by Carolyn Hart
Jay tugged on his mustache. He looked shamefaced. “I guess we were both nuts.”
Craig shoved a hand through his thick curls. His lips twisted in a wry grin. “Hell, Jay. I can’t be mad. See, I thought you’d pushed Dad.”
“Me?” Jay’s amazement lifted his voice.
At that moment, if he’d been asked to report to the sheriff, Max would have wagered Confidential Commissions that neither brother had killed Jeremiah and surely that absolved them of Everett’s death as well.
Jay came to his feet, moving stiffly. He took two quick steps and gave his brother a bear hug, let him go, and managed an unsteady laugh. “I feel better than I have ever since Dad died. It’s like I’ve been carrying the damn world on my back and now the weight’s gone. The cops’ll find Harry. He’s got to be the one. You know how Dad would have felt about Golden Silk being used as a way station for drugs.”
Craig rubbed the back of his neck as if comfort eluded him.
Jay’s ebullience drained away. “What’s wrong?” He leaned toward his brother, his gaze intent.
“Harry.” Craig said the name as if recalling a long-ago acquaintance. “Yeah. That’s what we all thought at breakfast.” He stared at his brother, his expression somber. “Everybody but Britt, as I recall. Turns out her instinct was right. Listen, Jay, we’ve got big trouble. Somebody shot Everett this morning—”
Jay stood stone still. He listened as Craig described murder on an island with only a handful of suspects.
“—so they found him dead around ten-thirty. It had to be murder because there wasn’t a gun anywhere.”
“I was here.” Doves in a nearby live oak made their mournful cry, low and somber as funeral bells. Jay gestured toward the tree. “But these are my only witnesses.” His eyes narrowed. “The gun’s gone? My God, that means everybody’s in danger. Where’s Dana? I’ve got to find Dana.” He turned, plunged across the sloping deck.
Max slipped behind the other side of the funnel as Jay dashed past him toward the rope bridge, Craig close behind. “Jay, wait. For God’s sake, Jay, let me tell you…”
Annie wanted to stand between Dana, a huddled mass of misery in the basket chair with its gay red cushions so clearly designed for a happy holiday, and the demanding questioners, intent as a flock of piranhas gouging flesh from a drowning creature. Britt had led the charge to Jay and Dana’s cabin after the gun was found.
Dana’s eyes, reddened by crying, were dry now, dry but filled with panic. She stared at the coffee table and its grisly burden, the blue-black automatic in a clear plastic bag. Her hands were in a tight grip, the fingers blanched from pressure.
Britt paced up and down, eyes flashing with anger and determination, patches of red in her narrow cheeks, dark hair becomingly tousled by the wind. She might have been a DA confronting the accused, but there was a driving, personal urgency behind her attack. “…got to know! Don’t you see, Dana? We’re scared. All of us. Scared to death. We’ve got to know who’s behind this. We can’t keep on looking at every face and thinking, ‘Are you the one? Are you going to kill me?’”
Isabel’s fingers twined in the fringe of her shawl. She darted worried glances from Dana to the gun. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Dana’s too upset to talk to anyone right now.”
Gerald cleared his throat. “Isabel’s right. There’s no point in badgering her. I’d say she’s in shock.”
Kim’s round face softened in sympathy, but her blue eyes were cold and merciless. “Come on, Dana. Tell us what happened. We’ll take care of you. Did Everett threaten you? Were you frightened? Did the gun go off by accident?”
Dana licked dry lips. Her voice was faint, the words scarcely audible. “I didn’t know about Everett. I swear I didn’t.”
Annie’s instinct to protect a helpless creature was overborne by the icy realization that Dana had to explain where she got the gun. She claimed she didn’t know Everett had been shot. If not, why had she thrown the gun into the lagoon? Was she protecting herself? Or her husband?
“Of course you didn’t.” Kim’s voice was kindly, encouraging, inviting, her eyes probing. “It seems pretty clear Jay gave you the gun and—”
“No,” Dana wailed. “Leave me alone.” She pushed up and stood unsteadily, eyes wild. “Why don’t you help me find Jay? I’ve got to find him. I’m going to go out and look for him.”
The door burst open, slammed back against the wall.
