Jimmy sighed. “Did you call just to talk about her?”
“No I did not,” Paige snapped. “When we were in the store, my dad came in and asked Lily Peyton where her brother-in-law was. That would be Tamara’s husband.”
“Sure. His name is Warren but I always had to call him Dr. Hunt. Dad says he’s a stuffed shirt.”
“My dad seemed like he really wanted to talk to Dr. Hunt. You live right across the street. Isn’t he home?”
“No. He’s been gone all morning.”
“How do you know?”
“The garage door is up. No car. And his morning paper is on the porch. He always gets it real early.” There was a moment of silence. “Hey, I just remembered something! When we couldn’t go to Ariel’s last night because my sister Ivy got sick and everyone was up and I couldn’t sneak out, I stayed awake and watched television. Ivy went to the emergency room.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Chest cold. She’ll live. Anyway, I was looking out the window and I saw Dr. Hunt leave in his car. It was before midnight.”
“When did he get back?”
“Mom and Dad brought Ivy home about one o’clock. I was watching Lethal Weapon 4 on HBO. Mom got mad. She thinks it’s too violent. She made me go to bed, but I looked at the Hunts’ house first. He hadn’t come back.”
Paige sat silent for a few seconds, thinking. Finally she said, “I think Dr. Hunt was gone all night. You have to tell my dad.”
“He wouldn’t believe me,” Jimmy said glumly.
“He might not believe you about that creature at Ariel’s house, but he’d believe you about this.”
“Gosh, Paige, I don’t know. My mom already gripes at me for spying. She calls me a little Peeping Tom. She’ll be mad.”
“You weren’t spying. You just noticed. For Pete’s sake, the guy lives right across the street.”
“She’s all upset over Ivy today and she’d blow up and call it spying and maybe ground me.”
“Jimmy?”
“Yeah?”
“Eddie Salvatore would do it.”
Silence. Then a voice full of determination. “You’re right. I can’t worry about getting grounded. I have a civic duty. I’ll call your dad right now.”
III
“Why aren’t you at work today, Mama?”
Alison sat at the kitchen table tearing her wheat toast into tiny pieces.
Viveca poured a cup of tea and sat down. Her honey-blond hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders and without makeup her skin was pale but unlined. “I’m taking a week off so I can arrange the funeral.”
Alison began stacking the pieces of toast. “I don’t like Lily.”
“Really?” Viveca asked casually. “I thought you did after she sold us that brooch.”
“It was Ariel’s brooch. It belonged to us anyway and she should have just given it to me. But that’s not why I don’t like her. She looks at me like I’m crazy.”
Viveca sipped her tea. “I’m sure that’s just your imagination.”
“Now you sound like you think I’m crazy,” Alison huffed.
“Of course I don’t. You’re being too sensitive. Now eat your breakfast.”
Alison threw her a mutinous look. “I hate wheat bread and I hate tea. Mrs. Krebbs, my keeper, knows that. Where is she?”
“Taking a few days for herself. Since I’m off this week, I thought we could spend some time together.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever you want. We could just relax and talk—”
“Warren had a girlfriend,” Alison burst out.
Viveca’s cup stopped halfway to her mouth. “What are you talking about?”
“He was having an affair. You know what an affair is.”
Viveca set down her cup. “How do you know he was having an affair?”
“I have my ways.”
“With whom?”
“I’m not going to tell you. You’ll know soon enough. And you’ll be surprised.” Her malicious smile faded. “I was. I thought he was better than that. I thought he cared about me.
Viveca suddenly wanted nothing else to eat or drink. Her stomach had immediately twisted into a knot. “Dear, you’ve been listening to gossip.”
“It is not gossip. I know.”
Viveca’s tongue touched her dry upper lip. “Do me a favor and don’t repeat this. It’s vicious.”
Alison shrugged. “All right. Whatever you say. Your wish is my command. I live to please you. But everyone will know soon.”
Alison pushed her plate away and glared out the window, twisting a lock of hair around an index finger.
Viveca made an effort to sound composed and offhand. “Dear, did you go out last night?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. I’m crazy. I’m not sure of anything.”
