by Carolyn Hart
“—and I wished then that I could go home but I didn’t want to see my mom, but that’s about something else—”
About jealousy and resentment and grief for a faraway dad. Annie understood and realized, too, that Cole had no idea she had any connection to Pudge.
“—anyway I was stuck there at Stuart’s at least for last night. Anyway Mr. Reed popped his knuckles and I guess I got a funny look on my face because he kept staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. So he gave Stuart the money and we rode our bikes downtown. I tried to call you when Stuart was listening on the earphones but you weren’t at the store then either. And last night when Stuart and I were out at the pool, his dad came out and he kept worming the conversation around to that Sunday night and what I’d seen on the boat. Stuart was making fun of me”—his voice was tight with embarrassment—“saying there I was right next to the big show and missed every bit of it. Mr. Reed said there probably wasn’t much to see, and it was a shame when people got depressed and nobody helped them. I said I didn’t know the lady, and Mr. Reed said she was one of those do-gooders—”
Annie’s hand tightened on the cell. She heard the echo of Reed’s dismissiveness.
“—and she’d almost been a pest to Mrs. Heath, but Mrs. Heath was always nice to her because she felt sorry for her. Anyway, he finally went in the house and left us alone. Stuart said his dad was really sorry about Mrs. Heath. I didn’t know who Mrs. Heath was, but Stuart said she’d just died and she’d been a big client of his dad’s. Anyway, I thought I’d tell you because this morning at breakfast, Mr. Reed started to pop his knuckles again and then he stopped and stared at me and I felt creepy. I decided I’d go home after school even though my mom—anyway, I don’t know anything about the lady who fell off the boat and I didn’t see anything but I heard that noise and I think that’s what it was.” His voice was puzzled, but more than puzzlement, there was a thin edge of fear. “I know”—his voice dropped to a mumble—“that’s what it was, but it’s crazy. Nobody’ll believe me. Maybe I shouldn’t have called—”
Annie heard the faraway shrill of a bell.
“Anyway, I got to go to class.” The connection ended.
The tour bus ground to a halt at the stop sign at Sand Dollar Road.
Annie felt cold and hot at the same time. Cold with apprehension, hot with panic.
Ladyfingers! Pamela had cried out in delirium, her voice frantic with fear. She’d heard those little pops just before she was struck and thought them to be tiny firecrackers. Annie had a quick memory of hot and dusty July Fourths, and taking strings of dainty firecrackers out in the backyard and setting them off—pop, pop, pop—so similar to the crackle of popping knuckles. Pamela wouldn’t have been surprised to hear vagrant firecrackers, not in the South on a summer night, but she would, of course, have disapproved, thinking them a hazard on the excursion boat. She heard the pop, pop, pop, and then there was the sudden searing flash of pain.
Pamela and Cole hadn’t heard firecrackers Sunday night. They heard Wayne Reed, crouched in darkness behind the lifeboat, waiting his chance, desperate for Cole to go into the saloon and leave the deck clear for murder, waiting, every nerve taut, muscles tensed, one palm pushing against the knuckles of the opposite hand, an unconscious response to stress. A nervous habit. Probably he never heard the sound himself, was unaware of his action. Lots of people had nervous habits. A tic of a facial muscle. Repeated throat clearing. Cracking knuckles.
Wayne Reed…Where was he? Max had gone to demand an accounting. An accounting…That would surely be done now. What exactly had been in Duff’s estate when he died? What had happened to those properties and those monies? Thoughts raced through Annie’s mind. It would turn out to be something like that, money that had disappeared, a sale of property that was misrepresented to Meg, nothing that would matter or be discovered so long as Reed continued as the attorney for Meg and, especially, for her heirs. But if everything had to be listed and valued, theft or fraud would be revealed.
Where was Wayne Reed now? Why had he left specific instructions that he must not be disturbed? If the question ever arose as to his whereabouts this afternoon, his secretary would testify that he was in his office.
An alibi?
