Death at the Door

by Carolyn Hart

  Annie looked regretful and he knew his vision of afternoon delight wasn’t to be. But she did look regretful. There was always tonight.

  Ben arrived with their plates and a big bowl of cheese grits. “Something extra from Miss Jolene. Hot out of the oven.”

  Max looked from the steaming grits to Annie’s fries, raised an eyebrow.

  She ignored him and spooned a generous heap of steaming grits next to her fries.

  Ben nodded approvingly, hunched a shoulder, tucked his chin down, and muttered like an undercover agent passing a contact, “KH looks soft, but he can kickbox like Charlie Chan,” and strolled away a man absorbed in his order pad.

  Annie said decisively, “I want to talk to Kevin. Ben’s side-of-his-mouth lowdown has to be fate pointing the way. Plus Lucy Ransome thought Kevin looked odd that night at David’s house. She said his face looked like a rusted bucket.”

  Max squeezed lemon over the flounder. “Wait until tomorrow. Let’s put everything on hold until Marian’s story comes out.”

  Annie looked thoughtful. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Ah. Maybe they would go home . . .

  “Once the story runs, nobody will be surprised that we are trying to help Tom. Everyone close to Jane will look like they don’t care what happened to her if they refuse to talk to us.”

  Max wished he shared Annie’s conviction. He doubted guests at David’s party would be eager to reveal much about themselves and Jane, but Marian’s story would get a killer’s attention. That was the prism they needed to apply in looking at those around Jane. Somebody was going to be scared, and fear can make people do stupid things. As well, the blockbuster story would give hope to Tom and Frankie and maybe prod the authorities to take another look at their case.

  But this afternoon . . .

  Annie licked from one finger a splash of Thousand Island dressing that had dripped from her sandwich. “We need to talk to Tom. We can tell him about Paul.”

  Max took a bite of the perfectly grilled flounder, the white flaky flesh delectable. He could think of other delectable . . . But Annie had a point. Tom Edmonds must feel like a guy twisting in the wind with no rider on horseback coming his way. “Sometimes, Mrs. Darling, your ace trumps. It’s a good idea to talk to Tom. I’d better stay on the island. There’s a cop who deserves a heads-up.”

  6

  Annie stood on the top deck of the Miss Jolene as the ferry thumped over whitecaps. She pulled Max’s folder from her Sak tote. The more she knew before she saw Tom, the better equipped she would be to ask the right questions. There was no assurance Tom would see her during the afternoon visiting hours, but she’d ask that he be told she was there on behalf of Frankie. That should entice him. Once he understood that she was on his side, he might be able to give information no one else possessed.

  Annie skimmed Max’s Run-up to Murder, the summary of what he had learned from Marian, and David Corley’s birthday party guest list. She had no difficulty identifying the presumably anonymous source of the tart comments in Murmurs from Little Green Men. She reached the final sheet: Killer Guests Plus the Man Who Wasn’t There. Max had obviously made a lot of calls. It was clever of him to use the ploy that he was assessing personalities of potential jurors. The dossiers included photos, some likely from the Gazette, some likely from Facebook pages. The names were in all caps.

  DAVID CORLEY—25. Son of the late Bolton and Sherrybeth Jessop Corley, brother of Jane Corley. Attended University of South Carolina, washed out—probably literally—his sophomore year. Likes to bartend at parties, claims he makes the saltiest margaritas east of Juárez. Athletic. Sails, rock climbs. Loves to take chances whether it’s a mountain, outsailing a storm, cards, or horses. David lived high, which meant his sister, Jane, provided him with a generous allowance.

  High school tennis coach Gil Bradley—“Had a knack for figuring out opponent’s weakness. Once he found it—lob, backhand, net game—he never let up. Pretty savvy about people. Lots of charm.”

  High school ex-girlfriend Judy Walter—“David puts a good face on everything. Everybody thinks he’s great. I liked him until I went to a football game. My brother told me to get over it, guys get mean on the field. David grabbed this guy’s face mask. He was a lot littler than David. He didn’t get up after the play. It could have been worse, I guess. The boy’s neck got hurt and he couldn’t play anymore. I asked David and he said I’d seen it wrong in the lights.” A pause. “I don’t think I did. That’s when I stopped dating him.”