“Darling, you are not crazy. Don’t say such a thing. But you know it isn’t safe for you to be out at night. After all, Tamara Hunt was murdered.”
“So you think I might be murdered by the same person who killed her?”
“Yes.”
Alison stared at her mother. Then she burst into shrill laughter.
IV
“I need to talk to the sheriff.”
Ted Hysell idly sketched a twelve-point buck. At least it was supposed to be a buck. It looked more like a Great Dane with antlers. “Look, son—”
“Jimmy. My name is Jimmy Jenkins. I already told you that.”
Ted sighed. He’d have something to say to the new receptionist for putting this call through to him. She probably thought it was funny. She was a smart-alec and he didn’t like her. She wouldn’t have dared to show Meredith such a lack of respect.
“Okay, Jimmy. Sheriff Meredith is very busy. He only takes important calls, not calls from kids.”
He could feel Jimmy bristling on the other end of the phone. “Just because I’m a kid doesn’t mean I don’t have anything important to say.”
“I’m sure.”
“Quit making fun of me. Look, I’m friends with Paige Meredith.”
“Is this about Paige?”
“Is what about Paige?” Hysell looked up to see Meredith looming over his desk. “Who is it?”
“Some kid named Jimmy Jenkins. Says he has something important to say but he won’t tell me. Insists on talking to you.”
“Switch the call to my office,” Meredith said.
He’s going to bother with this kid, Hysell thought in annoyance. Maybe he thought the boy had information about Paige. Or maybe the kid was just using Paige’s name as an excuse to talk to the sheriff. Oh, well, he hadn’t put through the call. Meredith couldn’t get mad at him for wasting his time.
As soon as he hung up, the phone rang again. Great. His head hurt and he’d abandoned his lunch to take care of old Harvey Coombs, who this morning had sat out in his rowboat shouting that he had a bomb. Harvey got really ripped on bourbon and pulled this stunt at least three times every summer. He claimed the tourists got a big kick out of it. The Sheriff’s Department didn’t, even though former Sheriff Purdue had always let it slide. Not so Meredith, who had ordered Hysell to arrest Coombs. Harvey’s wife said a night in jail might do him some good and refused to bail him out until tomorrow, leaving the drunken old coot to sit weeping in a cell like a lost child.
Now it was three o’clock, Hysell’s head pounded, his stomach rumbled, and he felt half bad for Harvey even though the guy was a pain in the ass. What a terrific day so far.
The phone rang again and he picked up the receiver. After hearing his name, the woman caller nearly burst into tears. “Oh, Ted, I’m so glad it’s you. I don’t know what . . . This kind of thing has never happened before . . . Max doesn’t know yet . . .”
Hysell would recognize the tentative voice and unfinished sentences anywhere. “Mrs. Bishop, why don’t you take a couple of deep breaths and tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s Charlotte of course!” Sh
e sounded as if she thought Hysell was being dense. “She didn’t come home last night!”
Wow, Charlotte Bishop had a one-night stand, Ted thought. Alert the media. “Mrs. Bishop, when did you last see her?”
“About ten-thirty last night. At dinner she was wearing her gray slacks with that cute little silk tunic I gave her last Christmas. Then I looked out the window and saw her in the driveway. Saw her clear as day . . . all those lights, you know. She had on tight white pants and a filmy blouse unbuttoned far too low. I rapped sharply on the window. She ignored me. She got in that sports car of hers . . . Oh, something happened first. She was approached by a man.”
“Not someone you know?”
“No.”
“Someone she knew?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Charlotte has many friends. She’s always been so popular . . .”
Oh, sure, Hysell thought sourly. Port Ariel’s Miss Congeniality. “What did this guy look like?”
“Youngish. About your age. Dark blond hair a bit long for my taste. Dungarees. I don’t understand why people wear those things. Paul Fiori wore them. It always seemed to me that if he wanted to get movie parts he should look like a movie star. Rock Hudson didn’t wear dungarees. Of course, he was funny, if you know what I mean . . . Died a terrible death. Max said he got what he deserved, but I felt sorry for him, so handsome and all—”
“Mrs. Bishop,” Hysell said firmly to one of the few people in town who could out-talk him, “this guy had dark blond hair and wore jeans. Can you remember anything else about him?”
