by Carolyn Hart
Annie tightened her grip. “Whatever happens, that’s not why Darlene called.” She drew in a breath as Hyla Harrison, eyes wary, thin frame tensed, edged from the woods, pistol in hand. She glanced at them, swiftly scanned the area near the pavilion, then hurried across the uneven ground. “Have you seen anyone? Any cars? Heard anyone?”
Max gestured toward the pavilion. “There aren’t any cars in the pavilion lot, only ours and Billy’s.”
Harrison nodded. “Thanks. I’ll swing around on the perimeter, check the other entrance to the woods.” When she came even with them, she gestured at the woods. “The area is closed. No admittance until further notice. Crime scene.”
Annie tried to call out, demand to know, but she had no breath. Surely Harrison meant the place where Iris died. That was a crime scene.
The officer passed them, then slowed as she neared the end of the pine grove, once again moving with care, as if danger awaited around the end of the grove.
The woods ran east and west. Pines and live oaks with a mingling of magnolias and bayberries spread from the boardwalk by the harbor to the pavilion parking lot and from the picnic area to an apartment house, running perhaps two hundred yards in length and three hundred in width. Friday night they’d found Iris lying not far from the entrance near the boardwalk. Friday night the crime lab had parked near the harbor entrance. This afternoon as the shadows lengthened and the sun slid lower in the west, Billy had disappeared into the woods from the pavilion entrance. There was yet another entrance near the apartment house that intersected the picnic-to-harbor path.
Max shouted after the policewoman. “Where’s Billy? What’s happening?”
Sgt. Harrison looked back. She hesitated, then jerked her head toward the woods. “He’s waiting for the M.E.”
Chapter 16
Annie drew her sweater close. She felt drained. The caw of seabirds and the slap of water against Fish Haul pier were a mournful accompaniment to the activity near the woods. Just so had they stood on Friday night. Now, as the sun slipped westward, they waited again.
Red lights revolved atop cruisers. The crime van was parked as near the path as possible. Doc Burford’s dusty old coupe came around the corner, slewed to a stop by the van.
Max stared at the woods. “You’d think somebody would come out.”
Murder can be quick. Gathering evidence takes time. A painstaking examination had begun, drawing in toward the body after a careful survey, looking for any trace of the killer. Once Doc Burford spoke, the body could be photographed and examined.
It was five-thirty when Doc Burford stumped out of the woods, big and burly, his face red with anger. He stopped beside them.
“Darlene Hopper?” Annie waited without hope.
“Darlene Hopper. Age twenty-eight. White, female.” He threw words out like chunks of dirty ice. “Quick. Nasty. Final. Carbon copy. Knocked on the head, stunned, strangled. This time with a strand of wire.”
THE BREAK ROOM AT THE POLICE STATION WAS SPARE AND simple. John Wayne movie posters decorated one wall. A huge bulletin board held notes, circulars, and alerts. Billy Cameron sat at a long Formica-topped table with three chairs to a side and one at each end. Billy pushed aside a long legal pad and opened the brown paper sack. “Ben makes the best hamburger in the Low Country. Thanks.” He unfolded the waxy wrapper. “I sent everybody else home. You two had dinner?”
From another sack, Annie lifted Styrofoam cups filled with Ben Parotti’s dark roast Colombian. “We ate at Parotti’s.” She pulled out a chair and Max took a seat opposite her.
Max flipped off the lid of his cup. “I checked the time. Darlene called me at 3:52 p.m.”
Billy spoke with his mouth full. “Lou and Hyla found her dead at 4:26 p.m. Hell of it is, she made only one call on her cell, the call to you. I thought it would be simple. Check out the records, see who she called, break out the handcuffs.” Billy sounded discouraged. “It looks like she didn’t call anyone. She must have tracked down one of the classmates she saw walk into the woods with Iris. Or she found a phone we don’t know about, at the library or in an office.”
Max turned his cup, watched a circle of steam. “Have you tracked the pay phone on the boardwalk?”
