Dead, White, and Blue

by Carolyn Hart

  “No.” He made his answer crisp, definite. “If Dave intended harm to Maggie, he would have played it cool, told you not to worry, he’d seen his gun that morning, whatever Maggie said, you didn’t need to give it a thought. He wouldn’t storm out, obviously on his way to see her. You said he seemed upset, maybe scared. It sounds to me like he was afraid of what she might do with a gun. You can rest easy about Maggie.”

  Annie looked relieved. “Still, we can tell Billy. He can check on the gun.”

  Max had no doubt Billy could ask Dave, but Dave was under no compulsion to answer, not until and unless Billy had an official reason to investigate the people who’d been among the last to see Shell. “I haven’t been able to talk to Billy. I left a message. I said you’d gone to see Dave about Maggie and the gun and that Hayley Hurst opened Shell’s credit card statement. And,” he spoke without pleasure, remembering too clearly the scared look in Hayley Hurst’s eyes, “I told him to ask Jed Hurst why he can’t sleep at night.”

  • • •

  Max peppered two salmon filets, added lemon juice. As he placed the dish in the oven and set it at three fifty, the back door opened.

  Annie clattered into the kitchen from the back porch, waggling a copy of the Gazette. “The new delivery boy has a talent for tossing the paper right in the middle of a rosebush.” She unfolded the afternoon paper and settled on a tall chair behind the granite island. “Lead story.” She read the headline first.

  SHRIMP BOAT CATCHES BODY;

  ISLANDER MISSING SINCE TUESDAY

  APPARENT DROWNING VICTIM

  She looked surprised. “I don’t see how Doc Burford could already have done an autopsy.” She read the story aloud:

  Police Chief Billy Cameron announced today that shrimpers in the bay hauled up the body of missing islander Richard Ely this morning. Cameron said medical examiner Dr. T. W. Burford made definite identification on the basis of dental records and a fused left ankle from a previous injury.

  Cameron said the cause of death will be established when a formal autopsy is completed. The police chief said Dr. Burford made a preliminary judgment that Ely’s death resulted from drowning. The chief said the autopsy will determine if there were contributing factors.

  Cameron said a concerned citizen filed a missing person report this morning after being unable to locate Ely. Ely did not report for work at the country club Wednesday morning, where he was employed as a server. Club service manager Gerald O’Reilly said that Ely had been a reliable and conscientious employee. O’Reilly declined to speculate upon what may have happened to Ely.

  The concerned citizen also filed a missing person report regarding Shell Hurst, wife of islander Wesley J. Hurst. According to the report, Mrs. Hurst, 23, has not been seen since the night of July 4 when she was observed during the fireworks display as she walked toward the Island Country Club overflow parking lot. Attempts to contact Mr. Hurst have not been successful. O’Reilly had no comment about the report linking her disappearance to the country club. Mrs. Hurst was driving a 2011 green Porsche Carrera. She is five feet eight inches tall, weighs 124 pounds, has chestnut-colored hair and green eyes.

  Cameron said efforts to locate Mrs. Hurst have so far been unsuccessful but authorities have been alerted statewide and the search continues. Anyone with information about Mrs. Hurst may contact the police or the family.

  Cameron declined to say whether the missing person reports are linked.

  Cameron said the Julie Joy pulled up a net at shortly after ten o’clock today and the catch included a body later identified as that of Richard Ely. Captain Bo Woodson immediately contacted police and brought the body to shore. Cameron said Ely’s car had been found in the Fish Haul Pier parking lot and had apparently been left there between 7 P.M. and midnight Tuesday. A patrol checks the lot at 7 A.M., 7 P.M., and midnight. No parking is permitted between midnight and 7 A.M. The car was ticketed Wednesday morning and impounded Thursday morning.

  In the police report, an unidentified neighbor reported seeing Ely at approximately 9 P.M. Tuesday. A Gazette reporter contacted neighborhood residents. Harold Bates, who lived next door to Ely, reported that Ely’s former wife visited him Tuesday evening. She left the house shortly before Ely departed. Bates said it was raining heavily at the time. Bates said that on several occasions this summer he’d heard them quarreling over child support payments. The Gazette has been unable to contact Mrs. Ely.

