by Sandra Balzo
‘Maybe she went back downstairs for something?’
‘I don’t think so,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Nicole was in the kitchen or foyer until almost midnight when Sal picked her up. She would have seen anybody who came down.’
‘I went out like a light,’ Joy said, ‘so I’m not going to be much help with your timeline from this point onward.’
‘Well, the footsteps came down the hallway past my room and a door opened and closed. I guess I just assumed it was you.’
‘Nobody would be wandering to find a bathroom, obviously, since each room has its own en suite.’
‘True.’ AnnaLise realized she was worrying her lip again and forced herself to give the poor body part a break. ‘Maybe a booty call, as our dear Rose would say?’
‘Hell-on-wheels, I like that woman,’ Joy said with a grin. ‘But again, there are only two suites past this room of yours. It wasn’t me, and Shirley’s too mature for casual sex.’
‘Tell it to my mother,’ AnnaLise muttered under her breath. ‘Maybe somebody went to the corridor closet to get an extra blanket or something?’
‘No linens in there, at least in my time. Besides, did you hear them come back with their “blanket or something”?’
‘No. That’s why I assumed it was you.’
‘Again, Einstein, it wasn’t.’ Joy had been examining the cookies – probably deciding which merited her next selection – but now she turned toward AnnaLise. ‘Despite my giving you permission to implicate me.’
‘I know, and continuing thanks for that. But then who was it, and where did they go?’
Joy was already pushing herself off the bed. ‘I can’t answer the “who,” but if he or she didn’t join me in my room or Shirley in hers, maybe they hid in yet another closet.’
‘But Dickens’ bedroom is downstairs. Why come up here at all?’
‘Like you said, Nicole had a clear view of the halls on the main floor. Maybe whoever it was came out of Hart’s bedroom and, catching sight of Nicole, panicked and huddled on the steps. Once there, there was nowhere to go but—’
‘Up. I follow you. Not sure I believe it, but I got it.’
‘Let’s go take a look-see.’ Joy, bounding like a cat, was already at the bedroom door.
‘For what? The killer can’t possibly still be there.’ Unless, AnnaLise thought, he or she was playing musical closets.
Joy shook her head. ‘But maybe they left signs. You know, what a trial judge calls “evidence”?’
That caught AnnaLise’s attention as she moved the depleted plate of cookies to her nightstand. ‘Well, maybe—’
‘Great. I’ll get my snubbie.’
‘You just want an excuse to carry your gun.’ The journalist had started to follow, but stopped in her tracks. ‘I’d feel safer without it.’
‘In that case,’ Joy said, opening the door. ‘After you.’
‘It’s past midnight,’ AnnaLise whispered as she stepped out into the hallway. ‘Keep your voice down.’
Ignoring her, Joy led the way along the corridor – bypassing her own suite and, blessedly, the snubbie – before unceremoniously throwing open the hall closet door. ‘Well, I see nothing has changed since my time here, except the boxes of crap are packed in even tighter. God knows what could be—’
But AnnaLise’s eyes had narrowed. ‘Boxes?’ She lifted the flap of the closest one. ‘Joy, this is a carton of books.’
‘Yeah?’ She yawned, seeming already tired of the game if she couldn’t play it armed. ‘So what? Hart always had a million of ’em.’
‘But—’ AnnaLise exhaled as thoroughly as she could, to slip sideways into the walk-in clost between its wall and the stack. Contorting her way through the maze of boxes to the adjoining perpendicular wall, she saw her goal: a doorframe, mostly hidden behind yet another highrise of cartons and, again, just far enough from the wall for her to slip through and crack open the frame’s door carefully to peer into the room. ‘This leads to Dickens’ library.’
‘Really?’ Joy herself shimmied and slalomed along the maze behind her friend.
AnnaLise swung the door wider to reveal Hart’s library in all its cushy glory, the reading chair illuminated by snow-softened exterior lights. ‘Makes sense. It would be so much easier for movers to use the elevator and then get books and furniture in this way, rather than up those narrow stairs in the bedroom from Dickens master suite. And the huge—’
But Joy Tamarack, apparently not thinking about the convenience of workmen, stepped out into the room and, fists on hips, looked around. ‘Why, that little bitch.’
