by Carolyn Hart
Forbes McCail, gallery owner: “I feel like an old miner who stumbles onto El Dorado. Toby Maguire’s going to be classified as one of the great American impressionists, right up there with William Merritt Chase and Childe Hassam. He won’t exhibit much of his work, only enough to keep going. A remarkable talent. There’s a haunting quality to his work, a sense of sadness and pain and yet a touch of the ineffable. His love for the Low Country shines out of his paintings.”
Jessica Tucker, chief nurse Broward’s Rock Rehabilitation Clinic: “Toby was a mess when they brought him in. A tourist didn’t see him on his cycle. And Toby’s one of those idiots who wouldn’t wear a helmet. He was in a coma for a couple of weeks. I’ll always think it was Ned Fisher who brought him out of it. Ned was here every minute he could, talking, coaxing, bullying. I saw Toby on his motorcycle the other day. I guess even an old rebel like Toby can learn a lesson. Had on a shiny helmet. I gave him a thumb’s-up. Toby’s always kind of morose, but I think he grinned at me.”
The day of the library board meeting, when Henny rallied her troops and vanquished Bud Hatch, Toby Maguire sat in the audience and glowered. That was before his encounter with the general at the festival practice. Was he frowning because he knew Ned’s job was in jeopardy? Toby Maguire wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Maybe Bud Hatch leaned on the wrong guy.
DAVID EUGENE OLDHAM: Twenty-nine. Born in Pensacola, Florida. Father Eugene Willard Oldham, career Coast Guard; mother Teresa Michaels Oldham, retail sales. BBA University of Florida. One younger sister, Judy. Judy injured in a gymnastics accident in elementary school. Parents spent every possible moment trying to help her walk again, had little time for David. Always vying for his parents’ attention. Straight-A student. Went to work for a national accounting firm as a bank auditor, a job requiring long periods of absence from home. Met Gail Jackson in 1994 at a Club Med resort, married her two months later. Settled on Broward’s Rock because of Gail’s teaching job.
Mother: “Oh, we haven’t talked to David in a while. We’re just back from visiting Judy and her family in Seattle. Our grandson Kevin is four now and we were so excited to see him. Visit David? Oh, we might. But David’s so busy, you know, with all his travels. Gail’s a nice little thing, but she never has much to say.”
Joe Colt, best friend in high school: “David’s a nice guy. Too much into ‘Star Trek,’ but I guess it took the place of having a family. I mean, sometimes it was like he was invisible. He spent a lot of time at my house.”
Frances Jorski, boss: “David works exceedingly hard. He’s always ahead of schedule and his work is impeccable. I see a very bright future for him. Weaknesses? Hmm, he has some difficulty relating to people. He’s great with numbers. We have some employee-interaction weekends scheduled. I hope he’ll do well there.”
A lonely kid. An isolated adult. How much did marriage mean to a man who rarely achieved rapport with others?
GAIL JACKSON OLDHAM: Twenty-seven. Born in Beaufort, South Carolina. BEd University of South Carolina. Father Curt Jackson, high school principal; mother Rebecca Simms Jackson, elementary school teacher. Middle child. Mediocre student. Enjoyed sports, especially tennis, though she didn’t make the high school team. Initial teaching job in Columbia. Accepted lower-paying job on Broward’s Rock because of the beach. Married David Oldham 1994.
Cookie Calloway, best friend in high school: “Oh, we were the nerds, the kids on the outside looking in. Kind of the story of Gail’s life. Her big sister Sandra was a National Merit Scholar, went to Yale, works on Wall Street. Her younger brother Tom is in Paris on a Fulbright. Kind of like being a wren in a cage full of macaws. And we were always looking for dates. But maybe Gail had the last laugh. Neither her brother nor sister are married. If that’s a big deal…”
Margaret Heaston, principal at Gail’s school: “Not an inspired teacher. A good deal more interested in the beach than in the kids. I’d put her on a B level. I’ve had worse.”
Mickey Smith, bartender at High Jazz, the largest nightclub on Broward’s Rock: “Lonely eyes. She’s got ’em. Lot of women who come here do. Used to come in with a couple of other teachers on Friday nights. The other two are single. She isn’t. But I’d say they were all looking.”
Gail didn’t want to lose her husband. She’d gotten in too deep with Bud Hatch, tried to break free of him. How far was she willing to go to try and save her marriage?