“No. Except that he was tall and slender like my Billy used to be. You remember Billy. Such a wonderful boy . . .”
“Did the guy last night act like he was threatening Charlotte?”
“Well, not exactly. But I could tell she didn’t want to talk to him. She kept shaking her head . . . She looked cross. Charlotte can be quite irritable sometimes. She gets that from her daddy. After she left, the man in dungarees went out to the street and got into a white car. I don’t know car models. It was ordinary, not sporty or luxurious . . . just, well, you know . . . ordinary.” Her voice rose. “Ted, I’m afraid he followed Charlotte and maybe hurt her!”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bishop. We’ll locate her. I promise.”
Muriel Bishop sounded teary. “Thank you, Ted. You’ve always been a sweet boy. Please call when you know something. I haven’t told Max yet,” she repeated. “He gets so upset because he’s helpless. But if he finds out and I didn’t tell him, he’ll be furious with me. I don’t know what I should do. Life is so confusing . . .”
She hung up.
Charlotte hadn’t been gone for even twenty-four hours. Officially there was nothing Hysell could do. Unofficially there was nothing he wanted to do. Charlotte was probably shacked up with someone. With Warren Hunt? Now that would be pushing it, even for Charlotte. The guy’s wife had just been murdered. He was under suspicion, although Hysell wasn’t sure Hunt quite realized the seriousness of his situation. He seemed to think he was far too classy to ever be considered capable of murder.
Meredith strode from his office. “Hysell, the Jenkins kid lives across the street from Warren Hunt. He says Hunt left around midnight last night and never came back.”
Hysell tensed. “I just got a call from Muriel Bishop, Charlotte’s mother. She says Charlotte left about ten-thirty and she hasn’t come home, either.”
“Well, well, what a coincidence.”
“Do you think they ran off together?”
Meredith shook his head. “They can’t be that stupid. No, something’s wrong. Did Mrs. Bishop have any idea where Charlotte went last night?”
“I don’t think so. She left in some sort of outfit Mrs. Bishop didn’t like. Something about a filmy blouse unbuttoned too low. And there was a guy outside the house. Tall, slim, dark blond hair, maybe early thirties. Mrs. Bishop said they seemed to be arguing. Then Charlotte drove off and the guy left in his own car.”
“What kind of car?”
“Don’t know. White. Ordinary, Mrs. Bishop said.”
“Call her back. Ask where Charlotte went at night for fun. Also ask if Charlotte has ever stayed out all night before. Don’t sound like you’re implying any misconduct on Charlotte’s part. That might make Mrs. Bishop clam up.”
“It sure would. I know how to handle it.”
“Make it quick. I have a feeling time is important.”
Half an hour later they were headed toward the marina. Muriel Bishop said sometimes her daughter spent the night aboard the yacht, but she was always home by noon. She couldn’t still be there, Muriel insisted. Besides, she’d called the yacht and there was no answer. Hysell had assured her they weren’t alarmed—only curious. “If you want to know the truth, I think Sheriff Meredith just wants an excuse to look at the Charlotte” he’d laughed. “She’s really something.”
“I suppose,” Muriel had answered unenthusiastically. “Max and Charlotte certainly think so. I haven’t been aboard many times . . .”
Meredith let out a low whistle as they neared the Charlotte. “Now that’s what I call a nice toy.”
Hysell cleared his throat and offered uncertainly, “Uh . . . people around here take boating pretty seriously, Sheriff.”
“So I shouldn’t refer to a boat as a toy?”
“Well, maybe not,” Hysell said, certain he’d offended Meredith.
Miraculously, the sheriff grinned. “Thanks for the tip. I don’t want to make enemies without even knowing what I’ve done. Or said.”
Was Mr. Hot Shot New York City listening to him? Hysell wondered. Hard to believe. But Meredith had seemed to treat him differently after they were at Hunt’s yesterday. Maybe there was hope yet.
