Dead, White, and Blue

by Carolyn Hart

  There was an angry rumble from Colonel Hudson, still standing at parade rest.

  Jed looked out, squeezing his eyes against the sharp light. “I’m sorry, Colonel Hudson. My dad will find you another classic MG, perfect just like the one you had. But that night, I knew where your car was parked. I took the keys and got the MG and went back around the course and onto the path and banged into the post. I turned and ran. I went home.”

  The spotlight on Jed went dark.

  Sharp white light encircled Dave Peterson.

  Big, burly, but now without bluster. “I’d started home, walking across the golf course. I changed my mind, decided to find Shell, tell her”—a pause—“what I thought of her. Yeah.” His face was hard. “I was going to tell her off. I knew she’d parked in the overflow lot. She came into the dance late from the terrace. I got to the path but I heard someone coming fast from the lot. I stepped off the path into the pines. Wesley ran past toward the terrace. I thought that was odd. I got back on the path, then shells crackled again, someone coming from the terrace. I didn’t want to see anybody. I figured I’d made enough of a spectacle of myself at the dance. I got back off the path and Jed loped around the bend. I thought he was just in a hurry to get to his car. Anyway, I gave him a few minutes, then I took the path to the lot. When I got there, the Porsche was heading out onto the back road. I was too late to talk to Shell, then I decided I didn’t give a damn anyway. I took the back road on foot to the front of the club, but when I got to the valet board, Maggie had taken the car so I took the back road again and walked home.”

  Darkness.

  The circle of light illuminated Max. “Jed was scared because he knew that no one had come after his dad to the parking lot. He thought his dad had killed Shell. But we know what happened.”

  The spotlight shifted to the edge of the terrace on the far side of the bleachers.

  The sinister hooded figure edged along the side of the terrace. The passage of the light made it clear that at night the murderer could have moved unseen in thick shadows there, unnoticed as fireworks exploded above the terrace, lifting the gaze of viewers on the terrace and in the bleachers to the spangles in the velvet sky.

  The hooded apparition slipped among the crowd to the center of the terrace. Annie walked across the flagstones and stepped into the circle of light, quite close to the hooded figure. “As soon as Jed drove the car out onto the back road, the murderer returned to the terrace. Tonight we intend to reveal the identity of Shell Hurst’s murderer, the person who spoke to Shell near the French door, the person who slipped across the terrace and came around the end of the bleachers to hurry to the overflow lot. Now I’d like for these people to join me.” She called out the names.

  They came, one by one.

  Vera Hurst’s face was pale and stricken. Her green eyes implored Annie: We’ve done what you asked. We’ve told damning facts. We’ve put ourselves in great danger of arrest. Help us.

  Wesley was a far cry from the preppy sailor accustomed always to deference and comfort, but he had the air of a man awakening from a nightmare. He gazed at his son with tears in his eyes.

  Dave Peterson stood protectively near Maggie. His beefy face projected defiance. Maggie placed a cautionary hand on his arm, but she looked at peace, no longer drained by despair.

  Eileen Irwin’s sharp features reflected distaste. She stood quite tall and straight, gaze unwavering, disassociating herself from a tawdry encounter. Edward’s round face was anxious and uncertain. His shoulders slumped and the ill-fitting dinner jacket pulled over his paunch.

  “The murderer”—Annie looked at each in turn—“feels quite safe. The murderer doesn’t know two critical facts.” She looked at each in turn, let her words hang in the sultry air. “A waiter overheard the murderer’s conversation with Shell when they agreed to meet at the Porsche.” Annie pointed across the terrace at the vase.

  Morgan Bitter stepped from the shadow into a second bright circle of light, looking like a member of the waitstaff. The light clicked off, leaving Annie and the other dance club members in a single circle of brightness.

  “The Tuesday following Shell’s disappearance, I spoke to Richard Ely, the waiter who overheard that conversation. He told me he’d see what he could find out, people who talked to Shell. But Richard has his own plan. He called a member of the dance club.”

  There was no change on one particular face though surely there was the beginning of uneasiness.

  “Tuesday night that member called Richard. The call was placed at nine oh-three P.M. from the public phone booth on Main Street opposite the Mermaid Hotel. The booth is one block from Fish Haul Pier. Richard’s end of the conversation was overhead by his former wife. Richard Ely told his caller, ‘I always try to accommodate club members, help them avoid any… trouble. It’s often been my pleasure to serve members above and beyond my duties and I’ve been generously rewarded. I was near the French door when you and Shell Hurst spoke. I heard you plan to…’”

  The murderer’s lips tightened.

  Annie felt a flicker of hope. Now there was worry. She continued steadily, “Richard agreed to meet his caller at the end of Fish Haul Pier despite a deluge of rain from a huge thunderstorm. Richard didn’t mind getting wet because he expected a nice payoff. He didn’t know Shell was dead but he figured the member didn’t want to be connected in any way with Shell’s mysterious disappearance. Instead, Richard died from a blow to the back of his head. The murderer eased his body over the railing into the Sound. A shrimp trawler pulled him out of the water. Now, it’s time for our witnesses.”

