by Carolyn Hart
Annie studied the drawing. “Why was his body in the road?”
Marian licked salt from her fingertips, shrugged. “Why not? Maybe he liked to sniff coke outside. Maybe he got woozy and got out of the car. Bottom line: no other trauma, healthy Caucasian male aged eighteen, verdict accidental death from cocaine.” She upended the Coke, drank greedily. “I talked to some kids, promised them I wouldn’t squeal, and I got the lowdown that Sam was a big alcohol and drug man so where’s the surprise. There are always a few in every class and sometimes they’re the golden boys who have it all, looks, money, personality, and a streak of I’m-invincible, gonna-do-what-I-want-a-do. I don’t figure there was any mystery about what happened to Sam. As for Jocelyn, everybody interviewed said she was really upset at the sports awards picnic. They figured she came because the kids were getting their emblems for the various sports and Sam had lettered in football, basketball, and tennis.”
At Annie’s high school, guys received jackets, girls cardigan sweaters. Each sport had an emblem.
Marian took a last gurgle of Coke. “Everybody noticed she had on her brother’s letter jacket. That was spooky because his personal effects, including the jacket, had been returned to the family that afternoon.” Marian shuffled through papers, handed Annie another photograph.
Annie felt haunted by unfinished lives. Jocelyn had been lovely, a blue-eyed blonde with a confident gaze and smile. She was as golden in her way as her brother had been.
Marian crushed the soda can. “One of the girls said Jocelyn looked awful that night, pale and shaky, her eyes red from crying.”
Annie studied the photograph, made when the future looked bright with expectations of happiness, excitement, fulfillment. That last night, Jocelyn struggled with grief. Was she upset because her brother was gone, distraught at the finality of death? Or was she upset with the living?
FRANK SAULTER FINISHED THE LAST CRUMB OF ANGEL FOOD cake, placed the fork and plate on Max’s desk. “I don’t know what’s better, the cake or the lemon icing. Barb’s wasted as a girl Friday.”
No one appreciated his secretary’s culinary skills more than Max. When time hung heavy, she created amazing treats in Confidential Commissions’ small kitchen. She also cooked when stressed. Today, she’d talked on the phone, posted the reward flyers, tallied results of her survey, and whipped a dozen eggs for the cake, while regularly checking on Max’s well-being and muttering imprecations about nasty, lowlife people who set things on fire.
Frank glanced at the wheelchair. “Glad you can get around. I bunged up my feet once. Coral. I expect you hurt like hell.”
Max’s feet throbbed. But the haze of pain was better than the haze of pain pills. Maybe the pain helped him concentrate. “They make it easy to remember somebody out there doesn’t like Annie and me.” Max appreciated Frank’s question because, in addition to indicating concern for his comfort, it was also an oblique recognition that Frank understood Max had a very personal interest in seeing Iris Tilford’s murder solved.
Max chose his words carefully. Frank Saulter had been a superior police chief, honest, careful, thorough. Like Billy Cameron, he was an island native. Frank knew his island and its people. That was a plus in leading to answers that weren’t always obvious unless you were aware of families and their histories. That knowledge also meant an emotional tie to many of those involved in investigations. “I asked Doc Burford about the autopsy on Jocelyn Howard. Doc cut me off. What did the autopsy show that he didn’t want to reveal?”
Frank’s hawklike features folded into a frown. He could be genial. Since his retirement, he had seemed to relax and smile more often, but in repose his face reflected a somber nature, perhaps formed by years of dealing with unhappy lives and grim realities. “The Howards ran to trouble. Not being an island boy—”
Max knew he’d never be a real island boy. When he and Annie had kids, that would be their birthright.
“—you wouldn’t know much about the family. Five generations on Jocelyn’s mom’s side, the Hilliards. Now they’re all gone. Mary Grace Hilliard was an heiress, married a golfer she met at some country club up north. He was a drunk, ran his MG into a live oak one night, leaving her with two kids, Sam and Jocelyn. Mary Grace was a sweet lady, but she drank too much, too. She may not have been a sober mother, but she loved those kids. After they died, it was like watching a leaf crumble into little pieces. She got thinner and thinner and one morning she didn’t wake up.”