  Max stirred pickle relish into mayonnaise, added a dash of mustard. “I’ll bet Billy’s not happy the neighbor spilled everything he saw to Marian.”

  Annie shrugged. “You know Marian. She’s not going to stop with one source. I’ll bet she knocked on all the doors on Black Skimmer Lane.” Her eyes dropped again to the newspaper. “Cameron said the neighbor may have been the last person to see Ely. He is asking anyone with information concerning Richard Ely’s activities to contact his office or leave a message on Crime Stoppers. Cameron emphasized the search for Mrs. Hurst and the investigation into Ely’s death are being handled separately.”

  • • •

  Annie dipped a piece of salmon into homemade tartar sauce. “Divine.” The dinner was one of Max’s finest: succulent salmon, steamed asparagus with a mustard and butter sauce, a salad that sang of freshness with a delicate peach vinaigrette dressing. She felt relaxed for the first time since they’d started their search for Shell. They had done everything they could do. Billy Cameron would find what could be found. Tomorrow she would once again move among books and happily guide readers to new pleasures, the nostalgic charm of Susan Wittig Albert’s Darling Dahlias series, the heartfelt emotion in Earlene Fowler’s Benni Harper series, the always fascinating and often touching entries in Lee Goldberg’s quirky Mr. Monk series.

  She lifted her glass of chardonnay. “A toast.”

  Max obediently picked up his glass.

  Annie looked across the table. “To Billy’s success.”

  A sudden harsh knock sounded at the kitchen door.

  9

  Max opened the door.

  Wesley Hurst looked like a man whose world had collapsed around him. “I got a message for you.” Gone was the affable, easygoing, trust-fund, late-thirties rich kid. He was still prep perfect, sandy hair cut the right length, a Billy Reid plaid linen shirt, Brunello Cucinelli pants, Moncler suede boat shoes, but his face looked pummeled, purple smudges beneath his eyes, cheekbones jutting. “I’m telling you”—his voice was husky with emotion—“keep away from my kids.”

  Max spoke quietly. “Your daughter came to see me because she was worried about Shell.”

  Wesley hunched his shoulders. “You had no business talking to her. Hayley meant well. But she doesn’t understand”—an appreciable pause—“what Shell’s like. Part of it was just kid stuff. She resented her brother trying to tell her what to do, keep her from hanging out with Shell. Hayley made a mistake.”

  “Did she?” Max was abrupt. He stood with his hands loose at his sides, prepared for whatever might happen. “Shell hasn’t been seen or heard from since the dance.”

  “Shell called me.” Wesley looked from Max to Annie, back again. “A couple of days ago. But I don’t tell all my business to the world like you’ve done. I saw the Gazette. A concerned citizen, hell. You’re butting into my life. I talked to the mayor. He told me you’re always poking your nose in where it doesn’t concern you. I’m telling you to leave me and my family alone. Now everybody thinks something’s happened to Shell.” His stare was straight. And unconvincing. “There’s nothing to this. She left the island.”

  Annie took a step forward. “Where is she?”

  Wesley’s tone was harsh. “She wouldn’t say. She told me she’s off having fun and it’s for me to wonder and she doesn’t plan on coming back. I told her I’d get a divorce. Abandonment. Whatever. She can’t do this to me.”

  Max stared at Wesley, saw his eyes shift away. “Did she call you on her cell?” There would be a record of that call. Billy could find
out.

  Wesley blinked. “I don’t know. I just answered. All I know is, she called me a couple of days ago—”

  “Exactly when?”

  Wesley’s chin jutted. “What difference does it make to anybody but me? She’s my wife. What she does is none of your business. And I told that cop he better not hassle me. Yeah, Shell and I are through. I’m getting a divorce. Want to put that in the paper? I’ll get a lawyer. From here on, you better not cause me or my kids any more trouble.”

  “Why was Jed frightened when I asked him about Shell’s Porsche?”

  Wesley sucked in a breath. “You got to stop badgering him. He’s just a kid. He got in trouble because he scraped the side of her car backing out of the driveway and it made Shell mad and he thought that’s what you were asking about.” As he talked, he seemed to gain confidence, but his eyes had a hollow, desperate look. “Like I said, leave my kids—and me—alone.” He turned, moved heavily toward the back door. He pushed the screen, thudded out onto the porch.