  A second circle of brightness illuminated Max. “This afternoon I went door-to-door in a neighborhood within walking distance of the country club. My first witness is Gail Farraday.”

  A stout, ruddy-faced woman strode into the light. Her black hair was cropped short. She looked athletic in a cream polo and navy Bermuda shorts and thick-soled running shoes.

  The murderer’s lips parted in shock.

  The stout woman’s bright dark eyes gazed at Annie, Vera, Wesley, and Jed Hurst, Maggie and Dave Peterson, Eileen and Edward Irwin. “Have to say”—her brusque voice had a faintly British accent—“didn’t know much about any of this. But truth is truth. The night of that storm, I was out in my garden. I’m a gardening fool. Sometimes in a heavy rain the waterspout near my daylilies spews out like a hose. Daylilies like lots of water but not that much. Anyway, sheets of rain were coming down. I knew I’d better check. It was raining heavily, but I turned on the garden lights and I could see well enough. It was about a quarter to nine. I was out there in a poncho, working with a trowel to clear out the spout, when one of the garage doors next to our house opened. I looked up. Nasty night to drive out. Lightning. Thunder. There was a huge rumble, then a brilliant flash as the car backed out of the drive. The car belongs to him.” She pointed a stubby finger.

  Edward Irwin’s face was pasty. He looked desperately around the terrace. “Not me. Never. I didn’t go out that night. I swear to God.”

  Max lifted his hand. “The second witness.”

  Amelia Wellington bustled into the spotlight. Soft white curls framed a dumpling face. Annie arranged for the actress to play the part of the vacationing poet who’d observed the visitor to the phone booth from the upper porch of the Mermaid Hotel. The poet could testify at a trial, but she’d not been able to come back to the island on short notice. “Oh dear me, I had no idea of the importance of what I saw. It was the night of July tenth. Such a huge storm. I was watching the lightning from the second-story verandah of the Mermaid Hotel. The verandah overlooks Main Street. All the shops were closed but the street lamp next to the phone booth provides quite a strong light. If it hadn’t been storming, I might not have noticed the pedestrian. But someone walking in that kind of storm was strange.” She looked straight at a rigid, listening figure. “Quite striking, the ivy cap and the well-cut London Fog raincoat. Curious. A man’s raincoat, but as soon as I saw the face—”
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  “It wasn’t me.” Edward’s voice rose. He moved away from Eileen.

  Eileen’s hard face turned toward him, a gleam of anger in her cold blue eyes. “Your car. Your raincoat. The raincoat was still wet the next morning. Of course, she tried to blackmail you—”

  Max was sharp. “How did you know about the blackmail, Eileen?”

  “Edward told me.” The blue eyes shifted to Max. “I never thought he would kill her.”

  Annie wasn’t surprised that Eileen was ready to abandon Edward, but there were indrawn breaths of surprise and looks of dismay on the faces of many on the terrace.

  Edward’s lips trembled. He stared at his wife. “I didn’t tell you about Shell.” There was a curl of horror in his shaking voice. “I never would have told you.” He took a ragged breath. “I saw you talking to her on the terrace after the dance and I knew you knew. Did she call you, too? Or did you eavesdrop that morning when she called me? But you were the one talking to her that night. You were in the shadow by the vase and a huge firework exploded right up above you. I saw the look on your face. You knew. I thought maybe you were going to pay her, keep her from going to the police. But I never told you what she’d said.”

  Max took a step toward Eileen. “Did Shell call and tell you? Did you overhear Edward talking to her? Did you call to ask her what was going on and she twitted you that the fine name of Eileen Irwin was about to be fodder for the tabloids? Whatever. You knew about the blackmail. You don’t give a damn about Edward, but you won’t have your name dragged through scandal. Did you set up the meeting in the overflow lot to try and talk Shell out of her scheme? Did she laugh at you?”

  Eileen lifted her chin, her gaze imperious beneath the white blond coronet braids. Her features sharpened, high cheekbones jutting, bony chin rigid. Thin lips curved in what was meant as a dismissive smile but turned her expression into a chilling caricature of a wealthy woman dealing with bumptious social inferiors. “I’ve listened to enough of this nonsense. I don’t know anything about blackmail. I have no idea where Edward went in his car that night. As for Shell”—a dismissive wave of long thin fingers—“I never left the terrace that night until I went inside to get my shawl—”

  “That’s a lie.” The crisp declaration came from high in the bleachers. Sue Ralston, the club’s senior women’s singles champion, edged her way to the steps on the east side. “I’d just started down the treads. I was looking down. You walked past the bleachers, heading for the pines. In your right hand, you carried a length of silk. I saw a flash of red.”

