by Sandra Balzo
The iPad itself had been on top of the desk before she’d lent it to Lacey, but there was no charger there either. And no telltale cords trailed from any outlets she could see, except the one for her cellphone.
AnnaLise briefly examined the phone charger, wondering if it could be used for her iPad, too. Probably not. ‘Damned essential technology.’
She moved to the room’s closet, thinking she might have packed the charger in a side pocket of her navy suitcase. Which, if memory served, the valet had hoisted onto the highest—
Lost in thought and reaching for the door’s handle, AnnaLise was unprepared for the heavy, paneled slab of wood to be flung outward with such velocity it slammed the back of her skull into the bedroom wall.
THIRTY-THREE
What the hell … had just … happened?
Stunned and on the floor with her back against the wall, AnnaLise gathered her thoughts before she struggled to her feet, kicking the offending door back toward its frame.
As it struck and half-rebounded, there was a timid knock from the hallway outside, then a creak as a voice said, ‘AnnaLise?’
Lacey Capri’s face appeared. ‘I’m sorry, but did you find—’ The blue eyes now focused with concern on AnnaLise’s. ‘Are you OK?’
The reporter took her hand away from a rapidly bulging lump on the back of her head and checked her fingers and palm for any blood. Nope. ‘I’m fine, but someone must have been in my closet. Did you see anything in the hallway?’
‘Nobody, I only just came up the stairs,’ Lacey said, eyes now wide and a little scared. ‘Are you sure you’re not hurt?’
The reporter realized she was spooking the girl and raised both hands. ‘I’m sure, truly. Just got a bump on the head and I’m a little … well, shocked.’
‘What was somebody doing in your closet?’ Seemingly reassured, Lacey’s question had a note of outrage in it.
AnnaLise shook her head, as much to clear it as to answer. ‘The door flew out and knocked me against the wall but whoever was behind it was gone by the time I pushed the thing out of my face and looked around. As for why he or she came in here, I don’t have the faintest idea.’ AnnaLise swung the closet door wide open.
‘Anything taken?’ Lacey asked.
‘Taken, no.’ AnnaLise stared down at an object lying crumpled on top of her neatly arranged shoes.
‘Oh, what a cute little …’ Before AnnaLise could react, Lacey reached in and retrieved it.
‘No!’ AnnaLise reflexively grabbed the revoltingly familiar floral bag away from the girl. Then immediately thought, Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lacey said, her nose reddening as tears began welling over.
‘It’s not you,’ the journalist said a little too sharply as she dropped the bag on the floor. Then she softened her voice and pointed down. ‘It’s just … that.’
Lacey took a step back. ‘Is there something inside?’ She shuddered. ‘A spider? Or a snake. Ohmigod, I hope it’s not a snake. I hate them!’
AnnaLise shook her head. ‘I don’t know if there’s anything in it. But I’m afraid something could be on it.’ She looked at Lacey. ‘This is the bag I saw in Dickens Hart’s room.’
Three quick blinks, residual tears trickling down from the nose-side corners of the teenager’s eyes. ‘I don’t understand.’
AnnaLise sighed. ‘I was in Dickens’ room before he was killed and, well, that thing,’ she pointed again, ‘was on his chair when I left. Only the bag was gone when his body was found the next morning.’
Lacey’s eyes grew wider than her earlier smile. ‘You think it belongs to the killer?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But where did you find—’ Then the girl’s expression hardened. ‘Wait a second. Is that why you were in our closet last night? Looking for this thing?’
Embarrassed, AnnaLise said, ‘Well, I—’
‘Because later, thinking about what you said, I didn’t see why you’d be turning down our bed.’ Lacey struck a proud pose. ‘It wasn’t turned down any other night, and in mysteries that’s the first clue the detective looks for: something out of place.’
‘And I was out of place,’ AnnaLise admitted. ‘If it’s any comfort, my plan was to search everybody’s room. You just happened to be the one who caught me.’
Lacey blinked, this time just once. ‘And did you?’
‘Did I …?’
‘Search everybody’s room for that bag?’
‘Uh, no,’ AnnaLise admitted. ‘In fact, your room was the first and only place I looked.’