THIRTY-FIVE
‘So, you think Sugar Capri knew about that upstairs entrance we found to Dickens’ library?’
They were back on AnnaLise’s bed, both sitting cross-legged but whispering like two seventh-graders in study hall.
‘She must have known,’ said Joy. ‘How else could Sugar have snuck into our marital bedroom without anybody ever seeing her? And believe me, I asked. The only way that I even tipped to it was finding a scrunchy under one of Hart’s pillows.’
‘A scrunchy?’
‘Yeah, the fabric-covered elastic bands for your hair?’
‘Oh, sure. Mama was always trying to make me pull my hair back in one.’ AnnaLise absently put a hand to the back of her head, then started from the still-tender lump there. ‘Of course.’
Joy said, ‘What?’
‘The flowered bag. It’s not just a backpack, but a backpack purse. That’s why the thing’s so small, with the handle in addition to the straps.’
‘OK. But … so?’
‘So I bet this one belongs to Sugar.’
Joy looked doubtful. ‘I’d be thrilled to have her added to our list of suspects, only your point feels like something of a leap.’
‘No, focus. You’ve seen Sugar’s wardrobe. Babydoll dresses and plaid miniskirts, knee-highs and berets. All nineties fashions, and I’d also bet they didn’t come from a vintage clothing store but the woman’s very own closet. Why not a backpack purse from the same fashion era?’
Now Joy’s features turned thoughtful. ‘The thing does look like the nineties threw up on it.’
AnnaLise was thinking of her conversations with both Sugar and Lacey. ‘Sugar said that Dickens bought her clothes way back then, and I got the impression that money is tight now for the two-person Capri family. Lacey said she hadn’t been enrolled in a traditional school because they’d been moving a lot.’
‘So they’re poor. That doesn’t mean Sugar killed Hart. I mean, why would she?’
‘Don’t know,’ AnnaLise admitted. ‘Sugar herself told me that she hoped to get back with Dickens. Romantically, that is. Can’t you imagine her carefully packing his gifts to her in order to wear them for him when she arrived here?’
‘Sadly,’ Joy said, looking none too pleased, ‘I can. And as pathetic as the picture of the current-day Sugar sneaking into his room Auld Lang Syne, why would she then kill the aging goose that still might not only lay her, but the golden egg?’
Joy did have a way with words. ‘Because … granted, a reach, but he turned her down?’
‘So hell actually has frozen over.’
AnnaLise flopped a hand toward her window, where the snow was howling by horizontally. ‘You be the judge.’
‘Cute,’ said Joy. ‘But I told you. Even if Hart’s dick—’
‘Joy. Please?’
‘I do seem to make you keep saying that to me.’
‘Because you keep painting word pictures that I will never be able to get out of my head.’
‘And you think that image of Sweet Sugar sneaking into my ex’s room wearing nothing but thigh-high knee socks and a cute little beret is pleasant for me?’
AnnaLise drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, saying, ‘I didn’t realize that it still stung, but of course it should. You just always seem so strong that I don’t—’
‘Oh, it doesn’t sting, girl.’ Joy was stretching both arms over her head. ‘Barely registers,
in fact. I just wanted to see how righteous indignation feels.’ Lifting the top sheet, she slipped between it and the fitted one beneath. ‘I must say it’s not bad. I can see why you enjoy it.’
‘Thank you.’ AnnaLise was trying to maintain her patience.
‘You’re welcome. Now, you were saying?’
‘I was saying,’ AnnaLise said through clenched teeth, ‘that your ex-husband slash my father, Dickens Hart, was ill and in pain. His pride might have kept him from telling Sugar why he was rejecting her. But if the woman was desperate, she could have—’
‘Beaned him with the champagne bottle?’ Joy wasn’t swayed. ‘Seems a little drastic for a “Not tonight, dear.”’
With a sigh, AnnaLise collapsed onto her back, forearm under her head. ‘Maybe we’re making too many assumptions.’
‘We?’ Joy plumped a pillow of her own and pulled up the blanket.
‘Yes, we. Each of us has been assuming that the floral bag belonged to the killer.’
‘Why else would it have gone missing?’ Joy asked. ‘And subsequently turned up in your room? And how does Roy Smoaks’ slicker-clad “broad” figure in?’