Frank stared into the distance, seeing a picture Max couldn’t see. “When I went to the house to tell her about the report on Jocelyn, Mary Grace’s first words were, ‘It was an accident, Frank. My girl never jumped into that water. She hated water. She wouldn’t even go in a swimming pool.’ She got up and walked away from me. She stared out at the ocean, then buried her face in her hands and sobbed.” Frank looked old and tired. “She hurt so bad I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d died right there in the room. Her boy dead of a drug overdose, her girl gone a week later. Do you think I was going to tell her that Jocelyn drowned and that it looked to be an accident but”—Frank’s dark eyes were bleak—“maybe it could have been suicide because of the circumstances.”
Max was puzzled. “Her brother’s death?”
“Sam’s death knocked Jocelyn down. She was upset and crying at the awards picnic. Everybody thought she was grieving for Sam. Maybe so, maybe not.” His face folded into lines of sadness, a man who had seen heartbreak, knew it too well. “She was pregnant.”
Max was quick to object. “Come on, Frank. An unmarried girl getting pregnant hasn’t been a scandal for a long time.” Maybe a hundred years ago, a distraught young woman might choose to die or resort to possibly deadly backroom butchery, but now? Unwed mothers were no rarity. Girls opted to have babies and raise them alone every day.
The former police chief gave a brief, sour smile. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Jocelyn was from a good Catholic family. She’d been accepted at Loyola. She had to be between a rock and a hard place. If the baby’s father wouldn’t marry her, maybe she didn’t see any way out. Add that stress to depression over Sam and it spelled suicide to me. Should I have told her mother? Then Mary Grace would have fought the anguish that Jocelyn hadn’t come to her, hadn’t asked for help. Worst of all, Mary Grace would have lost not only her son and her daughter but her grandchild.”
Max was silent. Frank had made the best decision he knew to make at the time.
Frank pushed up from the chair. “Doc and me kept it quiet. Mary Grace died two years ago. Thank God. They’re all gone, the Hilliards and the Howards. Nothing can hurt Mary Grace now.” He paused in the doorway, looked back. “I would have kept my mouth shut now except Iris Tilford’s murder proves I was wrong. Jocelyn didn’t fall or jump. Somebody pushed her, and Iris knew too much.”
Chapter 13
As she came out of the Gazette office, Annie glanced across Main Street at Parotti’s Bar and Grill. Darlene Hopper might be at work. Was it worthwhile to try to talk to her? Darlene hadn’t been part of Jocelyn’s group of friends, and Billy Cameron was confident there hadn’t been time for Darlene to walk into the woods with Iris. Still, Darlene had been in that class, and she was among the handful of those who had been present at the pavilion Friday night and ten years ago. Maybe Henny could tell her something about Darlene.
Annie walked to the railing at the edge of the harbor, stood in the sun, and welcomed the breeze. She punched a familiar number on her cell.
After the fourth ring, a voice message announced: “For the next few days, I’ll be working at Death on Demand. Come by for coffee and conversation and pick up your copy of Sue Grafton’s latest. What’s up with her alphabet this time? See you soon.”
Annie’s smile was quick. She realized it was the first time she’d smiled that day. Thank you, Henny. She punched the bookstore number, still smiling.
“Death on Demand, the best mystery bookstore north of Miami. How may I help you?”
&n
bsp; Annie loved Henny’s cultivated voice, which had reached to the back seats at so many little theater productions.
“Henny, you’re wonderful.”
“Thank you. It’s mutual. What’s up?”
Annie’s smile fled. “Darlene Hopper was in the same class as Iris and the others. She was a server Friday night and she was at the awards picnic ten years ago. Do you remember Darlene?”
“From school? Oh yes. I didn’t mention her this morning because she certainly wasn’t part of that group.” Henny paused, then murmured, “All God’s children.”
“All God’s children?”
