Death at the Door

by Carolyn Hart

  Annie looked toward her worktable. Papers were strewn from one end to the other. Agatha was stretched across a mound in the middle. She imagined Max’s desk and Billy’s were also covered with papers and files about the murders. All of them had the same information but nothing pointed anywhere—except at Frankie and Madeleine.

  Annie simply didn’t believe either Frankie or Madeleine could be the mind behind Paul Martin’s death. She spoke aloud. “Frankie’s a sweet girl and Madeleine is incapable of planning a campaign to commit three murders.” A calculating mind coolly decided to get Paul Martin out of the way so that Jane could be murdered. Someone had planned well ahead, taking Tom’s mallet and smock to the family room, intending that Tom should be the suspect, probably knowing, as much of the island knew, that Tom and Frankie were having an affair. Likely the mallet was tucked near the pool table. As Jane walked toward the terrace, the murderer grabbed the smock, picked up the mallet, and swung. In the first instant when a stunned Jane fell forward, the murderer slipped into the smock and finished the bloody attack. The murderer had reacted immediately when the story in the Gazette suggested Max might bring in experts to search for traces of an intruder in Paul Martin’s study. The murderer had set the Martin house on fire, knowing a defenseless woman was asleep on the second floor. The murderer struck down Sherry Gillette and took the weapon away, probably with the idea of planting evidence already in mind.

  Agatha lifted her head and gazed at Annie with unblinking golden eyes.

  Annie crossed to her chair, flung herself down. “Agatha, we’ve been over everything so many times I can toss out suspects, motives, and odds like a politician with a stump speech.” She pulled a legal pad close, flipped to a clean sheet, wrote Suspects in Chief in big dark letters.

  SUSPECTS IN CHIEF

  David Corley. Inherits big time. Out from under older sis’s thumb. Had to pay off gambling debts. Claims Jane agreed to cover them before she died. Kate Murray confirmed.

  Madeleine Corley. Gamblers threatened her dog. Did she know Jane was going to pay off the gambling debts? Jane’s death makes her husband rich enough to pay off any debts.

  Kate Murray. Quarreled with Jane over her refusal to pay the debts. But if Jane had agreed to pay off, Kate had no motive to wish her dead. However, Kate also inherits substantially from Jane’s estate.

  Kevin Hubbard. Probably had his fingers in the till at the property management company. Indications Jane was getting ready to investigate.

  Irene Hubbard. Big, strong, a tough personality. She’d landed in a nice patch of clover when she married Kevin. She might be willing to commit murder to protect her new comforts.

  Toby Wyler. If Jane had lived, Toby was going to lose his exclusive over Tom’s paintings and thereby a main source of income. Rumor had it that the gallery was in a financial hole.

  Annie leaned back in her chair and sighed. Billy always covered all the bases. She had no doubt he’d checked out the whereabouts of everyone involved both Wednesday afternoon and Wednesday night. Obviously, Madeleine and Frankie still held center stage.

  Billy checked things out— She stopped, remembering. She’d asked Billy to find out about the older woman who had acted oddly in the receiving line at Jane’s funeral. He’d promised. She reached for the phone, hesitated. Talk about a long shot. But maybe that was the only kind of shot left. Determinedly, she picked up the receiver, rushed into speech as soon as Mavis answered. “Mavis, Annie Darling. I told Billy about a woman at Jane’s funeral who was very upset and—”

