April Fool Dead

by Carolyn Hart

  “No?” Emma sniffed. “What were those flyers but a very public attack? I think they certainly would qualify as taking a stand.”

  Henny threw up her hands. “I heard the message. I heard the way she sounded. I’m telling you that she was worried, that she was waiting to receive some kind of assurance about some matter. I’ll tell you further that Kay was never devious. She would never have stooped to putting out scurrilous flyers.”

  “Maybe she didn’t see the accusations as scurrilous.” Max’s voice was gentle. “If she believed everything in them to be true…”

  “Never.” Henny clapped her hands together. “Never.”

  “To the contrary”—Emma’s gravelly voice grated—“she fits my profile perfectly.”

  Pete Garrett raised a hand. “Mrs. Clyde, I’ll get to you if you’ll be patient.”

  Emma simply lifted her voice to its rock-crusher level. “When you study the flyers, it becomes clear to the meanest intelligence…”

  Annie whispered to Max, “That’s us. She, of course, is brilliant.”

  “…that no personal knowledge was required to mention the deaths of Ricky Morales or Laura Fleming. At first glance, this would seem to be true also concerning the hit-and-run death of Bob Tower. There is, however, a significant revelation in the second flyer.” Emma’s bright blue eyes swept from face to face. “The red Jeep.” She paused for emphasis. “There was no mention of a search for a red Jeep in any of the public accounts. I checked to be certain. However”—that broad, stubby hand chopped the air—“the second flyer cites a red Jeep belonging to the Littlefield family. That argues personal knowledge on the part of the person who created the flyers.”

  Annie hesitated, then knew she had to speak. “Diane Littlefield…”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “…drives a red Jeep. She’s a senior in high school.”

  “Hey.” Max’s voice was eager. “Bob was hit early in the morning. And he lived on the same road as the Littlefields. What if Diane was on her way to school and going too fast?”

  Garrett’s face was still several shades too red, but he was busily writing in a small notebook.

  “School! There it is. That explains everything.” Emma spoke with finality, moved to a nearby chair and picked up her huge white straw purse. “Or almost everything. It particularly explains the inside information necessary for the accusation that Frank Saulter framed Jud Hamilton. Colleen Hamilton was also a teacher.”

  “Oh my God, so it wasn’t a coincidence at all!” Annie exclaimed.

  Again every face turned toward her.

  “Frank.” She looked at the inquiring circle of faces. She didn’t want to recount her conversation with Frank and her frightened feeling that Frank was prepared to shoot Jud Hamilton if he came. But…“I talked to Frank. He said Jud Hamilton’s been paroled. I’ll bet people at school knew that.” There would be those who remembered Colleen Hamilton and kept up with her family. They would know that Hamilton was now free and they might well have heard whispers about Jud’s alibi at the time of Colleen’s death.

  Emma slung her bag over her shoulder. “Kay fits the bill in every way. She would be able to use a computer to draw up the information about the drownings. She could easily know that Diane Littlefield drives a red Jeep. She certainly knew Colleen and Jud Hamilton.” The writer’s broad face creased. “The only accusation we can’t link to the school is the adultery at Least Tern Lane. However”—she swung toward the doorway to the anteroom—“I’ll wager some mother drives a Range Rover.”

  Annie stared at Emma’s retreating back in awe. Damned if the wily writer hadn’t scored again. Yes, indeed a mother did. Lily Caldwell’s mother, if Rachel was correct.

  Emma paused in the doorway. “Obviously, the prime suspects in the murder of Kay”—her cool glance at Annie combined amusement and dismissal—“other than Annie, of course, are the driver of the car that killed Bob Tower or anyone wishing to protect that driver; the resident on Least Tern Lane…”

  Annie knew it wouldn’t take Garrett five minutes to track down Paul Marlow, the very handsome Paul Marlow.

  “…and his lover who drives a Range Rover.” She paused, then continued in a clipped voice, “Former police chief Frank Saulter, anyone present on the Leisure Moment the night Laura Fleming drowned, and”—her smile was bleak—“moi. I will state for the record that I did not shoot Kay. And now I must get back to Chapter Seventeen.” Her brisk steps clipped across the anteroom floor. The front door slammed.