EMILY ANDERSON WENTWORTH: Seventy-four. Born Fort Benning, Columbus, Georgia. Father Colonel Cameron Field Anderson, Regular Army; mother Louise Crowell Anderson, Army wife. Lived various Army posts. Married Ensign (j.g.) Jonathan Wentworth 1943, Annapolis, Maryland. Two children: James Cameron (dec. 1967), Sharon Wentworth Gibson.
Marianne Porter, a longtime friend: “Such a devoted couple. We knew them years ago in the Philippines, then came together again when they ended up in Thousand Oaks. Jonathan worked long hours. But Emily never seemed to mind. Busy, busy, busy. It always made me tired to even think of her schedule. And sometimes I thought she loved golf more than Jonathan. But he’s always so sweet to her. And you have to admire them both. It’s hard to lose a child. I remember when the kids were little, we’d have so much fun, especially since Jimmy’s birthday was July 4. He always thought the fireworks were for him. When you look back, it all seems so insane, Vietnam, and those thousands and thousands of troops. And Emily was hurt by all the wars, her dad died on Omaha Beach, her brother in Korea. My husband came home from Vietnam, but he’s never forgotten. Never. Anyway, Emily’s a trooper. She’s one of those outgoing athletic women, good at everything from river rafting to mountain climbing. And she has a treasure in Jonathan. He waits on her hand and foot. It would never occur to Emily to get her own glass of water or wine or whatever. Now my Sam expects me to fetch and carry like a Roman slave. I remember one time…”
Rear Adm. (ret.) Bradley (Buzz) Price: “No woman ever served a man better in his career than Emily. Always there, always strong. Would’ve made a first-rate officer herself. Her dad taught the kids to camp and hunt and she could swim a river, climb a mountain. No stopping Emily.”
Forrest McKinney, golf pro: “Always in the Championship flight, shoots in the mid-seventies. Very competitive, a golfer who thinks her way around a course.”
Emily Wentworth had welcomed Annie and she was eager to learn what Annie knew of the shooting. But she claimed not to know about dissension on the library board. Was that to protect Jonathan? She’d instantly claimed that her husband was with her when Hatch was shot.
CAPT. (RET.) JONATHAN EDWARD WENTWORTH: Seventy-five. Born in Long Beach, California. Father Dr. Theodore Wentworth, general surgeon; mother Jeanne Baker Wentworth, homemaker. Senior Class president, quarterback football team. Graduated U.S. Naval Academy 1943; completed flight training and received his Naval Aviator “Wings of Gold” at Pensacola, Florida, 1943-44; combat pilot in a Hellcat Squadron with VADM Mitscher’s Task Force 38 within Admiral Halsey’s Third Fleet, taking part in the final phase of the Pacific War with the assault on Okinawa and later the battles of Formosa, Luzon, and Leyte Gulf, remained with the squadron 1944-47; Air Forces Pacific Staff Honolulu, Hawaii, 1948-50; pilot jet squadron flying F9F’s on board the USS Princeton 1951-52; naval aviation training squadron, Beeville, Texas, 1953; assistant navigator on board USS Roosevelt 1954-56; operations and executive officer East Coast, then air group commander’s staff, Naval Air Station Miramar 1957-59; attended Naval War College 1960; assumed command of a jet squadron Naval Air Station Miramar; operation officer, then executive officer on board USS Constellation 1962; staff of the Commander and Chief of Atlantic Fleet 1963-64; commanding officer of the USS Princeton 1965-66; Navy Bureau of Personnel in Washington, D.C., 1967-1973, retiring as a captain in 1973. Military decorations include Bronze Star, Silver Star, Distinguished Flying Cross. Served as a consultant with aircraft companies in southern California, living in Thousand Oaks, California, from 1974 to 1985. Married June 12, 1943, Annapolis, Maryland, to Emily Anderson, daughter
of Colonel Cameron and Louise Anderson. Two children: James Anderson, born Pensacola, Florida, July 4, 1944, died November 13, 1967; and Sharon, born October 19, 1949, Honolulu, Hawaii.
Cmdr. (ret.) Burton McRae: “I never served under a better officer. Always set an outstanding example for his men. He was personally courageous, absolutely honorable, totally in control.”
Mitchell Mackey, CEO Whitestar Aeronautics: “Jonathan Wentworth was the most level-headed man I’ve ever dealt with. He had an uncanny ability to spot possible problems before anyone else tumbled to them. I’d say he saved my company in excess of two million dollars through his suggestions.”
