Dead, White, and Blue

by Carolyn Hart

  Annie felt a wave of pity for the woman who stared with lost and hopeless eyes. Annie steeled herself and asked a question that had to be asked. “When you talked to her Wednesday afternoon, did she say anything about her plans?”

  Maggie’s lips parted. Her haggard face stiffened. “How did you know?”

  Annie didn’t feel any triumph that she had been right in guessing that it was Shell on the other side of Maggie’s cell phone conversation in the ladies lounge Wednesday afternoon.

  “What did she say?”

  Maggie’s eyes shifted away. “We just had a talk.” Her voice was numb.

  “About Dave?”

  Tears slipped down Maggie’s face. “Does everyone know? I suppose they do. She laughed, that’s what’s so awful.”

  “You told her”—Annie remembered Laurel’s report of Claire’s eavesdropping—“you knew about the money and you knew what she was planning but there was a gun in Dave’s desk.”

  Maggie folded her arms tight against her chest.

  “I understand he was selling out and putting half of everything in cash accounts.”

  Maggie’s face looked stricken, her face slack from shock. “How did you know?”

  “People talk about things.” Or people’s wives talk. Annie left that unsaid. She didn’t want to set up a confrontation between Dave and his banker. Dave was big and powerful and a bully, and the banker, Leon Bailey, was a mild-mannered man who deserved a wife who could hold her tongue. “Was Shell planning on leaving with Dave that night?”

  Maggie’s head jerked up. “No.” She gave a wild laugh. “She was just—” One thin hand covered her mouth.

  “What did she say to you in the hallway after Dave left her on the dance floor?”

  That thin hand slid to her throat.

  “Maggie, it’s important to know what Shell said that night.”

  Maggie shook her head back and forth. Her eyes were filled with fear. She came to her feet. “She was hateful. Hurtful. The way she always was. I can’t remember”—she seemed to gain strength, repeated the words louder—“I can’t remember what she said. Anyway, I don’t know where she went. Dave doesn’t know.” But her voice sounded hollow. “Oh, God, everything’s so awful.” She started for the door.

  Annie stood, too. “Why did you leave the club in Dave’s car by yourself?”

  The storeroom door slammed and Annie was alone. And she hadn’t found out whether the gun was still in Dave’s desk.

  • • •

  Max stood a few feet behind the official party on the pier, watching as the shrimp trawler docked. The breeze riffled whitecaps across the bay, tugging at his shirt, pleasant despite the heat. Billy Cameron was in the lead. Lou Pirelli, looking hot in his khaki uniform, talked to Hyla Harrison. Billy’s wife Mavis carried an evidence kit. Mavis served as both dispatcher at the station and a crime tech. In repose, Mavis’s long face often had an aura of uncertainty and wariness. She had escaped an abusive husband and found refuge on the island with her little boy, Kevin, and eventually a fine second husband and new father for Kevin in Billy.

  Light steps clipped on the pier behind him.

  “Hey, Max.” Marian Kenyon, the Gazette’s star reporter, skidded to a stop next to him. A bony whirlwind, Marian moved, thought, and wrote fast, her gamin face often scrunched in concentration beneath a mop of unruly dark hair. She brushed back a tangle of hair and snapped a series of shots on her Leica. “Scanner. A body in a shrimp net. I called the cop shop. Two missing person reports with your name and Annie’s all over the place. What’s up?” Her eyes never left the group now boarding the Julie Joy. Several crew members stood as near the stern as possible, staring out at the harbor, men used to tough labor but not to bloated bodies.

  “Nobody knows for sure yet. It may be the body of Richard Ely.”

  “One of the missing person reports is chock-full of detail. Somebody talked to Ely’s ex-wife, Clarissa.” She recited crisply. “Five foot ten. Approximately one hundred sixty pounds. Caucasian male. Surgically fused left ankle following high school football injury. Ex-wife says she left his house about nine o’clock Tuesday, hasn’t seen or talked to him since. Ely’s thirty-three. Divorced. Native of Hardeeville. Broward’s Rock resident since 2008. Waitstaff at the country club. So what’s your connection?”