  Eileen’s features flattened as she stared upward.

  Annie felt as if they’d hit a grand slam. Bringing everyone together, calling on club members to help, had unearthed a fact that proved Eileen to be a liar and linked her to murder. Here was a real witness, not an actress, and this would be what Billy needed to file a murder charge.

  Sue Ralston looked down, face composed, arms folded. “I’d often admired that shawl. There was just enough of the dragon visible for me to identify it.”

  Eileen didn’t move. She didn’t look toward the path to the overflow lot despite the sound of running footsteps.

  Billy Cameron strode across the terrace, hand near his holstered gun. He reached Eileen, faced her. “Eileen Irwin, you are under arrest for the murder of Shell Hurst and Richard Ely.”

  17

  Colonel Hudson’s polo shirt and white trousers were as crisp as any uniform. He looked distinguished, white hair and mustache trimmed with military precision, carriage commanding. He stopped in front of the cash desk, gave Annie an admiring nod. “I came by to say you and your husband”—he looked around inquiringly—“handled the affair at the club very well indeed.”

  Max was midway up the central aisle. “The Intrepid Trio is ready—Oh, sorry. Good morning, Colonel.”

  “Good to see you. Like to commend you both. Too often we don’t take time to recognize meritorious service. I’ve just been to the mayor’s office, insisted there be a citation presented to Chief Cameron. He handled a dicey situation perfectly. I understand that woman’s gibbering with rage, demanding she be released, that she was defending herself from attack. Pretty hard to make that claim when a woman’s strangled from behind and a man hit on the back of the skull and pushed into the water. And”—his dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction—“I’ve had a word with that young scamp Jed Hurst. Have to say he looked like a man ready to head for the hills the minute he saw me. But no one under my command ever claimed I didn’t recognize guts and promote the men who could size up a situation and take action. Damn shame about my car. But that young man can be an officer our forces need. Think of it. Finds a dead woman. Thinks his staff is involved. Quick as rip figures out a solution. Body in the car, back road to the golf cart path, bam through the bridge on the ninth hole. No car. Runs across the course. Steals a car. Back to the bridge. Wham. Now the missing railing accounted for. I’ve had a talk with that young man. Needs an appointment to a service academy. Good for the golf team, too. I’m seeing to it.” He gave a decided nod, then looked around. “Nice place here. Think I’ll take a look around.” With that he turned and marched down the central aisle.

  Max jerked a thumb. “The Intrepid Trio awaits us via webcam.”

  As they started down the corridor, Ingrid slipped behind the cash desk. “It’s cool where they are.” She couldn’t quite hide her envy. Outside the temperature had already hit ninety-three and it was only ten o’clock in the morning. “Tell them to bring me a chunk of ice.”

  Annie grinned. “I don’t think it’s that cool.”

  “If they keep going. Lots of glaciers in Greenland,” Ingrid said wistfully. “I’ll bet they’re wearing sweaters.”

  In fact, when Annie stepped into the storeroom, she was immediately greeted by cheers from three sweatered ladies lounging in the saloon of Marigold’s Pleasure.

  Emma looked like a chunky polar bear in a heavy white cardigan that contrasted with a deep purple caftan. “Billy Cameron sent us the video from the videocam they set up on the terrace. As it goes to show, there’s always evidence if you keep looking.”

  Laurel beamed at Emma. “But you have such an advantage.”

  Emma’s face began to draw down into a resentful square.

  “Dear Emma,” Laurel cooed, “you outthink everyone.”

  Henny’s beautifully modulated voice was soothing. “That’s usually the case, but it does look as though this month’s paintings are still a puzzle for you, Emma.”

  Emma lifted her head, yellow spiky hair bright in a shaft of morning sunlight as the crested cockatoo watched her from a nearby perch. “Oh”—her tone was careless with an undercurrent of triumph—“I’d been intending to tell you. Other things on my mind. Child’s play actually. The first painting—”

  A rap on the open door and Colonel Hudson stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt. Clever idea those watercolors. Mysteries are favorites of mine between flights. Great rest for the mind. The first painting is Death in a White Tie by Ngaio Marsh, the second is The Fifth Man by Manning Coles, the third is Do Not Murder before Christmas by Jack Iams, the fourth is To Catch a Thief by David Dodge, and the fifth is The Case of the Spurious Spinster by Erle Stanley Gardner.”

  “Well done.” Henny clapped.

  The colonel looked at the computer screen, stood a little straighter. “Forgive me for my interruption. But”—his tone was gallant as his eyes settled on Laurel, undeniably beautiful in a pale pink cashmere sweater and white wool trousers—“I see that I may have the opportunity to meet three lovely ladies.” He moved nearer the screen, shoulders back, stomach flat, eyes trained on Laurel, a man with a mission.

  Annie doubted he remembered he had won a new mystery and free coffee for a month.

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sp; DEAD, WHITE, AND BLUE