‘Well, that’s not very comprehensive of you,’ Lacey said like a disapproving chief inspector in a middle-school play. Then her face changed. ‘But if you didn’t keep searching, how did you find it?’
‘I didn’t. Whoever attacked me must have stashed it here.’
‘Interesting.’ The girl was evidently warming to her mock investigation. ‘So it wasn’t there when—’ Lacey’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ohmigod, that’s what you meant by something on the bag. Fingerprints!’
And maybe – worse – blood, thought AnnaLise. The bag had felt damp to her touch when she’d grabbed it away from the teenager.
‘This is so like in the mystery novels,’ Lacey was saying, her eyes now like saucers. ‘I touched the bag, so now my fingerprints will be on the thing.’
‘Mine, too. But at least we have each other to explain why.’
Lacey slumped her shoulders, but seemed to lighten up, too. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’ Another glance down. ‘So, do you think it’s OK for us to look inside while it’s still here?’ She took a hesitant step forward.
AnnaLise stopped her. ‘Uh-unh. The two of us have probably done enough damage.’
‘Well, OK. But we should call the police. You were assaulted.’
And have the bump to prove it, thankfully. Even so, AnnaLise didn’t relish handing Coy and Charity yet another piece of evidence against her in the form of the floral bag. Especially given where it had apparently been hidden. ‘It’s nearly ten.’
Lacey looked the most surprised AnnaLise had seen her to date. ‘And that’s late here?’
Outside, snow was piling up on the balcony above the French door’s sill. ‘In this kind of weather, yes.’
Lacey cocked her head. ‘But Officer Fearon is right downstairs. We can report the attack on you and give him the bag. Want me to get him?’
‘Please,’ AnnaLise said. The girl was right, of course, and there was no use putting it off.
The teenager started for the hall door.
‘But first, Lacey?’
‘Yes?’
‘Bring Mr Hoag up here, OK?’
‘Lawyer before cop. Good idea.’
The upstairs hallway had seemed large when AnnaLise had arrived Wednesday afternoon, but with the entire assemblage of guests crammed elbow-to-elbow in it, the space now seemed awfully tight.
‘Are you sure you weren’t badly hurt?’ Patrick Hoag whispered to AnnaLise. They were standing just inside her bedroom with Lacey Capri, while Gary Fearon, hovering over the floral bag, pulled on latex gloves.
‘Yes, and thank you for being here. You’re the closest thing I have to legal counsel right now.’
Hoag opened his mouth, but AnnaLise didn’t give him a chance to comment or, more likely, object. ‘I know, I know. You can’t represent me, Patrick. But you’re an officer of the court, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to have you around when Lacey brought in Officer Fearon. I just didn’t expect,’ she scanned the crowd, ‘that everybody else would come with you.’
That included both of AnnaLise’s mothers, who had immediately rushed down to the kitchen, one – Daisy – returning with a bag of whole kernel corn from the freezer to soothe the bump on her daughter’s head and the other – Mama – a bag of frozen green beans. AnnaLise had finally been forced to banish both them and their cryogenic veggies to the hallway.
‘Everybody was in the Lake
Room,’ Lacey said apologetically. ‘Word traveled kind of fast.’
‘Welcome to Sutherton,’ AnnaLise heard Joy say from somewhere in the mob.
Fearon was lowering the small bag into a larger, clear plastic one, carefully making sure the handle and straps went in as well.
Straps? ‘Is that a backpack?’ AnnaLise asked, squinting. The second shoulder strap must have been hidden underneath the bag as it lay on Hart’s chair, but she’d been right that it would fit a change of clothes and a toothbrush. Definitely not a bottle-cum-murder-weapon, which explained why the killer hadn’t thought to stuff the champagne bottle inside the bag and dispose of both as Joy had suggested.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Do you see any blood?’
Fearon glanced up reflexively. ‘Not on preliminary visual examination. You have reason to expect there would be?’
AnnaLise nodded. ‘The champagne bottle that killed Dickens was found on the chair where that sat the night before. I thought if Dickens’ blood had gotten on the bag, it would explain why the killer dumped the thing.’
‘In the heiress’ closet.’ The stage whisper sounded like Lucinda’s voice. ‘What a coincidence.’