  Fraternity brother Harris Carson—“Everybody thinks David’s cool. Guys on a jury would like him a lot. Any guy can figure he’s a hell-raiser, and man, they’d be right. You didn’t know fun till you hit the street on a Saturday night with David. Never met a woman he couldn’t charm or a dare he wouldn’t take.”

  Fraternity housemother Heather Hastings—“What a dear boy. Everyone liked David. It’s too bad he didn’t settle down and study. He always made everyone laugh.”

  Bolton Corley longtime friend R. T. Magruder—“David makes a good first impression but he was a disappointment to Bolton. Irresponsible. He’s still easy come, easy go, but maybe that’s because he was still treated like a kid by Jane. I thought leaving all the money to Jane wasn’t fair to her. Not that she seemed bothered. Jane was like the old man. She never minded playing the ball where it landed. I imagine all this trouble will grow him up quick.”

  Annie glanced at the photographs. David Corley was a very handsome man, tousled blond hair, broad forehead, wide-spaced blue eyes, straight nose, firm chin, full lips usually smiling. The photos without exception showed him having fun, a flushed and sweaty David pumped a losing opponent’s hand after a tennis match, David on his sailboat with the wind ruffling his thick hair and tugging at his sweater and white slacks, David at his wedding, face aglow with pride, David edging up a steep rock face but pausing to look down with a daredevil smile.

  According to Kate Murray, David had been grieved at his sister’s death. Had he resented his dependence upon her enough to kill?

  MADELEINE CORLEY—24. Native of Charleston. Mother Ellen a widow. Madeleine an excellent student. Scholarships. Worked her way through college. She met David at the university. They married a year after her graduation. She trained as a fashion designer and isn’t currently employed, though she has been working on a portfolio she hopes to offer to some fashion houses in Atlanta.

  High school counselor John Casey—“Gifted. As with many gifted people, volatile. Up or down. Responsible. Cheerful.” A pause. “Perhaps”—and the words seemed chosen carefully—“because of her life circumstances—her father died from cancer when she was in middle school and her mother didn’t cope well—she has a streak of anger. If things strike her wrong, she can lash out.”

  Sorority sister Betty Taylor—“Sweetest girl in the world. A little fearful, afraid things will go wrong but that’s ’cause she lost her dad so young. Sometimes she blows things out of proportion.”

  Church acquaintance Bridget Olson—“Madeleine’s always been so dependable. But she missed her turn to drive for Mobile Meals a couple of weeks ago, claimed her Yorkie was sick. I don’t like to tell tales out of school but I know the vet really well, my Mitzi has one bladder infection after another and we’ve tried all kinds of diets, and so I had Mitzi in a few days later and I just said something about too bad Madeleine’s dog had been so sick and she said I must have heard wrong because Millie hadn’t been in since her yearly checkup, fine little dog. I would have thought Madeleine told the truth about things. She’s not been herself since, oh, maybe it was late September. This haunted look. But she could just have told me she forgot or she wasn’t feeling up to it. There’s no reason to lie.”

  Addendum: Marian’s hairdresser told her Bridget claimed Madeleine wasn’t home the afternoon of the murder. No luck yet but trying to find out name of yard man who told Bridget he saw Madeleine tak
e a path. What path?

  Lies, a haunted look, and an undercurrent of anger . . . Annie remembered the too-shiny floor in the family room where Jane was struck down. Anger . . . She pulled out her cell, dialed a familiar number. Thankfully, the ring was clear and distinct. The electronic imps that summarily prevented connections on and between the island and mainland were on their good behavior.

  “Is Doc Burford there?”

  “Please hold.”

  Annie looked out at the green water. There was the faintest hint of a dark purple line on the horizon, the first glimpse of the mainland. The cool air sweeping against her smelled fresh and clean and faintly salty. Not far away sleek gray dolphins, shiny in the sunlight, arched up from the water, slid down again into the Sound.

  A deep voice barked, “Burford.”