AnnaLise could hear sleep creeping into her friend’s voice. ‘Good questions. I’ve got to think about better answers.’
‘You do that.’ Joy re-settled herself. ‘I’m going to get a little shuteye.’ Seconds later, she was snoring softly.
But AnnaLise lay awake, staring at the ceiling. At about four a.m., she sat bolt upright, though apparently without disturbing her still-snoring bedmate. Hart’s secret closet entrance, the figure in a slicker on the pier the next morning, the assault on AnnaLise and the reappearance of that floral bag – damp, but with no blood visible on it. Suddenly everything made sense.
And then, as equal parts of relief and sorrow spread through her body, the daughter with two live mothers and two dead fathers began to cry softly, so as not to cause her good friend to even stir.
THIRTY-SIX
AnnaLise jolted out of a dream she couldn’t remember. The sun was shining brightly and Joy was gone. Not surprising, either, since the nightstand clock showed eleven-twenty a.m.
AnnaLise could hear snatches of conversation wafting up from downstairs.
‘… to go, Mom?’ She heard Lacey Capri call out. ‘The limo’s here.’
‘Right with you.’ Sugar’s voice, much closer.
AnnaLise jumped out of bed and, after grabbing a robe, opened the door just in time to see Sugar bounding down the stairs shouldering a duffel bag. ‘What’s going on?’
Politely, Sugar stopped halfway down. ‘The sheriff’s here.’ She nodded toward a deputy standing by the front door in the massive vaulted foyer below. ‘They’ve given us all permission to go home. Thank you for … well, just everything.’
A chill went up AnnaLise’s spine. If the sheriff was letting the rest go, that meant they’d closed in on their prime suspect. As she thought that, the deputy looked up and, seeing AnnaLise, said something into the radio on the epaulet of his uniform shirt.
AnnaLise realized it had become now or never time. ‘But aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the woman, looking around. ‘Oh! Do you mean your iPad? Lacey didn’t want to disturb you, so she left it on our dresser.’ A proud smile. ‘With a thank you note, of course.’
In the hallway below, the deputy had been joined by Sutherton officers Coy Pitchford and Gary Fearon. All three uniformed men were now looking up at AnnaLise.
‘Lacey has lovely manners, but I meant your pretty backpack purse, Sugar. I’m sure Officer Fearon will give you some kind of receipt so you can reclaim it later.’
Sugar’s eyes bugged out. ‘It’s not mine,’ she said, beginning to unsteadily descend the remaining steps one at a time, leading with her left foot.
‘Oh, I’m betting it is,’ AnnaLise called down. ‘You haven’t had a lot of resources to buy new things over the years. I’m surprised you didn’t ask Dickens for money. He certainly owed you at least that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sugar was nearing the bottom of the stairs.
‘Of course you do,’ AnnaLise said, following the elder Capri, but slowly. ‘Dickens Hart sexually assaulted you when you were just fifteen.’
‘I lied to him about my age, and the sex was consensual, like I told you,’ Sugar said, as the front door cracked open and Lacey entered, probably having taken her own luggage to the waiting car.
But AnnaLise couldn’t let the girl’s presence stop her. ‘It doesn’t matter what you told Dickens, Sugar. You weren’t yet of an age to consent. Though I have to give you points for resourcefulness, if not smarts. And you do have an affinity for hiding in closets, it seems. Or was it Dickens who suggested you sneak into his room though the hall walk-in upstairs?’
AnnaLise could see from Coy’s eyes that she now had his attention. ‘That storage area connects to the library on the upper floor of Dickens’ master suite. I’m sure that Officer Pitchford would have noticed if there hadn’t been so many boxes piled up, blocking the door.’
She nodded at Coy. ‘I missed it too, when I was snooping around the night Dickens was killed. From either door, it seemed to be a storeroom packed chock-full. No indication, even, that a second entrance existed. But last night, Joy and I noticed those boxes were just far enough from the door for a small-framed person to slip through and make their way to the other door.’
‘Joy was there?’ Sugar’s eyes were wide.
