by Carolyn Hart
Annie imagined Jed’s shock when he found Shell’s body. He couldn’t have missed seeing his dad return to the terrace, obviously upset. No wonder Jed decided to get rid of her body.
Dave shook his head. “I didn’t know what was up. I let him get ahead of me. And then when I got to the lot, the Porsche was leaving. That’s when I took the back road to the front parking lot. I was going to get my car. That was a bummer, too. Maggie got there first, left without me.” He sounded aggrieved. “I guess she thought… Anyway, I was stuck. So I took the back road again and walked home.”
• • •
Max watched the harbor through the window in Billy Cameron’s office. Another day in paradise, white sails brilliant in the late-afternoon sunlight, the Miss Jolene moving out on a run to the mainland, a shrimp trawler a distant speck against the horizon. But not for a kid hunched in a chair, Billy there, a lawyer, maybe his folks. Not looking at anybody. Saying what?
The minute hand in the big round clock that reminded him of a schoolroom made another jerky move. He’d waited almost a half hour. But he counted himself lucky because Billy could have left word that he was unavailable. Period. At least Max was in a straight chair in front of the yellow oak desk Billy’s stepson had crafted in a summer carpentry class. The varnish was sticky, never seeming to dry completely, and one front leg was a little short. Billy was proud of that desk.
The door opened. Billy stepped inside, his face creased in a tight frown. He had an end-of-the-day, wrinkled appearance. He gave a nod as he settled behind the desk. “Lawyer’s busy rousting out the judge, insisting the kid be charged or released. I got the circuit solicitor’s support on holding him. We’ve got too much to let him roam around, I don’t care how rich his folks are.” His mouth turned down. “The mayor’s on my ass.”
“The phone booth?” Max reminded him of his promise.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Lou was going to see to it.” He turned to his computer, clicked.
As Billy clicked, Max described his visit to the Mermaid Hotel. “We may get a heads-up on who used the phone booth that night.”
Billy muttered, “I’d like an eyewitness. Be helpful.” His tone was wry. He clicked again.
Max watched Billy’s profile, saw a sudden intensity.
Billy’s face was thoughtful when he swiveled to look at Max. “If you got a crystal ball, I can use it. Looks like you nailed this one. A call at nine oh-three P.M. July tenth from the phone booth to Richard Ely’s cell.” A shrug. “There’s no proof the call wasn’t made by Richard’s ex-wife. If she bumped him off the pier—”
Max broke in. “Come on, Billy. Why would Richard meet his ex-wife at the end of a pier in a huge thunderstorm? I mean, she was already at the house. That’s really reaching.”
Another shrug. “We don’t know why Richard went there.”
“Money.”
“If we take her word for what he said.”
“Let’s start with the fact that somebody called him from the phone booth close to the pier. He went to the pier. A shrimp trawler brought his body to shore. He was murdered, Billy. That phone booth may tell us who killed him and Shell Hurst.”
“A talking phone booth?”
“Fingerprints. Even if someone’s used the phone since July tenth, there will be all kinds of fingerprints around. On the interior panel when you push to get out. On the wall. On the counter below the phone where there used to be a phone book.”
Billy leaned back in his chair, his expression disdainful. “Whose fingerprints?”
Max named them one by one. “Wesley Hurst. Vera Hurst. Shell wouldn’t agree to a divorce. Maggie Peterson. Shell was destroying her marriage. Dave Peterson. Fury over Shell dumping him. Eileen Irwin. A woman who would be appalled by scandal if Shell brought blackmail charges against Edward. Edward Irwin. Threatened with disgrace and possibly prison.”
Billy’s stare was steady. “I haven’t had a perp leave fingerprints in years.”
“Let’s say the murderer wore a raincoat, maybe just plastic game rain gear. But what are the odds there are gloves in those pockets in July? Besides, the murderer had no reason to think anyone would try to trace that call.”
Billy almost managed a smile. “You have an answer for everything. There’s one little hitch in your plan. On what basis do I request fingerprints from people who are not officially suspects in a crime?”
