Cosgrove’s lips made guppy movements. The color of his face rivaled an island sunset.
Emma faced the cameras. “Our mayor is overcome by modesty. But that is what we would expect. Always, his first thought is to do what is right for the community. Moreover, he is eager for Chief Cameron to receive his certificate.” She nodded at Billy, whose face held an interesting mixture of amazement and incredulity. “Our chief is also a modest public servant.” She cleared her throat, unrolled the second parchment. “Whereas Chief Cameron cooperated in pretending that he had been relieved of his command and thereby made it possible for Sgt. Hyla Harrison to pursue her inquiries, which led to the capture of a dangerous criminal, this certificate of honor shall be presented by the mayor as he officially reinstates Chief Cameron to his position. Now, Mayor Cosgrove, repeat after me. I, Mayor Cosgrove, take great pleasure—”
Cosgrove’s eyes flickered toward the cameras and the excited audience. “I, Mayor Cosgrove, take great pleasure—”
“—in publicly reinstating Chief of Police Billy Cameron to his post—”
Cosgrove hesitated for a fraction until he saw Emma’s steely gaze. “—in publicly reinstating Chief of Police Billy Cameron to his post—”
Emma nodded in satisfaction. “—and personally presenting this glorious certificate of honor to Chief Cameron.” Ceremoniously she handed the certificate to the mayor.
The mayor took the parchment and thrust it at Billy.
“Thank you, Mayor Cosgrove and Chief Cameron.” Emma held up the third roll. “It is also a pleasure to recognize Jeremiah Young, who exhibited great personal courage when he summoned help and saved island resident Henny Brawley from a murderous assault. Moreover, Jeremiah endured false arrest, making it possible for the investigation to successfully capture Bradley Milton. The mayor’s office will”—she turned to the mayor and spoke emphatically—“submit papers requesting that Jeremiah be granted a pardon, erasing his previous conviction for a car theft. Jeremiah Young and Henny Brawley?”
Without a do-rag and freshly shaved, Jeremiah moved hesitantly forward, the TV cameras turning toward him. He walked slowly, a hand on Henny’s elbow as she used her cane to limp toward the steps. Henny took the scroll from Emma and tucked it in Jeremiah’s hand, then turned to the cameras. “Jeremiah saved my life. Jeremiah is not only brave and kind, he is dependable and a hard worker. His ambition is to open a repair store, and we know island residents will welcome him into the business community. Thank you.”
Emma nodded agreement. “Finally, it is a great honor for the League to recognize the bravery of Sgt. Hyla Harrison, who saved island resident Annie Darling from an attack by Bradley Milton. Sergeant Harrison was subsequently injured while subduing the suspect. Sergeant Harrison?”
Hyla Harrison approached reluctantly. As always, her uniform was immaculate, but her right arm was in a sling. Her thin face was pink with embarrassment. She stopped at the foot of the steps, looked up at Billy.
Emma handed the fourth scroll to Billy. “As police chief, it is appropriate that you shall present the certificate.” She smiled at Cosgrove. “Isn’t that right, Your Honor?”
The mayor managed a smile. “Absolutely. Proper channels and all that.”
Billy stepped toward Hyla. “Good work, Sergeant Harrison.”
Hyla took the parchment and fled into the crowd, her cheeks bright red.
Billy addressed the cameras. “Sergeant Harrison is an outstanding police officer who follows procedure. The evidence she found in an abandoned boat, a paint streak that links a bicycle to a homicide and several fibers, which match a jacket belonging to the accused Bradley Milton, came as a result of her exceedingly thorough investigation. Thank you, Sergeant.”
Emma was like a big cat with a cornered mouse as she beamed at Cosgrove. “Now, Your Honor, some pictures with you and our chief of police…”
16
It was after hours at Death on Demand. Max turned the cork in a magnum of champagne.
Emma sat at the center table in the coffee area. Tonight’s caftan was an improbable swirl of yellow, red, and purple. She accepted her flute with a gracious nod.
“Emma, you were wonderful.” Annie lifted a glass.
Max’s hand rose. “Magnificent.”
Emma’s square face was receptive.