Julius Richards, next-door neighbor: “We couldn’t ask for better neighbors than the Wentworths. She’s a bundle of energy and Jonathan works hard for the community. We sometimes play bridge with them, though she takes her cards a bit too seriously for me. But a charming woman.”
Annie scrabbled in her purse for another pen. So Jonathan Wentworth was a straight arrow, from start to finish. Was that the kind of man to shoot a man he didn’t like? And she couldn’t even find a reason for that dislike. Okay, Sharon said the families weren’t acquainted. Maybe Hatch’s dossier would suggest a lead. She looked around the table, then called out, “Barb, where’s the stuff on Bud Hatch?”
Barb picked up a folder next to her computer. “Here it is. I was just adding some final stuff.” She brought the file to Annie, reached down, plucked up a piece of pizza.
BRIGADIER GENERAL (RET.) CHARLTON (BUD) HATCH: Sixty-three. Born in Syracuse, New York. Top senior scholastically. Graduated U.S. Military Academy 1955. Lieutenant, U.S. Army Infantry Center, then 75th Ranger Regiment, Airborne and Ranger training/qualification, Fort Benning, 1955-58; Captain, 1st Cavalry Division, battalion intelligence officer (S-2), Fort Hood, 1959-62; Captain, battalion operations officer (S-3), then company commander, Vietnam, 1963-64; Captain, U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, 1965-1966; Major, brigade intelligence officer (S-2), Vietnam, 1967-68; Major, instructor military history and tactics, West Point, 1969-73; Lieutenant Colonel, 25th Infantry Division, brigade executive officer, then battalion commander, Schofield Barracks, 1974-77; Colonel, U.S. Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, 1977-78; Colonel, U.S. Army Intelligence Center, Fort Huachuca, 1978-81; Colonel, U.S. Army Infantry Center, Fort Benning, 1982-85; Brigadier General, Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, Pentagon, 1986-88. Military decorations include Bronze Star and Silver Star. Trapshooting champion Fort Hood, Fort Benning. Retired 1988. He and his wife sailed a sloop from Long Beach, California, to Tahiti. Lived Tahiti 1989-92; San Diego, California, 1993-96; Broward’s Rock, South Carolina, 1997. Married Ruth Margolis, Fort Benning, Georgia, May 17, 1958. Three children: Charlton, Jr., born September 6, 1960, Fort Hood, Texas; Roger Margolis, born November 3, 1961, Fort Hood; and Lacey Elaine, born January 23, 1966, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Hatch’s wife and children all have alibis for the time of the murder. However, personal information is included.
Annie ignored the reports on the children, but she scanned the bio of Ruth Hatch, noting the personal information, especially from one source who had known her well for years.
MARGUERITE POWELL, LONGTIME FRIEND: “I was her maid of honor. She was crazy about Bud, absolutely adored him. She didn’t find out about his girlfriends until they were in their forties. The change in Ruth was shocking. She lost her sparkle, like a bright blouse dropped into bleach. But she stayed with him. She always said it was because of the kids but the truth was she still loved him and he wasn’t exactly a rat. He cared for Ruth. She was His Wife. The others, well, he was quite a man, you know, and that was part of the credo for him. Shoot him? Well, it would be about twenty years late, wouldn’t it?”
Screech. Snap. Miss Dora stared down at the floor in disgust.
Annie popped to her feet. If the old bat wanted fresh chalk, she could have it. No one could ever say the amenities weren’t observed at Death on Demand.
This piece was orange.
“Thank you, missy.” Miss Dora returned to her efforts.
The pink and orange offered an interesting contrast. Annie squinted. What was that X near the top of the chalkboard? “Miss Dora?” She pointed.
Miss Dora shot her a reptilian look, erased the X and drew a quite beautifully executed revolver.
Annie retreated to the table and retrieved the dossiers on Jonathan Wentworth.
The phone rang. Annie didn’t even bother to look up. But of course she listened to Barb’s end of the conversation. “…Mr. Darling is not here. May I have him return your call?…Oh, sure, Ben”—her voice relaxed—“I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets here.” She hung up and wrote a message. She looked over at Annie. “Ben Parotti. Says he needs to talk to Max. Something about a boat.”
A huge crack of thunder and the lights flickered, blinked off, came back on.