  “Doc, Annie Darling. Did Jane Corley’s wounds seem excessive?”

  A snort. “Hard to bash someone to death without inflicting major damage. But I get your point. Coldly methodical or sheer rage.” A pause. “Maybe ten, twelve blows. More than enough. Could indicate lack of medical knowledge. Cerebellum crushed. That would have been sufficient. Either making damn sure or mad as hell. Maybe both. Massive blood loss. Told Billy to look for spots of blood on perp’s clothing. Thought they tossed Edmonds in jail.”

  “He’s innocent, Doc.” A crackle, a hiss, the connection was lost. Annie clicked off the cell, dropped it into her purse.

  Blood on clothing . . . She turned to the next sheet. The contrast between bloodied clothing and Madeleine Corley’s elegant attire in a collage of photos was mind-bending. Madeleine was a beautiful woman, soft silky hair dark as midnight, eyes of a particularly striking violet hue, and fine features, a high forehead, straight nose, full lips touched with a faint hue of coral, rounded chin, magnolia creamy complexion. She was striking in an ivory gown at a charity event, beguiling in a pale pink Oxford shirt and cream slacks and boat shoes on the deck of a sloop, regal in a summery white dress at a garden party.

  Annie shook her head. To picture Madeleine wielding a hammer—bringing it down with force several times—and watching blood spatter was beyond Annie’s imagination. She shook her head again, turned to the next sheet.

  SHERRY GILLETTE—27. Island native. Father Arnold Booker. Mother Annette Frasier Booker. Mom left the island when Sherry and her brother Louis were little kids, never heard from again. Apparently a divorce. Arnold m. Genevieve Hastings, a local Realtor and close friend of Sherrybeth Corley, Jane’s mother. Sherry and Louis were always included in Corley family gatherings, even after her mother’s death. Jane was a little older and dominated the younger kids. But she continued to give them a helping hand after her father’s death. Louis a top student at Washington and Lee, now working as a stockbroker in Chicago. Sherry never held jobs long. Fast food. Manicurist. Recently let go from Scentology Shop at 413 N. Main. Sells perfumes, candles, potpourri. That’s about the time she showed up at the Corley house.

  Next-door neighbor to Booker family Sueann McKay—“As a witness, I don’t know. Sherry has kind of a silly way of acting. Quick enthusiasms, never steady about things. Of course it’s hard on a teenager when she’s a little too heavy and frankly not very pretty to boot. Or smart. She chased after Roger Gillette from the time they were in junior high. He’s one of those diffident, won’t-look-you-in-the-eye guys. Big as the side of a house, but no bluster. Still, he can get riled up. Nuts about his Labs. I heard from a coworker that he went on a school trip and when he got home one of the dogs had a thorn in his paw and almost died from an infection. He got so mad he trashed Sherry’s iPad, said she was so busy in chat rooms that she didn’t take care of the dogs.”

  Hardee’s manager in Bluffton Bill Tway—“I had to let her go. I wouldn’t recommend her to anyone for anything. She didn’t show up a couple of days in a row then threw a big sobbing fit when I told her not to come back, claimed her husband had kept her locked up because he didn’t want her spending so much money on gas. Sounded like baloney to me.”

  High school history teacher LaRue Willis—“I’ve only met her a couple of times. Poor Roger. Bless his heart. I heard she’d moved in with the Corleys. I know Roger’s looked like hell for a while.”

  Best friend in high school Candy Hewlitt—“I don’t know how Sherry would come across to a jury. She doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence. She always felt overshadowed by Louis. He was handsome. He was popular. He made straight As. She tried to compensate by making things more exciting than they were. A rough trip on the ferry and she acted like it was the Titanic. And sometimes the hungrier you are for people to like you, the more they try to avoid you. Deep down all she wanted was for somebody to love her.”

  Scentology owner Jessamine Jackson—“If Sherry took the deposit to the bank, she’d come back with a tall tale about these rough-looking men and she thought one of them followed her into the bank and she just couldn’t get to the teller quick enough. Or a delivery came to the back door and she touched the knob and got such a shock and by the time she found something to wrap around the knob the truck was pulling out of the alley. Lordy, she should be writing soap operas but even daytime TV figured out nobody believes that stuff anymore. I fired her after three weeks.”

