by Carolyn Hart
Six
“HEY, BUDDY.” A FOOT THUDDED into the back of the couch. “Nobody messes with my papers and rips me off. Where the hell did you put it?”
Max flailed awake. He landed on his feet in a crouch, hands bunched. Weak sunlight filtered through partially open wooden blinds, casting striped shadows on the wooden floor. Birds chittered morning warbles. The smell of strong coffee mingled with the minty scent of aftershave.
Everett Crenshaw, his freshly shaven face twisted in a scowl, stood behind the couch in a floppy sweatshirt and glen plaid boxer shorts. He held Max’s opened sports bag in one hand. Abruptly he flipped it over and the contents tumbled out—shaving kit, T-shirt, shorts. Everett held the bag up, rattled it.
“Put it down.” Eyes steely, Max took a step forward, fists high.
Everett backed up one pace, two, abruptly tossed the bag to the floor. “Hold up, Darling. I’ve got every right. You got into my folder.” He jerked his head toward the breakfast bar and the green leather envelope. “You stole a private paper.”
“No.” Max’s face creased in a frown. He came out of his combative crouch and glanced toward the folder. “Something missing?”
“Damn sure is. I want it back. Pronto.” Everett kicked the vinyl bag out of his way, strode to the counter. He thrust his hand into the folder, pulled out a letter and a notebook, held the folder wide open. “Empty as a bum’s wallet and there should be another couple of sheets from a legal pad.”
“Whatever it is, I didn’t take it.” Truth gave weight to Max’s words.
Everett’s glare changed to a puzzled frown.
Max stepped behind the couch, picked up his belongings and dropped them into the bag. He placed it on the coffee table by the gun and flashlight. “You’re sure the paper was there last night?”
“Positive.” Everett slapped the folder on the counter. “I looked it over right before I went up to the house for dinner.”
Max strolled into the kitchen. Everett had apparently loaded the coffeemaker, then reached for his folder. The last drops of coffee cascaded into the glass pot. Max poured the fresh brew into two mugs, pushed one toward Everett. “Somebody must have come into the cabin before Annie and I got here. You were gone. The door was unlocked.”
Everett ripped open a packet of sugar, dumped it into his mug. “Yeah. I guess that’s what happened.” He glanced toward Max’s sports bag. “You don’t have it. It’s gone. That means somebody else got it.” He drank from the mug, his eyes thoughtful.
“What’s missing?” Max drank the hot, strong coffee, welcomed the swift rush from caffeine.
“Oh, this and that.” Everett’s tone was vague. “Maybe that’s why nobody fell into our trap last night. If it was the murderer who got the sheet, well, any fool—and I don’t think we’re dealing with a fool—would realize that if I dug up this stuff, other people could too. So, there was no reason to come after me.” His relief was apparent. “Looks like we can go up for breakfast without expecting an ambush. And”—he glanced at the clock—“it’s almost seven. The feast will be spread. I tell you, Darling, a Heron House breakfast is to die for. I’m damn near there.” He headed for the bedroom.
Max carried his shaving kit into the bathroom. In the bedroom, Everett pulled on sweatpants and stepped barefoot into worn loafers. “I’ll leave you a sausage.” He paused long enough to brush his pompadour to perfection, then banged out the front door.
Max was midway through shaving when he stopped and stared into the mirror. A missing paper that contained unpalatable facts about other guests might not assuage the murderer’s unease over Everett’s farewell taunt last night. If Everett knew facts the murderer wanted hidden, Everett might still be in danger. The fact that no one had tried to attack Everett last night was no guarantee he was safe today.
Annie spread her hand across the sheet, felt nothing but clammy coolness. Max…Her eyes opened. The room was grayish but there was enough light to make out the furniture. She stared at the straight chair she’d wedged beneath the doorknob, as per Britt’s instruction. She pushed upright, came to her feet. She had a sense of urgency, an unsettling feeling that she was late, that she must hurry to prevent something dreadful. She was in the bathroom and out, hair quickly combed, face damp, pulling on a sweater and slacks and loafers, and on her way downstairs in less than five minutes. Midway down the stairs, she heard voices below, including—oh happy moment, relief exquisite, exuberant joy—Max’s clear tenor. “…not down yet? I’ll run up and get her. And hey, Everett”—as he came out of the dining room, his words were louder—“stick close to Britt. We’ll talk in a minute.”
