by Carolyn Hart
“Only you. Apparently he must have been in the side yard when someone passed.”
“If someone passed.” Her voice was sharp. “It looks to me as though there’s nothing to these accusations. With all the people here in the house, surely someone would have noticed.” She looked relieved.
Annie pushed away a tendril of ivy. “Did you talk to Gwen yesterday morning?”
Rhoda’s eyes flared like a horse ready to shy. “It was just a regular morning. I asked her to be sure and water the plants. I try to keep to a schedule. Water once a week. If you water too often, the dirt gets mushy and the roots rot and sometimes with houseguests it’s hard to remember…” She trailed away.
Max leaned forward. “Were you aware that Gwen was troubled?”
“Troubled? Oh, that’s just Kerry being sympathetic. Maybe Gwen looked tired. I don’t know. Kerry’s always worrying about people. I hardly spoke with Gwen. I was in a hurry.” Rhoda moved impatiently in the chair. “I needed to get some washes on and I wasn’t sure whether Geoff was going to grill for dinner. He was in such a good humor. And now—” Suddenly her look was imploring. “He’s terribly upset. He never wants to admit—” She broke off, her gaze dropping.
Annie felt that Rhoda had almost revealed something important. “What won’t he admit?”
Rhoda lifted a shaky hand to her lips. “I don’t know what to do. He believes the kids are wonderful. Well”—her voice grew stronger—“I don’t think they’re wonderful. Justin’s calculating and two-faced. He always acts like Mr. Perfect when he’s around Geoff, but he’s furious with Geoff. I heard him talking to that icy little rich girl he’s going to marry. He’d better make money. He’d better beat a path to the bank because it’s going to take a boatload of money to make her happy. They were in the swing and I was checking on my tomato plants. I heard him tell her Geoff wouldn’t cosign for the note on the lot for the clinic.” She lifted her face, her eyes burning. “It isn’t right. Geoff’s hard up for money. He’s lost a lot in the stock market the last few years. And then he sold low and everything went back up. They don’t realize how little money there is now. He doesn’t want them to know. They’re always after him for money. Kerry wants it for people who don’t have jobs. Well, why don’t they get jobs? I’ve worked—”
Annie thought about the sick and the old, the mentally ill and the incompetent, those devoured by drugs and alcohol, bad luck, poor judgment. Well, why don’t they get jobs?
“—all my life. But Kerry’s always got a sob story. Ben’s already tried to get some money from Geoff. I heard them arguing Sunday night. Barb’s broke, of course, and she’s heard about this modeling school in Hollywood and all you need is a five-thousand-dollar down payment for training. She’s such a silly little fool. It can’t be legitimate. It’s a scam and if she went out there, who knows what would happen to her? Geoff told her no.” Tears brimmed and rushed down pale cheeks. Rhoda came to her feet, rushed to the door. With one hand clutching the handle, she turned. “If you tell Geoff what I’ve said, he’ll be furious. But it isn’t right to pretend like they’re all so wonderful.” The door slammed behind her.
Justin Foster-Grant sat bolt upright, arms folded, feet planted, eyes narrowed in a glare. In the sunshine, his unpleasant expression and luxuriant red mustache gave him a piratical look.
Max was low-key. “I’m convinced that vets come equipped with plenty of empathy. Your patients can’t describe their symptoms so you have to have a sense of what they’d tell you if they could.”
Humorless eyes watched Max coldly. “I’m a good vet and I’ve got plenty of empathy to get it when somebody’s soft-soaping me. For the record, I don’t cheat old ladies or orphans, rob banks, rip off my stepfather, or kill the cook. I was at the bank like I said.”
Max persisted. “You said you were on your way at a quarter past ten.”
“I didn’t detour by Gwen’s house. I don’t know where anybody was Wednesday morning. But I’ll say this, sometimes I don’t sleep well.” His hand tugged at his mustache. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” His voice was no longer combative. “Interest rates are high. I’ve got student loans to pay off. Margaret’s looking at a house on the south end of the island. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep Monday night. There’s a board that squeaks near the stairway in the hall. It’s loud enough that I hear it with my door closed. It was late. I thought it was odd so I got up to take a look.”
