“Yes.” As far as Annie was concerned, Henny was family and no one could prove otherwise. After all, they both had Texas roots. “I’m Annie Darling. Dr. Burford will vouch for me. Can I see her?”
At the name of the hospital director, the hospitalist became genial. “She’s worried about somebody named Jeremiah. You can go in, but try to keep her calm. She needs to sleep.”
Annie stepped inside the room.
A young, dark-haired nurse was checking monitors. She gave a satisfied nod, her long face calm. She exuded competence. “Everything’s fine. There’s the call button”—she pointed—“if she needs anything.”
Annie stood beside the bed. Henny lay with her silver-streaked dark hair loose on the pillow. A small bandage covered one ear. Her face was pale, but she breathed evenly, quietly. She looked small beneath the white coverlet. Suddenly, she shivered. “Cold. So cold.”
Annie pulled up a blanket from the foot of the bed, tucked it around Henny, careful not to disarrange the IV in her left hand.
Henny’s eyes flickered open. She looked fuzzily at Annie, then her dark eyes focused. “Jeremiah?”
Swiftly, Annie told her. “He’s safely home.”
Henny’s dark eyes were somber. “Jeremiah’s safe, but Maggie’s dead. Do you know what happened?”
Annie spoke quietly. “Hyla found her dead in her living room. She’d been shot several times.”
Henny looked stricken. “I should have called Billy and told him. She must have contacted the murderer.”
Annie was firm. “You warned her. She made a bad choice. Billy will find out what happened. And now he knows Jeremiah is innocent.”
Henny gingerly touched the bandage over her ear. “I told Billy how Jeremiah shouted. He yelled right after the shots, said he was coming, but I knew he had no way to get to shore. I ran toward the trees and there were more shots. I reached the woods but I was crashing through underbrush and I knew the shooter would find me. Then I fell and couldn’t get up.” She took a deep breath, her dark eyes wide with remembered terror. “I laid still. I was afraid to call out. I kept thinking in a moment I’d be shot. Jeremiah was shouting and shouting.” She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was less distinct. “By the time I caught my breath, I realized no one was in the woods with me. Then I heard sirens. There was a huge commotion, sirens, men shouting. There was so much noise I couldn’t attract anyone’s attention. Finally there were flashlights and I knew there was a search. I called out when some lights came close.” A faint grimace of pain. “My ankle hurts.” She sounded drowsy.
Annie straightened Henny’s cover. “Try to relax and sleep.” The pain pills were likely taking effect. “Everything will be better tomorrow.”
Henny’s eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes closed.
Annie stood by the bed for a moment, then walked to the window. The room was on the second floor and would be accessible only by a ladder. Satisfied, Annie turned and walked softly across the room. She opened the door. As she stepped into the hallway, she heard a murmur of voices.
Pamela Potts held out a sheet of paper to Billy Cameron. Pamela always came when people were in need, blond hair perfectly coiffed in an old-fashioned pageboy, blue eyes magnified by horn-rimmed glasses, neatly but unfashionably attired. Her earnest face kind and encouraging, she brought food for the sick, comfort to the grieving, encouragement for the fearful. Pamela was serious, intense, dependable, bewildered by repartee, but willing to join in merriment even if she didn’t have a clue. Annie counted her as a cherished friend. Pamela had quickly joined Henny, Emma, and Laurel in supporting Annie and Max during those dreadful August days when Max was in peril.
“…authorized volunteers are listed for two-hour periods. Each team is composed by members who know each other. Moreover, I have a duplicate sheet for the officer in the hall and the officer will require identification before permitting ingress.”
Billy stood with his arms folded. The sharp lights of the hallway emphasized glints of silver in his thick blond hair, dark shadows beneath his eyes, and deep lines of fatigue at the corners of his mouth. “Excellent organization, Pamela.” There might have been a tiny hint of amusement in blue eyes, but there was respect as well.
