Death Walked In

by Carolyn Hart

  Paper crackled on the other end of the line. “Okay, kid. Now for the exclusive—”

  Annie replied with gusto. Marian would milk every fact and supposition for maximum drama. When the story appeared in the Gazette, it would be garlanded with the gloom of night, the salty scent of the sea, the hollow thunk as the rowboat bumped the pilings, the slap of waves, the disembodied voice thinned by fear. “…so that’s the story.”

  “Good story.” Marian sounded thoughtful. “It’s got big-time problems. I’ll have to do a fancy dance with it, see what I can finesse.”

  Annie pictured Marian’s monkey face creased in thought. “Finesse?”

  Marian was crisp. “The boss isn’t big on libel suits.”

  “Libel?” Annie felt like an echo machine.

  “Quotes from the unseen informant aren’t privileged, sweetie. Privileged is the holy grail in a news story, meaning the material is quoted from court or legislative proceedings or in a pronouncement from a public official. Maybe I can fish a quote from the cops that will open things up. I’ll see what I can do.” Her husky voice exuded enthusiasm. “As an old lawyer once told me: There are many different ways to tell the truth. Speaking of truth, what’s in this for you besides the names of the house party?”

  “Just between us?”

  “Anything I may need?” Marian was prepared to do battle.

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.”

  “Officer Harrison blew me off. I doubt if she checks with anybody at the Grant house. Somebody thinks they’re sitting pretty. Maybe a story in tomorrow afternoon’s Gazette will rock that boat.”

  “I imagine this story will be read with interest by everyone concerned.” Marian’s tone was dry. “Catch you later.”

  Annie hung up and reached out to take the mug of hot chocolate from Max. “I wonder if anyone in the family is suspicious?” Annie welcomed the heat of the chocolate through the porcelain mug.

  He looked at her sharply. “Sometimes you’re damn clever.”

  Annie was torn between enjoying the compliment or taking offense. “How about,” she demanded, “‘You’re damn clever.’”

  Max grinned. “I just said so.”

  Annie picked up a couch pillow and tossed it.

  Max ducked. He was still grinning. “You are always clever, Mrs. Darling. Merely a slip of the tongue.”

  Annie wished she could be an unseen observer tonight in the Grant household. Families cut to the chase. They know who’s greedy or selfish or dishonest or weak or—most frightening of all—coldly determined always to prevail no matter the cost.

  Annie had a quick memory of the New Year’s dance at the country club. “Grant’s the good dancer, right?” Grant was a little pudgy but graceful. His rounded face always had a slightly bemused, professorial expression.

  “He gets around a dance floor pretty well.” Not as well, Max’s tone implied, as one Maxwell Darling. “I’ve played golf with him a few times. Nice guy. Cheerful. I don’t know much about his family except he’s been widowed a couple of times, has the four kids.”

  “Do you know him well enough to call him up and—”

  Max shook his head. “And say, ‘Hey, old buddy, has it occurred to you that somebody in your family’s a thief and a murderer?’” His eyes narrowed. “First I want to scare up everything I can about the family.” Max replaced the poker. “Since Handler hired me, we’re official.”

  He walked to the sofa and dropped down beside Annie, took her hands in his. “After last summer, I thought about closing down Confidential Commissions. I didn’t do it. I don’t like to be a quitter.” He stared into the fire, his expression somber. “My father would have said I never finished anything. I went to law school but I didn’t want to be a lawyer. I came to the island after you and I wanted you to be proud of me. You work hard. You’ve made Death on Demand a great store. So I opened Confidential Commissions and I put that ad in the paper.”

  Annie nodded. She knew it by heart:

  CONFIDENTIAL COMMISSIONS

  17 HARBOR WALK

  CURIOUS, TROUBLED, PROBLEMS?

  ASK MAX.

  CALL TODAY—321-HELP

  “I’ve helped some people.”

  “A lot of people.” She spoke with pride.