Dana’s face lighted. “Jay.” It was almost a scream. That she’d never expected to see him again was utterly clear in the wobbling, frantic cry. That she was distraught, frightened, and sick with fear was equally apparent.
Jay was across the sisal matting in two long strides, scowling furiously, arms outstretched.
The room now seemed jammed with people, Dana clutching the back of the basket chair for support, a wary Britt a scant foot from her, Isabel sitting stiffly on the sofa, Gerald an aloof presence near the fireplace, a watchful Annie near the breakfast bar.
Jay demanded, “What’s wrong? By God, if anybody’s bothering you, I’ll take care of them.” He grabbed her in a tight embrace. She held to him, sobbing. His furious gaze moved from face to face. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Craig stood in the doorway, looked toward Isabel. She pointed to the coffee table. Craig saw the gun, drew in a deep breath.
Britt was only a few feet from Jay and Dana. She held her head high, returned his glare. “Dana threw that gun into the lagoon. She’s got to tell us where she found it. Or whether she’s the one who stole it last night from the library.”
“That’s absurd,” Jay retorted. “Dana wouldn’t touch a gun. She hates guns.”
“She touched one.” Kim spoke with authority. She pointed at the table. “There it is. We just fished it out of the lagoon and I saw her toss it in. She damn sure touched it.”
Jay looked down at his wife. Slowly his face changed. Assurance was replaced by puzzlement. “Dana?”
She looked up at him, mute as a scolded child. Once again tears slid down her cheeks.
“Come on, honey. It’s all right. You can tell me. I’ll take care of it.” They might have been alone in that crowded room, just the two of them, love and strength running between them shining as a crystal arch.
Annie blinked back tears. Kim leaned forward, camera up. The flash blinked. Britt folded her arms, her face skeptical.
Dana shuddered. “I found that gun. It was lying in the pine straw near the front steps of our cabin. I’d been out hunting for you. I was so frightened when you ran away. I went all over the woods and down to the beach and then up to the house. I couldn’t find you anywhere.” Her voice quivered. “I thought maybe you might have gone back to the cabin. That’s when I found the gun. I thought it was probably the gun somebody stole from the library. I didn’t know why it was near our cabin, but it frightened me.”
For an instant, horror looked out from her eyes. “I wanted to get rid of it.” Her voice was stronger. “I took it up to the lagoon and threw it away.”
“You found it near our steps?” Jay’s face hardened. “That means somebody dumped it on us after they shot Everett.”
“Oh, really?” Britt looked pugnacious, jaw jutting, hands on her hips. “That’s a good story, Jay, but hard to believe. That would have been a big risk to take. For all the murderer knew, you and Dana were in your cabin, working on your reports. How could the murderer have known you were gone and it was safe to bring the gun and leave it?”
Jay shrugged. “I’m not in the confidence of the murderer, so I don’t know how it happened.” His tone was sarcastic, his dislike of Britt evident. “That’s up to the police to figure out. Anyway, you people get out of here. My wife’s upset and needs to rest.”
Gerald held up a hand. He sounded uncomfortable but determined. “We’d better all stick together, Jay.”
“One for all and all for one? I don’t think so, Gerald. The less I see”—he glanced at Britt—“of the woma
n who caused this, the better I’ll feel.”
“Damn you!” Britt’s voice was deep and husky, quivering with anger. “I didn’t cause a damn thing. I didn’t kill your father. Or Everett. But the same can’t be said of you. Or your wife. Or your brother. Or—”
Face twisting in fury, Jay moved toward her, a hand upraised.
Craig and Max rushed to Jay, grabbed his arms. Craig talked fast. “Ease up, buddy. Calm down. Now Dana’s crying again—”
Gradually, the tension eased out of Jay, his scowl replaced by concern.
Annie wondered about Jay’s temper. Was his fury the answer to Jeremiah’s plunge down the stairs, the splintered desk drawer, Everett’s murder?
Britt wasn’t cowed. “You may not like what I’m saying, but you can’t kill the messenger, Jay. Or maybe that’s just what you’d like to do. I can tell you I don’t want to die. The only way I can feel safe—or anyone on the island can feel safe—is for you to be in plain sight of all of us until help comes.”
