by Carolyn Hart
Annie was stunned. Jocelyn pregnant, Russell the father, and a confrontation. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
Darlene slumped against the wall. “What good would it do? She was gone. Russell would lie. I didn’t want people talking about her. I wanted everyone to remember her the way she was, beautiful and clean and perfect.”
Annie looked into red-rimmed eyes. Darlene had not been able to save Jocelyn, but Darlene had guarded the world’s picture of her.
“If I’d known she was going to jump—”
Annie’s voice was sharp. “Jocelyn didn’t jump. She was pushed.” Annie reached in her purse, pulled out the bright yellow flyer, thrust it at Darlene. “That’s why Iris came home. She saw someone walk into the woods with Jocelyn at the sports picnic. Iris was afraid Jocelyn’s death wasn’t an accident. Iris came back to the island to try to find out the truth. Somebody strangled her to keep her quiet.”
Darlene stared down at the flyer. One hand came to her chest, pressed against it as if to quiet a racing heart. She stood rigid as steel.
“That’s why we have to find out what happened the night Jocelyn died. Are you sure she meant that Russell was the father?”
Darlene stood mute. It was not so much that she ignored Annie as that she was unaware of Annie’s presence. Darlene looked up from the flyer, her eyes wide and fixed. She flexed thin, spiderweb-tattooed fingers, curled them tight, crushing the flyer.
Annie tried to break through that wall of silence. “Don’t you see? Friday night Iris went into the woods with someone. She was strangled with the cord from a table so it had to be a guest who killed her. Iris must have been persuaded that everything was all right. Maybe the murderer promised to show her what happened with Jocelyn.”
Darlene stared into the distance. “Jocelyn.” The word was thick and slow as if dredged from deep within. Abruptly, she pulled off the stained apron, flung it on the ground. She was short and chunky in a tie-dye T-shirt and tight jeans. She turned away.
“Darlene.” Annie moved after her. “Please…”
Darlene yanked a rusted blue bike from a rack and flung herself on it. She hunched over the handlebars, pedaled away fast.
MAX ROLLED THE WHEELCHAIR INTO THE MAIN ENTRANCE of the high school and recognized the familiar school smell, a combination of wax and antiseptic and the scent of baking. Hurrying teenagers, loud and boisterous, opened a path that closed behind him. He checked in at the main office, grinned at dark, intense Angie Taylor, the receptionist who also volunteered at The Haven. “Hey, Angie. I’m here to see Coach Butterworth.”
“Hey, Max, glad you and Annie are all right.” Angie’s big brown eyes looked shocked.
Max wasn’t surprised that she knew. Very few on the island would be unaware of the fire. “Thanks. We were lucky.”
Her brows drew down in a frown. “You hurt bad?”
“Scratched-up feet.” Maybe tomorrow the pain would ease some. “I borrowed a wheelchair. I’m doing fine. Do you know where I can find Coach?”
She gestured to her right. “He has lunchroom duty, first serving. Everything goes real smooth when Coach is on duty. The lunchroom’s down the hall and to the left through the double doors.”
Max found the stocky coach standing near the terrace exit. The coolness of steel blue eyes belied his genial expression. “Yo, Max.”
They shook hands.
Butterworth glanced at the wheelchair. “I hear you and Annie had a close call last night.”
“Yeah. Too close.”
A whoop and scuffle sounded behind him.
Butterworth looked past Max, didn’t raise his voice. “Cool it.”
Two bulky teens in sweatshirts and jeans abruptly pulled apart and lumbered past. “Yo, Coach.”
When they were past, apparently well aware that the coach’s steady gaze followed them, Butterworth looked at Max and yanked a thumb toward the terrace door. “Quieter outside.” He spoke loud enough to be heard over the lunchroom hubbub. “I can see through windows. Don’t make me be in a hurry to come back in.” He held the door for Max.
The terrace was cool and quiet. The onshore breeze fluttered weeping willow fronds, rattled magnolia leaves, bent the cordgrass in the salt marsh. Butterworth stood with his back to the marsh, looking through windows into the lunchroom. He went right to the point, making it clear that Iris’s death and its probable cause were a topic of faculty discussion. “Maybe we should have tumbled to something when Iris went off the rails after Jocelyn died. She dropped out of school, left the island. Nobody put two and two together. Now it looks like we were stupid. Everybody thought Iris was scared because of drugs. Later, after she ran away, we heard she’d supplied cocaine to Sam. Now, it sounds like there was someone else behind her.”