“No calls to any of the classmates.” Billy shrugged. “We don’t get an easy lead.” His gaze was dark and cold. “I’ve checked them all out.” He glanced at Annie and Max. “I don’t discuss live investigations. But,” his tone was wry, “sometimes I think out loud.” He ate half of his hamburger, ignored them, staring at the opposite wall. “We got a time frame of thirty-four minutes. Buck Carlisle had told the secretary not to disturb him. He decided to take a walk to clear his head. He didn’t know what time he went out or when he got back. Buck said he walked out to the pier. He has a French door. Easy out, easy in. Fran Carlisle delivered a gold cherub to St. Mary’s. The church secretary wasn’t in her office, but the door was unlocked. Fran left the cherub on the counter. Who’s to say she didn’t park by the south entrance to the woods, meet Darlene there? Ditto Russell Montgomery. Claims he was scouting a new job site a half-mile from the park. Didn’t see anybody. Liz Montgomery had closed her shop, claims she was painting a plate in the rear room. Cara Wilkes was on the north end of the island, setting up her sign in front of a new listing. Nobody home. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Maybe she had time left over for a detour by the pavilion.” Billy took a last bite of hamburger, ate with no apparent pleasure.
Annie turned the cup in a circle. “Cara came to the store. She swears somebody stole the gas tin. She’s scared you’ll arrest her. I told her the only way for her to be safe was to tell the truth about the night Jocelyn died.”
Billy’s gaze sharpened. “What did she say?”
“She ran away.” Annie took a deep breath. “She’s protecting Buck.” She paused, added sadly, “Or herself.”
Max massaged the back of his neck. “It always seems to come back to Buck. He was late to work this morning. He said he overslept. I’m sure he was lying about that night in the woods with Jocelyn.”
Annie remembered fire and smoke. “The murderer was out late.” She turned to Billy. “I’d know if Max left our bed in the middle of the night. What do Buck and Fran say? And Russell and Liz?”
“According to their statements, nobody stirred. As for Cara, there’s no one to say.” Billy stirred two packets of sugar into coffee pale with half-and-half from the break-room refrigerator. He drank half the cup and looked at Max. “You talked to Buck this morning. You think he lied?”
Max looked somber. “He lied.”
MAX’S FOLDERS WITH THE BIOS WERE SPREAD ACROSS THE square teak coffee table. Emma’s blue caftan swirled as she came around the sofa with a tray. She placed a glass of sherry in front of Annie, handed Max a Scotch and soda, then settled on the red velvet cushions in her matching teak chair. She sipped a rum and Coke. “Mmm, good stuff. Maybe it’s time to take Marigold’s Pleasure and head south again.”
Annie almost blurted out how wonderful it would be if Emma took Laurel and Henny with her as she had on a recent trip. The words trembled on Annie’s tongue, then she glanced at Max. It wouldn’t do to infer that she always welcomed his mother’s absence.
Emma perched half-glasses on her blunt nose and reached for a folder, and the opportunity passed. “First, we have crimes to solve. And I have a book to finish.” Emma’s stubby hand waved a folder. “Marigold is making progress. It is quite interesting how our cases parallel.”
Annie maintained a bright smile. Emma had welcomed them to her home. It was no time to tell their hostess in a strangled voice that Marigold Rembrandt wasn’t real and suggest that Emma stop including Marigold in the conversation as if the supercilious redhead, whose adventures had begun so long ago she must be nudging ninety, sat on the sofa between Annie and Max. As for a parallel, how big a surprise was that?
As if sensing Annie’s hostility, Emma turned blue eyes on Annie. Her square face was set in determined lines. She spo
ke with the tiniest hint of an edge. “Marigold excels at picking out the apparently minor fact that matters. Now, we’ve all read the dossiers which Annie has nicely supplemented with Henny’s memories of our suspects as high school seniors. We have a wealth of information. Anyone with true insight should be able to discern the driving compulsion of each person. I will announce a name and in turn, beginning with Annie, each of us will pinpoint the most important fact. This should be done quickly. No ruminating. The mind is always at its best if the immediate thought is revealed. I”—a satisfied smile—“will speak for Marigold.” She picked up the first folder, looked at Annie and snapped “Fran.”
“Fran’s terrified.” That was the overriding emotion Annie sensed when Fran came to Nightingale Courts Saturday morning. “I think she’s scared for Buck. Why else would she come to tell me Russell and Jocelyn were angry with each other?”
Emma’s gaze turned. “Max?”
