am. The night shift is my usual, so I’m not bothered by the hours.’

  AnnaLise admired Fearon’s dedication as well as, presumably, his bladder control. ‘I’ll bring you breakfast when it’s ready. Do you know when Coy and Charity will be back?’

  ‘Mid-morning, I’d guess,’ Fearon said. ‘They’re waiting for the preliminary autopsy results.’

  ‘Today already? I’m surprised they were able to do it so quickly on a holiday weekend.’

  ‘Seems like the pathologist doesn’t get many dinner invitations.’ The officer said it straight-faced.

  ‘Well, that’s too bad,’ AnnaLise said, placing a small cream pitcher next to the cup. ‘Probably carves a heck of a turkey.’

  Fearon cracked a smile. ‘I’d allow that’s likely true, ma’am.’

  Leaving the officer to his coffee, AnnaLise entered the kitchen to find Phyllis Balisteri scrambling eggs and young Nicole Goldstein making more coffee.

  ‘I smell bacon. But,’ AnnaLise did a quick three-sixty scan. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In there.’ Nicole indicated the wall oven. ‘Mama just laid a whole pound out on a couple of sheet pans and we’re baking it at four hundred degrees for ten minutes.’

  ‘Give or take,’ Phyllis said, nodding. ‘We’ll check it then and maybe pull some out for the wiggly crowd and leave the rest for the crispy critters.’

  ‘Very slick,’ said AnnaLise, looking around.

  ‘Old caterer’s trick.’

  ‘Where’s Daisy?’

  Phyllis turned. ‘As for your mother, I was hoping maybe you might know where she took to bed last night.’

  Uh-oh. AnnaLise glanced toward Nicole’s back. ‘I … umm, take it she didn’t sleep in your shared room last night?’

  ‘She did not,’ said Phyllis. ‘And now I’m thinking you and her didn’t have a mother-daughter sleepover neither.’

 
Nicole seemed very focused on her coffee-making.

  AnnaLise didn’t quite know what to say – or how to feel. If Boozer Bacchus and Daisy had a ‘sleepover,’ more power to her. Or, AnnaLise figured that’s the way she should feel. As it was, she was … well, as Lacey Capri would probably say, ‘kind of weirded out.’

  ‘Mama, I saw her late last night.’ At least that part was truthful. As for the rest, ‘Daisy said she was going to run home for something. She probably stayed there. You know, to sleep in her own bed?’

  Phyllis set down the fork she was using to abuse the eggs and put her hands on her hips. ‘Now what are you talking about, AnnieLeez? We all came here together, the three of us. You saying she just drove herself home last night, out of the blue?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, but—’

  ‘Daisy’s car is here,’ Nicole said, opening the oven to check the bacon. ‘I saw it when I took the garbage out this morning.’

  ‘Well, that’s … good,’ AnnaLise improvised. ‘It means she’s back.’

  Phyllis didn’t seem to be buying it, but her attention was drawn to Nicole and the bacon. ‘That needs another minute or two, even the wiggly pieces. Close that door and you watch it, you hear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Nicole obeyed.

  ‘Morning!’ Daisy danced – yes, danced – into the kitchen.

  Or at least that was the way AnnaLise interpreted it. Her mother did have sex last night. And with a very nice man, Boozer Bacchus. Not, perhaps, the most fortunate choice of names, but … Oh, what the hell. AnnaLise knew her problem wasn’t with Boozer or his name. It was with her mother having sex with anybody. Probably wearing – God, so much worse, not wearing – her lacy lingerie.

  AnnaLise shivered.

  ‘I hope you’re not catching a cold, dear.’ Daisy gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘No, I’m … I’m just ducky. I was telling Mama,’ AnnaLise jerked her head toward Phyllis, who was spooning eggs out of the pan. Their joint daughter tried to send ‘go-along-with-me’ signals with her eyes, ‘that you ran home last night and probably slept there. Returning here very early since Nicole,’ she slewed her eyes meaningful toward the bacon-watcher’s back, ‘saw your car here this morning.’