  “I turned down almost everybody this fall. This morning I was too busy to take Gwen Jamison’s phone call.” He looked bleak. “Scratch that. I didn’t want to take the call, not when Barb said the woman sounded scared. I’d been down that road. This time I was wrong. Gwen Jamison had good reason to be scared. Maybe I couldn’t have made a difference for her, but I’m going to do my best to make a difference for Robert.”

  Annie saw resolve and determination and no trace of hesitation. She felt a surge of delight. Max was back, her Max, ready to help those in trouble. Yes, he’d be wary now, always and forever, but he would no longer walk away.

  The shrill summons of the telephone exploded in the quiet bedroom, strident and menacing. Annie blinked awake but Max was already reaching for the receiver. She peered at the clock. A quarter after three.

  Max punched on the bedside lamp, squinting against the glare. His thick blond hair was tousled, his cheeks bristly. “Yeah…I’ll be right there. Hal?” Max frowned. “He clicked off.” Max hung up. He moved fast, pulling sweats from a drawer.

  Annie moved fast, too. She slipped into a red turtleneck and jeans, looked for her sneakers. “What’s happened?”

  “Somebody tried to get inside. Hal called nine-one-one.” Max’s voice was muffled as he pulled on the sweatshirt. His head poked through and he saw Annie tying her sneakers. “I’ll go. You don’t need to come.”

  She didn’t bother to reply as she hurried to the closet. She found a dark hooded sweatshirt, yanked it on, and headed for the hall.

  The Corvette’s headlights were thin spears in the darkness of the tree-lined drive. “Hal didn’t give me a chance to tell him to stay put.”

  Annie balanced as Max drove too fast up the narrow lane. “The police car’s there.” She felt a rush of relief at sighting the flash of the revolving red dome light.

  The Corvette jolted to a stop next to the cruiser. Max left the lights on. “Wait till I check things out.” He slid from the car, yelled, “Hal? Where are you?”

  A Maglite’s harsh beam settled on Max.

  Annie hurried to catch up, squinting against the glare.

  Max held up a hand to shield his eyes. “Who’s there?”

  “Officer Thorpe.” He was brusque. “What’s going on?” Thorpe was a dark shape behind the light.

  Max and Annie reached the patrol car. Max looked around. “Where’s Hal?”

  “Nobody’s here. We got the call somebody was trying to break in, but the caller hung up. I just got here. Who called? How come you two are here?” Thorpe sounded suspicious.

  “This is our house. After somebody broke in this morning, then shot at me, I hired Hal Porter to keep a lookout. He called and said there was a prowler.” Max stepped out of the Maglite’s glare. “Hal?” His shout was echoed by the mournful hoot of an owl. “Hal?”

  Only the rustle of shrubbery and the owl’s wavering tremulous moan broke the heavy silence.

  “I’ll get a flashlight.” Max hurried to the Corvette.

  The three of them, Officer Thorpe in the lead, made a careful circuit of the house. On the back porch, glass shards once again gleamed on the flooring. The broken pane of the morning had been covered with a wooden board. The glass pane next to it was knocked out.

  Max pointed. “The sash hasn’t been raised. My guess is that Hal heard the glass breaking and got here before anyone got inside.”

  Thorpe swung his light out into the backyard. “After he called, he should have stayed put, left it to us to find the perp. All right. Let’s take a look. Keep behind me.”

  Annie wondered if she would ever feel quite the same about the garden at the Franklin house. The newly planted shrubs and refurbished pool had enchanted her, but
that was in daylight with the soft chirrup of birds in the trees and sunlight spangling the glossy magnolia leaves. Now the magnolias rattled in a vagrant breeze, sounding as lonely as ghostly steps in an abandoned house.

  They made no attempt at stealth, shouting Hal’s name, moving at a quick jog with leaves crackling underfoot, flashing the lights behind banks of shrubs. They stopped at the pond.

  Annie darted unwilling glances at the dark water as Thorpe circled the pond.

  Max poked a broken limb into the depths. “We dredged it. There shouldn’t be anything here.”

  She scarcely breathed until Max shook his head and tossed the stick away.

  Thorpe swung the Maglite toward the path that disappeared into the pines. “We’ll have to wait until daylight—” He broke off, his right hand dropping to his holster.