Annie swallowed, felt the thud of her heart as if she’d run all out. She stared at the car clock. School was over. Cole Crandall wasn’t going back to the Reed house. He was too wary to return there, though still struggling to understand what he knew. Instead he’d chosen to go home, home to an empty house, his mother at work. Cole’s house. Oh God, where was it? What had Pudge told her about Sylvia, that she’d rented a place that was pretty run-down and isolated but she said it had a great marsh view and every morning she saw a great blue heron she’d named Buddy, and he admired…Painted Lady Lane. That was it, Painted Lady Lane, a fancy name for one of those modest dirt roads that angled toward the Sound from Bay Street.
The bus, with a burst of oily black smoke, began a laborious turn to the left.
Messages. A third message. Had Cole called again? Annie punched, watched the unending procession of cars, snout to bumper, waiting for her chance to turn right. It was such a small island. She could be there in minutes, four or five at the most if the summer traffic didn’t slow her. If she screeched up to Cole’s house and everything was all right, well, it would be good for a laugh tonight with Max and Rachel. She could hear Rachel now, folding her hands to mimic a bugle call and shouting, “Annie Darling to the rescue!”
The third message began: 3:09 P.M. “Annie—”
There wasn’t quite enough room, and a Mercedes jammed on its brakes and blew a horn that sounded like the steam whistle of the Queen Mary as Annie gunned her Volvo into the lane.
“—I’m going by Cole’s house.” Her voice was stiff, the words were hurried. “I decided to ask him to come over Friday night. I know he doesn’t like Pudge and I’m going to tell him Pudge is swell.” She put a militant emphasis on swell. “Then I’m going to go home and change and meet some kids at the beach. See ya.”
I’m going by Cole’s house, I’m going by—
“Rachel. Oh, Rachel, honey.” Annie fumbled to end the call, swung out to pass a bread truck, swerved back just in time to avoid a collision. Tears burned her eyes. Her hand shook as she punched nine-one-one.
Rachel reached the edge of the shabby house. The hard yet cajoling voice grew more distinct. “Cole, where are you?” She eased close to the wood, felt a curl of peeling paint against one cheek, peered around the corner.
A man stood with his back to her. A soft slouch hat, brim turned down, hid his head. He had on a long-sleeved cotton work shirt, baggy khaki shorts, Adidas running shoes. He stood in a forward crouch, arms swinging loosely. He looked like somebody getting ready to jump, but there wasn’t anything to jump at. The left side pocket of his shorts bunched and sagged. Dark gloves poked out of a back pocket.
Rachel’s eyes fastened on the back pocket. Soft leather gloves. Annie had given Pudge some gloves like that for Christmas, but Pudge’s were tan, not black. Nobody needed gloves in August. She couldn’t take her eyes off the dark, empty glove fingers drooping out of that pocket.
The man took a step forward, his head moving in a slow survey of a dark thicket that bounded one side of the marsh, a stand of cane near a weathered old shed, and the dusty, hummocky stretch between the back porch and the reeds of the marsh. “I need to talk to you, straighten something out.” The deep voice was pleasant, with an almost jocular tone. “I don’t know why you dashed away like that. But it makes me think you’re a little confused. Come on now, Cole. I told Stuart I’d pick you up and we’d go have pizza.”
Rachel squinted, her eyes dazzled by the late afternoon sun off the bright green Sound. Pizza…He told Stuart…That meant he had to be Stuart’s dad. But right after school Stuart got a call from his dad asking him to pick up something at the ferry dock. Did Mr. Reed mean they were going to meet later? And why did he wait, hunched and quiet, li
ke Agatha watching a bird poised to flutter from a shrub?
The shrill peal of her cell phone started her heart hammering. She jerked back, turned, began to run. Over the pounding of blood in her ears, she heard the running thud behind her. She was almost to her bike when a rough hand caught her, pulled her around, held her fast. She opened her mouth to scream and was pulled against him in a vise-tight grip, his other hand clamping over her mouth.
A red-faced golfer in a sweat-stained pink polo shirt swiped at his neck with a wadded-up towel. “What the hell do you mean the hole’s closed?” He teetered forward, his six-foot-four bulk looming over Lou Pirelli.
Unfazed, Lou gestured toward the fairway. “Detour, mister. This one’s a crime scene. Closed until further notice.” Lou moved a few feet away, drove a stake, looped crime scene yellow tape around the top.