“Thank you.” Pamela handed one sheet to Billy and a second to Officer Powell. “I will be joined by Rosemarie Woody. We will be on duty until two A.M.” Pamela reached into the deep pocket of a baggy wool sweater. “Here is my driver’s license.”
Officer Powell looked a little surprised since Pamela obviously was known to Chief Cameron. She glanced at him.
He gave a slight nod.
Officer Powell, her face carefully blank, duly checked the license, returned it to Pamela.
Only then did Pamela push through the door and enter Henny’s room.
Billy’s broad mouth curved in a smile as the door closed behind Pamela.
Annie suspected it was the first time he’d smiled that day.
When he turned to Annie, the moment’s respite was over. His face was somber, his gaze sharp. He gestured toward the end of the hall. “I need to talk to you.” For a big man, well over six feet and two hundred pounds plus, Billy moved fast.
Annie hurried to keep up.
Steps sounded behind them.
Annie looked over her shoulder, pointed at Billy’s receding back.
Max nodded and walked swiftly to catch up. He came up beside her and looked down, his face creased in a worried frown. “Is Henny okay?”
“She’s resting. Billy came to make sure she was safe.”
Billy stood in the archway to a family waiting area.
As they stepped into the alcove, he reached for his cell phone, checked a text message, then turned to them.
Max drew several folded sheets from his jacket. “We rounded up information about Everett Hathaway.”
Billy reached out, took the sheets. “Henny’s copy was lying on the front seat of her car.” He gestured toward faux leather chairs. As they sat, he dropped onto a sofa opposite them. His voice was heavy. “I know what happened. You three stirred up a murderer.”
The words hung in the quiet alcove.
Annie lifted her chin. “We were trying to save Jeremiah.”
Billy’s heavy face wasn’t hostile. “Got that. I’m not blaming you or Max or Henny. In fact, everything could have been handled and two murders solved except”—and now there was cool judgment in his voice—“for one woman’s fatal mistake. Maggie Knight may have been greedy. She definitely was foolish. Henny thought Maggie knew who took the note. She warned her. Maggie should have listened. Instead she must have contacted the murderer. There’s nothing on her cell that’s helpful, but everybody knows cell phone records are kept. That’s another indication she intended to fly under the radar. Maybe she went to the Gas ’N’ Go and used a pay phone. Maybe she dropped by the killer’s house. Maybe she left a note where the murderer would be sure to find it. We can’t prove she contacted anyone. But that’s what must have happened. The attack on Henny proves that Maggie’s murder is connected to the message from Gretchen.”
“Maggie knew what happened to Gretchen.” Annie wasn’t convinced. “Why would she take the terrible risk of meeting with the murderer?”
“Oh”—he sounded weary—“she thought she was clever. All it took was a quick phone call, something like, ‘I saw you take the message from the hallway.’ She didn’t have to be more explicit. Maybe she said, ‘Henny Brawley’s asking a lot of questions. If you don’t want me to talk to her, tell her more, I’ll be quiet. For a price.’ She may have asked for a small payment, maybe a thousand dollars and asked that it be brought over at eight or nine o’clock. The murderer would have known there would be future demands.”
Max folded his arms. “Why did she think she could deal with a murderer who answered one threat with an axe?”
Billy rubbed knuckles against a bristly cheek. “I suspect she used Henny for insurance, told the murderer that if anything happene
d to her, Henny Brawley would receive information about who took the message. Oh, yeah, she must have thought she had her bases covered. Instead”—his voice was grim—“she signed two death warrants, hers and Henny’s. She was found in her living room shot approximately five times, blood everywhere. The place was ransacked. Her purse was gone. From the color and consistency of the bloodstains, the time of death is estimated at about nine o’clock. We’ll know more after the autopsy. Henny arrived home a few minutes after ten. If she’d been home around nine thirty, I imagine her doorbell would have rung and she would have been gunned down without warning. Instead, the murderer had time to break in and make a search. The place is a mess. Of course, the search didn’t yield anything. By this time the murderer’s in a fury. The killer waited outside to ambush Henny and probably planned to search her car and take her purse as well. For the first time, the breaks went against the killer. The first shot missed and Jeremiah started yelling. Henny reacted fast and disappeared into the darkness and Jeremiah kept on yelling. I got the buzz on the nine-one-one. Any breaking crime is immediately routed to me in a dual call. I flipped on the speaker phone and the yells damn near blew my ears off.”
