Death of the Party

by Carolyn Hart

  The breeze off the water was cold. None of them had stopped for coats. Once again Annie wished she’d taken time to retrieve her jacket. Everyone was there. Annie wondered if they’d all come because of the sense of safety provided by staying together or because of their hunger to be connected to the mainland, even at a remove. They could hear Max and Loomis on the boat. They clustered near the ladder, Jay and Dana together, Isabel holding tight to Craig’s arm, Millicent and Nick on the outskirts, present but aloof, Britt with a hand on a piling, leaning forward to catch every word, Gerald a dark, elusive, listening shadow, Lucinda watching with folded arms, Kim peppering Britt with questions—“What does Mitchell do? Where does he live? Talk about saved by the bell. Do you credit him with ESP?” Britt snapped, “Shh. I can’t hear him.”

  Annie shivered, but it was worth the chill to listen and know without doubt or question that this dreadful episode was nearing an end. It was almost as good as a bridge to the mainland to hear Loomis Mitchell’s clear, precise voice and know he was being heard by the Coast Guard, which would contact the sheriff.

  “…Loomis Mitchell contacting you from Golden Silk to report a murder.” Loomis gave the latitude and longitude of the island and the known circumstances of Everett’s death. He paused. “No, sir, this was the first time it was possible to make a report. The island was cut off from communication until I arrived. The radio was stolen as well as a yacht, leaving the group marooned here…. Yes, sir…. So we can expect help this evening. Within two hours at the outside…”

  The logs crackled cheerfully in the bedroom fireplace. Max pulled the table a little closer to the fire, welcoming the waft of heat. Lucinda must have found time to start the blaze. Surely it was she who had done so and not Britt. The last he’d seen of Britt after a quick and unceremonious buffet dinner, she was walking arm in arm toward the library with Loomis. He wondered how Loomis would react to her admission that she had engineered the gathering on Golden Silk, hoping to solve a murder. Would it change his feelings for Britt to know she’d connived to keep Jeremiah’s murder a secret?

  That was between the two of them.

  The dancing flames were cheerful, though their warmth did nothing to ease Max’s weary sense of failure. He’d been hired to catch a murderer and he’d failed. Worse than that failure was the hard truth that Everett Crenshaw was dead.

  Max pushed back his chair, walked to the fireplace, stretched a hand to clamp the mantel. He stared into the flames, remembering Everett’s quick intelligence, his capacity for digging up unpalatable facts, and, most of all, his taunts. At the time, the jabs had seemed part and parcel of Everett’s arrogance and penchant for stirring up trouble. This time he’d triggered a swift and deadly response from Jeremiah’s murderer.

  “Damn.” Max pushed away from the mantel, moved back to the table. Seated, he picked up a pen. It was too late now to regret the fact he’d dismissed Everett’s gibes as nothing more than a performance. Everett’s sardonic voice sounded in his mind: The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. One of those listening had heard a threat. And dealt with it.

  The Meissen clock on the mantel struck seven. In something less than an hour they could expect deliverance. Or, if not immediate departure from the island, certainly they could expect to be protected. There would be armed deputies to station in the house and to patrol the circuit of the cabins. Rest might not be easy this final night on the island, but it should be secure.

  Max pulled the legal pad close. The murderer had taken not only Max’s gun this morning but also all of the information he’d accrued about the guests. That didn’t matter. Even though he couldn’t hand over that background information to the authorities, he could present a record of everything that had happened this weekend. First he’d make a cogent summary and then he’d pluck out critical facts for ready reference. He began to write.

  Lucinda hummed “Do, Lord” with cheer and gusto as she poured boiling water from a steam kettle to scald the sink. Occasionally, she paused to clap damp hands in rhythm and sing a verse in a surprisingly sweet contralto. She placed the empty kettle on the drainboard, lifted a cloth to give a final swipe to the gleaming tiles.

  Annie paused in wrapping a platter of ham-and-cheese sandwiches with pink plastic to observe Lucinda in amazement. Ever since the cook had been assured that the Coast Guard was en route, her entire demeanor had changed. She’d whistled through the preparations for the buffet supper, and when Annie came in to help with cleaning up, Lucinda’s conversation was punctuated by praise of the Coast Guard: “My cousin Maude’s son is on a ship out of Norfolk. Plenty of good they do and very little attention paid.” “The Coast Guard will put everything right, we can count on that.” “They can use a metal detector and find that missing gun.”

  Annie finished tucking the plastic wrap. She doubted either the Coast Guard or the sheriff’s office, whichever took charge, would have any luck finding Max’s gun. The island was small but the possibilities of concealment were almost endless. But soon—she glanced at the ceramic clock over the sink—the missing gun would no longer matter. Even now, with help on the way, everyone was staying in the house. The murderer wouldn’t have any opportunity to retrieve the gun. Likely it had been hidden near a cabin or perhaps near the central fountain, close to a landmark but covered with dirt or leaves. Perhaps a mound of pine cones marked the spot, meaningless to everyone but the murderer. Almost certainly it was hidden far from the house.

  Annie took comfort in that thought. She wasn’t as ebullient as Lucinda but her spirits were improving rapidly. She carried the sandwich platter to the refrigerator, slid it onto a center shelf. Two other platters were there. Lucinda had insisted that sandwiches be ready to offer to their rescuers for a late supper, and she had just brewed the thirty-cup percolator of coffee.