  “The Range Rover.” Annie’s voice was reluctant. But Pete needed to know. “Rachel told me that Lily Caldwell’s mother drives a Range Rover.”

  Garrett wrote fast, his face intent.

  Barb moved about the room, offering mugs of coffee. Garrett declined.

  Henny gripped a mug in one hand and yanked her glasses from her pocket with the other. She used the folded glasses as a pointer. “Someday somebody’s going to shoot that odious woman. Of course she shoved her husband off that pretentious yacht. Marigold’s Pleasure. Why not Emma’s Kingdom? That’s how she sees the world. Arrogant, impossible, infuriating!”

  “But smart.” Annie cradled the mug in her hands, sniffed. Hmm, a mixture of vanilla and almonds. Barb made wonderful coffee. “Smart as hell.” She sipped from the mug, welcomed the old familiar coffee magic. “Thanks, Barb,” she called to the secretary.

  “You’re welcome.” Barb smiled as she carried the empty tray out of Max’s office.

  Max wandered to the indoor putting green, retrieved the putter. He took a swallow of coffee and put the mug on the edge of his desk. “Emma summed it up all right.” He looked at Garrett. “It shouldn’t be hard to find the murderer. You’ve got the names or good leads to everyone accused in the flyers. All you have to do is figure out which one doesn’t have an alibi.”

  Annie understood the relief in Max’s voice, but would it be that simple? She swept a hand through her hair. “How did the murderer know Kay did the flyers?”

  “But she didn’t!” Henny plunked her coffee mug on Max’s desk and the dark liquid spattered over the rim. “Nobody’s listening to me. I don’t care what Emma says. Sure, Kay could use a computer and she knew everybody at school. But let me tell you what happened at the library Monday night…”

  Henny concluded, “…it all fits together with the flyers—somebody climbing up to the second floor and getting into the library and using Edith’s computer. I can tell you that Kay never climbed up a trellis to the second floor of any building. She had rotator-cuff surgery last fall and there’s no way she could have done that.” Henny slipped her glasses on, moved to the bookcase behind the desk and grabbed the phone book. She held it out toward Garrett. “Call Edith. She’ll tell you.”

  Garrett tapped his pen on the notepad. “I’ll see about that in due time. But maybe Mrs. Nevis got in the library another way. Maybe she had a key.”

  Henny clapped her hands together. “Of course she had a key. She was the treasurer of the Friends. And since she had a key, she wouldn’t have needed to climb up the trellis.”

  Garrett’s smile was patronizing. “She used her key and opened the window on the second floor to make it look like someone came in that way.”

  The phone rang. Max leaned across his desk, picked up the receiver. “Confidential Commissions.” He listened, nodded. “Yes, she’s here. Just a moment.” He looked toward Henny. “Charlotte Kendall.”

  Henny hurried to the desk. “Charlotte. Yes, of course…”

  Garrett poked the small notebook and pen in a back pocket. He dropped his voice. “I’ll be in touch.” His glance at Annie still held a soupçon of suspicion. “You won’t be leaving the island.” It was a command, not a question.

  Max glowered. “Garrett, you’re out of line.”

  “Nobody gets special treatment from me.” The chief’s voice was gruff. “Not you. Not your wife. Not Frank Saulter. Nobody.” He gave glare for glare, then walked away.

  Annie p
atted Max’s arm. “It’s okay.”

  Henny still held the phone, her face sad. “I know…it’s a terrible thing…you know I want to do everything I can to help….”