“That’s what she told someone later.” Max saw no reason to mention Jocelyn’s pregnancy. If it wasn’t the reason for murder, let Jocelyn and her baby rest in peace.
“If”—Butterworth’s eyes crinkled in thought—“the drug dealer was at your picnic and was also at the pavilion the night Jocelyn died, the list is pretty short.”
Max waited. He didn’t need to tell Coach the names.
Butterworth jammed his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “Loose words can ruin lives.”
Max remained silent.
Butterworth looked weary. “You came near dying last night. If I know anything, I have to tell you.” His face folded in a frown. “My wife’s been a Girl Scout leader for years, ever since our girls were young.”
Max knew this mattered.
“She comes to all the school events. She knows a lot of the girls. Not the guys, unless they’re on the football team.” He rubbed knuckles on his cheek. “The fog made everything out of kilter. It was like being in a dream. It’s hard to remember what happened when. And it’s been ten years. The best I can recall is that about fifteen minutes before the awards ceremony, my wife asked me to come with her to the woods. I was pretty short with her. I was trying to get the patches in order. I had some parents helping, but we were running late. I hated that because I knew everybody wanted to get done with the evening. We’d had a pretty big turnout. Even more parents came than usual. Maybe because of Sam’s death. It was tough because all the guys were upset about Sam. It was going to be hard to get through the program without somebody breaking down. Hazel—my wife—said I needed to check the woods. Hazel was going back to her car for a jacket when she saw Cara Jackson slipping out of the pavilion. Hazel didn’t think it looked right so she went after Cara. She saw Cara follow a couple into the woods. She said Cara looked sneaky. Besides, the kids weren’t supposed to leave the pavilion grounds. Hazel was too far away to know who the couple was. About the time we got close to the woods, Buck Carlisle came toward us. He wasn’t an athlete but he came to the picnic for his sister Jodie. She was a top swimmer. I stopped him and asked what was going on in the woods. Buck said Jocelyn was upset about Sam.” Butterworth’s eyes were somber. “Buck looked like somebody’d kicked him in the gut. I thought I understood. Sam was his friend and here was Sam’s sister going to pieces. I almost asked Hazel to go into the woods and find the girls, but I decided everything was probably okay. Cara had seen Jocelyn and Buck and followed them. She would help Jocelyn. I felt reassured. Maybe I made one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. I told Hazel we should give Jocelyn space. It wouldn’t help anything for us to go after her, maybe make her feel worse. By this time Buck had disappeared into the fog. I went back to the pavilion and got the program started. For a long time afterward, I’d wake up in the night and wonder if I’d gone into the woods I might have been in time to keep Jocelyn from jumping. Now it looks even uglier.”
ANNIE REACHED THE MOUTH OF THE ALLEY AND WALKED TO the corner of Main and Broward. She had a good view of the harbor, the ferry dock, and downtown with its one-and two-story buildings, some old and weathered, some more modern with stuccoed walls and tiled roofs. The harbor pavilion was a block to her left.
She looked i
n all directions. Darlene was out of sight. She was distraught and in a hurry. In a hurry to do what? Annie felt uneasy. There had been a determination in Darlene’s hurried departure that suggested she had some action in mind. Could she know some fact that linked one of her classmates to Iris? In any event, Billy needed to know what Darlene claimed to have heard between Jocelyn and Russell.
Annie glanced down Main Street. She was a half-block from Liz Montgomery’s store. Annie felt a sudden emptiness. If she repeated Darlene’s story to Billy, Liz and Russell would suffer.
She had no choice. She had to tell Billy. Annie walked steadily toward the police station. She was halfway there when her cell phone rang. She smiled at the caller ID. She stopped on the boardwalk, again welcoming the cool and fresh onshore breeze. “Max, listen.” She spilled out Darlene’s revelation.
Max interrupted. “Frank told me this morning that Jocelyn was pregnant. It makes sense that Russell was the father. It will never be proved. I went to the cemetery. I found Jocelyn’s urn. She was cremated.”