‘Shut your mouth, you hear?’ Mama’s also disembodied voice growled.
AnnaLise feared things might come to blows in the peanut gallery, but Officer Fearon just stood up calmly. ‘I’ve spoken with Coy and he wants me to secure this in the master bedroom until they and the county arrive tomorrow morning. The snow’s bad and getting worse. Some accidents on the mountain roads need responding to.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Lacey asked anxiously. ‘Did you tell them we touched it? AnnaLise and me?’
‘I did, little lady. Don’t you worry.’
Lacey beamed and nodded before wading back through the crowd.
AnnaLise, for her part, was feeling considerably less cheery. ‘Can you tell if anything is in that thing, Gary?’
‘Not without pawing through it,’ Fearon said. ‘Can I ask what you were hoping for, AnnaLise?’
‘A luggage tag with Debbie Dobyns’ name on it?’ asked Tyler Puckett, head just inside the doorway. He and Eddie Boccaccio laughed.
‘Steady girl,’ AnnaLise’s pseudo-lawyer whispered. ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’
She smiled grimly. ‘The way things are going, if they do find identification on that thing my name’ll probably be on it.’
‘You wear flowered backpacks?’
‘Not past seventh grade, though Daisy probably still has them all squirrelled away somewhere.’
Hoag threw her a worried look. ‘Please tell me this isn’t one of them.’
‘Don’t worry, Patrick. It’s not.’
The attorney let out the breath he must have been holding.
After Hoag re-oxygenated, AnnaLise asked, ‘How bad is this?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. Theoretically, despite your version of events, it’s possible you knocked yourself on the head.’
AnnaLise started to protest, but Hoag waved her down. ‘I’m just saying it would have been a whole lot better for the bag to be found in a dumpster somewhere between Sutherton and the Atlanta airport.’
‘As in, jettisoned by Debbie?’
‘Exactly. It’s tough to envision how she could have put it in your closet at any time, much less assault you just a few minutes ago.’
AnnaLise had been watching Fearon with the evidence bag, but now she turned to Hoag. ‘Which means, obviously, that our killer is still somewhere here in this house.’
THIRTY-FOUR
‘Hart’s fountain is frozen.’
AnnaLise, sitting cross-legged on her bed, rubbed her arms to reduce the goose pimples. ‘Could you close the balcony door, please? It’s already freezing in here.’
Joy Tamarack turned, snowflakes flecking her hair. ‘You don’t want to see this? It’s really pretty cool. The water nymphs look like something out of a sci-fi movie and the circle drive could host a hockey game.’
‘I’ll pass. Close, please?’
Joy complied and climbed up next to AnnaLise, filching a cookie from the plate on the comforter.
Before taking a bite, Joy asked, ‘Toll House Chocolate Chip?’
‘Mama made them fresh for me.’ AnnaLise gingerly touched her goose egg and decided she needed another cookie. ‘Since I got hurt.’
‘Mmmm.’ A crumb squatted on Joy’s lower lip. ‘Imagine the spread she’d put out for a funeral.’
AnnaLise gaped at her supposed friend. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’
‘I’m just talking special events. You know, baptisms, weddings, anniversaries, whatever.’
‘And your first thought in that line goes to funerals?’
‘I didn’t say yours, in particular, though I do think you have to face the fact somebody wants you out of the way.’
‘Dead?’ AnnaLise pointed at the crumb.
Joy salvaged it. ‘Or in prison. So long as you’re sentenced for Hart’s murder, it would serve the same purpose.’
Why didn’t Joy’s elaboration make AnnaLise feel better? ‘Listen, thanks for agreeing to this sleep-over. I really don’t want to be alone tonight.’
‘Understood. Not sure why you wouldn’t let me bring the snubbie, but so long as the gig includes chocolate and red wine, I’m here for you.’ She lifted her glass.
‘Spoken like a staunch supporter.’ They clinked glasses in an undedicated toast and AnnaLise plumped two pillows behind her before taking a sip of her own wine. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think you caught somebody in the process of planting the bag in your closet. You said you felt blood on it?’