  The front door slammed. Barb poked her head in Max’s office, her good-natured face outraged. “I heard all that. Well, I wouldn’t worry about Pete Garrett for long. He’s got big-time troubles with the town council. My cousin Alma takes notes for the council secretary. The secretary, Herman Whiteside, is Alma’s boss. He owns Whiteside Appliances. Alma got a great deal on a new Kitchen Aid. Anyway, Alma takes everything down and writes up the minutes, but Mr. Whiteside makes her take a lot of stuff out. Anyway, she told me the council members are all mad at Pete Garrett. Mr. Whiteside says there hasn’t been a cop downtown for weeks and he wants to know where everyone is. He says they’re probably lollygagging around the beach instead of patrolling like they used to. And Mrs. Abernathy’s mad because Pete wouldn’t let her put up posters for the Methodist Easter Sunrise Service at the police station. Pete told her it was town property and couldn’t be used for religious purposes. And Mr. Grady—he’s the retired pharmacist—wants the town to buy a speedboat and put up a twenty-four-hour patrol. He claims a guy at the Down and Out….” Annie recognized the name of a bar she’d never visited. It was not, Max said, a place for nice girls. Annie thought this sentiment so enchanting and otherworldly and endearing, she’d never mentioned the place again. “…told him there were drugs being run into Broward’s Rock on a regular basis.” Barb wrinkled her nose. “’Course, how much can you believe from a guy who always smells like bourbon? But that’s not in the minutes. My cousin told me Mr. Whiteside—he’s a teetotaler—holds his handkerchief to his nose when he has to sit next to Mr. Grady. And Billy Cameron gave Mrs. Jones a ticket for speeding and she wanted Pete to fire Billy and Pete refused. And Mayor Cosgrove wanted his no ’count nephew to have a summer job at the police station and Pete said he’d already promised the job to another boy and the mayor’s frosted.” Barb took a deep breath. “So Pete better solve this one quick. Anybody want a refill?” She lifted the coffeepot.

  Henny replaced the receiver, shook her head at Barb. “No, thanks. I’ve got to get back to Kay’s house. There’s so much to do and I told Charlotte I would take care of everything—people to call, the funeral to arrange. I’ll pick Charlotte up at the airport tomorrow. She’ll get in touch with Kay’s brother and sister. Annie, if you’ll give me a lift to Kay’s…”

  “I’ll drive you.” Max pulled his keys from his pocket.

  Annie shook her head. “Max, why don’t you take us to our house and I’ll get my car. It’s on the way to the Nevis house. And you know you were going to make some calls.” Annie had given him a list of Laurel’s friends, making no comment about the fact that the list was 90 percent male. Whatever, as Rachel might say.

  “Oh yeah. Those calls.” Worry darkened his eyes.

  Henny was starting for the door.

  Annie fell into step with Max. “Remember, just say you forgot what she had planned today and you thought she’d mentioned…whomever.”

  “Right. I’ll take care of it.” As they stepped out onto the boardwalk, he murmured, too low for Henny to hear, “Ma’s okay. I’m sure she is.”

  “Eighteen lives,” Annie whispered. She gave Max a thumbs-up.

  The police van and two cruisers were still parked in front of the Nevis house near Henny’s old Dodge and Kay Nevis’s Camry. Annie pulled up behind the Dodge. She looked toward the modest frame house. The red shutters had been recently painted. Pale pink begonias bloomed in a three-foot terra-cotta pot at the top of the steps. A V of pelicans skimmed near the porch. The tide was coming, flooding to the tips of the spartina grass. A motorboat spanked across the mouth of the inlet. “It looks so serene.” There was no hint from the outside of the careful investigation under way within.

  “Serene. Yes. Kay was a serene woman. Annie, she didn’t have anything to do with those flyers.” Henny looked toward the Camry. She cleared her throat. “Annie, I want to show you something.”

  Henny led the way to the Camry. They stopped beside it and Henny pointed at the uneven, ragged X. “Do you think the same person broke your car window?”

  Annie felt cold, even though the breeze off the inlet held the faintest hint of warmth. Spring was coming. “I don’t know. What do you think it means?”

  “Somebody was mad at her.” The breeze stirred Henny’s dark hair. “We have to find out who did this.”

  Was defacing a car a predictor of murder? Annie shivered despite the warmth of the sun. She hoped not. “I thought whoever did the fake flyers broke my window because I’d told everyone the flyers were phony. But this…” She stared at the ugly scrape. Actually, didn’t a scrawled X on Kay Nevis’s car suggest anger by one of the persons defamed in the fake flyers?

  Annie didn’t want to say so, but no matter how difficult it was for Henny to accept, it certainly looked as though Kay Nevis had used Annie’s contest as an ex cuse to go after people of whom she disapproved. The proof seemed ample: the flyers in her house, the connection with the school, now this jagged X. “She was pretty uncompromising, wasn’t she?”