  Annie studied the photos. A wedding picture and Roger with curly black hair and a big wide face, a younger Sherry looking almost demure. Later photos at a school picnic revealed Roger with an unhappy look and a paunch, Sherry thirty pounds heavier. If Sherry got a better haircut and improved her makeup and lost that extra weight and straightened up her shoulders, she might be attractive. Dark-haired, she was fairly tall with large green eyes and a nice enough nose and chin. But her expression was self-pitying, dissatisfied. Annie stared into wide green eyes that looked vulnerable and lonely . . . all she really wanted . . .

  KEVIN HUBBARD—44. Island native. BBA in finance Savannah State. Married for two years to Irene Dooley Roberts. No children. Held several jobs on the island, banking, realty, marketing. Employed for five years by Corley Enterprises as leasing manager of marina shops and offices in the marina complex. Active in civic clubs, Chamber of Commerce, Friends of the Library.

  Bank president Fred Marley—“Banking takes an instinct, you know. When to make a loan, when not. Kevin’s good at accounting, knows how to do a spreadsheet, but not right for banking. I suggested he find something that suited him better. He puts up a good front. You’d think he was on top of things. Lord knows he means well. He tries to please. On the witness stand? He’d probably do fine. He’ll come across as a good old boy.”

  Kiwanis president and Estes Jewelry owner Ralph Estes—“Kevin’s a great guy. He flips pancakes like nobody’s business. He hasn’t been as active since he got married but hey, he’s got himself a babe. He used to be married to a teacher. They got a divorce and she moved to Birmingham. He’d been single for a couple of years when Irene blew into town. I hired her as a clerk. She knew her jewelry. She was decorative behind the counter, too. A Dolly Parton blonde. My wife took a dim view. But like I told her, a woman can’t be blamed for looking her best. Edith didn’t crack a smile. Irene only worked for me for about a year. She was looking for Mr. Right. As soon as she married Kevin, she took to a life of leisure. I’d say the upkeep there is pretty expensive. Kevin would do fine with a jury, especially if it’s got a lot of ladies on it.”

  Johnstone Realty Jim Johnstone—“Nicest guy in the world. But a bust at selling real estate. Course the downturn hit us hard. Takes some whiz to sell oceanfront lots now. Funny thing, he’s got a lot of bullshit, but he just wasn’t cut out for real estate.”

  Friends of the Library president Rachel Morris—“Kevin was a big help a couple of years ago when we were trying to apply for some grants. He has a real eye for detail. He hasn’t been active for a while. I think Irene likes a little glitzier social life. I saw them at the hospital ball in April and her dress was a knockout, crimson lace with a scalloped h
em. Someone told me it was a Michael Kors evening gown. They were sitting with Jane Corley and her husband. Kevin’s lucky he landed that job managing the Corley properties. He always looks pretty prosperous, too. I don’t know how that would play with a jury.”

  Max had printed a montage of photos for Kevin and Irene. Annie understood the Kiwanis club president’s appreciation of Irene. Perhaps someone had once told her she resembled Hollywood’s icon of sex and beauty. There was a definite resemblance to Marilyn Monroe, shining blond hair, an inviting gaze, and full lips parted in a seductive smile. Annie glanced with interest at Kevin Hubbard, who had persuaded this flamboyant beauty—as exotic on the island as a scarlet macaw—to marry him. Slickly handsome, his dark hair was a little thin but he had deep-set brown eyes, a narrow nose, and a chiseled chin.

  IRENE DOOLEY ROBERTS HUBBARD—36. Native Saint Louis. Dropped out of University of Missouri. First marriage to a drummer in a rock band ended in divorce. Worked as a clerk in several upscale women’s boutiques, on weekends sold jewelry at flea markets. Came to the island with a friend on holiday, saw job listing in the Gazette for Estes Jewelry. Married Kevin Hubbard a year after arriving. Turned out to be a good golfer and soon was playing with Jane Corley, whom she met through Kevin.