“Max!” Annie flew down the steps and into his arms, his wonderful, welcoming, strong arms. The bleak morning suddenly pulsed with cheer. “I missed you.”
He held her tight, pressed his face into her curls. “Me too, honey. Tonight we’ll stay together if I have to hog-tie Everett to get him up here.”
Abruptly, she pulled away, looked up. “Everett’s okay? What happened?”
Max’s shoulders rose and fell. “Nothing. Slept like babies.” He remembered twisting and turning. Something he’d tried to remember…“Well, sort of. Anyway, nobody came near the cabin.”
“Somebody was out and about.” She told him of Britt’s adventure.
Max’s frown was quick. “She went out alone?”
Annie slipped her arm through his, spoke softly as they crossed the hall. “She took a gun with her. And, Max”—this was a whisper—“I think she has an idea who killed Jeremiah. I’ll tell you later.”
In the dining room, the table was set with bright yellow pottery and woven cherry place mats. The centerpiece of herons had been moved to the Louis XV commode. In its place was a tall translucent blue vase. Stalks of yaupon with bright red berries added winter cheer. The chandeliers dissipated the early morning gloom. Britt adjusted the Bunsen flame beneath a serving dish. Everett stood at the end of the buffet, his plate piled high. “Apple egg casserole. Poached eggs on potato pancakes. Cheese biscuits. Salmon and cheese.” His sigh of satisfaction brought a smile to Britt’s face.
She stepped toward Annie and Max. “Lucinda’s outdone herself. Come and see.” She might have been any hostess greeting guests except for the paleness of her face and the shadows beneath her eyes.
Annie caught Max’s hand, tugged. The buffet was a magnet. She was ravenous. Apple egg casserole was one of Max’s specialities. He used sharp cheddar cheese and a full pound of sweet Tennessee bacon slow-cooked to perfection and then crumbled.
Everett walked toward the table, filled plate in one hand and a goblet of foaming orange juice in the other. “How amazing no one else is here.” He glanced toward the china clock on the mantel. “A quarter after seven and our captain of industry has yet to arrive and his major minion apparently still slumbers. I suppose the Honorable Millicent has decided there aren’t any pockets to be picked. So here I am, the early bird. We all know what that means. I can pick my spot.
First come, first served.” He cut his eyes toward Britt. “What say I get Jeremiah’s throne?” He nodded toward the massive mahogany chair at the far end of the table, the only one with arms, clearly the seat for the host.
Britt’s gaze was measuring. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”
“As in, such a blasphemous desecration might evoke Jeremiah’s petulant spirit?” Everett laughed aloud, plunked his plate on the cherry mat at the head of the table. The yellow plate was brilliant against the vivid red cloth. “I’m willing to take that chance.” Seated, he raised the goblet of orange juice. “How about a toast. Here’s to crime.”
Britt’s eyes flared. “Everett, that’s tasteless even for you. Remember, you’re talking about Jay and Craig’s father.”
He scooped a forkful of casserole, poked it in his mouth, chewed. His reply was indistinct. “Yeah. Yeah. And Cissy’s philandering spouse and Kim’s boyfriend and the Honorable Millicent’s nemesis—”
“I beg your pardon.�
�� The icy voice would have reduced most people to shamed silence. In a periwinkle blue cotton cardigan with ottoman stitching and white wool slacks, Millicent was immaculately groomed and haughty. Her stare equated Everett with something nasty pulled into the drawing room by an ill-bred dog.
Unfazed, Everett scooted back the big chair, half rose, bowed to Millicent and her husband. “Good eats, folks.” His blue eyes glinted. “Maybe not quite on a par with a certain hotel in Boca Raton. Quite a favorite of a young fellow named Bobby. You and I can visitabout that another time, Representative McRae. I don’t want to keep you and hubby from the victuals.”
“Boca Raton?” Nick was disdainful. “I doubt you’ve spent much time there.” He touched Millicent’s elbow. “I believe the buffet is ready.”
His wife moved ahead of him. Her face was suddenly pinched, the flesh tight against sharp bones. She looked old and stricken. She moved past Annie and Max with a mumbled “Good morning.” The hand that reached for a plate trembled.