  “She was”—Henny looked toward the inlet, lovely in the late-morning sunlight—“a moral woman. She expected people to meet their responsibilities.” Henny pressed her fingers briefly against her temple. “There’s so much I have to do. I must get started. But I can’t let Kay go to her grave with everyone believing she’s the one behind those flyers.” Henny reached out an imploring hand. “You’ve got to help me, Annie. Look, you’ve known me for a long time. I’m not sentimental or easily duped by people. Don’t you agree?”

  Annie stared into tired dark eyes. Henny was smart and quick and kind and funny and clever. She had lived a long and interesting life, which was another way of saying she’d known happiness and heartbreak, good times and bad. She was a world-class mystery reader with all the knowledge and expertise that that suggested. Henny knew human frailties, she knew wickedness, she knew the fruits of the seven deadly sins. Henny, in short, was nobody’s fool.

  “You are certain.” Annie made it a statement, not a question.

  Henny’s gaze never faltered. “I am certain. As certain as if it were you or Max or Laurel. Even if I found the file for those flyers in your computer, I’d know someone else put it there.”

  Annie understood that kind of certainty. She knew Henny well enough to know what she would or would not do. When Henny was found unconscious near a murdered club woman, Annie knew her friend was innocent, no matter how appearances might suggest otherwise.

  Appearances can deceive. In this instance, information contained in the flyers was accessible at the high school where Kay taught. The flyers had been found in her house. The flyers, if they were true, provided obvious motives for murder. Most damning of all, Kay had been murdered. That was the bedrock, inescapable fact: Kay Nevis had been shot to death in her house.

  Annie glanced at the neat, well-kept Nevis house. “Okay, Henny, let’s say for a moment that she didn’t do those flyers. Don’t you see what that means?”

  “It means someone wanted her to be blamed—” Henny stopped, shook her head. “Oh no, wait. No. The point was to make it look like Kay wrote the flyers so that when she was killed, it would be obvious someone mentioned in the flyers committed the murder. The point of the flyers wasn’t to bring people guilty of one crime or another to justice. The point of the flyers was to make it possible for someone to kill Kay and never be suspected. That means no one accused in the flyers had anything to do with her murder. Annie”—Henny’s eyes gleamed—“that has to be what happened! We’ve got to tell Pete.” Slowly, the excitement eased from her face. “He won’t believe me, will he?”

  “No.” Annie’s tone was troubled. “You’ve got to have more than that. Why would anyone kill Kay Nevis?”

  Henny’s thin face was drawn and weary. “I don’t know. That’s what’s crazy. I’ve thought and thoug
ht. She didn’t have any money. Besides, her daughter will inherit what there is and I spoke to her in California this morning. She couldn’t have been on the island last night. Anyway, Kay and her daughter were best friends. Kay was planning to go out to San Diego as soon as school was out and she was so excited and happy. All right, there’s no money motive, no family motive. Her personal life? She was a widow and not involved with anyone. I would have known.” Henny’s glance was quick and defiant. “I know, you’re thinking that if there were some reason to keep a relationship secret, I might not have known. But you can’t have it both ways. She most emphatically would not have engaged in a hidden affair. It’s simply impossible. The same qualities that convinced Emma that Kay wrote the flyers are the very qualities that make an adulterous affair unthinkable. I keep saying, not Kay, and I mean every word. Neighbors?” Henny looked across the smooth green water of the marsh. “There’s only one other house on this inlet, and I never heard Kay say anything negative about the Muirs, other than the fact that they’re off island so much. He’s a CPA and he travels all the time. You know Louise Muir, don’t you? She does the gardening books and she’s all over the South. Louise”—Henny’s tone was dry—“never met a plant she didn’t adore. Can’t say the same for people. Kay said if she’d spent a fraction of the time with her daughter and husband that she spent photographing azaleas, they might have been a happier family. But”—Henny shaded her eyes, studied the big, quiet pink house—“Kay was certainly on good terms with her neighbors. There was no quarrel there. In fact, I know Kay made a special effort to be friendly with Meredith, the daughter. Meredith’s a nice girl. I’ve subbed in a senior English class several times and she’s a good student, a pleasant person. So, not the neighbors.”