Max had one more answer. “Mavis can take her kit, visit each one, and be sweet as honey. You and the circuit solicitor anticipate attacks from the defense when you file charges against a suspect currently under investigation. All of those people know they aren’t that suspect. You can say it’s essential to prove that there are no unaccounted-for fingerprints in the colonel’s MG and this is an effort to prove to the defense that every avenue was explored. None of them will be worried about prints in the MG. None of them were ever in it. But one of them made a phone call the night of July tenth.”
• • •
Max leaned back in the storeroom’s extra chair, looked satisfied. “Hyla Harrison is on her way to the phone booth.”
Annie felt sure that if there were fingerprints, Hyla would find them. She was a police officer with a dogged determination never to overlook any possible bit of information. That doggedness had served Annie well in the recent past.
“You know how thorough she is. She’ll pick up every latent print inside and out. I saw Mavis pull out of the station lot so she’s making the rounds of the suspects.” Max sounded relaxed. “That’s what I’ve been up to. How about you?” He glanced toward the worktable with its sketch and notations.
Annie wanted to talk to Maggie and Edward before she and Max called Billy. It was only fair to try to place all of them the night of the murder. It was possible that Wesley may have run back to the terrace, a man shocked by what he’d seen, that he was not a murderer leaving behind a body. To think he would let his son be accused in his stead would make him monstrous.
Why hadn’t he spoken out if he found the body? Annie knew the answer. Shaken and scared, he didn’t want anyone to know he’d ever been near Shell in the overflow lot. In murder, the spouse is always the first suspect, especially a spouse involved in an extramarital affair. Perhaps his hope was to get as far away from the lot as possible. He’d gone to the front of the club, made a scene at valet parking trying to appear like an innocent man who’d had too much to drink, but Don Thornwall saw him leave and didn’t think he was drunk.
When Wesley ran to the terrace, hurried across it, he may not have realized that Jed saw him and took the path to the lot. As for Jed, Wesley only knew that Jed’s fingerprints were on the steering wheel of the Porsche. Wesley had to be terrified that Jed was indeed the murderer. “Do you think the lady at the hotel will call her guests about the phone booth?”
“Highly efficient. Smart.” He grinned. “We bonded over an elegant Persian named Lydia.”
Annie’s lips quirked. Who could resist Max? Blond, handsome, sexy, and a man who appreciated cats. Maybe the call would come and they would know everything.
“Okay.” His gaze were searching. “Own up.”
How did he know? Was she not only an open book, but as readable as the electronic marquee at Times Square?
Annie popped up from her swivel chair, motioned for Max to join her at the worktable. She pointed at the letters on her map of the club and its grounds. “Eileen and Vera and Wesley were on the terrace. Edward had left to walk home on the golf path.” She pointed to the EI on the golf path, then used her thick-tipped marker to place a D next to the winding walk between the terrace and the overflow lot. “Dave came through the woods to the path and that’s when he saw Wesley returning to the terrace. Dave almost stepped onto the path but stopped when Jed came toward him, heading for the lot. By the time Dave got to the lot, the Porsche was leaving.” On the path, she drew a W with an arrow toward the terrace and a J with an arrow toward the lot. “Jed likely saw his father’s shock when he came to the terrace and w
ent to the lot. He found Shell’s body and feared his father had lost his temper, killed Shell. No wonder he tried to get rid of the body. He thought he was protecting his dad.”
Annie imagined Jed’s frantic struggle to heft Shell into the car if he found her dead on the ground or, if she was strangled as she sat in the driver’s seat, move the body across the console to the passenger seat. Then he got into the car, left the lot, and took the back road to the golf path. The Porsche followed the golf path, its headlights off, to the bridge over the lagoon at nine. Jed maneuvered the car into the lagoon, taking down a railing and a post, then raced across the course to the front parking lot, valet parking, and the colonel’s distinctive key fob.
All the while, fireworks exploded above in the night sky, plumes of red and gold, starbursts of blue and orange.