Barb stared at her computer like a shaman studying entrails. Her sigh of relief provoked Agatha into hissing and jumping down.
Annie peered toward the front windows, awash with rain. Where was Max? She checked her watch. Even though it was storm-dark outside, it was only ten past six. Surely he’d be here soon. She picked up the Hatch and Wentworth dossiers. Carefully, she listed the chronology of their careers. Okay, one up to Sharon Gibson. There was no overlap. Not only had they been in different branches of the service, Hatch the U.S. Army and Wentworth the U.S. Navy, they were twelve years apart in age and they’d never served at the same place at the same time. So much for a connection between the Hatch and Wentworth families. Different ages, different careers, and far different men. “She was His Wife.” “Such a devoted couple.”
Annie flipped to a fresh page. After all, everything in life came down to character, didn’t it? That’s what she needed to know. Who were these people? Not where they went to school or where they’d lived. She riffled through the dossiers, making notes as she went:
BUD HATCH: Great friend, vicious enemy. Never saw the other side to any question. Black or white.
RUTH HATCH: The family came first. Her house was immaculate, her interests predictable, her eyes sad.
SAMUEL KINNON: Bright, smart, energetic, but too quick to get fighting mad.
NED FISHER: Top student through school, picked to head Broward’s Rock Library from a final field of eight. Worked long hours, spent free time puttering around the home he shared with Toby Maguire.
TOBY MAGUIRE: Reclusive, a blue-ribbon artist of the Low Country, once said he’d come to Broward’s Rock to live and to die.
JONATHAN WENTWORTH: Honorable, a straight arrow. Outstanding as a leader, forceful but empathetic. Could always be counted on.
EMILY WENTWORTH: A perfect military wife. She had great charm, but there was a hardness to her glitter.
SHARON GIBSON: A woman who felt pressed upon by life, encroached, surrounded. Worked long hours to keep her shop going. A considerate employer and a willing volunteer for island charities.
DAVID OLDHAM: A hard worker, adept at his job. Gone from home for long periods. Fair at tennis. Liked boating. No close friends. A solitary man. Never formed any close friendships in high school or college.
Annie doodled on the last sheet, drawing a gazebo by Gail’s name. And that reminded her. There was one more name. But she didn’t need to see a dossier.
HENNY BRAWLEY: Devoted to her community. Quick-tempered. Loyal to a fault.
Annie underlined the last sentence and sighed.
Screech. Screech.
Annie watched Miss Dora at the blackboard, fascinated by the elaborate spidery writing.
SIGNIFICANT FACTS
Accomplished marksmen: Jonathan Wentworth, Emily Wentworth, Henrietta Brawley, Tobias Maguire, Edith Cummings, Samuel Kinnon.
No history of firearms use: Gail Oldham, Ned Fisher.
Annie was just about to point out to Miss Dora that she’d not included several of the suspects when the front door banged open. Max surged down the center a
isle. Everyone greeted him at once.
Miss Dora brushed chalk dust from her bodice. “Maxwell, the dossiers await you.”
Barb picked up her message pad. “Ben Parotti wants you to call him immediately. He says”—she glanced down at the pad—”that the boat’s still missing.”
Annie clutched her list of key points and her character sketches. “Max, where in the world have you been?” After all, sometimes she couldn’t help sounding like a wife.
“Clearing Samuel!” He threw off his raincoat, spattering the floor with water. They gathered around him as he triumphantly announced Johnny Joe Jenkins’s information from the state crime lab. “So,” he concluded, “the circuit solicitor will be an idiot if he arrests Samuel.”
“He is an idiot,” Annie murmured, but in the general aura of celebration no one heard.
Barb reached across the table for a piece of pizza, her good-humored face wreathed with an admiring smile. “Gee, that’s good news, Max. We’ve been on the phone and the net all day and I don’t think we’ve come up with anything to help Samuel. And you went out and got what we needed.”
Annie folded her arms across her chest. Good. Fine. Of course Barb admired her boss. That was first on the employee smart list. But all Max did was go to Samuel’s lawyer’s office and get a state lab report while she, Annie, had trudged around the island butting heads with people who damn sure didn’t want to talk to her. And she had solved the mystery of the rifled locker at the Whalebranch Club and the broken cabinet at the library and nobody’d even asked her what she’d done all day!
Max turned first to Barb. “What was that phone message?” He listened, then reached for the phone. “Ben, Max here. Oldham hasn’t brought that boat back?”