“You never know who you’re going to see at fancy resorts.” Everett’s loud voice followed the McRaes. “Or be seen by.” Everett’s smile was malicious. “Bobby’s been there several times. Looked like he was having fun.”
Annie was suddenly angry. She hadn’t liked Millicent McRae, but Everett’s feline cruelty appalled her. Had Nick heard rumors about his wife and Bobby? If not, Millicent would obviously be terrified at what might be revealed. If Nick was aware, the moment’s ugliness would be excruciating for both Millicent and her husband. Annie said loudly, “Boca Raton. The last time we were there—”
Max looked puzzled. They’d never stayed in Boca Raton. They had visited charming Stuart on the East Coast and shell-rich Sanibel on the West. “Annie—”
She gave his arm a tiny pinch “—all it did was rain. You know, it was that summer Florida had buckets of rain. Mmm, the casserole looks perfect. Millicent, did you see the potato pancakes? Let me hold the lid for you.”
Suddenly the dining room seemed warm and hospitable. Britt picked up a silver coffee carafe, followed them to the table.
Millicent and Nick took seats as far as possible from Everett. He wiped away a dollop of marmalade and grinned. “Hey, there’s plenty of room down this way.”
Britt held up the carafe. “More coffee?”
Annie headed straight for the chair next to Nick. A short nod to Max indicated he should join Everett. “Have you read the new biography of Franklin?” she asked Nick. Thankfully, there was always a new biography of Franklin.
“Franklin remains an enigma.” Nick’s tone was judicious. “He was a fascinating man. Was he a patriot or a clever dissembler…”
Max glanced from Millicent’s set face to the dull patches of red in Nick’s thin cheeks to Everett’s sly smile. Max slid into the chair nearest Everett. “I’ve been thinking about last night—”
A door near the buffet opened. Lucinda, her face red and cross, stepped into the dining room. Her yellow calico apron was smudged with flour. “Britt”—she jerked her head—“you got a minute?”
Britt looked surprised. Still carrying the carafe, she walked swiftly to Lucinda and followed her through the door.
“—and the kind of information you had collected—”
Everett’s sly eyes darted down the table.
“—and I think the safest thing for you to do is sketch out that material and give it to me.”
There was a curious flicker in Everett’s bright green eyes. “And be cut out of the loop? No way, Darling.”
Everett spread butter atop the poached egg on the potato pancake. “Nope, here’s the deal. I get first look at everybody’s report. If anybody’s left out something important, you’ll be the first to know.”
Max folded smoked salmon over cream cheese. “I wouldn’t take that gamble if I were you.”
“I didn’t get where I am without taking chances. I’m not going to miss out on this story.” His pale eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Besides, no bogeyman came after me last night.”
Max looked grim. “I’d advise you to be on guard. Nothing happened last night, but that doesn’t mean you are safe.”
The door from the kitchen opened. Britt poked her head out. She looked irritated, flustered, and puzzled. “Max. Will you come, please?” She withdrew and the door closed.
Max put his plate on the table. “Excuse me.”
Annie pushed back her chair. She sailed a vague smile toward Millicent, who was talking steadily to her husband. “…believe I will accept that invitation…” Clearly Millicent intended to ignore Everett and confine conversation with her husband to mundane topics. Everett paused in eating, his curious eyes following Max. From the central hallway came the sound of voices and footsteps. More guests were arriving for breakfast.
Annie followed Max into the kitchen. The long, bright, sparkling-clean room was gloriously homey with the mingled fragrances of baking and frying, the stove laden with pots and pans, starched red-checked curtains at the windows, old-fashioned white wooden cabinets and woodwork, and a calico cat slumbering on the hearth. The cheerful surroundings were marred only by Lucinda’s evident displeasure and Britt’s harried expression.
Lucinda clanged a lid on a pot. “It’s bad enough we don’t have any girls right now. I said I could manage this weekend if Harry helped. But I can’t do all the cooking and cleaning and serving and clean the cabins as well. I don’t care if he was up and flitting around in the middle of the night and getting no sleep and making himself tired, that’s his lookout. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s always made it up to the house in time to serve. What that man finds to do when Christian folk should be asleep is a puzzle to me. I saw his lights on till all hours and heard him slamming in and out to boot. Kept me awake and I need my rest. He’s picked the wrong morning to sleep in, what with a dozen to feed and care for.” Cheeks flaming, she grabbed a pot holder and yanked open the oven. “Got to get the cheese grits out.”