Henny sighed. “I’d like to say that I always treated students equally. Sometimes it was difficult. I’m old enough to know there is a spark of divinity in every person. But,” her tone was rueful, “some people are adept at hiding every evidence of that. Darlene was uncooperative, bristling with anger, mean-spirited. And profoundly unhappy, of course. I thought highly of Jocelyn because she was kind to Darlene. Darlene adored Jocelyn. From a distance. Darlene never tried to be friends with Jocelyn, she just watched her. That would have worried a lot of people. It didn’t bother Jocelyn.” Henny’s tone was admiring. “Darlene was heart-broken when Jocelyn died. She didn’t finish school. She stayed on the island. A big family. Not a very nice family. She’s worked at the grocery and later at Parotti’s. Ben has a kind heart.”
Annie felt a chill. “She told Billy Cameron she didn’t pay any attention to Jocelyn at the sports awards picnic.”
Henny spoke quietly. “I doubt very much that she told Billy the truth.”
BRANCHES INTERLOCKED ABOVE THE BLACKTOPPED BIKE path. Ferns poked from scrubby undergrowth. Crows clamored. Max suspected the crows had sighted a fox. The somber, secluded pathway was in tune with Max’s thoughts. Jocelyn Howard was pregnant when she died. That changed everything.
The golf cart careened around a curve. Max slowed. This was no time to end up mired in the dank, green-scummed swamp water that bordered the path. It was another half mile to the cemetery. He wasn’t sure his idea would work out. First he needed to spot the grave site, then he could make a pitch to Billy. If Jocelyn’s body were disinterred, could a forensic pathologist determine the DNA of the fetus? Even if that wouldn’t be possible after all these years, the threat of DNA testing might be enough to scare a statement from Russell. If he wasn’t the father, he’d be eager to see that proved as well.
Jocelyn may have died because she demanded the father acknowledge the baby. Or she may have died because Iris told her the name of their classmate who provided the cocaine that killed Sam. There was only one certainty. Jocelyn was murdered. Iris’s death made it clear that Jocelyn did not jump or fall from the pier. Jocelyn was pushed.
The golf cart emerged from dimness. Ahead a dusty gray road led into the island cemetery. Markers dotted family plots lying among live oaks and palmettos. Birds chittered. Squirrels darted. A small weathered gray wooden building that served as the office was tucked among willows, not far from the marble-faced columbarium.
Max stopped the golf cart in front of the office. He swung out the wheelchair, opened it. He grimaced as he maneuvered himself into the seat. Damn, his feet hurt. But he was beginning to feel at ease with his new transport.
The office was shadowy inside. “Hello.” His call was met by silence. A small notice on the counter listed a telephone number and advised that the cemetery was open from dawn to dusk. An arrow pointed to an interactive screen for those seeking information about grave-site locations.
Max rolled nearer. He touched the icon for grave sites. A pop-up offered the alphabet. He tapped H. Names appeared. He scanned down to Howard, Jocelyn, C48. He returned to the desktop, touched the map icon.
He studied the map and let out a sigh. He’d had great hopes. Now they were ashes. C48 was a niche in the columbarium.
Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.
No one would ever prove the identity of the father of that long dead baby.
SEABIRDS CAWED. A BOLD CROW HOPPED NEAR THE GARBAGE pails. It was cool and shadowy in the alley behind Parotti’s. The smell of garbage mixed with the scent of the sea and the odor of hot cooking oil. Annie understood Henny’s murmured “All God’s children” as she stepped back a pace to avoid a stream of cigarette smoke. Darlene Hopper’s stare was sullen. A stripe of red blazed in her dark hair. Silver rings glinted from eyebrows, nose, ears, and lips. Purplish tattoos covered her plump arms from shoulders to wrists. Reddened hands from dishwashing emphasized the darkness of the tattoos.
“I know who you are.” Darlene’s tone wasn’t friendly. “I worked the food line Friday night.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette. “I wish I hadn’t left before you found Iris. That must have been exciting.”
Annie controlled a flare of anger. Was Darlene as callous as she sounded? Or was the sardonic remark thrown out to see if it rankled? “You knew Iris.”
Even Darlene’s fingers were tattooed with tracery of a spider’s web. Her shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “In school. She was a dork.”
This was not the time or the place to defend Iris. One day soon the spirit poster would be finished and Annie could push away all memory of Darlene’s meanness. For now, Annie forced herself to speak without animus. “You were at the sports picnic the night Jocelyn Howard died.”