AnnaLise shook her head. ‘No, just dampness. I wasn’t thinking straight – obviously any blood from Wednesday night would certainly be dry by now. Especially on a nylon backpack.’
Joy’s face grew thoughtful. ‘So, it was washed?’
‘Or thrown into the lake and retrieved. But by whom?’
‘Oooow, let me think. Oh, I know: the murderer. Duh.’ Joy snatched another cookie. ‘And the reason, if you’re going to ask that next, is to pin the crime on you.’
AnnaLise rubbed her forehead. ‘OK, maybe a recap will help clarify this mess for me. On Wednesday night, Dickens Hart went to his suite at eleven-fifteen only to be killed sometime after that. Whoever did it took the floral bag away with them, presumably because leaving it there would somehow implicate them.’
‘We’d hoped that person was Debbie, but she obviously doesn’t have the bag, and you – as the saying goes – have been left holding it.’
‘Amen to that,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Debbie also says I’m the one who called to tell her she was fired.’
‘You need to call that lawyer.’
The consensus opinion, seemingly. ‘You think it’s that bad?’
‘It’s been that bad for a while. Now it’s knee-high to dire and nigh on catastrophic. If we weren’t like best buds, even I’d think you did it.’
‘Thanks,’ said AnnaLise, going for deadpan. ‘But there’s a witness. Roy Smoaks saw a woman toss that bag into the lake. Would I do that only to fish it out and plant the thing in my own room?’
‘Smoaks saw somebody toss something into the water.’ Joy took her third cookie. ‘And, pray tell, was that before or after he, undoubtedly drunk, shot out Hart’s window?’
‘After.’
‘My point is that Smoaks is not exactly poised on a stack of Bibles, much less a witness stand.’
‘Well then, if he’s not a credible witness, we’ll make him a suspect,’ AnnaLise said. ‘When Coy and Charity get here, I’ll have Boozer give them the bullet. They can match it to the rifle Smoaks was using.’
‘Didn’t you say it hit the fireplace?’
‘Yes.’ AnnaLise had reached for another cookie herself but stopped mid-air. ‘Why?’
Joy shrugged. ‘You’re a police reporter. Yet I, a fitness trainer, have to tell you that a slug suffer
ing that kind of damage is pretty much useless for matching to anything?’
‘A fitness trainer who packs,’ AnnaLise reminded her, but dropped her cookie hand back into her lap. ‘Besides, the gun is likely Bobby’s and I wouldn’t want to implicate him.’
Joy gave her a disbelieving look. ‘Girl, you are way beyond worrying about other people. “Implicate” Bobby and Smoaks. Hell, implicate me if you have to.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ AnnaLise looked at her friend. ‘I mean, unless you actually did it.’
‘If wishes were horses, Hart would have been trampled years ago. But no, I had nothing to do with this. I’m just saying you can benefit from all the reasonable doubt you can muster.’
Reasonable doubt. Like in a trial. A murder trial. ‘OK, breathe.’
‘Huh?’ Joy asked.
‘Not you, me. I’m trying to control my breathing. Find serenity and maybe … um, stabilize my core.’
‘Hey, I’m all for mind-body fitness crap, but if you want flat abs, lay off the cookies. If you want inner peace let’s go through your timeline to see who we should throw to the wolves.’
‘Oh, yeah, good idea,’ AnnaLise said, one hand going reflexively to the bump on the back of her head. Calm down and focus. She climbed off the bed to get paper and a pen from the desk, then settled back down on the comforter. ‘So we know Dickens went to bed at eleven-fifteen.’
‘And everybody else pretty much immediately thereafter.’
‘They all trooped upstairs?’
‘That’s my memory.’
‘I was already in bed,’ AnnaLise said, ‘when I heard the group moving, so that matches up. And you said you were getting a nightcap and came to your room about … eleven-thirty?’
‘Uh-unh.’ Joy shook her head. ‘I was right on the heels of the group. Where did you get eleven-thirty? It didn’t take me fifteen minutes to pour even a jumbo glass of wine.’
AnnaLise sat up straighter. ‘Well, somebody went by my hallway door, I’m sure of it. And Shirley had come upstairs with me earlier, so she was already in her room.’