“No sign of activity.” Meredith looked up at the yacht. “Let’s see what’s inside.”
As soon as they stepped on deck, a cloud of flies rose from a circle of dried blood at least two feet in diameter. A trail of black blood led down the steps to the saloon. Warren Hunt sat propped on a beige couch, his eyes wide and glazed above a gaping slash in his throat. His head lolled to one side and flies crawled all over his face, gorging. For an awful instant, Ted thought he might vomit. In the master stateroom, Charlotte Bishop lay in a tangle of blood-soaked satin sheets, her lovely head nearly severed from her naked body. Flies hovered everywhere, even around the words written on the wall in blood, OPEN TOMB.
Ted ran from the bedroom, through the saloon and up to fresh air before heaving his stomach contents over the side of the magnificent Charlotte.
10
I
TUESDAY NIGHT
Nick Meredith felt a hundred years old—shocked, disgusted, hopeless, emotionally and physically drained. He’d come to Port Ariel because he wanted to rear his daughter in a safe, wholesome environment. Safe? Someone had committed three homicides in forty-eight hours. Wholesome? Someone had nearly decapitated three people. What would Meagan think of this new life he’d created for Paige? Meagan would say nothing in life is certain except that nothing in life is certain. She would be understanding and philosophical. He was angry and resentful. Hadn’t Paige been through enough? Hadn’t he?
He had more work to do, but at six he felt an overpowering need to see his daughter, to hear her laugh, to feel her slender arms around his neck. At times like this only she could restore him. He also wanted to make absolutely certain she was safe. He had niggling doubts about Mrs. Collins’s diligence in the child-care department.
When he arrived home he was surprised to see a gold Cougar sitting in the driveway. He knew no one with a Cougar. Had something happened?
Nick nearly bolted in the front door and was greeted by the sound of laughter. In the living room Paige sat on the floor with a dark-haired woman. Natalie St. John. They were bent over Ripley, who lay on his back bouncing a toy mouse between his paws. Nick realized he’d been holding his breath when it came out as a loud whish.
“That certainly looks like a sick cat to me,” h
e said, grinning.
Paige jumped up and ran to him. “Hi, Daddy. Natalie says—”
“Dr. St. John,” Nick corrected.
“I asked her to call me Natalie.” He hadn’t noticed before that her voice was slightly husky. “It gives me the illusion of youth.”
“Anyway, Natalie says that Ripley does have mites. I told you he’d been scratching his ears.”
“What about that terrible limp I’ve never noticed?”
“Maybe just a muscle spasm,” Natalie said. “Nothing life-threatening.”
“And his weight?” Nick asked.
Natalie smiled. “Ripley could stand to lose three or four pounds.”
“He eats from nerves,” Paige explained.
“And what does Ripley have to be nervous about?” Nick asked, smiling.
“These murders. I heard there were two more.”
Nick’s smile faded. “How did you hear about them?”
“Somebody called Mrs. Collins and they talked about them for a long time. Two people got their throats cut on a big boat! One was Tamara Hunt’s husband. He was having an affair!”
Nick’s jaw tightened. He was furious that the child was privy to all this information. He looked at Natalie, who shook her head regretfully. Apparently she felt the same way. “Did you catch the murderer?” Paige asked anxiously.
“Not yet, but we will soon. I don’t want you to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” Paige said staunchly. Nick did not believe her. “Do you think this crazy person is killing special people or just anyone?” she asked.
“We don’t know that yet, but probably special people, particular people.” Nick said uncomfortably. “I don’t think you have to worry. They were all grownups.”
“Yeah, but he could decide to kill kids. Especially if they know something important.”
Nick looked at her closely. “Do you know something important?”
“What would I know?” Except maybe where the killer is hiding, Paige thought miserably, but she could not tell Daddy about the Saunders house. She would be in so much trouble she’d never be allowed outside again. She’d never get to see Jimmy again, either, and that would be too awful to bear. “I just like mysteries,” she ended lamely.
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