“Fran commuted on the ferry to a job on the mainland when they were seniors so she didn’t spend much time with her school friends. How would Fran have any idea about Iris dealing drugs?” He gingerly shifted a foot. “Why would Fran care if Jocelyn was pregnant?”
Emma pursed her lips. “Marigold notes that Fran quit working on the mainland that spring. Could that be related to the deaths of Sam and Jocelyn? There doesn’t seem to be any correlation, but it is an anomaly. Why give up the job that gave her extra money?”
Annie couldn’t resist contradicting Marigold. “Where’s Marigold’s sense of romance? Cara and Buck broke up, Fran quits working on the mainland, and pretty soon Fran has good old Buck in tow. Buck didn’t have the quarterback cachet, but Fran could always see past high school. Who was the most eligible bachelor from one of the best families on the island?”
“Possibly.” Emma’s tone dismissed the suggestion. She slapped the folder on the table, picked up the next. “Buck.”
Annie felt sad. “He was a yellow bird. He and Iris. They struggled in school. But”—she struggled to put a nebulous thought into words—“whoever killed Jocelyn and Iris was decisive, quick. Merciless. Could Buck plan that well?”
Max stared into the amber gold liquid in his glass. “Buck’s a lawyer. He may be slow, but he’s capable of planning. Everybody likes Buck. I do, too. I would have said he was honest, that he could be trusted. Now I’m not sure.”
Emma poked her glasses higher on her nose. “Marigold adores big burly guys who are hapless. But nice guys turn rough if they’re backed into a corner. Why, in The Case of the Terrified Tenor there was an opera star who was an absolute dear, charming as Pavarotti. I hated making him the murderer. Marigold and I tussled over that one. As for Buck, he claims he told Jocelyn that Iris gave the cocaine to Sam. Maybe he was the hidden figure. Maybe he supplied the cocaine to Iris.”
Annie tried to picture Buck as a fledgling drug dealer. She shook her head. “Buck seems too transparent for that.”
Max shrugged. “It could have been something exciting to do. Until Sam died.”
Emma put down Buck’s folder, lifted a cream-colored folder. “Liz.”
Annie didn’t hesitate. “Scary. Fran’s scared and Liz is scary. Liz would do anything to protect Russell.”
Max shook his head. “Liz strikes me as utterly conventional. Would she marry Russell if she knew about Jocelyn’s pregnancy?” He looked from Annie to Emma.
Their answers came together, Annie’s decisive, Emma’s brusque. “Yes.”
He looked puzzled.
Annie reached out, touched his knee. “If a man is your man, you take him on any terms.” She glanced at Emma and knew she understood. Beneath Emma’s crusty exterior a memory of passion still burned bright. Emma once enjoyed a rollicking adventurous marriage. As a widow, she married a man who betrayed her. That husband fell to his death from Marigold’s Pleasure. Some still wondered if Ricky’s drowning was an accident.
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Marigold strikes to the heart of relationships. If Jocelyn threatened Russell, Liz might have quarreled with her. At the end of the pier.” She added Liz’s folder to the stack, picked up the next. “Russell.”
Annie blurted, “He couldn’t go to The Citadel if he had to marry Jocelyn.”
Max looked angry. “He followed me to the Franklin house, threatened me. He blames Annie and me for Billy’s suspicions. Whatever else Russell’s done, I know he shot that snake, put it on my desk.”
Emma flicked a bright red nail against the green folder. “Interesting how things turn out for Russell. Jocelyn’s pregnant and first thing you know she’s dead and cremated. Iris comes back to the island because of Jocelyn’s death and now Iris is dead. Darlene witnessed a quarrel between Russell and Jocelyn. Now Darlene is dead. There’s no proof at all against Russell.” She slapped down the folder, picked up the last. “Cara.”
Annie felt hollow inside. “The gas tin found behind our cabin belonged to her. She insists someone broke into her garage and stole it.”
Max nodded. “I think she’s telling the truth. Cara’s not dumb. Why would she leave the tin? She mows her own yard. She had to realize her fingerprints were on the tin.”
