by Carolyn Hart
Billy’s voice softened. “Yes.”
“That was her favorite. I sing it now. I hold to it.” She lifted her chin. “I would have come if I could have. I’m sorry about everything, especially running away. That’s why I’ve come back. It’s too late for Nana, but there’s people I got to talk to.” She glanced into the cabin. “I’m sorry the maid fell down.” Her glance at Annie was faintly accusing. “She looked awfully old to be cleaning rooms.”
Billy looked at her sharply. “Maid? That’s—”
Annie interrupted. “Billy, I can explain.” She didn’t intend to tell him the truth. At least, not in front of Iris. Annie had no doubt that Emma had rooted around in Ingrid’s office, found an extra key to Cabin Six, and set out to search it, carrying fresh towels in case the occupant returned. “Ingrid’s sister is in the hospital in Tallahassee. We’re taking care of everything while she’s gone.” We could be understood to include others, such as Laurel and Henny and, as soon as he arrived, Max. That the helpers did not include Emma could be shared with Billy later.
“I see.” Billy nodded, clearly reassured. Emma’s unlikely presence at Nightingale Courts had been accounted for. “Emma was bringing towels—”
Annie hoped her cheeks didn’t flame. She had an unfortunate tendency to turn bright red under the stress of subterfuge.
“—and must have tripped. I’ll take a look.”
Billy stepped inside the cabin. Iris and Annie followed.
Billy studied the bare, clean, uncluttered floor. “Where was she lying?”
Iris pointed toward the footboard. “Right there. It looked like she hit the bed when she fell. There was a gash on the right side of her head.”
Billy bent near the footboard. “Here’s where she hit. There’s blood here.”
Iris turned away.
“I’ll clean it up.” Annie reached down, scooped up the towels. They’d have to be washed anyway since they’d fallen on the floor. With a little cold water, she’d have the stain gone in a jiffy.
Billy lifted a hand, then let it drop. “I guess that’s okay. Emma took a tumble. Maybe she got dizzy. If she lost her balance suddenly and fell hard, that would account for the head wound.”
Annie hurried to the bathroom, dipped a towel in cold water. It didn’t take long to clean the footboard and swipe up a streak of blood from the tile floor.
Billy turned to Iris. “Just for the record, did you see anybody near the cabin when you arrived?”
“Only a raccoon.” A tiny smile touched her thin face. “That made me feel at home. When Nana played the piano, a raccoon came to listen. We’d see her in the bushes near the side window.” Then, with a quick head shake, she continued in a cool, remote tone. “Anyway, I’d been downtown. On my bike. Coming back here, I stopped at Gas’n Go for some groceries.” She pointed at the small brown sack sitting on the chest.
Gas’n Go was a mile and a half from Nightingale Courts. It belonged to Ben Parotti.
“The door was ajar. I pushed it in and saw her.”
Billy nodded. “I suppose Emma left it open behind her since she was servicing the cabin.” He waved his hand at the small plaid duffel bag lying empty on the luggage rack. “Was everything in order?”
Annie felt uncomfortable. What if Emma had disarranged Iris’s belongings?
Iris looked surprised, then gave a wry smile. “You think somebody was trying to rob me? I got this outfit and one more. I got the sandals I’m wearing. A pretty stupid burglar.” She walked to the dresser, opened the top drawer. “My stuff’s here.” She looked weary. “Sometimes I feel like everything bad happens around me. That poor old lady bringing towels and falling down. I didn’t even need towels.”
Billy was brisk. “Don’t take blame when none’s due.” He moved toward the door, stopped at the threshold. “You going to stay on the island long?”
“A few days.” Her face was unreadable.
“Nice time of year to be here.” Billy reached for the sack of groceries. “Here, better get your stuff in the refrigerator.” He lifted out a quart of milk, a box of Ritz crackers, and a small jar of peanut butter.
Iris took the milk and turned toward the small refrigerator.
Billy fished out a receipt, slipped it in a pocket.
When Iris faced him again, he offered the sack.
“Thanks. I don’t need it.”
Billy crumpled the sack and tossed it into the wastebasket. “Be seeing you.”