“Either Wesley killed Shell or the murderer was waiting for Shell when she reached the Porsche. Shell’s death didn’t take long. She left the terrace about ten fifteen. She was likely dead within minutes. If Wesley found her dead, the murderer probably watched him from the shadow of the pines. Wesley ran back to the terrace. The murderer would have followed, cautiously, and heard Jed’s running steps in time to hide again. Within a minute or so, here came Dave. Unless Dave arrived first and killed Shell. In that case, he was near the Porsche and remained unseen by both Wesley and Jed.”
Max pulled out his cell. “Time to call Billy.”
Annie placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t believe Wesley committed the murder. He didn’t need to stand near the terrace French doors to talk to Shell. He’d already spoken to her at the dance. From what Clarissa told you, Richard’s conversation with the murderer reveals Shell and the murderer agreed on a plan in that conversation near the French doors.”
Max looked thoughtful. “Billy knows about the call Richard received. He’ll agree Richard’s conversation weighs against Wesley as the murderer. But you need to tell him what you’ve found out.”
“Let’s talk to Maggie and Edward first.” Annie felt she owed that much to Wesley. She had set out to find what she could about that night. Either Maggie or Edward could have been on the edge of the terrace and slipped behind the grandstand to reach the path before Wesley followed Shell.
“All right. I’ll drop by Edward’s office. You talk to Maggie. Let’s meet at the station”—he looked at his watch—“in forty-five minutes.”
Max was halfway to the storeroom door when his cell rang. He glanced at caller ID, gave Annie a thumbs-up as he answered. “Miss Barton, thanks for calling.” He clicked speakerphone and held it up for Annie to hear.
“I said I would talk to my guests.” Beatrice Barton’s tone made it clear: What she promised, she did. “Joan Talbot was on the porch at nine P.M. The Talbots in three have been coming for years from Columbia. Joan is a poet. Roland teaches philosophy at the university. Joan’s originally from Kansas and she loves thunderstorms. She was in one of the rockers, watching the lightning and taking pictures. She said she was the only person on the porch.”
Max’s expression was eager. “Did she see the caller at the phone booth?” Even if Joan Talbot was looking up at the jagged flashes of lightning, her field of vision included the phone booth.
Annie clenched her hands. The answer was so close… Wesley, Vera, Jed, Dave, Maggie, Eileen, Edward, a familiar face hid a murderous secret.
“The thunder and lightning were intense.” Miss Barton’s tone was measured, a woman reporting what she had been told. “Joan said the storm reminded her of growing up in Kansas. High wind. Slanting rain. She was surprised to see a pedestrian. She said as much as she loved storms, it was foolish to be out on that sidewalk. For that reason, she was interested and she watched. The person—”
“Person?” Max was sharp. “Man or woman?”
“Joan said it was a man or possibly a woman in a man’s raincoat and cap. The hat was an ivy cap. In a flash of lightning, the cap appeared to be a brown tweed. She estimated the individual’s height at between five feet six inches and five feet ten inches. She watched the person approach the phone booth and step inside. She wondered if it was some kind of emergency that brought someone out to use a pay phone on such a night. She also wondered why someone in a well-cut raincoat—really it was quite similar to her husband’s London Fog—didn’t have a cell phone, but thought perhaps they had lost or misplaced it.”
“She saw the person step into the phone booth?”
“Yes. She thought the entire episode was rather curious because the caller remained in the booth for such a long time. Joan said she was getting chilled—you know how the air can cool when we have a summer storm—and she decided to go inside. The caller was still in the booth at that point and it was about a quarter after nine.”
Annie doubted the murderer’s phone call lasted long, a few minutes at most. The murderer remained in the booth, staying sheltered until time to meet Richard on the pier. That suggested the appointment was made for not long after the call. Richard probably arrived within ten minutes. He, too, would be drenched but he probably thought a little water was worth money in his pocket.
Max glanced across the storeroom at Annie, held up his right hand with fingers crossed. “Did she get a picture?”
Annie felt a flicker of hope. They might yet identify the caller. Forensic science could divine an incredible amount of information from a photograph.