Annie squashed the uncharitable thought that Emma was as hungry for applause as the mayor. But Emma had taken time from her writing—she was only a chapter from the end of the manuscript, a time of intense and harried effort when nothing short of a cataclysm could draw her from her computer—to win back Billy’s job, and that was as generous a move as she could ever make. “Emma, you’re the best.”
Emma nodded in agreement, her sapphire blue eyes approving.
Henny burbled with laughter. “I loved the way the mayor had to shake hands with Billy and pose for pictures between Billy and Hyla.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “The only downer is you can bet he’ll use those shots in his next campaign.”
“Oh well.” Annie was feeling generous. “What matters is Billy. And Jeremiah.” She raised the glass. “To Emma. To Billy. To Jeremiah. To Hyla—”
Voices joined in a chorus. “—to Henny. To Annie. To Max. To Handler.”
Flutes were upended.
The phone rang.
Annie checked caller ID. She answered, clicking on the speaker phone. “Hey, Hyla.”
“I did a little more checking.” The officer’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Annie raised an eyebrow. “Checking?”
Hyla cleared her throat. “You were convinced that Leslie Hathaway was guilty because you thought she went out on her bike that Tuesday night.”
“She didn’t take her car.” Annie felt defensive. She’d put herself and Hyla in grave danger because she had been sure of Leslie’s guilt. “And we were hunting for a killer who arrived without making any noise and that bike definitely had fresh mud on it.”
“Yes.” Hyla’s tone was just this side of patronizing, implying that a careful investigator would have kept digging and not jumped to hasty conclusions. “I called Leslie and explained that the bike was part of evidence in the murder case and would she please explain her use of it on Tuesday evening. She did not take the bike Tuesday evening. The explanation is simple.” Hyla’s brisk voice held a tiny hint of empathy. “Her boyfriend wasn’t returning her calls and she was afraid he was interested in someone else. She didn’t want to take her car in case he saw her. She said, ‘I’d rather die than have him think I was spying on him.’ Which, of course, she was. In any event, she didn’t take the bike. She took a canoe from the boat house and lurked in the water near his cabin. He came home alone. She watched for a while, but no one came so she went home.” A pause. “Poor girl. She thought he was guilty and he thought she was, but they’ve worked everything out. He’s taken the GED and saved his money and enrolled in Armstrong State. She said she was going to go to school, too. Possibly she’s grown up a bit.”
“Hyla, thank you for everything. If it hadn’t been for you—”
Hyla was gruff. “Just doing my job.” The call ended.
Henny sat with her walking boot elevated on a small stool. “Another toast. To Hyla.”
They lifted their glasses.
Laurel darted to the blue vase by the fireplace, selected a sunflower stalk, and held it out to Emma. Laurel’s husky voice was soft but clear. “Nothing speaks of loyalty and generosity better than a sunflower and”—she raised her glass—“a toast. To Emma, Queen of Crime and Restorer of Integrity to our island’s police department.”
“Hear, hear.” Henny drank from the flute. Despite the lines of pain and lack of color in her face, her vivid brown eyes sparkled. She looked up at the paintings above the fireplace, then slid her eyes toward Emma, whose square face was abruptly creased with hostility. “In order, The Jasmine Moon Murder by Laura Childs, Death and the Lit Chick by G. M. Malliet, The Mamo Murders by Juanita Sheridan, The Darli
ng Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree by Susan Wittig Albert, and The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet by Michael Pearce.”
Emma’s sapphire eyes narrowed. She glared at the third painting. “It scarcely seems sporting to include a book written in the nineteen fifties. That, of course, threw me off. Moreover, Juanita Sheridan’s books are important because Lily Wu was the first female Asian detective along with her Anglo friend Janice Cameron. A more representative scene featuring Lily and Janice could have been chosen. However”—she managed an almost gracious smile—“if dear Henny found thoughts of the paintings comforting while she was in the hospital, I am certainly pleased for her.”
Annie felt a surge of sheer delight, the fire flickering in the fireplace, Henny and Emma dueling for mystery superiority, lovely Laurel with her unquenchable spirit, and Max, a grown-up Joe Hardy and sexy as hell. Slightly giddy from the champagne, Annie looked at each in turn—wonderful, handsome Max; elegant, enchanting Laurel; brave, generous Henny; crusty, brilliant Emma—and raised her glass. “Forward Faithful Five, friends forever.”
Death Comes Silently Page 26