  As his steps receded, Annie looked at Max and shook her head. “Shell didn’t call him.”

  “Billy will find out.” Max closed the door with finality.

  • • •

  Max eyed her shorty pajamas admiringly as he placed an omelet on her plate. “Nice legs, Mrs. Darling.” He dropped a hand and slid warm fingers along her thigh.

  Annie smiled, patted his hand, firmly lifted it, her eyes saying, Thank you, but not now. “Another beautiful morning in paradise and thou, along with an omelet, sausage, and the best Colombian coffee north of the border.”

  He grinned as he slipped into his chair. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  She tilted her head. “Do you like cold omelets?”

  “No, but I like warm women. Uh, warm woman,” he amended hastily. “What border?”

  She airily waved a hand. “Colombia has borders,” she said vaguely.

  The cat door flapped and Dorothy L’s round white head poked inside. In a moment, after one quick glance at the kitchen table, she strolled casually toward the counter.

  Max put down his fork. He reached the electric skillet in time to remove the cord, swipe out grease with a paper towel.

  Annie laughed. “She has you well trained. Cat in, skillet wiped.”

  The morning ritual complete and Max back at the table, Dorothy L settled on the counter behind Max’s shoulder. Her purr indicated she harbored no ill will though her blue eyes held fond memories of the occasional times when she scored and enjoyed lapping up remnants of butter.

  Annie was determined to keep their morning untroubled for as long as possible. They didn’t talk about Wesley Hurst or Shell or Hayley or Jed or Richard Ely or Dave Peterson or Maggie. They talked about a revival of The Pajama Game currently running at the Island Playhouse and a discovery of a ribbon-tied packet of WWII love letters at a flea market in Beaufort and how Barb would look in black hair since a vacation e-mail hinted she would return to the island in Hedy Lamarr mode after seeing Tortilla Flat on Turner Classic Movies.

  “Speaking of e-mails.” Max pointed at several printouts on the counter near Dorothy L. “A long one from Laurel and two shorter ones from Henny and Emma. I suppose we’d better take a look.” He removed their plates, picked up the sheets, and refilled their coffee mugs.

  Annie admired the way his T-shirt and boxer shorts fit, but she kept her face carefully schooled. This was not the time to distract him. He was easily distracted.

  He settled at the table, arranged the sheets. “Emma first. Two sentences, short, succinct, far from sweet. Where’s the body?” His lips folded into a tight line.

  Obviously, Max took offense at Emma’s brusque tone. Annie offered a defense. “You know how she is when she gets involved in a book.”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “Obnoxious? Or maybe I ought to say, more obnoxious than usual?”

  Annie grinned. “Lacking charm.”

  Max’s tone was sour. “Second sentence: Get off your duffs and look for it. Assuming there is a body, and that’s still a big leap for me, where does she suggest we start? Does she remember this is an island? Just because a shrimper found Ely, it doesn’t mean Shell’s dead or, if she is, whether a body will ever be found. Ely was found because he went off Fish Haul Pier and the currents took him where they did.”

  Annie was thoughtful. “Do you think Shell could be in the ocean?”

  Max looked discouraged. “She could be. If she isn’t in Rio. But that still leaves the Porsche. I don’t know why it hasn’t turned up. It’s too bad we didn’t know she was missing earlier. If somebody drove the car into the ocean, Tuesday night’s rain washed away any tracks in the sand.”

  Annie frowned. “There aren’t many beaches on the island where you could access the beach by car without messing up the dunes. The rain would wash away tire tracks on the sand but not damage to dunes.” She carefully avoided thinking about the heat and what would have happened since last week if a body was left in a car. “The car must be in the woods somewhere.”

  “I’m sure Billy has officers checking all the back roads for any evidence a car was driven off track. Since Ely’s body was found, Billy has plenty of reason to investigate.” He picked up another sheet. “Here’s from Henny. The shadow in the hall haunts me. Why did Edward Irwin eavesdrop when Annie came to see Eileen? Why didn’t he come in the living room?” Max looked at Annie.