Annie was never willing to picture cremation. Her mind pushed away images of flames and a body reduced to ashes. She said quickly, “Maybe nothing can be proved by DNA, but Darlene heard Jocelyn say Russell was the father.”
“That’s what Darlene told you.” Max was matter-of-fact. “Maybe she heard that. Maybe she didn’t. Only she and Russell know for certain what was said. But Billy needs to know. Where’s Darlene?”
“She jumped on her bike and rode away.” Annie felt a sudden catch in her throat. “I’d better hurry and tell Billy. Maybe he can find her, keep her safe.”
“Safe?” Max’s query was sharp.
“Darlene was distraught when I told her Jocelyn was murdered. I don’t know what she might do.” Annie pictured Darlene pumping hard on the bicycle pedals. “She said Jocelyn’s name and rode away.”
“Billy can find her. But Russell isn’t the only one who needs to answer some questions about the sports picnic. Coach Butterworth told me…”
Annie remembered the block letters of the anonymous note: Buck walked into the woods with Jocelyn the night she died.
“…but Coach didn’t go into the woods. He thought Jocelyn was with Cara. I called Billy. He thanked me and said he’d be in touch with Coach. I’m sure Billy had already asked Buck about the anonymous note. I imagine Buck claimed he left Jocelyn in the woods and didn’t see her again. There’s no proof Buck didn’t do exactly that.”
In Annie’s mind, it was as if a bright shaft of light circled two moments in time: Jocelyn leaving the pavilion with Russell, Jocelyn and Buck walking into the woods. “We have to find out whether Jocelyn quarreled with Russell before or after she was with Buck.”
“We can try.” Static crackled on the line. Finally, Max said quietly, “Maybe the timing mattered. Maybe it didn’t. Jocelyn could have gone into the woods with Buck and Buck left her alive. And then she and Russell walked away from the pavilion. Or she and Russell quarreled and later she went into the woods with Buck. And on to the pier.”
THE RECEPTION AREA OF CARLISLE, SMITHERMAN, AND Carlisle reminded Max of appointments in a funeral home, dark cherry wood, gray walls, subdued lighting, a solemn aura of calm and repose. Max rolled the chair to a stop at the counter.
Ellen Nelson, a scratch golfer, looked up from her computer. Max often played a round with her husband Paul. A tall, angular brunette, Ellen exuded competence. “Hey, Max. What can I do for you?”
“Is Buck in? If he’s free, I’d like to see him.”
“I’ll check. He’s pressed this morning.” She pushed the intercom button. “Max Darling’s here and would like to see you.”
There was a pause. “Max? All right.” Buck sounded weary.
Ellen came around the counter and held the hall door.
“Thanks.” In the hall, it was hard to roll the chair on the thick gray carpet.
Buck was waiting in his open doorway. He waited as Max wheeled inside, then closed the door. He walked toward his desk, then swerved to the window, holding up a hand to protect his eyes against a sharp glare of sunlight. He tilted the shades up to redirect the light. “The light hurts my eyes.”
Max stopped the wheelchair near the desk.
Buck settled into his desk chair. He rubbed his face. “I’ve got a headache that won’t quit. I guess it’s because I overslept. Dad’s furious with me. I was late getting here for a conference call. Anyway, I’m running behind.” He glanced at papers and legal pads strewn on the desktop.
Max stared at Buck. Buck overslept. A figure had slipped through shadows, carrying a gas tin, to fire an inferno. Only Dorothy L.’s frenzied cries and Duane’s quick action saved them. This morning, Buck overslept. Either Buck was innocent as a lamb or he was explaining away his late arrival at the office.
Buck looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s tough not to get enough sleep.” He’d never thought Buck especially clever. If Buck was playing an ingenuous role, he was very clever indeed. Max’s gaze never left Buck’s tired face. “Annie and I are running a little short today, too.”
Buck massaged one temple. “I heard. That’s awful.” There was nothing but sympathy in his expression. “Are you guys staying in another cabin?”
“No.” Max didn’t elaborate. Although word spread fast on the island, Max had no intention of announcing their whereabouts. Max pushed away memories of fire and fear. He wasn’t here for a social visit or legal consultation. Maybe challenging Buck wasn’t smart, but the time for innocuous questions was long past. “What happened between you and Jocelyn Howard in the woods at the sports picnic the night she drowned?”