“Jeremiah thought fast.” Max was admiring. “The murderer must have thought the cavalry had arrived.”
“From out of nowhere.” Annie imagined the night silence broken by the crack of a gun. Glass splintered and a man’s shouts came out of nowhere. “There was nothing but Henny’s cabin, no neighbors, nothing to worry about, and all of sudden a guy’s yelling like crazy.”
For an instant, satisfaction gleamed in Billy’s eyes. “I like thinking about that instant and how the killer felt gut-whacked. All hell breaking loose and nothing to do but get out. I imagine”—his eyes narrowed—“that it’s been a long night. Somewhere on the island, a killer’s holding a reloaded gun, waiting.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “Waiting?”
Billy’s face was grim. “Waiting for the police to come. The murderer doesn’t know what happened to Henny or whether she has the information from Maggie. The killer has to worry that we’ve talked to Henny. I set the guard here just in case, but we’ll get word out that she’d been interviewed and has no idea of the identity of her assailant. Right now, the killer’s unsure. But”—he sounded regretful—“with every minute that passes, the murderer’s breathing easier. If Henny knew anything, we’d have been there immediately. By morning, the murderer’s going to decide there’s no danger, either Maggie was bluffing or Henny never received the message.”
Annie gestured down the hall. “But you’re keeping an officer at Henny’s door for now?”
“For at least twenty-four hours, though I think the danger’s past now. You and the volunteers can keep her company just to be on the safe side.” He pushed up from the sofa, gave them a stern look. “Leave the rest to me.”
11
Dorothy L jumped over Annie, jumped back.
Annie drew the cover over her head, mumbled, “Get your cat.”
Dorothy L patted the sheet near Annie’s cheek.
“Go away.” The order was a triumph of hope over experience. Cats never did as they were told. It must be rule number one in the cat manual. Drowsily, Annie formulated the top ten rules:
Ignore commands. To acquiesce would encourage foolish independence among staff, i.e., two-legged creatures.
Pat a cheek with claws sheathed unless provoked.
Claws permitted to forestall removal from chosen site, such as lap, kitchen counter, computer keyboard, top of gerbil cage, sweater, coat, jacket, pillow, mantel with antique clock.
If bored, stare piercingly over staff’s shoulder, prompting a frenzied check of locks on windows and doors. Always amusing.
If hungry, nip gently at an ankle, not piercing the skin, move purposefully toward food bowl.
To show fondness, bring in a dead mouse or trapped bird through cat door. Staff will obligingly react with emotional intensity.
When staff is deep in slumber, drape over head on pillow or undulate beneath covers and settle behind bent knees. Warm bodies are intended for your comfort.
Take no guff from dogs. Bite the dog’s butt if instructions unheeded.
Pens, pencils, lipsticks, earrings, any small object can be utilized in kill-the-mouse game.
Indicate friendliness with an erect tail. Whipping tail reserved for high dungeon and should duly alert staff to the inadvisability of proceeding on unacceptable course.
This time Dorothy L’s touch was closer to a swat than a pat, and there was the tiniest hint of claws. Graceful as a ballerina, Dorothy L again jumped back and forth over Annie’s recumbent form.
Annie pushed the covers away, rolled over on an elbow, reluctantly opened one eye. A distant clang indicated Max busy downstairs in the kitchen. She stared into china blue eyes. “Why aren’t you down there with your bosom buddy?”