  Annie remembered the odd chill that swept her in the immaculate living room when she saw that splotch of shadow on the shining wood floor. “Henny has an instinct. There was something off-key about that whole episode. Somebody was afraid. I don’t know whether it was Eileen or Edward.” She had a clear memory of Eileen’s severe features framed by white gold hair, a tall woman with a commanding presence. Of course, Annie hadn’t seen Edward, only his shadow. Funny, he was always a shadow compared to Eileen. She was not a woman one would miss seeing. Edward, on the other hand, was unimpressive, thinning gray hair, a round face with slack lips, somewhat portly.

  Max looked at the next sheet. “This one’s from Ma.” His face was suddenly bemused.

  Dearest Ones, how to phrase this? Perhaps, dear Max, it might be best if Annie were to peruse this communication.

  He stopped, raised a blond eyebrow.

  Annie held out her hand.

  He surrendered Laurel’s e-mail.

  Annie scanned the sheet.

  Dearest Ones, how to phrase this? Perhaps, dear Max, it might be best if Annie were to peruse this communication. Annie, though you are so deliciously unworldly, I know you will understand when I mention that moments of the heart often obscure reason. Or perhaps not. You do rather think things through. However, I digress. Once upon a love affair—my dear, doesn’t that phrase have a ring to it?—I became involved with, dare I say it, a young man who turned out to be a cad. Though he danced beautifully. Especially the tango. I think even you—

  Annie’s eyes narrowed.

  —understand the romantic excesses of the tango. Suffice to say, I was indiscreet. Tony thought perhaps I would be willing to finance a villa in Bermuda for him in exchange for his silence concerning our fling. Silly boy. He didn’t realize that I am not concerned about gossip. C’est la vie. And my divorce from Reginald—

  Annie could never quite keep Laurel’s men straight in her mind. Was that her second husband or her third?

  —was final. Moreover, Reginald had agreed to a very reasonable prenuptial agreement. The cogent point is this: When you have nothing to lose, it’s quite easy to dismiss a blackmail attempt. Of course, not being vindictive—my dear, he danced divinely—I let the matter drop. But think of Edward skulking about the Sea Side Inn. It does bring intriguing pictures to mind. Clearly, he was stalking Shell and Dave. To what end? Not just curiosity. One doesn’t go to such lengths. There had to be a purpose. I’ve heard several interesting stories about Edward’s financial ventures. I know because I discreetly inquired. You see, he thought I was a rich woman just waiting to be lu
red into investments. I discovered he’d been careless about money in other instances. What if he’s been careless recently? What if he was desperate to come up with a goodly sum of cash? What if Edward tried to blackmail Shell? Perhaps, she, too, was impervious to such threats. What if she threatened to report the attempt to the police? There are serious penalties for blackmail. What would Edward do to avoid the prospect of criminal charges, a trial, certainly a scandal that would rock the island, perhaps prison?

  Annie folded the e-mail. It was not necessary to explain to Max what prompted his mother’s conclusions. “To sum up”—Annie thought it was a lovely turn of phrase—“what if Edward tried to blackmail Shell and she turned the tables and threatened to go to the police?”

  • • •

  Annie glanced at her watch. In half an hour, she and Max would leave their respective places of business to keep an appointment at the police station. She’d been surprised when she’d received Billy’s text. She would have thought he was too busy to spend time with them. He knew everything they knew, including the contents of the e-mails from Emma, Henny, and Laurel. Of course, Annie had shared her sanitized version of Laurel’s e-mail. Max viewed his mother’s romantic interludes in a softer light perhaps than was warranted but everyone clings to some illusions. As he often said, a trifle defensively, “Ma can’t help it that she’s attractive to men.” No, but… However, a wise wife doesn’t go down fruitless paths.

  At the coffee bar, Annie checked the glass shelves on the wall. There was time for her to have some strong, fresh brew. She looked up at mugs decorated with mystery inscriptions and a dagger with a bright spot of red at its tip. She ordered ceramic mugs in bulk, and a local artist painted them in exchange for books.

  Annie reached for Consequence of Crime by Elizabeth Linington, shook her head, chose No Lady in the House by Lucille Kallen, filled the mug almost to the brim.