A tall thin man followed him. “Crime scene?” The British accent was partially mellowed by a drawl. “What’s up, old chap?” He craned to see beyond the wrecker that had backed until its rear wheels smashed into the reeds along the bank.
A foursome chugged toward them in a golf cart, clubs rattling in the bags sticking out the back. The lean women, all blond, all beautifully dressed in fashionable golf attire, wearing identical white visors, rolled to a stop. One of them, her husky voice excited, announced, “I told you, Serena. They’re pulling a car out of the hazard.”
Lou’s dark hair glistened like a crow’s in the sunlight as he bent to attach the tape, moved briskly to pound another stake. He called over his shoulder. “Stolen property”—Lou pointed toward the lagoon and the backer winching up the front of a red Mustang convertible—“connected to a homicide.”
Billy Cameron gestured toward the wrecker, directing the truck to keep going. He wore plastic gloves on his hands. When the car, festooned with reeds, draped with algae, water spewing over the sides and back, was free of the lagoon, Billy chopped downward with his right hand. The wrecker stopped.
Billy shouted, “Lower it.”
The car eased to the ground.
Billy hurried forward, opened the driver’s door. He jumped back as water gushed out, splashing his khaki uniform. He leaned inside the car, removed the keys. In two big strides he was at the trunk, unlocking it, lifting the lid. This time he moved faster, avoiding the wave of water.
Max stood on a rise near the green. “What did I tell you, Billy?” Max’s tone was triumphant as he pointed at a nylon suitcase partially submerged in the residual water. “Sherman’s killer went straight from the pond to the hotel, got Sherman’s stuff.”
Billy pulled the sodden suitcase forward, flipped open the leather identification tag. He unzipped the case.
Even from a distance Max could see that the contents were a jumbled, sodden mass. The clothing must have been gathered up and stuffed inside with no thought of order. Tony Sherman hadn’t packed his case. Tony Sherman was dead when a hand grabbed his belongings.
Billy pushed the suitcase to one side, bent closer to the trunk. He ran his hand back and forth in the brownish water and in a moment lifted up a drenched leather billfold. He eased it open. “Money.” His voice was gruff. “So it wasn’t a robbery the way it looked at first.”
Max didn’t change expression. The fact that Billy hadn’t linked Sherman’s murder to Meg Heath’s death and the attack on Pamela didn’t matter. What mattered was that Billy now knew all about Meg’s plan to divest herself of a fortune and the upheaval at the Heath home on Saturday.
Billy placed the limp billfold atop the waterlogged clothing, pulled down the lid. He walked around to the side of the wrecker. “Haul it to the station. We’ll work on it there.”
“Captain!” Lou’s shout was sharp, urgent. He ran across the exquisitely groomed green, heedless of the gouges from his shoes. “Captain, nine-one-one…”
Rachel struggled against the painful grip. She was aware of overpowering strength, the feel of muscles rigid as steel, the smell of sweat, the scent of fear. A shirt button jabbed against her cheek. Pincer-tight fingers clamped on her shoulder. In a shocked portion of her mind, she understood she was captive and in danger. Yet the somnolent summer sounds continued without pause, the cackle of clapper rails, a strident mockingbird trill, the derisive caw of crows, the whine of mosquitos, the rustle of cordgrass in the onshore breeze. Despite the heat of the sun, her skin was clammy with fear.
His breath tickled her ear. “Don’t yell.”
“I won’t.” She spoke in a faint whisper against the bruising fingers pressed against her lips. Slowly he relaxed the pressure and she was able to stand apart from him, though one hand still fastened on her shoulder.
He was breathing fast, in spasmodic jerks that lifted and dropped his chest.
Rachel trembled, one long shudder after another. She looked into wild, staring eyes, jerked her gaze away. “I just wanted to talk to Cole.” She knew her voice was high and thin.
He glanced toward the house. “You were coming over to see him? Nobody here but the two of you…”
Red stained her cheeks at the tone in his voice. “No, it’s not—”
He wasn’t listening. Without warning, he jerked her around until she was facing the house and one arm was pulled up behind her. “Let’s walk that way.” He pushed her toward the side yard.