“Someone going to a bathroom?”
Justin shook his head. “The bathrooms are between the rooms. There’s no need to cross the hall.” His eyes glittered with malice. “Ben was walking into his room. I don’t know where he’d been, but he sure stepped on that board.”
Margaret Brown was composed and confident. “I hope this is settled as quickly as possible. Justin is going to be a force in the community, and it’s most unfortunate to have his name associated with this unpleasantness.”
…unpleasantness. “Murder is unpleasant.” Annie’s voice trembled. “I watched Gwen Jamison die.” The stark words were cold in the overwarm Carolina room.
Margaret suddenly looked young and scared, her eyes uncertain. “Murder doesn’t have anything to do with Justin or his family.”
Max spoke without emphasis. “Justin has serious money problems. You could say he’s desperate for money. More than a million dollars could make a big difference for him.”
Margaret’s elegant features sharpened in distress, giving her a witchlike appearance, a preview of how time might deal with her beauty. “Not Justin. Never Justin.” She lifted a shaking hand to her throat. “If you go around saying things like that, you’ll ruin his life. And mine. Everything’s going to be wonderful. He’ll have his practice and the new building, and we’re going to buy a house. Some crook broke in. That’s what happened.” She jumped to her feet and hurried out.
Kerry Foster-Grant was forceful. “There are almost seven thousand homeless people in Atlanta right this moment. People who have no place to go, no kitchen, no car, no job. The only food they can hope for is at a shelter. More than a third of them have been homeless for more than a year. Eighty-seven percent are African American. Most are men between the ages of thirty-five and fifty-four. They can’t find jobs. They have no way to get to a job. They don’t have clean clothes to wear. A huge number are battling drug or alcohol dependency.” Kerry’s eyes blazed. “They are people without hope. We want to give them hope.”
Max smiled. “You make a difference in many lives.”
“I hope I can help.” She looked discouraged. “It’s hard to make people listen. They say, ‘Oh, the poor are always with us.’ That’s true, but it doesn’t change what we should do. God wants us to care.”
Annie looked at her searchingly. “How did you feel when you looked at your stepfather’s collection of Double Eagles?”
Kerry met her gaze directly. She spoke with defiance. “The same way I feel when I see a Lexus or handbags that sell for a thousand dollars or pictures of an elegant resort in Tahiti. I have a wish.” She leaned forward, her violet eyes stern. “The people who own everything, who can go and do and be whatever they wish, make them homeless for a night. Just one night. Take away their cars and clothes and luxuries. Let them hear voices in their heads or try to stay warm on a winter night or stand in line at a homeless shelter for a meal or struggle against the demon of addiction. Just for one night.”
Ben Travis-Grant lounged at his ease in the wicker chair, made it look small. “Sorry I can’t be helpful. I was online for a long time Monday night. I was checking out a sweet travel deal to Bolivia. I’ve got to see the Concordia Tin Mine before I die. Butch and Sundance tried to go straight. Too bad it didn’t work out. Last stop San Vicente Cemetery. Maybe. Or maybe not.”
Max grinned. “Sometime we’ll trade Butch and Sundance tales, but right now I’m more interested in outlaws here than in Bolivia. I’m hoping you can clear some things up.” Max’s smile slid away. “Especially since you were out of your room late M
onday night.”
Ben’s amused expression didn’t alter. “I don’t recall saying that I left my room.”
“You were seen.”
Ben’s half smile remained in place.
Annie had a sense that Ben, despite his casual attitude, was thinking fast and hard.
“By whom?” Ben’s voice was soft.
“Does it matter?” Max’s tone was equally soft.
Ben flicked away a strand of ivy. He glanced down, turned over a leaf. “Mealy worms. Now there’s a real problem. I’d better alert Rhoda. She’ll want to know.” And he was on his feet and across the room and out the door.
Barb Travis-Grant looked like a waif with huge frightened eyes in a washed-out face despite her bead-spangled orange blouse, supertight crimson cropped pants, and glistening orange high heels. The garish colors emphasized her pallor. She hunched in the chair, knees to her chin, and stared at Annie and Max.