Dorothy L’s tail switched. Not a good sign.
“Okay, I’m up.” Annie shivered, slipped into her slippers, and reached for a Chinese red silk robe emblazoned with a dragon, a gift from Laurel one Christmas. Max had muttered, perhaps not too tactfully, that he was sure his mother had a truly positive view of the Dragon Lady and there probably wasn’t a Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm robe. Annie traced the dragon’s flickering tongue with a finger as she gave her hair a quick comb. Actually, she was rather flattered by Laurel’s choice. She’d always been convinced she could be a sultry seductress given the right circumstances.
Dorothy L pattered down the stairs ahead of her, tail cheerfully upright in approval that recalcitrant staff was finally getting a move on. In the kitchen, sunlight spread like gold through the broad windows, yesterday’s clouds and mist a memory.
Annie looked toward Dorothy L’s eating bowls. “You forgot her dry food, though why she had to get me up, I don’t know. After all, you’re down here.”
Max looked harried, a smear of mustard on one hand. “New recipe. Potato and bacon pancakes. Need to get these eggs poached. And it’s time to add the butter to the hollandaise sauce.”
Annie came up behind him, slipped her arms around him for a brief hug and a kiss on the back of his neck, but she knew when a man had his mind on other things, and settled on a stool at the kitchen island, after, of course, filling Dorothy L’s blue pottery bowl with chicken-flavored nuggets.
She poured a mug of coffee, wrinkled her nose in appreciation at the chicory flavor, soaked up sun, and rejoiced. Billy Cameron was in charge. She and Max and Henny could leave the investigation to him. They had done good work. They had proved Everett Hathaway’s death was no accident. They had saved Jeremiah Young from mistaken prosecution, which might well have resulted not only in his wrongful conviction but in his death. Maggie Knight’s death resulted from her own actions. Thankfully, Henny had survived the danger in which Maggie had placed her.
Annie drank a blissful sip. There had been no phone calls this morning, so all must be well with Henny or they would have been informed. She and Max were once again in their sunny world where he could concentrate on…
Annie sipped the hot, strong coffee. Her lips curved in a smile. She had a wide stripe of honesty in her soul that prohibited her from envisioning Max concentrating on work. Okay, not everyone was called to labor unceasingly. Max worked when necessary, but he fervently believed in the pursuit of happiness, an elastic concept that embraced her (literally) and golf and good food and hospitality. In any event, Max could play golf today and she could putter happily around Death on Demand, where murder remained on the shelves and the books celebrated good hearts that believed in a just world. She’d unpack the latest by Lisa Lutz, Dana Stabenow, Hannah Dennison, Kate Carlisle, Ed Gorman, and Steven F. Havill.
Hurried steps sounded on the back verandah, a brisk knock, and the door swung in. Marian Kenyon, wiry black curls tangled, gamin face drooping with fatigue, peered at them. “Knew you two would be up with the earthworms or whoever crawls out at this hideous hour of the morning.” Her
nose wrinkled. “Something smells awfully good. Of course some of us worked until the wee hours and took a snooze on the ratty sofa in the Gazette break room. Yeah. Break room. Break your heart, break your back, break your—Don’t want to be indelicate.” She drooped against the door frame in an effort to appear pitiful. She did have a woebegone appearance, still wearing last night’s baggy flannel shirt and jeans. At some point she’d traded house slippers for worn leather loafers.
Max reached for another plate. “Breakfast is ready. Take a seat, Marian.”
Annie and Marian settled at the white wooden table and Max brought their plates.
Marian ate a scoop of bacon-potato pancake and hollandaise-topped poached egg. She gave a sigh of contentment. “I was looking for a magic potion and this is the next best thing. Now”—she continued to eat, but her bright, dark eyes looked at them in turn—“I’ll quid if you guys will quo pro.”
Death Comes Silently Page 18