Gerald moved between Britt and Jay. He clapped a hand on the younger Addison’s shoulder. “Ignore her. The point isn’t you, Jay. Yeah, it’s a problem that Dana found the gun here. But it could be just like you said, the killer came by here, dumped it to incriminate you or Dana. In any event, everyone who can’t prove where they were when Everett was shot is a suspect. That’s me. You. Dana. Craig. Isabel. The McRaes. Lucinda. I’ve been thinking about it. The answer is for all of us to stick together until the boats get here tomorrow and we can get in touch with the sheriff. So you and Dana better come up to Heron House with us.”
They were all present in the drawing room to lock away the gun retrieved from the lagoon. Britt had emptied a tackle box. It sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She placed the plastic bag in the box, added the reports written by Kim, Gerald, and Craig. “If everyone had stayed in their cabins and written their reports…”
Annie understood her thought. If no one had wandered, Jay and Dana would have been together, as well as Millicent and Nick. As it was, no one could claim to have been with anyone at the time the shot sounded except Annie and Max and Britt. Kim had been alone but her presence away from Everett’s cabin was confirmed by the digital camera.
“‘If wishes were horses…’” Gerald quoted softly.
Lucinda stepped forward. The cook’s cheeks had lost their ruddy color. She swallowed jerkily. “Here’s a padlock. Found it in my catch-all drawer.”
Britt took the lock, slipped it in the hasp. She removed the small key, snapped the lock shut. The click was distinct. “That’s done.”
There was no easing of tension in the elegant, somber room.
Lucinda’s gaze skittered around the room, wary, searching, fearful. “Somebody here…” Her voice trailed away.
Late afternoon twilight pressed against the windows. Despite the glitter of the twin chandeliers and crackle of the fire, apprehension filled the room.
Standing near a Palladian window, Annie felt as if darkness surrounded her. She gripped the pull cord of the velvet drape so hard her palm ached. She shut out the encroaching night, but she couldn’t shut out the fear that lay against them all, heavy as a funeral pall.
There was no avoiding the truth. Someone in this room—someone who stood within a few feet of her—had killed twice. The list of suspects was terrifyingly brief. She looked at them in turn, knowing as her gaze locked with each for an instant, she was meeting the eyes of a killer. Who was it? Who could it be?
Lucinda pleated the hem of her apron, moved restlessly, a step forward, a step back, her gaze flickering around the room.
Annie knew Lucinda’s apparent uneasiness could be the wily pretense of a murderess. Annie remembered their far-ranging chatter that morning in the kitchen. Lucinda herself had made it clear she knew how to shoot a gun. Her talk of shots fired on the island when she had thought herself to be alone didn’t seem to fit into the puzzle. Was that an invention for some obscure reason of her own? If it was, what could have been the purpose?
Gerald stood with shoulders hunched, hands jammed into trouser pockets. His searching gaze touched Annie, moved to Millicent McRae. His hooded eyes were hard and suspicious.
Annie wondered if this was a pose. If Gerald had twice murdered, of course it would be to his benefit to appear suspicious of someone. Or did he suspect Millicent because she was perhaps the most volatile person there and clearly willing to do whatever was required to protect the marriage she had violated?
Millicent’s air of elegance was frayed like a once fine tapestry exposed to harsh sunlight and pelting rain. Staring at her husband, she looked gaunt, haggard, and haunted.
Nick seemed oblivious. He slumped in a wing chair, eyes blank, sunk in thoughts that pulled life and vigor from his face.
Annie shivered. Perhaps that was how a murderer would feel, exhausted, drained. Damned?
Dana sat on the satin upholstered love seat within the protective curve of Jay’s arm. Despite her scream of joy at her husband’s reappearance, she looked miserable and frightened. Her lips trembled and her eyes were huge.
Annie was chilled by Dana’s obvious fear. Dana was afraid for Jay, that was clear. She might claim to have thrown away the gun because she found it abhorrent, but Annie had no doubt that Dana was desperately afraid her husband had killed Everett.
Jay’s gaze was defiant. He knew he was the chief suspect. His anger was matched only by the fear that was apparent in the occasional tic of one eyelid, the shakiness of his hands.