Darlene’s hand, the half-smoked cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger, stopped midway to her ring-pulled lips. “Jocelyn.” Her face softened. Her voice slid to a depth of sadness. “She was always wonderful to me. Until that night. I knew she went out with Russell. But that was what everybody expected. She was homecoming queen. He was a football star. But I never thought about them…not like that.” Her voice trailed away. “I wish I hadn’t run away from the picnic. Oh God, if only I hadn’t left. If I’d known what she was going to do, I’d have stayed with her, helped her. But she yelled at me and I ran away. I went home. I didn’t find out she was missing,” Darlene’s voice was dull, “until the next afternoon. I went to the pavilion and helped look. I walked through the woods, back and forth. We didn’t find her. She wasn’t in the woods. She was in the water.”
“She was your friend?” Annie tried to connect the elegant princess with Darlene.
“Friend?” It was as if Darlene repeated a word from an unknown language. She blinked at Annie. “I wasn’t one of Jocelyn’s friends. Everybody wanted to be her friend. Liz and Cara and Fran. Iris hung around them, but she didn’t count. And there were Sam’s friends, Buck and Russell. None of them were special like her. I always sat close to her.” Darlene’s voice was proud. “Hopper. Howard. We had English together and Spanish and history and math. Jocelyn smiled at me every day. She was beautiful, her hair, her face. Perfect. Like sunset on the water. Or the sky when it’s so blue it makes you ache inside. Our lockers were next to each other. Her locker always smelled good. Once I asked her what made the locker smell so nice, like a field after rain. She said it was sachet. I didn’t know what that was, but I didn’t tell her that. I just told her it made me feel good when she opened her locker door. The very next day she brought me a little lacy bag of sachet. Rose, just like hers.” Darlene looked at the burning cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She dropped the stub, ground it beneath a dirt-stained sneaker. Perhaps the rank smell of tobacco dimmed the sweet memory of rose.
Sadness washed over Annie. Darlene had created a fantasy based on Jocelyn’s casual kindness. How little Darlene’s own life must have afforded her in the way of love and caring.
“That was very nice of Jocelyn. I see why you found her so special.” Annie picked her words carefully. “What happened that last night?”
Darlene’s lips trembled. “She was unhappy and Russell looked mean. I was worried about her. I decided to hang around in case she needed me. I could have walked back to the fire with her, held on to her.” There was a depth of longing in her voice, all her customary bravado and disdain and anger shed.
; Annie understood more than she wished to know. Darlene had seen herself as a rescuer, a white knight restoring a beloved lady to safety and esteem. Darlene had built a dream in her mind with herself as heroine, but the dream had no reality.
Annie wondered if she was within reach of understanding Jocelyn’s death. “Russell looked mean?”
Darlene’s face hardened. Anger burned in her eyes. Red patches blotched her sallow cheeks. “He wouldn’t talk to Jocelyn. He ducked away every time she started toward him. Russell’s so big and ugly. I hate him. Finally, she came up behind him and caught his arm. She was crying. He looked like he wanted to push her away. She pointed outside the pavilion and they started walking that way. The fog made everything hard to see. You could only go a little way and everything was all blurry. I went after them because I wanted to protect her.” Tears slipped down Darlene’s cheeks. She made no effort to brush them away.
“I suppose it was private away from the pavilion.” A private place for a desperate girl and the boy who didn’t want to talk to her.
“Private. Quiet. I couldn’t hear a sound from the picnic. It was like being in a cloud somewhere. I came closer and closer. I wanted to reach out and touch her. She was crying. Jocelyn told him she needed help. Russell said he couldn’t do anything, that his dad would kill him, that he had to go to The Citadel. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Jocelyn grabbed his arm. ‘I’m not talking about the baby. I don’t care about your dad or whether you go to The Citadel. You should have thought about that before you said you loved me. But you’ve got to help me tonight—’ I didn’t mean to, but I guess I called her name. I couldn’t believe it. Jocelyn and him. I started to cry and she turned around and saw me. I wasn’t thinking and I stepped toward her and she”—Darlene choked back a sob—“screamed at me to go away, leave her alone, stop spying on her. I turned and ran. I never saw her again. I didn’t know she’d jump off the pier.”