  Max was saved from answering when heavy footsteps sounded.

  Marian turned to watch burly Doc Burford stomp past with a jerk of his head to acknowledge them. For a big man, he was agile as he swung onto the shrimp boat. He was there for about two minutes, then on his way back to shore.

  Marian darted toward him. “Hey, Doc, what can you give me?”

  He never slowed. “Dead. Been immersed in seawater for at least a couple of days. Visible trauma from shark bites. Won’t know more until the autopsy’s done.”

  Marian took a deep breath and turned back to Max. Even brash Marian was a little subdued. She wrinkled her nose, looked more than ever like a street-smart waif. “Probably not a pretty sight. No point in going closer for pictures.” She brightened. “But, hey, I can get pics of the Julie Joy. Everybody loves shrimp boats, and someday we may not have any if they keep flooding the market with those nasty, limp, farm-bred shrimp.” She clicked a series of shots. “Like it, like it. The arms with the nets up, men huddled at the stern. Striking but not gross. As Vince always says, we put out a family newspaper. No gore, no overt sex, no nasty photos. Wonder if there’s enough skin left on his fingers for prints?” She turned her bright brown eyes on him. “Okay, you didn’t show up here to sniff the sea air. What’s the deal?”

  • • •

  Shrimp creole’s our special today. Got an extra flair with a dash—” Ben Parotti broke off. “Something wrong?”

  Annie had no idea how Richard Ely’s body looked when the net brought him up, but she knew it had to be awful. “Not shrimp. For a while.”

  Ben’s grizzled face was grave as Max described the scene at the dock. Ben, as always, was forthright. “Richard Ely was bad news. Clarissa worked for us until she went back to school to get a pharmacy tech certification.” Ben jerked a thumb at the big old-fashioned room behind him. “She handled the tables along the wall. Richard treated his wife like dirt, ran around on her. Sometimes he was slow paying on the child support. Richard played poker for pretty high stakes with folks who want their money when the cards are down. After she got a divorce, she was working as a pharmacy tech, but I hear she lost her job a little while ago. The kid has asthma and he’s sick a lot and she missed too much work. How’d Richard get in the water?”

  “Probably from Fish Haul Pier. His car was in the lot.”

  Ben frowned. “Must have been some weird time. That pier’s busy night and day in the summer. Nobody saw anything?”

  “We think maybe he was on the pier Tuesday night during the storm.”

  Ben looked like a coon dog sniffing a scent. “Out on the pier in a thunderstorm? Must have been a babe or money. Babes don’t like to be wet and they scare easy. The lightning was pretty fierce. Sounds to me like he was out there to meet somebody on the sly. You can figure the reasons for that. Drugs. Selling something hot. Maybe hush money. Never heard he was part of the drug scene. As for stolen goods, wouldn’t surprise me. Or maybe he knew something somebody didn’t want anyone else to know, made a few threats. What goes around comes around.” Ben looked pontifical. “Anyway, we’re here and I got good food. That’ll perk you up. How about spinach quiche with a green salad?”

  As Ben walked away with their orders for the day’s special spinach quiche, Annie turned to Max. “‘He knew something somebody didn’t want anyone else to know.’ Max, I think when Richard was on the terrace, he saw someone with Shell. He avoided saying who else he saw on the terrace. After I talked to him, I think he called up the person he saw with Shell.”

  “He may have seen someone with her or he may have seen someone follow her. But Billy knows all about Shell and everything that happened at the dance an
d you told him about Richard. He can find out what happened.”

  Annie made a shooing gesture. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about Maggie.” She recounted Maggie’s visit to Death on Demand. “She ran out before I could ask her about the gun in Dave’s desk. I called her cell a couple of times but I didn’t get an answer. I’ll bet she saw it was me calling and she didn’t want to talk to me. So”—she gave him a determined look—“I’m going to go see Dave.”

  Max’s frown was quick and intense. “I don’t like that.” His tone was flat. “We don’t know what happened at the club that night but they hauled a dead body out of the water. If Richard died because of something he saw on the country club terrace, that raises the odds that Shell’s dead. Murdered. Dave was furious with her. Maybe he’s behind her disappearance. Let Billy talk to him about that night. If Shell was killed, the murderer got pressed by Richard and now he’s dead. This is no time to confront someone who may have killed twice.”