Jay’s bitterness at his father’s treatment of Lorraine could have resulted in that strand of wire at the stair top. Murder once committed made a second murder if threatened a swift response. But nowhere in Jay’s shifting glance did Annie read the shock he must surely feel if he had killed his father only to discover that all his father’s actions were understandable. Not, perhaps, excusable, but certainly understandable.
Craig stood protectively by Isabel, holding her hand firmly. Though his face was somber, drawn in heavy lines of fatigue and uncertainty, there was a glow in his eyes when he looked at his wife.
Annie saw that glow. If it was genuine, surely Craig was innocent.
Isabel was still pale but she, too, had an air of peace. She might have been a swimmer who had battled deadly currents to finally reach, exhausted and pummeled, the safety of the shore.
Annie felt pummeled, too, buffeted by the emotions that swirled around her. She’d looked in every eye and nowhere did she find guilt. Yet behind one of these faces, familiar faces now, touched by pain and sorrow and fear, a quick, desperate, malevolent intelligence had planned murder.
Who?
There was a clatter on the hardwood floor.
Britt jerked forward, bent down to pick up the key that had fallen from her hand. “Sorry.” Her voice broke the brooding silence.
Annie knew that Britt, too, felt the huge strain of being in this room, knowing a predator was within reach. Annie felt overwhelmed by a sense of imminent danger. She found it hard to breathe.
Millicent gave a little scream. “I can’t bear it. One of you…but we don’t know which one…oh God, Nick, we’ve got to do something. One of them has a gun. We may all be dead—”
There was a thunderous rapping at the front door.
Everyone in the drawing room jerked to look toward the hallway. Each face reflected astonishment and shock and bewilderment. And fear.
Annie’s hand went to her throat. A knock at the door…but there was no one else on the island…no one else…
The knock sounded again, heavy, desperate, demanding.
Eleven
THE HEAVY FRONT DOOR crashed open.
Everyone looked toward the hall. They stood frozen, waiting. Annie knew each of them had the same sense of bewilderment laced with fear. There was no one else on the island. Not another living soul. Everyone was in the drawing room.
Who or what was coming toward them?
A hoarse voice shouted, “Britt? Britt,
where are you?” Running steps thudded on the wooden floor.
Max moved fast toward the hall, face wary and alert, shoulders hunched, ready for battle. Craig, too, was striding across the room, hands curled into fists. Before they reached the arch, a lanky man in a worn suede jacket, age-paled jeans, and deck shoes skidded to a stop just inside the drawing room. He was a little over six feet in height with brown hair, dark eyes, and a resolute, intelligent face. When he saw Britt, a mélange of expressions slipped across his face—acute relief, startled awareness of an audience, embarrassment as he realized everyone was looking toward him in amazement.
“Loomis.” Britt’s voice was deep in her throat, almost a whisper. There was a look of disbelief in her eyes, and something more. Distress? She reached out both hands toward him. Suddenly tears brimmed, slipped down pale cheeks.
He was across the room in an instant, drawing her into his arms. “What’s wrong? I knew there was something wrong when I couldn’t raise you. I kept trying your call letters all day and there was nothing. It was like you and the island had disappeared into the Sound. Hour after hour, nothing. I had to come.”
Craig strode toward him. “Can you radio to shore?”
Millicent plunged across the room, her voice high and shrill. “Do you have a boat? I insist that my husband and I be taken off this island at once. I am Representative McRae…”
A half dozen voices rose. “…save us from being killed…there’s a gun somewhere…got to get help…”
Britt pushed away from Loomis, swiped a hand at wet cheeks. “Quiet, everyone. Let me tell him. Loomis, we’re in terrible trouble. Thank God you’ve come. There’s been a murder. Harry stole the yacht. He took the radio, everything. That’s why you couldn’t contact me. We’ve been stranded. You can call for help.” She took a deep breath. “Everyone, this is Loomis Mitchell….”
Loomis Mitchell led the way down the dock, his head bent as he listened to Britt. Max held Annie’s elbow as they walked. The only light was a single 500-watt bulb near the end of the pier. It shed a golden radiance on the cabin cruiser tied there, but the greater portion of the pier was in darkness. The boat, perhaps a twenty-eight-footer, rose and fell in the swells. “Nice.” Max’s tone was admiring. When they reached the ladder, Max gave her elbow a squeeze, then followed Loomis down the steps.