‘Yup. It was she who realized you’d used the closet access years ago to sneak into her husband’s suite – well, theirs, really – without his staff seeing you. You wanted to surprise him on Wednesday night with a bottle of champagne. His champagne, of course, since you couldn’t have afforded Dom Perignon.’
AnnaLise looked at Lacey, who had begun sniffling. ‘Did you catch a chill? The lake water is cold this time of year. I didn’t understand, at first, how the floral bag fit into all this. Then you, Lacey—’
‘Leave her out of this!’ Sugar dumped her duffel bag on the floor and, still at the bottom step, turned to confront AnnaLise.
‘You let my mother alone!’ Lacey screamed from below. ‘She had nothing to do with it. It was all me, AnnaLise. I killed your super-rich bastard of a father.’
The sheriff’s deputy and Coy Pitchford allowed themselves two seconds of astonished staring at AnnaLise and Sugar on the stairs before moving toward Lacey.
‘She’s lying!’ Sugar said, jumping down with both feet from the last step and running to pull her daughter into her arms. ‘I did it. I went to Hart’s room with the champagne bottle, hoping that maybe … maybe if he and I got together again, Lacey and I wouldn’t have to live on the streets anymore. I just thought—’
‘No.’ Tears streaming down her face, the daughter put a finger on her mother’s lips. ‘It was my turn to take care of us. And I would have been OK, because I brought the roofies along.’
‘That’s what didn’t make sense,’ AnnaLise said. ‘The roofies were for Dickens?’
‘For him? No.’ Lacey’s blue eyes were startled behind her tears. ‘They were for me, of course. I put one in the empty wine glass on the dresser and added just enough wine from the other so I could choke it down. I went into the bathroom to shower and change into the nightie and when I came out I heard the old lech at the door, so I grabbed the glass and hid upstairs until he went into the bathroom. Then I chugged the rest and went down and climbed into his bed. I figured that by the time he came out and … did me, I’d be so totally out of it I wouldn’t even notice, much less remember what he’d done.’
Lacey met her mother’s eyes. ‘That’s what roofies do, right? Women don’t even remember? So once it was over I’d be fine, but we’d have him. Because I’m so obviously underage, he’d have to give us whatever we wanted this time. Take care of us both for the rest of our lives.’ Her hands were balled up now and she pounded on her mother’s own slight shou
lders. ‘Why couldn’t you just let me? Why did you have to bust in on everything and hit him?’
Sugar pushed her daughter’s lush hair away from her face. ‘I’m your mother, honey. It’s my job to take care of us. You’re just a baby.’ Her voice cracked. ‘My baby.’
Then Sugar Capri began to croon something that sounded like a lullaby as mother and daughter, clutching each other, sank to their knees on the marble tile floor.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Eddie Boccaccio raised his glass. ‘To the Last Supper.’
‘Amen,’ said AnnaLise Griggs.
It was finally Sunday night, and most of the disparate people Dickens Hart had assembled for his affairs-in-order weekend were sitting around the dining room table one final time before going their equally disparate ways. Sugar and Lacey Capri were in police custody, of course, their seats taken by Boozer Bacchus and Nicole Goldstein.
AnnaLise, for the first time, sat at the head of Hart’s table. She set down her glass. ‘I’m sorry you had to miss your flights today. Were you all able to reschedule?’
‘The airlines took pity on us,’ said Eddie’s mom, Rose. ‘We leave tomorrow night, now that the sheriff’s department has wrapped everything up.’
‘And we’re tomorrow afternoon?’ asked Lucinda Puckett, looking at her son Tyler. He nodded back.
‘Well, that’s good,’ AnnaLise said, feeling weary to the bone. ‘Because you sure can’t stay here anymore.’
Eddie gave what sounded like a genuine laugh. ‘Our paternity tests have still to come back.’
AnnaLise’s turn to nod. ‘And, when you get those results, let me know. But for now, I think everybody will be happy to be parted from each other.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Phyllis Balisteri, raising her own wine glass. The woman didn’t drink, so she put it right back down again, but her call-out seemed as genuine as Eddie’s laugh. ‘Only, AnnieLeez, would you mind going over the whole thing one more time? For us slow learners?’
AnnaLise sighed. She just wanted to put the entire weekend behind her. But then, she wasn’t a restaurateur who considered floaters good for business.