  Annie lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “I have to do something. Billy’s busy with Richard Ely. If I called him, he’d just say he’d get to Maggie when he could. I have to talk to Dave. Is there a gun in his desk? What if Maggie got the gun?”

  Max looked grave. “Do you think she shot Shell?”

  Annie turned her hands up in uncertainty. “I don’t know what she meant when she told Shell she had a gun. Was she threatening Shell? Or was Maggie saying she might”—her voice thinned—“shoot herself?”

  “This is no time to screw up Billy’s investigation. Back off, Annie. Billy’s the one to ask Dave about that night and Shell.”

  Annie shook her head with finality. “I’m not going to ask Dave about Shell. I want to know about the gun in his desk. You didn’t see Maggie. She’s desperate. If she has a gun, somebody’s got to get it away from her.”

  Max looked at her steadily. “Desperate? Or dangerous?”

  • • •

  Max reassured himself. Nothing could happen to Annie in Dave’s office with a secretary in the anteroom and people going up and down the hallway. He wished he’d insisted on going with her. He well knew how successful that attempt would have been. Annie would have shaken her head with finality. But there were other ways to take care. He lifted the phone, called. “This is Max Darling. My wife’s dropping in to see Mr. Peterson in a little while. Tell her I’d appreciate it if she’d come by my office after she leaves there.”

  When he’d hung up, Max’s smile was rueful. He didn’t know Dave’s secretary, had no idea how much thought she gave to calls, whether she simply did as instructed or whether she was quick to note anomalies. If the latter, she might well wonder why, in the smart phone world, Max was requesting that a message be passed along. Whatever, he had reinforced the secretary’s awareness of Annie’s visit.

  There was one other call he needed to make. He called the residence of Vera Hurst. The phone rang several times. When the answering machine took over, he made a quick decision. The time for subterfuge was past. He’d hoped to speak personally to Hayley Hurst, though no matter how he couched the message, she was likely to be upset. But she deserved to know. “This is Max Darling. This message is for Hayley Hurst. I filed a missing person report with the police this morning in regard to the disappearance of Shell Hurst. The police will contact the family or may have already done so. So far as I know, no trace of her has been found. Again, this is Max Darling at Confidential Commissions.” He left his number, hung up.

  Max pushed up from his leather chair, wandered across the room, plucked the putter from his golf bag. But he stood at the edge of the indoor green, staring at nothing. He felt somewhat reassured. Billy was hunting for Shell, alive or dead, and he was investigating Richard’s death. Everything was under control. Like he’d told Annie, this was no time for them to get in the way.

  • • •

  The offices of Peterson Construction occupied the second floor of a brick building two doors down from Parotti’s. Annie walked up a flight of stairs that opened into a welcoming reception area with several comfortable sofas and a broad window that overlooked the harbor. When she reached the counter, a heavyset woman with stiff gray hair, oversized glasses, and a square chin rose from a desk and stepped up to the counter. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Annie Darling. I would like to see Mr. Peterson.”

  “I’ll see if he’s free. I have a message for you, Mrs. Darling. Your husband called and asked you to come to his office when you leave here.” There was no curiosity or interest in her tone.

  Annie understood. Max wanted her to be safe. She felt a warmth inside even though she would have to chide him for being overly protective. Nothing bad was going to happen to her in a daylight visit to an office. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  The secretary was as uninterested in her response as she was in the message she’d delivered. She rose and moved unhurriedly through a swinging gate at the end of the counter and turned to her right down a broad hall.

  Annie thought it interesting that she had to check in person. Apparently Dave had rules about how and when he could be interrupted.

  In a moment, unhurried steps returned. The receptionist gestured. “If you will go to the third door to the left.”

  When Annie reached the door, it stood open. That must be the signal. Open door, visitors welcome. Closed door, no.