Buck’s face slowly hardened. “I could ask what the hell business is it of yours.” He slowly came to his feet, met Max’s hard stare. “I guess I know the answer. Somebody tried to kill you and Annie last night. Billy Cameron’s got it all worked out. Jocelyn was pushed. Iris saw her with somebody.” He took a deep breath. “Billy thinks the murderer set your cabin on fire because Annie talked to Iris. All I know for sure is that Jocelyn and Iris are dead. I’ll tell you what I told Billy.” Once again he rubbed his head. “The sports picnic was awful.” There was remembered pain in his voice. “Jocelyn was upset because of Sam. She wanted to know where he got the cocaine. I guess she figured I would know since Sam and I were friends. I told Jocelyn all I knew.” He looked straight at Max, eyes steady. “Sam bought the stuff from Iris. I told Jocelyn and I left her in the woods. Alive. I swear she was alive.” His voice broke.
“What did Jocelyn say when you told her?”
Buck’s gaze dropped. He moved his hands, cracking the knuckles. “She was going to talk to Iris.”
Max leaned forward. Why wouldn’t Buck look at him? “But what did she say to you?”
Buck swallowed. His voice was thick. “She cried. I couldn’t stand hearing her cry.”
“Did she run ahead of you out of the woods to go hunt for Iris?” Coach had told Max that Buck came out of the woods. He would have seen Jocelyn if she’d run ahead of Buck.
Buck hung his head. “No.” The sound was muffled.
Max stared at him. “You left her there in the woods, upset and crying?”
Buck looked miserable. “I couldn’t do anything to help. Nothing was going to bring Sam back, and I couldn’t stand seeing her cry. I left her there. She was alive.” His voice was loud. “She was alive. I never saw her again.”
ANNIE STOOD WITH HER BACK TO THE HARBOR, ARMS FOLDED, surveying the picnic area and the woods beyond. A cloud slid over the sun. April is capricious, its tantalizing hint of warmth easily discouraged. Annie wished for her sweater, but she’d left it in the car. She’d grab it in a few minutes before she met Max for lunch at Parotti’s.
Her visit with Billy had been brief. He’d thanked her, not indicating what he intended to do with Darlene’s information. Of course he would check her claims out, but Annie felt uneasy. Why had Darlene hurried away? Obviously, she was shocked and shak
en that Jocelyn’s death had been murder. Perhaps her precipitous departure was easily explained. She needed time and space to deal with her anguish.
Yet, there had been a sense of purposefulness in Darlene’s departure.
Annie walked past a row of palmettos. The serving stations had been set up just about here, conveniently close to the picnic tables. Annie smoothed out wheel tracks in the sandy ground. Three servers: Miss Jolene, Darlene, and another older woman. Barb would have her name.
Annie took two steps. She’d not paid a great deal of attention when she’d gone through the line, but she rather thought Darlene had been at the middle station. Annie pretended to spoon fried zucchini or lift corn on the cob with tongs. She looked up.
Her arm remained in its make-believe posture as she stared beyond the picnic tables at the entrance to the woods. A lamppost was only a few feet away from the path. She recalled the lights Friday night, luminous and golden, designed for beauty not stark illumination. Yet there was sufficient light that anyone walking into the woods would be visible for a brief moment.
Especially from this vantage point.
Annie hesitated. She’d intended to take a brief look, then walk to Parotti’s to meet Max. Instead, she took one step, then another toward the woods. Her throat felt dry. She didn’t want to enter the dim woods. The woods hadn’t been safe Friday night, but of course there was no danger now.
Annie forced herself to move forward. She stopped in the center of the picnic area and glanced at her watch. She slipped onto a bench, pictured the centerpieces. It was the work of only seconds to pretend to tweak free a length of cord, put it in her pocket. Another pocket would hold the shucking gloves.
As if smiling at a fellow guest, she gestured toward the pavilion. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Once away from the table, the guest would be swallowed up in the dusk, face and figure indeterminate. As Annie saw it, Iris must have passed near the murderer’s table, walking toward the pavilion, likely on her way to the women’s restroom.