Max’s voice was gentle. “It may be a good thing you were late coming down Wednesday morning.”
Wide brown eyes watched him warily.
Annie would have liked to tell Barb to suck up her guts and act like somebody. Or, Annie’s eyes narrowed, was Barb already acting a part, the terrified heroine trapped in a cellar and the villain coming down the steps, one creaking step at a time?
Max smiled at Barb. “That means you were in your room at an important time.”
Barb forgot to act. She blinked in thought. “My room doesn’t overlook the garden.”
“I know.” He was matter-of-fact. “Your windows overlook the side of the house where everyone parks. Did you look outside?”
Barb’s feet slid to the floor. She sat up straight, curiosity overcoming histrionics. “What’s the big deal about the side yard?”
Max was casual. “It would be helpful to know what cars you saw and when.”
Barb looked interested. “I was in my chair by the window about ten. I like natural light to put on my makeup.” She lifted a finger to touch her cheek. “It makes all kinds of difference. You look splotchy if you put on too much.”
Annie bit her lip to keep from smiling. She had an inkling of Barb’s appeal, a girlish hopefulness, a transparent desire to be beautiful and admired and loved. No wonder Ben hurried to reassure his little sister when she was frightened.
Barb scooted forward in the chair. “I was doing my makeup and I looked out the window a couple of times. The crows were cawing like mad. I’ve always liked crows. They make me think of Shakespeare. You know, striding out on a stage, bumptious and loud. I tried out for Juliet in a summer outdoor theater, but I didn’t get a good part. If I had the right training, I’d have a chance.” She puffed her cheeks in a pout. “Geoff’s mean not to help.”
“Maybe you’ll be the one to get the reward. I’m offering five thousand dollars.”
Barb’s eyes glistened. “I’ll try to help.”
Annie looked sharply at Max. Was everything fair in the hunt for a murderer? Perhaps. But she hated to see the avid hunger for money on Barb’s face, hated to know Max was dangling bait. Had he settled on offering five thousand because that was the sum Barb needed for the modeling school?
“You looked out the window around ten?” Max prompted.
She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Not much to see. Crows. A raccoon trying to open the garbage pails. Justin came out all dressed up in a suit. He has a new station wagon. I don’t see why he can have everything he wants.” Her eyes were dark with envy. “I didn’t see anyone else. ’Course, I wasn’t looking every minute. I had to do my makeup.”
Max was patient. “What cars did you see?”
She held up a finger as she thought, gave a swift nod. “Rhoda’s Lexus. Geoff gave it to her for a wedding present. Maybe he’d have money for us if he didn’t spend so much on her. Geoff’s old Chrysler. He’s the one who needs a new car. Kerry’s car is boring, a little old Toyota. She keeps it polished. You’d think it was a fancy car. Ben’s MGB is cool even if it’s old. My car’s a junky little Ford. I don’t know if it can make it to L.A. or not. And”—she suddenly looked eager—“maybe this is what you’ve been trying to find out. There was a big black pickup parked there. It doesn’t belong to any of us. I don’t know who it belongs to.”
“Did you see anyone near it?”
“Nope. Just before I went downstairs, I happened to look out again and I saw Robert Jamison’s old jalopy.”
Max’s gaze was intent. “Did you see Robert?”
She shook her head regretfully. “I didn’t see him, but I’m sure it was his car.”
Max looked puzzled. “How do you know Robert’s car?”
She looked at him earnestly. “That was our first car.”
Max looked blank.
Barb laughed. “It was a piece of junk, but we loved it. It looked like a mangled can, but it ran, got us everywhere we needed to go. Geoff bought it from a guy who worked on one of the shrimp boats. It was passed down from Justin to Ben and me and then to Kerry. When we’d all left and got our own cars, Geoff sold it to Robert, let him pay for it by doing yard work.”
Geoff came out of the library as Annie and Max left the sunroom. Annie felt sure he’d been listening to the sunroom door open and shut. Barb was the last family member to be interviewed and here was Geoff, walking toward them, eager but anxious.