  In the distance, leaves crackled in the pine grove. Someone was coming, heavily and slowly, toward the pond.

  Thorpe jerked a peremptory thumb. “Get out of sight.” He clicked off the Maglite and disappeared in the sudden darkness.

  Max grabbed Annie’s hand and pulled her behind the trunk of an old live oak. She felt the warmth of his arm tight around her shoulders, his breath against her cheek. They waited, listening to the irregular, uneven progress as the unseen person came nearer.

  Slowly Annie’s eyes adjusted. Moonlight made the trees ghostly. She stared into blackness where the path plunged into the pines.

  Chapter 8

  A dark form emerged from blacker shadow.

  The sudden brilliance of the Maglite brought into sharp clarity a big man in a blue down jacket with a hand clamped to his head. He stumbled to a stop. A portion of his sleeve jacket obscured his face.

  “Police. Hands up. Police.” Thorpe held his revolver in an attack stance.

  Max shouted, “That’s Hal. Man, what happened to you?”

  Porter wavered unsteadily. His hand dropped, revealing a mud-crusted cheek and a bloody abrasion on the left side of his face. “A couple of guys slammed me.”

  Thorpe lowered his gun, nodded toward the path snaking into the pine grove. “Where are they?”

  Porter started to shake his head, winced. “They’re long gone.” He blinked, focused on Max. “I called you.” His gaze was bleary. “How long ago?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “That long…” Porter sounded woozy. “I guess I was out of it for a while.”

  Thorpe looked impatient. “Who slugged you? Why?”

  “A couple of black kids tried to get inside.” Porter squinted toward the Franklin house.

  A couple of black kids…Annie saw shock on Max’s face. This changed everything. Max had been convinced of Robert’s innocence.

  Porter’s bruised face was haggard. “I was in my tent. I heard glass break. I moved through the bushes and turned a flashlight on the back porch. A couple of teenagers were trying to shove the window up. I guess I should have called nine-one-one, but I thought I could handle them. They were just kids. I yelled for them to hold it, said I had them covered. Instead of stopping, they ran and jumped over the porch railing and headed this way. They had about twenty yards on me, but I followed the noise down through the garden and into the pine grove. I got to where the path splits and stopped to listen. I heard noise on the track to the cemetery. I hurried that way. About the time I realized I didn’t hear any twigs breaking, something came out of nowhere and whacked me on the side of the head. I guess they’d gone off the path and were waiting for me with a thick branch. I went down. I don’t think I was ever totally out, but I couldn’t get up.” He lifted his hand to gingerly touch his temple. “I was groggy long enough for them to get away. I think they took my shotgun and flashlight. I couldn’t find them when I pawed around, but it was too dark to see so I don’t know for sure.”

  “A missing shotgun?” Thorpe looked grim. “We’d better take a look.”

  Max frowned. “Shouldn’t we get Hal to the emergency room? Annie and I can take him.”

  “I’m fine.” Porter was gruff. “I’m more ticked off than hurt. I want to see about my shotgun. Later, if you’ve got a key handy, I’ll use your washroom and clean up. I’ve got a first-aid kit in my truck.”

  Thorpe gave Hal a quick look, nodded. “If you’re okay, let’s look for the gun.” The officer glanced at Max and Annie. “Stay here. When I get back, I’ll search the house, see if I can find anything.”

  Annie waited until Thorpe and Porter disappeared into the pines. “This looks bad for Robert.”

  Max looked discouraged. “Thorpe will think Robert and a couple of guys planned the theft and Robert’s buddies broke in tonight. Annie”—his voice was stubborn—“I’m sure Robert didn’t know his mom was dead.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know.” Annie felt sad. “Maybe he was involved and he told the others and one of them shot her.”

  Max was crisp. “Maybe. Maybe not. By this time, everybody on the island knows about the coins and Mrs. Jamison’s murder and Robert’s arrest. What’s to keep some guys from thinking they’d take a look in the house, see if they could find the coins? Or maybe these kids are Robert’s friends and they thought if they staged a burglary while Robert was in jail, it would prove his innocence.”