  “It was easy to find her.” Mavis’s voice was suddenly sad. “I talked to Kate Murray. She remembered the woman, said she introduced herself to David as Margaret Randall, said she was a cousin. But Kate sounded doubtful, said she didn’t know of any cousins. Lou went to a genealogist at the library. Turns out she was a distant cousin of Jane’s and David’s, lives in Columbia. You know how it is in families. There can be rich sides and poor sides and Mrs. Randall didn’t come from any money and her folks are dead. She was an only child. Jane and David were her only living relatives and she didn’t really know them, had just heard about them from her mother who was a cousin of Jane’s father. It’s a really pitiful story. Billy sent Lou to talk to her. It doesn’t have anything to do with Jane’s death. Mrs. Randall’s husband, Clem, has one of those weird diseases and they think the only thing that will help is bone marrow transplants and one of their children is a match but insurance won’t cover it. Mrs. Randall said she talked to Jane and she was really nice and said she’d help, but she never heard anything and then Jane died. Mrs. Randall came to the funeral. Lou said Mrs. Randall started to cry, said they obviously thought she was trying on some kind of scam. Anyway, she didn’t have a thing to do with Jane’s murder. Lou checked, of course. Mrs. Randall lost her job as a secretary but she works at a school cafeteria and she was there the day Jane died.”

  Annie put down the phone. So her hunch had come to nothing. Another dead end. Annie pushed up from the chair, paced. They needed something fresh. Surely there was something undone, someone yet to ask. The suspect list was limited to the guests at David’s birthday party. Paul Martin had walked past Kate Murray with an intent, purposeful look. If only Kate had turned to see who stood at the far end of the pool. Annie concentrated, recalling what other guests had said. So far as she knew, nothing helpful had been learned from any of them. If only there were another set of eyes—

  Another set . . .

  Excitement surged through her. In fact there were four sets of eyes and surely one of them could help. And these were observers with no dog in the hunt. Why hadn’t she thought of David’s college friends earlier?

  Annie whirled, moved to the worktable, settled in her chair, and reached for the phone.

  • • •

  Max leaned back in his red leather chair. He cradled a receiver between his head and neck. “Remember, Marian, you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “So Madeleine Corley’s sending a handwritten billet-doux to the cop shop. I love it.” Marian’s voice crackled with delight. “The mayor won’t want to talk about her so-called statement but I’ll gig him like a sheepshead. For this tip, I’ll spot you and Annie to margaritas at the Pink Parrot.”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you turned into an habitué of the island’s lowdown honky-tonk?”

  “Since I knocked on the door of a damn interesting dude who bartends there.”

  Max didn’t give advice, but he hoped Marian remembered a free spirit (as well as spirits) usually came with a cost. “We’ll take you up on it. Now about the news scene, any word on—”

  “Yep. Mayor’s called a news conference for two P.M. He’s setting an all-time record for running off at the mouth to the media. He loves the spotlight even if he gets tough questions. It’s a downer that the conference is after my deadline for this afternoon’s paper. But I got a second deadline.” Her voice brightened. “We pub Saturday morning instead of afternoon and we don’t put that issue to bed until nine o’clock tonight. We’ll see what happens at the conference. My money’s on Frankie. Poor kid. Too bad she doesn’t have a rich husband. If she stays out of jail, I guess that will change soon enough.”

  Max slowly replaced the receiver. He’d plowed through his notes, recalled everything he could from all their sources, and he didn’t see any way past Marian’s conclusion. Frankie or Madeleine with the odds on Frankie.

  He turned to his computer, e-mailed David Corley: Annie and I delivered Madeleine’s statement to Chief Cameron. He read it with care. I’m not sure of Madeleine’s status in the investigation. An arrest may be announced at a news conference at 2 P.M.

  He looked at the time. Eleven. He reached for the phone, shook his head. He’d leave that line open in case David called, which wouldn’t surprise him. Instead, he pulled out his cell, tapped Annie’s name. He frowned when he didn’t get her. Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt
a call in progress. He left a message. “Meet me at Parotti’s. Eleven thirty. Mayor’s called a news conference for two.”

  • • •

  Kate Murray’s tone was dismissive. “David said you and Max are trying to help Madeleine, but those young men don’t live on the island.”