“I’ll serve, Lucinda. And clear up.” Britt was conciliatory. “I’ll take care of the cabins, too.” She looked uncertainly at Max and Annie. “I didn’t hire you to help with staff problems, but I really need to stay here and help Lucinda. Max, would you mind rounding up Harry? It isn’t far to his cabin.”
Max looked thoughtful. “I don’t mind at all. Is he often late?”
Britt shook her head. “He’s always been dependable. Tell him I sent you. He can be gruff sometimes.” She pointed to the back door. “Take the path to the left. It goes behind some pines. You’ll see a sign indicating the path is off limits. Continue on until you see a path branching to the left.”
“Won’t take a minute.” Max was casual. He turned toward the door.
Annie looked from Britt to Lucinda. She didn’t see anything to indicate either was worried. Annie wondered if she was the only one who felt a sweep of foreboding. In any event, she didn’t want Max to go down that path by himself.
“I’ll go with you.” She dashed after her husband.
With the door closed behind them, Max stopped, put his hand on Annie’s arm. “Maybe you’d better stay here.”
“You’re worried, too.” She held his gaze.
“About Harry?” Max frowned. “No, he’s probably fine. Punched off the alarm, rolled over, went back to sleep. From what I saw of him yesterday, he’s no push-over. He can handle anybody on the island. There’s no reason to think anything’s happened to him. But I don’t like the feel of this place.”
Annie understood. The damp gray morning seemed inimical, the leaden skies dulling the landscape. The thick green forest, dark and primeval, was choked with ferns and shrubs, impenetrable except for the narrow opening of the path.
“All I know for sure”—Max sounded grim—“is that I wish you hadn’t come to this damn island.”
Annie loved him for that quick instinct of protectiveness. But she was a big girl. “Not to worry. We’ll see it through.” She moved ahead of him toward the pines, determined to appea
r at ease.
Max caught up. “Stay close.” He walked ahead of her.
The misty cool tunnel beneath the trees had the glowing green quality of an aquarium. There was no wind and the forest seemed unnaturally silent, leaves and branches and undergrowth utterly still. The occasional trill of a bird seemed raucous, as out of place as a whistle at a funeral. Oyster shells crunched underfoot, announcing their progress. Annie fought growing uneasiness. “I don’t believe he overslept. What if something’s happened to him?”
Max pushed back a huge frond of a Resurrection fern, gave her a quick glance. “Why Harry?” He walked faster. “No, it’s more likely he overslept. But I agree with Lucinda. I’d like to know what he finds to do in the middle of the night. From what she said, last night’s not the first time he’s been out and about late. Okay, here’s the turnoff.”
Annie rushed to keep pace. This path was narrower. “Maybe he’s the one who was in the garden last night.”
“Britt didn’t get a glimpse of anyone?” Max swiped a damp hand on his trousers.
“No. She tried to blow it off, said maybe there hadn’t been anyone prowling around. I told her she shouldn’t have gone out by herself, not even with a gun. I think she realized she’d made a mistake.” Annie sidestepped a dangling swath of Spanish moss. “She was pretty upset last night. She tried to put a good face on it, but when I asked her who she suspected—and, Max, I’m sure she has someone in mind—she lost her cool. She went on and on about who she wished it was,like Gerald or Kim or Everett. Well, that’s a pretty good indication she doesn’t think it’s one of them. That narrows the list to Jeremiah’s family, the McRaes, or her employees. There’s no reason why she should be distressed if either McRae was guilty. I doubt she feels any attachment to the Addisons. That leaves Lucinda or Harry. They’ve stayed on the island, helped her make a go of it as a resort. She has to feel pretty close to both of them.”
The path opened to the clearing. All three cabins were dark. Max pointed. “The middle one is for the maids when they have them. The nearest is Lucinda’s. You ought to see it. Doll heaven.” They walked swiftly to the third cabin. Max moved ahead of Annie to climb the stairs. On the porch, he paused. “The door’s ajar.” He knocked. The crisp tattoo startled a flock of crows, who lifted skyward, cawing. “Harry?” Max bellowed. “Max Darling here.”