“Joan Talbot is quite precise. She described every detail of what she saw. Had she photographed the person, she would have mentioned the fact. I will ask her and notify you if there is a picture.”
When the call ended, Max was rueful. “More. Not enough. There was no reason for her to take photos of the booth. She was interested in lightning. But Joan Talbot confirms someone was there at nine o’clock. Billy will have to take this seriously whether they find fingerprints or not.”
15
Annie spoke in a rush before Maggie Peterson could hang up. “Jed Hurst is in jail.”
A startled breath. “That has to be wrong. Sandy—”
Annie knew that their daughter, a junior at Clemson, was working as a summer biology intern at the South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston.
“—babysat Jed and Hayley for years. He’s a sweet boy. He didn’t like Shell but he would never hurt anyone. Not Jed. There has to be a mistake.”
“Max and I agree. We’re trying to find out more about what happened during the fireworks. I talked to Dave.” There was no revealing gasp, but tension radiated over the connection. “He’s trying to help, too.” Did Maggie think her husband was guilty? Or was she the murderer who slipped to the overflow lot and waited for Shell? “Dave told me he started off across the golf course, then turned around and headed for the overflow lot.”
There wasn’t a hint of a breath from Maggie.
Annie picked her words carefully. “Dave arrived at the lot in time to see the Porsche pulling out onto the back road.”
“He saw the Porsche leave?” Maggie’s voice lifted.
“Yes.” Did Maggie know that Shell was already dead and someone else had driven the Porsche? Or was the fact that Dave saw the car leave reassuring to Maggie, proof that neither she nor Dave could be linked to Shell after the Porsche left?
“We haven’t talked about that night.” Now Maggie was careful in what she said. “He said he had been a fool about Shell. A damned idiot.” Her voice was level, no emotion revealed. “He said he was sorry. He said, ‘Thank God, she blew me off. She was trash.’” Quoted words in an uninflected tone. Finally, quietly, “Things are going to be all right.” There was not so much happiness as a dazed sense of relief. Then, in a rush, “What can I do to help about Jed?”
“I’m asking everyone to tell me where they were after the fireworks started.”
There was a considering pause. “Why does that matter?”
“You may have seen something or someone that tells us more about what happened to Shell. It helped to ask Dave. Now we know what time the Porsche left th
e lot. Maybe you can help us, too.”
“I don’t think so.” She sounded weary. “When Dave stormed out of the dance, I knew she’d blown him off. I went out the front door of the club. I thought maybe he’d walked around to get the car. He was so mad I doubted he even thought about me at all and I didn’t know how I would get home. He wasn’t there and I saw the keys on the valet board. I waited awhile and then I got scared that he was with her after all and they were going to go away. I knew all about it. Friends had told me about them and then I found out that he’d sold a lot of stock. I found some plane tickets hidden in his sock drawer. He never was any good at hiding things. I started to cry and I told the boy I’d take the keys and he didn’t know what to do but I grabbed them and ran into the front lot. I drove home and sat in the empty house, staring at nothing, imagining he was gone forever. He came home about an hour later. I had to let him in. We looked at each other and then I turned and ran to the bedroom and locked the door. He talked to me through the door. I couldn’t face him then. I said, tomorrow, we’d talk tomorrow.” When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “We didn’t talk about that night.”
• • •
The rubber plant in the outer room of Edward Irwin Investments appeared even more listless. If the plant didn’t get water soon, the leaves would curl up in defeat and begin to drop. The office was as shabby, small, quiet, dusty, and sad as the day he first came. Max walked to the open door of Edward’s office.
Edward’s worried face turned toward him. He said nothing. Maybe he was waiting for doom. Max had a sense that Edward was as wilted as his office plant, simply sitting, waiting, perhaps for an ending, without hope of a beginning.
Again Max stood on the far side of the desk. “You know they found Shell’s body.”
Edward seemed to be circling the statement, as if wary of a trap. “I saw the story in the Gazette.”
“You were on the terrace the night she died.”
“I went home.” He seemed to push out the words.
“What time did you leave the terrace?”