Emma was impatient. “Marigold points out a double bluff isn’t a bad strategy. Maybe Duane startled her and she tossed the gas tin to be able to move faster. Even more telling”—Emma’s gentian blue eyes were cold—“she told Annie she was scared—but she wasn’t scared enough to reveal what she knew about the sports picnic. That suggests two possibilities to Marigold. Cara is protecting Buck. Or she’s protecting herself. When we consider everyone, Russell appears to have the strongest motive. Jocelyn’s death may not be connected to drugs. Jocelyn may have died because she was pregnant.”
Annie felt a swell of repugnance. Some fathers did kill women carrying their children. Scott and Laci Peterson were a sad example.
Emma absently turned the ruby ring on her left hand and the stone flashed in the light. “Liz had a powerful motive. However, if Jocelyn died because of drugs, Buck may be hiding information. Here’s Marigold’s take. Buck is hiding the truth about his talk with Jocelyn. Fran knows more than she’s telling or why would she be worried about Buck? Liz is terrified for Russell. We might”—Emma looked like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse—“be able to use her fear to our advantage. Russell’s tough and turns ugly when he feels cornered.”
Max’s face was drawn in the firelight. Annie knew his feet hurt. Pain was worse at night. So were heartbreak and memories of death.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry. I’m going to watch out for Russell. But we have to remember someone used Iris in dealing drugs. I don’t know which one of them is the most likely to have dealt drugs.”
Annie felt like a gerbil on a familiar wheel. They needed fresh insight. She looked at Emma. Maybe they needed—difficult as it was to admit—Marigold’s counsel. The story unfolding in Emma’s head was based on fact, Emma’s stealthy entrance to Cabin Six. “What’s happening in your book?”
Emma again touched her ruby ring. Annie had often wondered where she had obtained the magnificent ring in its ornate gold setting with a circlet of diamonds. In the light of the fire, it blazed with a glow equal to sunrise on the desert.
“I keep rewriting that scene when Marigold steps into the cabin. I don’t have a picture in my mind. I must drop by Nightingale Courts and look into a cabin.” Emma looked grim. “I don’t remember a thing after I picked up that stack of towels. I’m not sure I really remember that. You told me I’d taken the towels to the cabin. So I suppose I did. Yet, at the hospital something reminded me of the moment before I was hurt. Marigold keeps trying to think what it could be. A sound? A smell? A reflection?” She looked hopefully at Annie.
Annie concentrated. “Your attacker came from behind the door. But the door didn’t make a noise.” She smiled. “There are no squeaky doors in Duane’s world. As for a smell…” Annie’s sharpest memory was of Clorox, but she’d been cleaning a cabin. The cabins themselves were bright and
fresh. Duane and Ingrid disdained deodorizers. “The cabins all smell fresh with a hint of the marsh. As for seeing your attacker, the mirror doesn’t face the door.” Annie stood up. She pointed at a Navajo rug in front of the fireplace, touched the fringe with the tip of her shoe. “This is the doorsill.” She reached forward, grasped an imaginary knob, swung the door open to the right. “When you stepped inside, you were only a few feet from the bed. In a quick glance, that’s what you would have seen and perhaps the door to the bathroom. There was scarcely any evidence the cabin was occupied. Iris only had a few things with her and they were in the closet or the dresser.”
“I almost remembered.” Emma was irritated. “Something in the hospital took me back to the cabin.” She lifted a hand, touched the small gauze bandage on her forehead. “Well, it hasn’t come. Perhaps it will. In any event, I know what we must do.”
Annie looked at her with interest and Max with a touch of amusement. Emma sounded utterly confident. As far as Annie could see, they’d made no progress and were no nearer knowing the identity of their elusive quarry.
Emma’s aggressive gaze sharpened. “I propose a gathering of friends. At the pavilion. Tomorrow night. All of them profess distress at the deaths of Jocelyn and Iris. The two of you will invite them. You will confide oh so charmingly that you know everyone wants to learn of the progress being made in the investigation, that startling new developments will be revealed.” Now her smile was coldly triumphant. “No one will dare decline even though the night holds terrors for those afraid.”
Annie realized Emma was quoting from The Bishop Wore Scarlet, admittedly one of her better books. Marigold Rembrandt enjoyed gathering all the suspects for a denouement. So did Nick and Nora.
Annie knew it was a thin hope, but there was a chance they might actually discover something new.
Max looked energized. “They kept things secret for years. Think what a shock it will be when we lay everything out.”