Annie was behind him as they stepped outside. He paused to look down at the bike, number 16. Annie recognized the distinctive light green from Ben Parotti’s bike rental shed near the ferry terminal. She waited to speak until she heard the click of the cabin door shutting. “Billy, there’s something you should know.” She gestured toward the office with a quick glance behind to be certain the door to the cabin was closed.
Billy gave her a sharp look, then nodded and walked with her.
Ingrid’s office was understated, but welcoming. Red and yellow cushions looked inviting in rattan chairs. White pine paneled the walls. Hanging on one wall was Duane’s photograph of a great blue heron feeding in the marsh, his reflection crystal clear in the water, beauty twice captured. Potted ferns glistened in sunlight spilling through a sliding glass door that opened onto a deck. Marsh grasses wavered in the onshore breeze. The tide was out. In the distance, dolphins arched in their daily aquatic ballet.
Annie gestured toward the largest of the chairs.
Billy shook his head, stood with his feet apart, waiting.
Annie remained standing, too. There was no good way to start. “I think Emma was searching Cabin Six.” Was that breaking and entering? Emma hadn’t broken in. She’d used a key. But still…Billy was a stickler about following the law.
Billy’s broad face rarely revealed emotion. For an instant, his eyes widened, then he gave a short nod. “Emma was searching Iris’s cabin. Why?”
“Emma’s depressed.” Annie heard the plea in her voice, but Billy looked stolid. “She’s convinced she can’t start a new book. She hasn’t been eating. Ingrid and I thought it would help her, get her back on track, if she solved a mystery of some sort. Then we got word about Ingrid’s sister being sick. On the way out Duane asked me to keep an eye on the girl in Cabin Six. He said she came last evening to rent a cabin. In the rain. Alone. On a bicycle. Emma was fascinated. She kept talking about it. She hurried out while I was on the phone. When I got here, Emma was waiting. She said she was going to stay in the next cabin to keep an eye on the girl. I needed to clean some cabins so I told Emma to check herself in. I guess she filched a key to Six.”
Billy frowned, folded his arms.
Annie talked fast and heard the pleading note in her voice. “Emma didn’t mean any harm. She was curious. You have to admit there is something odd about arriving on a bicycle in the rain. Alone.”
Billy looked pensive. “Not odd. Sad. I’d guess Iris just got out of treatment.”
“Oh.” The skeletal frame, the smudged darkness beneath Iris’s eyes, now they made sense. “If she found Emma searching her room…”
Billy slowly shook his head. “I don’t see Iris striking out at anyone. She was a gentle kid. She grew up down the street from me. My mom and hers were good friends. Her mom died when she was in middle school. Her grandma did her best, but Iris got into drugs. There are always a few. Everybody tells them, but they don’t hear. She ran away just before she would have graduated from high school. I can check on it. Maybe she wasn’t going to graduate. Maybe that was part of it. That was a bad year. Another kid died from an overdose. His sister drowned off Fish Haul pier a couple of weeks later. Some people thought she jumped because of him. A bad year.” He shook his head again. “Anyway, there’s no mystery about Iris.” He pulled the Gas’n Go receipt from his pocket. “I’ll find out for sure whether Iris could have pushed Emma. Not that I think Emma was pushed, but I like to check things out. That’s why I took Iris’s receipt.” He glanced at it. “She paid
cash at eleven-oh-three. The nine-one-one call came at eleven-ten. That figures about right for Iris to arrive here, find Emma, get you and you make the call. It’s a five-minute bike ride from Gas’n Go to the cabin. We don’t know how long Emma was unconscious. When did you last see her?”
“About ten-fifteen.”
“Iris said she’d been downtown. I’ll check it out.”
ANNIE HURRIED INTO THE HOSPITAL. SOON THERE WOULD be an around-the-clock schedule set up with Altar Guild members taking turns sitting with Emma. Emma’s room was at the far end of the second floor.
Annie felt as if she’d climbed a tall mountain, taking over at Nightingale Courts, cleaning the cabins, the shock of Emma’s injury, racing to leave a note for Max as soon as she’d mopped up the spilled water in Cabin Five, driving fast to the hospital, hoping once again that Sgt. Harrison was otherwise occupied. There was a long wait in the E.R. waiting room. It was a couple of hours before Emma was transferred to a room and another twenty minutes before Dr. Burford walked down the hall. He nodded to her and stepped into Emma’s room.