  Annie was equally impatient. “They were at David’s party. No one has asked them if they saw Paul in a tense conversation with anyone.” As strangers to the island, none of David’s friends were likely to know who Paul talked to at any time. But perhaps one of them had an eye for people, was interested in facial expressions. Paul had seen “evil in a glance.” Maybe it was asking too much to hope one of them might have seen the moment Paul spoke to his murderer. There had to have been some indication of stress or unhappiness or anger. “David must have his phone turned off. I left a message and sent a text and an e-mail but I haven’t had any answer. I asked you about his friends earlier. Did you get their phone numbers?”

  “Oh. Yes, I did. Hold on for a minute.” The connection went silent.

  Annie kept glancing at the clock.

  It was almost a full five minutes before Kate spoke again. “Sorry. I’d lost track of where I put that slip of paper, but I found it.” She rattled off the names, Steve James, Harris Carson, Ken Daniels, Wendell Evans, and phone numbers.

  Annie saw her missed call from Max, listened to the message. Two P.M. She didn’t doubt what the mayor would announce. She remembered Frankie’s frightened face. Maybe by lunchtime she’d have learned something to help. She sent a text: See you at Parotti’s. Trying new tack. Will explain at lunch.

  Annie began with Steve James, got him on the first ring. He listened as Annie explained she was seeking information about David’s birthday party and one of the guests. “You want to know if some guy was quarreling with somebody? Sorry. I don’t remember which one he was and I have to tell you, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. We were having a hell of a time. The wine flowed and the whiskey poured. I don’t remember much about the evening. I was feeling no pain when Harris hauled me out to the guest quarters and I flopped on a sofa.”

  Annie didn’t hold out much hope but as long as she had him on the phone, she might as well confirm David’s whereabouts. “David came back to the guest quarters with you.”

  “Oh yeah. Last I saw of him, it was almost one and he was all of a sudden hot to get back to the house, said he’d be in big trouble, didn’t realize how late he’d stayed.”

  Annie frowned. For a guy who had apparently downed a lot of alcohol, Steve was awfully precise about the time. “Did you look at your watch?”

  “By that time”—he was rueful—“I don’t think I could have seen my arm, much less a watch. David was bleating like a little lost lamb. He held up this clock on the mantel, showed us the time. He was out of there in a flash.”

  So David left the guest quarters shortly before one A.M. Lucy heard a car at just past midnight.

  The second call was less successful. Harris Carson had no idea who Paul Martin was. He was grave about Jane’s death, said he’d written a note to David. He’d thought Jane was a very interesting woman but they had only talked about painting and so far as he knew she was fine that evening. He agreed that David left the guest quarters around one. The third call was answered by an irate and sleepy Ken Daniels. “. . . who the hell . . . it’s the middle of the night here . . . Got jet lag anyway . . . whoever you are, bug off . . .” The connection ended.

  Annie shrugged, tried the last number. “Hell of a party.” Wendell Evans’s big voice boomed through the ether. “We were smashed, skunked, in Margaritaville. We didn’t schmooze a lot with the natives. First time I’d seen the guys in a while. We had plenty to talk about.”

  Annie wasn’t surprised when Evans was emphatic that he not only didn’t know who Paul Martin talked to, he had no idea which guest was Paul Martin. She was ready to end the conversation, admit defeat, when his booming words began to register.

  “. . . only started at the house. Really got down to some serious drinking when we moved out to the guesthouse and then, hell if David didn’t cut it off sooner than he needed to.”

  Annie raised an eyebrow. Maybe Evans thought the night was young at one A.M. How did the lyrics go. Three o’clock in the morning . . . “I understand David went back to the house at one.”

  “One, hell. He got in a twit about leaving his wife with all the cleanup, said he had to get back pronto. Turns out, he was wrong about the time.”

  “Wrong? The clock on the mantel—”

  “Was wrong. My watch is luminous. I got up to go to the can and I always check the time. Can’t tell you why. Habit. My watch said a quarter to three. The clock on the mantel read a quarter to four. It was off by a whole hour. So David left around midnight, not one in the morning like he thought. David must have noticed the clock was off the next morning when he brought us Bloody Marys. I saw him go to the mantel and take the clock down and when I looked later the time was right. Pretty good joke on him. I should have ragged him about it then. Ended the party before we’d drunk all the gin.”