  Dave rose from behind a huge steel desk with neatly arranged stacks of papers and a rack of folders. A green folder lay open, a pen next to it. “Come in.” He looked as he always had, obviously an old football player, a big beefy face red from hours in the sun, blond hair cut short, dark eyes that often challenged, an expensive soft-weave polo, tan summer slacks. He exuded masculinity and toughness. He looked at her with curious brown eyes. “Hey, Annie. What can I do for you?”

  Annie hesitated, then closed the door behind her.

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he gestured toward the small sofa to the left of his desk, returned to his chair, and swung it to face the sofa.

  “I came to see you because I’m worried about Maggie.”

  “Maggie? Why?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Annie felt a sweep of relief. She wasn’t sure what she had feared. That Maggie was afraid of Dave? That she was afraid for Dave? That Maggie had killed to keep him and was now wracked by guilt? But Dave’s reaction seemed genuine. He appeared surprised and puzzled, but not threatened.

  “It’s awkward.” She stopped.

  His eyebrows drew down and his big face hardened. “I wouldn’t have thought you were one of those women who meddle in other people’s lives. I don’t know what kind of gossip you’ve heard”—his eyes shifted and she knew he had a very good idea of what kind of gossip she might have heard—“but you need to butt out. Now, if that’s all, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Is the gun still in your desk drawer at home?”

  His eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course it is.” He pushed up from his chair, moved around the desk, stopped a foot away. Face flushed, he glared down at her, big, overbearing, and angry. “Why are you asking about my gun?”

  Annie eased to her feet, backed away nearer to the door. “Someone overheard Maggie talking to Shell.”

  His big hands clenched into fists. “You better tell me and tell me quick.” His voice was hard.

  “Maggie was on her cell phone. She told Shell that she knew all about the money and what you and Shell planned but she told Shell there was a gun in your desk. Then she broke off.”

  “Maggie said the gun…” He looked like a big man who had taken a blow to his gut. His face mirrored shock, uncertainty, and, finally, fear. He turned and bulled toward the door, opened it, plunged into the hall.

  Annie stared after him. Fear rode him like a spur to a maddened horse. Was he afraid of what Maggie might do with his gun? Or what she might have done?

  • • •

  Max came to his feet at the sound of the bell at the front door
. But the rattle of footsteps wasn’t right for Annie. Hayley Hurst skidded into his office. Instead of a tight blouse, short skirt, and high heels, she wore a chambray top, very short shorts, and leather thongs that revealed toes with flaming nail polish. Too much makeup still made her face garish, but this afternoon she looked much more like a teenage girl than a twentyish bimbo.

  “Mr. Darling.” Her voice wobbled. “I got your message. My mom’s really mad. She wanted to know how come you called to tell me you’d filed a report on Shell and I had to tell her I’d asked you to find Shell. Mom’s… scared.” The word hung between them. Hayley’s eyes were huge and dark with worry. “I know something awful’s happened to Shell. I was over at Dad’s this morning. He wasn’t there so I checked out his computer. I keep thinking maybe she’ll send an e-mail. If I saw an e-mail to him, I’d know she was somewhere. Today the bill from her credit card came. I got it open. Nobody’d ever know I opened it. I wiggled a table knife under the flap. I saw the charges. She hasn’t bought anything since July third. And everything’s weird at home and at Dad’s house. Nobody will talk to me. Not Mom or Dad or Jed. And Jed’s crazy nuts. He doesn’t sleep at night. I hear him in his room, walking back and forth, back and forth. But I guess you can’t do anything. Nobody seems to be doing anything.” She jumped up, trying not to cry, and raced toward the door.

  • • •

  Max decided it was his day for distressed females. Hayley’s departure had been as precipitous and emotional as her arrival. Annie wasn’t distraught but he knew she was worried to the bone when her rebuke about his call to Dave’s secretary was delivered almost absentmindedly.

  Now she held his putter and worried with her thumbnail at a slight tear in the leather grip. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. After Dave left, I went outside and called Maggie. No answer. I left her a message and told her what I’d done.” She turned huge eyes wide with uncertainty toward him. “I was trying to protect her. That’s what I told her. She could have taken the gun because she was afraid of him. Do you think she’s in danger?”