Annie scarcely remembered when the day had begun. The day had begun so well. If only it had ended well, too. She eased open Emma’s door. Dr. Burford, his craggy face intent, stood at the bedside. Emma lay unmoving, her face pale beneath the neat bandage, IV in place. The nurse frowned at Annie and shook her head. Annie closed the door and leaned against the stippled plaster wall.
Her cell rang. Quickly, she flipped it open, silencing the tune, which seemed raucous in the quiet of a hospital hallway.
“Is Emma okay?” Max’s voice was worried.
“I don’t—” The door to Emma’s room opened. “Hold on a minute.”
Dr. Burford pulled the door shut behind him. Always gruff, he never wasted words. He gave Annie an abrupt nod. “Vital signs stable. Minimal blood loss. She’s regained consciousness, but now she’s asleep. The CT scan showed no significant brain injury. A simple concussion. She needs to be quiet for couple of days. Tell the mother hens—”
Annie knew he had experience with Altar Guild members taking care of one of their own.
“—to keep the noise level down. Emma’s head will be pounding when she wakes up.” He turned away.
Annie followed. “Did she say what happened?”
Burford was brusque. “Go ask a psychic. Emma won’t remember where she was, much less what happened. She may not remember the day at all.” With that he strode down the hall, a man in a hurry, always.
Annie lifted the cell. “Did you hear?”
“Every word. It sounds like Emma’s going to be fine.”
Max’s voice seemed to come from a long distance. “Yes.” Annie felt weak from relief. She’d felt responsible for Emma’s injury. Annie shouldn’t have left Emma on her own in the office.
“Annie!”
She pulled herself together. “I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”
“Have you had lunch?”
The elevator door opened. Pamela Potts and Henny Brawley hurried toward her. Annie immediately felt better. Having Henny there obscurely made Annie feel that of course everything was going to be all right. Henny had that effect. Pamela was serious, kind, and always came when needed.
“Not yet.” That’s why she felt lightheaded.
“Meet me at Parotti’s.”
“I should stay here with Emma.”
“She’s doing great. I heard Doc say so. I’ll bet the hall is swarming with Altar Guild members.” Max knew the church ladies could be counted on.
The second elevator sang. Three more women spilled out and headed for her.
Annie felt buoyed. “I’m on my way.”
PAROTTI’S BAR AND GRILL, ACROSS FROM THE FERRY LANDING, was an island institution. As Annie pushed through the heavy oak door, she took a deep, satisfied breath, enjoying the mixture of scents: sawdust, live bait, hot grease, and beer on tap.
Max slid out of a booth and strode toward her. Tall, blond, and solidly built, he moved with easy grace.
She hurried toward him. When she was tired or weary or worried, emotion welled up, threatening to overcome her. She’d come so near to losing him when he was falsely—and so persuasively—accused of a crime during the hot days of August. She came into his arms, clung.
“Hey,” his tone was soft, “it’s okay, honey. Everything’s okay.” He gave her a quick hug, turned her toward the booth. “I’ve ordered for you. A double fried-oyster sandwich deluxe on an onion bun, horseradish mayo laced with barbecue sauce, curly fries, jalapeño cheese grits, and cole slaw.”
Annie was touched. At Parotti’s, Max always hoped to encourage her—by his sterling example—to order poached sole on a bed of endive. She always smiled pleasantly and ordered what she pleased. She gripped his hand until they moved apart to slide into the hard wooden booth. “Max, it’s my fault…” and the words spilled out. “…I should have known not to leave Emma there by herself.”
He reached across the table, placed a firm finger lightly on her lips. “Did Emma say she planned to snoop? No. Are you a mind reader? No. Case closed.”
Annie felt as if she’d shed a huge burden. Truly, it hadn’t occurred to her that Emma would filch a key and enter Cabin Six. Her tense shoulders relaxed. Annie realized she was starving. She looked toward the kitchen.
Ben headed toward them, easily balancing the tray. When she’d first come to the island, the bar and grill had smelled fishier and an unshaven Ben, a wad of tobacco lodged in one cheek and with all the charm of an ill-tempered leprechaun, had slouched about in a faded red union suit and worn bib overalls. Then he met Miss Jolene, who owned a tea shop on the mainland. Their match was proof positive that love works miracles. Miss Jolene, as mistress and chef of Parotti’s Bar and Grill, introduced quiche and salads to the menu, added fresh flowers in clear glass milk bottles to each table, and transformed Ben into a blazer-and-slacks-clad leprechaun, always freshly shaved and snapping Wrigley’s Spearmint as he worked. Then and now, he had a finger in every island pie.