Max smiled. “Everyone was helpful.”
“Is there anything new?” Geoff sounded apprehensive.
Annie wondered how he would feel if he knew one important fact had been established with certainty: Every member of the Grant family was familiar with Robert Jamison’s car. Its presence at the house Wednesday morning must have seemed providential to a calculating murderer.
Max’s expression was bland. “I have a much better picture of the household now. There’s one more thing I’d like to check out. Do you mind if Annie and I run upstairs for a minute? I’d like to have a better idea of the view from the hall windows.”
“Why, yes. Of course. I’ll—”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to come with us. It will only take a minute. Come on, Annie.” Max turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. Annie hurried to catch up.
On the second floor, he gave one swift glance behind to be sure Geoff hadn’t followed. He scarcely glanced toward the east window. “Ben and Barb’s rooms to the left, Kerry and Justin to the right.” He stepped on the landing. A board creaked. “If Justin’s telling the truth, Ben had just crossed this spot.”
Annie understood the implication. Anyone coming up the stairs and going to Ben’s room would step on that board.
Max was grave. “What was Ben doing downstairs?”
No wind stirred the dangling fronds of the weeping willows. The shadows across Denise Cramer’s front porch faded as the sun slipped behind the tall pines, turning the sky a rich orange, throwing deep patches of darkness across the lawn.
As Max knocked on the front door, Annie took a sidestep and glanced past a red pottery rooster on a chrome-and-glass table framed by the uncurtained front window. Though the living room was dim, it was light enough to see that the colors were gay, a turquoise pottery lamp, a handwoven sweet grass Gullah basket with bright balls of coral and green and blue yarn, a purple pottery sandpiper.
Max turned. “We’ll try again in the morning. Why didn’t she want to talk about her view of the garden?”
Annie fell into step beside him. “Do you think that’s why she shot out of the library so fast?”
“Maybe. Maybe she really has a million-dollar deal. We’ll catch her. Right now I want to talk to our favorite lady cop, bring her up to date.” His tone evidenced no joy at the prospect.
Annie grabbed his hand. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Harrison’s okay, Max. She came to the store this morning. I liked her. She’s trying hard.”
Max waved at Hal Porter who was concentrating as he screwed an owl guard over the purple martin entry holes. Hal didn’t look their way.
Annie gestured toward Hal. “He left me a message this afternoon. He plans to camp out at the Franklin house again tonight. I think he hopes those kids come back. This time he’ll be ready for them.” She frowned. “I hope he doesn’t have another shotgun.”
Max grinned. “That kind of guy always has another gun.”
Annie looked worried. “I hope he’s careful.”
“He called me, too.” Max grabbed her hand, walked faster. “Come on, Mrs. Darling. After the cop shop, we’ll swing by and feed your razor-fanged cat—”
“She loves me,” Annie protested.
“—then head for home and a Max Darling gourmet dinner and conversation with a civilized feline.”
Max touched Annie’s arm, looked pointedly at a series of tiny scars, mementos of Agatha’s affection.
“She isn’t perfect.” Annie tried not to sound defensive. “Who’d want a perfect cat?”
“Like mine?” Max boasted that plump, white-furred Dorothy L. had the charm and good humor Agatha lacked.
“Agatha’s smarter than Dorothy L.”
“Depends,” Max said airily, “upon which reader you ask.”
Officer Harrison invited them into the break room. “My office is kind of small. I’ve got some coffee ready.” She looked shyly at Annie.
When they settled at the Formica-topped table, there was also a plate of Lorna Doone cookies with a batch of homemade fudge in the center. Harrison nodded at the candy. “Lana Edwards is filling in for Mavis. Lana’s taken some hot soup to Lou. She says the hospital food tastes like soap and he needs to get his strength back. She knows I like fudge. She makes it with Karo syrup and evaporated milk.”
Annie took a cup of coffee in the thick white pottery cup. Harrison retrieved a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator. Annie took a splash and a piece of fudge. “How’s Lou?” She felt a pang that she hadn’t called to ask how he was progressing after his appendectomy.