  • • •

  Annie hung up the phone, yanked the receiver up again, tapped a familiar number. “Mavis, Annie Darling.” She was breathless, knew her voice was shaky. “I have to talk to Billy.”

  “He’s in conference with the mayor. I have strict orders not to disturb him. What’s wrong?”

  Annie held tight to the receiver. “Tell him . . .” There was too much to explain. The clock. The time. David’s alibi that wasn’t. The crafty way he’d made four witnesses aware of the time. Only one person needed an alibi the night Paul Martin died, the person who planned to kill him. “I’ll come to the station. Send Billy an e-mail. Tell him I’m on my way and I know who killed Paul Martin.” She hung up the receiver, flung herself across the room and into the coffee area. Several startled patrons looked up as she rushed past.

  At the cash desk, Ingrid called out, “What’s wrong?”

  Annie gestured, called out, “Find Max.” She didn’t want to take the time to check Confidential Commissions. He’d called on his cell and cell calls can be made anywhere. Time. She was conscious of passing time, Billy’s conference with the mayor, Frankie’s likely impending arrest, officers might even now be on their way to take her into custody. Running out of time . . . “Tell him to meet me at the police station. Tell him I know who killed Paul Martin . . .” She was on the boardwalk and pelting down the steps toward the parking lot. She slammed into the Thunderbird. She was halfway to the harbor when her cell rang.

  • • •

  Max waggled the putter, took his stance, ready to imitate a pendulum—that was the advice the pro had given him after his putting debacle—when the front doorbell rang and hurried steps sounded.

  “Max?” Ingrid skidded to a stop in the doorway. “Annie wants you to meet her at Billy’s office. She ran out of the storeroom just now and asked me to tell you to meet her there. She said she knows who killed Paul Martin and then she was running up the boardwalk.”

  • • •

  Annie drove with one hand, held her cell with the other.

  Kate Murray’s voice was thin, high, frenzied. “I just found something Sherry wrote. I wish I’d never gone in her room. But I can’t pretend I didn’t find it. Please, I need help. Someone to come with me. I can’t face it on my own—” There was a strangled sound that might have been a sob. “Please come. I’ll show you. Please, say you’ll come.”

  Annie heard shock in Kate’s voice. She sounded as if she struggled with enormous heartbreak. There was only one living person who meant enough to her to bring her to tears.

  Annie gripped the cell tightly. Kate Murray had a gruff exterior, but she’d come to the Corley house when David was only a baby. David was the son Kate never had. Kate’s world was dissolving around her, David guilty of murdering his sister, David soon
to be arrested. “I’m sorry.” Annie heard the tremor in her own voice. “I wish I could help you. But I’m on my way to the police station.”

  There was a quick-drawn breath. A sound of ragged breathing. Finally, harshly: “I’ll go with you.”

  Annie heard the wrenching effort that sentence took.

  “Please come. I know we have to go to the police, but it’s better if we go together. I can’t do it by myself. I’ll be at the door.”

  The connection ended.

  Annie knew Kate was distraught. Her voice was ragged with anguish and despair. Annie hesitated when she reached the turnoff to the harbor. A turn to the left and it was two blocks to the police station. Jane Corley’s home was perhaps a half mile away. Annie looked at her watch. Only a dozen blocks. Kate had found something in Sherry’s room. Sherry didn’t seem the kind of person to keep a diary, but perhaps the night of Jane’s death she’d scribbled something, mentioned seeing David in the early afternoon, been glad he’d seen his sister one last time, perhaps grieved that he hadn’t come nearer five, been there to protect her.

  Annie realized she’d made her decision as she drove past the turnoff to the harbor. Whatever Kate had found, the contents had to be devastating. The accusation must be specific, concrete. If Sherry wrote something down that pinpointed David on the terrace, that evidence was much stronger than Annie’s tale of time changed on a clock and a drunken man’s recollections.