Ben unloaded the tray with practiced ease. “Any word on Ingrid’s sister?”
That Ben was aware of Ingrid’s hurried departure came as no surprise.
Annie picked up the oyster sandwich. “Not yet. Ingrid will probably call tonight.” Annie took a bite. The sandwich was perfection, fried oysters crisp on the outside, succulent on the inside, onion bun toasted with a dash of butter.
“Too bad Emma got hurt trying to help out. I hear she fell down.” Ben looked puzzled. “Emma’s sure-footed as a mountain goat.” He gave a bark of laughter. “And just as ornery. They say Iris Tilford found her.” He slid the tray under one arm, settled back on his heels. “Iris came in on the ferry last night. She’s been gone a long time. It gave me a turn to see her. She looks like she’s been through a wringer. She waited for me, asked if I still rented bikes. I opened up the shed, got her a good one.”
Annie remembered the sturdy green bike propped by the cabin door. “Iris was out on her bike this morning. She’d stopped at the Gas’n Go. She found Emma when she got back. It’s lucky she wasn’t out all day.”
Ben looked thoughtful. “It surprises me Iris came back with her grandma gone. Iris missed the funeral. I wonder if she’s home to stay.” He glanced at her glass. “I’ll freshen up your tea.”
As Ben moved away, Max poured the rest of his Bud Light into the frosted glass. He averted his eyes as Annie added a splash of tartar sauce to her condiment-laden, cornmeal-crusted oysters. “There should be limits.”
Annie resisted the temptation to add another splash of tartar sauce. “How about steamed shrimp for dinner?” The cabin had a small kitchenette and she’d bought a pound of shrimp yesterday and fresh spinach and homegrown tomatoes. She felt virtuous. Of course she loved healthy eating.
Max shook his head. “One serving of steamed fish doesn’t balance out that.” He pointed at her offending plate. Annie licked a streak of barbecue sauce from one finger and gave him a sunny smile.
/> The wooden door creaked open and Billy Cameron walked in. He paused to adjust his eyes to the dimness, then raised a hand in greeting and walked toward them.
Max started to rise and Billy waved his hand. “Keep your seat. Saw your cars outside. I thought you’d be glad to know everything checked out with Iris. Libby Callahan saw her talking on the pay phone by the ferry just as the ten-thirty bells chimed at St. Mary’s. Iris was still at the pay phone ten minutes later when Libby came out of the yarn shop. It’s a good twenty-five-minute bike ride to the Gas’n Go, another five minutes to Nightingale Courts. Iris’s clear from the time you last saw Emma until Emma was found at eleven-ten. So, Emma fell down and that’s all there is to it. Which is what I expected.”
“Have a cup of coffee with us.” Max slid closer to the wall.
Billy grinned. “It’s Wednesday and that’s Miss Jolene’s coconut cream pie day.”
Ben arrived with the tea pitcher. “Hey, Billy. One coffee black and pie coming up.”
“Make that two pieces of pie.” Annie swiped one last curly fry through ketchup and gave Max another sunny smile.
As Max and Billy debated the finer points of mullet versus mackerel as bait for blue marlins, Annie spooned the creamy pie with its exquisitely toasted fresh coconut flakes and began a mental to-do list: grocery-shop to replenish the Nightingale Courts soda and snack counter, wash soiled sheets, pick up flowers for Emma—
Without warning Ben’s hoarse words echoed in her mind:…sure-footed as a mountain goat.
Annie looked toward Billy, then shrugged. It was silly to let Ben’s offhand comment make her uneasy. Billy had checked everything out. Iris certainly hadn’t surprised Emma in her cabin and pushed her. Besides, as Billy had made clear, there was no mystery about Iris Tilford.
Chapter 4
Emma’s eyes blinked open. She looked vague, then her gaze, lucid and baffled, settled on Annie. “My head hurts.”
Pamela Potts, soft blond hair swaying in her haste, reached out to adjust Emma’s pillow. “Now, now, we need to be quiet and rest.”