Rachel’s gaze darted toward the cane. Even if she got away, there wasn’t anyplace to run. The cane was thick and wild, she couldn’t force her way through. A path angled off toward the water. She felt a spark of hope. At the end of the point there was a dilapidated cabin on posts and a pier that stuck out into the reed-thick water. If someone was there…But the cabin drowsed in the afternoon sun.
Straight ahead was the marsh, the mudflats steaming, fiddler crabs swarming in search of food. A white ibis, red bill gleaming, stalked the crabs. The tide was coming in. Soon the water would reach the banks.
No place to run…
“Cole.” Reed’s shout was hoarse. “I know you’re here.” His eyes scanned the house in its dusty clearing, the marsh, the woods. “You couldn’t have got past me. Well, you’ve got company. Your girlfriend’s here.” His voice was pleased, confident. He inched Rachel’s arm higher, brought a gasp of pain. The demand was harsh, swift. “What’s your name?”
She bent forward, trying to ease the strain on her arm. “Rachel, but—”
“Rachel’s here. Pretty girl. I’m sure you don’t want her to get hurt. I’ll tell you what, you come out and join us and we’ll talk everything over, see if we can work things out.” There was a hideous parody of reasonableness in his tone. “I’ll count to five. If you don’t come—”
Rachel stumbled forward, almost fell as he let go of her.
“—she’ll die. Take a look, Cole. I’ve got a gun and—”
Rachel felt the hard prod of metal against the back of her neck.
“—I’m ready to squeeze the trigger. I’ll count to five, Cole. If you don’t come out by the time I get to five…”
Rachel tried to speak. “No…” The strangled sound was lost in the crackle of the spartina grass and the rustle of the cane. Cole mustn’t come. He couldn’t save her. No one could save her. If Cole could get away…What if she whirled and ran…But the gun hurt her neck. There wouldn’t be time.
He shouted the words in a deep, harsh voice. “One…two…three…”
Annie drove with one hand, held her cell with the other. Only a few more blocks. It wasn’t far. The next turning…“I called Rachel’s cell phone and there wasn’t any answer.” Her voice quivered.
Max was reassuring. “Don’t panic. She may have forgotten to—”
“No. I told you. She called me just a few minutes before I got the message. She’d just gotten out of school. She always keeps her cell on after school. So I can get in touch with her. It’s a rule we have.” Tears burned Annie’s eyes. That was their rule, a rule in a safe and ordered world, a rule meant to keep Rachel safe. And she hadn’t answered!
“We’re coming a
s fast as we can, honey.” Billy’s siren wailed over Max’s words.
“Oh God. Maybe Billy should turn off the siren. What if Reed’s there? What if—”
“Steady,” Max urged. “We don’t know for sure that he’s the one.”
Annie knew. Ladyfingers. Pop, pop, pop. She leaned forward to glimpse the street sign, slowed. “Max, I’m here.” She swung the wheel hard right, churned up the dusty gray road, wheeled around a curve, noted the modest houses. No cars. This was a working-class neighborhood. People weren’t home in the daytime. The very last house, that’s what Pudge had told her.
“Annie, wait for us.” It was a direct order.
She loved him, but she had to keep on. “I’ve got to find Rachel.” She turned off the cell, eased to a crawl. Around this curve…
“Let her go and I’ll come out.” Cole’s echoing voice sounded far away, muffled.
The pressure of the gun against her neck eased.
“Okay, Cole. That’s sensible of you.” Relief buoyed Reed’s voice. “We’ll talk, work things out.”
Rachel knew this was a lie. What could be worked out? Mr. Reed had a gun and he’d threatened her. As long as they were alive, they could tell what he’d done.
“Cole, don’t. He’ll shoot you, too.” She shouted and tried to twist away.
Hard fingers caught her arm, pulled her back. The muzzle jabbed into her side.
Reed pulled breath deep into his lungs for another harsh shout. “She’s not going anywhere until you come out. It’s up to you, Cole, whether she lives or dies.”
Rachel felt dizzy. She’d never realized how precious the feel of the hot sun on her skin could be. She wanted to lift her face to the light. But death and darkness pressed against her.
“Four…”
A hinge squeaked. Part of the latticework at the back of the house swung out. Dusty, dirty, trailing spiderwebs, Cole edged out from beneath the house, eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun. He held up one hand to shade his face.