  Annie knew how easily information traveled across the island. One of Max’s scenarios could be right, but proof would be hard to find.

  Max moved back and forth, casting impatient glances toward the pines. “In the morning, I’ll announce a reward for information concerning tonight’s attempted break-in. As for the house, Thorpe can look it over but if we couldn’t find anything, neither will he.”

  The crackle of steps announced the return of Thorpe and Porter. Annie felt chilled as she watched the men walk toward them. Hal Porter was empty-handed.

  Porter was angry. “We found where I went down. The grass was knocked flat. I guess I wallowed around some. We looked everywhere. There was a chunk of wood with some blood on it. Thorpe has it. We hunted behind trees and under logs. We didn’t find my flashlight. Or my shotgun.”

  Faint tendrils of sunrise streaked gunmetal-gray stratus clouds as Max strode on the boardwalk toward Confidential Commissions. No one else stirred on the dark deserted harbor front. Many of the boats in the harbor were battened down for winter. Lights gleamed from the cabin of a big cruiser from Miami, Lady Luck III. Max hurried into his office, pushed up the thermostat. By the time he was in place behind his desk with a fresh legal pad and pens, the chilly room had warmed. He glanced over the e-mails from Marigold’s Pleasure that Annie had forwarded and jotted down a series of questions:

  Who needs money in the Grant family?

  Were the coins insured?

  Did the collection contain coins of varying value?

  Who are Robert’s buddies?

  Where was Robert when his mom was shot?

  Can Handler Jones persuade the circuit solicitor to hold off filing charges?

  Max drew a squarish face topped by spiky hair. Emma Clyde’s most recent dye job was mostly silver with bronze streaks to match a dressy caftan decorated with beaded chrysanthemums. He had to hand it to the island’s brusque mystery writer. Her e-mail to Annie was on point. Who needed money and was a bundle of greenbacks due from insurance? Max looked thoughtful as he added a soaring vintage plane to his sketch. Henny Brawley’s e-mail added another possibility. Rhoda Grant was no longer piloting a plane for pleasure. Did that hint at a money crunch in the Grant household? Or was there trouble in Geoff’s third marriage? It would be important also to determine, as Laurel had recommended, whether the collection contained coins of lesser value. Had the thief been well acquainted with the collection?

  Max glanced at the clock, waited until the minute hand moved past six. It was far too early to place most calls, but he was confident Matilda Phillips was up and bustling about her kitchen.

  The phone was answered on the first ring. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble? What right have you got to bring the police down on us?
” Matilda’s voice was shrill. “My Terry is a good boy and I told that ugly-faced policeman Terry was right here last night. He wasn’t running around the island breaking into that old Franklin place and he would never hurt anyone. Never.”

  The phone slammed into the receiver.

  Caller ID had announced him to Matilda. Max slowly replaced the receiver. Was Terry still at home or had Thorpe taken him to the police station? Max turned to his computer, clicked rapidly, found Terry’s cell phone number. He punched in the numbers.

  “Hello.” Terry’s young voice was strained and guarded.

  Max spoke fast, hoping Terry would listen. “I didn’t know the police were following me when Robert was arrested. I had nothing to do with the police coming after you about last night.” Max quickly described the late-night call from Hal Parker and its aftermath.

  Terry’s voice was uneven. “It wasn’t me. That cop accused me and Gramma told him she was up in the night with her arthritis and she knew I never left the house. I guess even a white cop knows my gramma doesn’t lie. I don’t know anything about what happened last night.”

  “I believe you. I never thought you were involved. I’m calling because I have to find out more about Robert’s friends. It could be that Robert and a couple of other guys planned the robbery. Robert would never hurt his mom but maybe—”

  ” That’s crazy.” Terry was furious. “Do you think the guys Robert hangs out with are killers? Some of them get drunk or smoke pot, maybe steal a six-pack. But nobody’s mean. Besides, Robert was getting things together. He wants to get married. He was looking for a job. He thought he had one lined up as a deck-hand on the ferry. Mr. Parotti was going to give him a chance. Now Robert’s in jail. That’ll ruin everything with Serena’s dad. He never liked Robert anyway.”