  Annie took a look around the kitchen. Everything was done. She untied her borrowed apron.

  Lucinda followed her glance. “Everything’s tidy and I appreciate your help. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Annie smiled. “Not now, thanks.” She moved toward the kitchen door. “I’m going upstairs for a while.” She hoped working on a report for the sheriff had helped ease Max’s feeling of failure. No, they hadn’t solved the crime, but it wasn’t fair for him to feel guilty about Everett’s death. It was Everett who had decided to keep to himself damning facts. Not Britt. Not Max. Not Annie.

  She pushed through the swinging door into the dining room.

  Kim looked up from a table near the far window, her round face excited. “Hey, Annie, can I count on you and Max being down at the dock when the cavalry arrives?”

  Annie shot her a startled glance. “Yes. I imagine everyone will go down. Why?”

  Kim had the grace to appear uncomfortable. She pushed back a strand of blond hair. The faint flicker of embarrassment was superseded by a rush of enthusiasm. “Think about it. ‘Marooned Murder Suspects Greet Rescuers.’ God, what a story. I’m going to get the pix of a lifetime. You’ll definitely be there?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Annie’s tone was dry, but she knew her sarcasm went right over Kim’s ambitious blond head.

  Kim bent again to her legal pad, the blood-red nails on one hand thrumming against the tabletop.

  Annie reached the hallway. Millicent and Nick had pulled chairs from the dining room to the front of the hall, near one of the side windows. Their heads were close together. Millicent’s voice was a murmur. Though they were only a half dozen feet away, they were unaware of Annie, immersed in their private world. Millicent’s hand was tucked in his. Millicent hadn’t quite regained her impermeable confidence, but she no longer looked haunted or frightened. Nick’s face was weary but at peace.

  Perhaps the clearest reflection of the easing of tensions since Loomis’s arrival was the soft and soothing sound of “Clair de Lune,” the notes glorious and perfect as butterflies drifting in summer sunlight. Annie looked through the archway into the drawing room. Gerald’s
fingers moved with graceful precision over the keyboard of the rosewood piano tucked in a far corner. In profile, his lined and drooping face was serene. He no longer looked villainous to Annie. He was a tired, middle-aged man finding solace in music. Occasionally he glanced toward an alcove where Craig and Isabel sat. Gerald’s faint smile was a benediction.

  Craig leaned toward Isabel, his expression reassuring. And loving. The piano, though soft, overrode his voice. Isabel’s smile was tremulous but joyful. They were absorbed in each other, shutting out their surroundings. There was no hint in his face of the tough, combative employer quick to issue orders and demand compliance. Isabel’s misery of the morning was gone.

  In the other alcove, Dana rested her head on Jay’s shoulder. They sat close together on the love seat. Jay patted her shoulder, the kind of pat offered for reassurance, a pat that meant Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right, I’m here. Occasionally he made a quiet comment. Dana still looked uneasy, but there was no trace of her earlier panic. She lifted her arm, looked at her watch.

  Annie too checked her watch. It wouldn’t be long now. Their rescuers should arrive in a little over thirty minutes. Oh yes, she was sure that everyone in the house would crowd onto the dock. Only then would they feel safe.

  How would the murderer feel? Fearful? Triumphant? Tense? Surely that huge burden, a burden that could never be shed, weighed upon the murderer. There should be some indication of guilt in one of the faces she had just seen. But she’d observed nothing.

  The elegant notes of “Clair de Lune” followed her into the hallway and up the stairs. She avoided the step where Jeremiah had fallen. Soon she would be free of Golden Silk. She would not have to go up and down those stairs, feeling each time that she was close to evil. As she hurried toward their room, it was almost as if she were shaking away the sticky, clinging strands of a monstrous web.

  She moved quickly, her footsteps muted by the oriental runner. She reached their room, opened the door, paused on the threshold.

  Max sat at the writing table, his back to her. He was intent on the pad in front of him, his hand moving in swift, determined strokes.

  Annie slipped inside, closed the door softly behind her. Dear Max. She loved the way his thick blond hair swirled to a point on the nape of his neck. She loved the strong set of his shoulders. If only there were some way she could help him find the truth…

  “Max.” There was magic in saying the name of someone you love. There was a special resonance when you felt the name on your tongue and in your heart. She said, “Max,” and it was a remembrance and promise and vow.

  He looked around. The tight lines in his face eased. His blue eyes smiled even before his mouth curved. “Almost through.” He gestured toward the opposite chair. “Come see what you think.”

  Annie settled in the chair nearest the fire, welcoming the sweep of warmth. Lucinda kept her kitchen cold, probably because she was heavy and moved about so vigorously. It had also been cold in the dining room and the drawing room. The flames dancing in the bedroom fireplace banished the remainder of Annie’s chill from their trek onto the pier. She picked up the sheets with Max’s bold, slanting script and began to read.

  For a few minutes, there was no sound but the scratching of his pen and the rustle of the pages as she read. She finished and looked up to meet his inquiring gaze.

  “Have I forgotten anything?” He was somber.

  Annie wanted to grip his shoulders and tell him he wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened. It was Britt who had called everyone to Golden Silk. Max had warned against her plan, but she’d made it clear she intended to proceed with or without him. Who was to know what difference his presence and Annie’s had made on the island? It was quite possible that Max’s immediate response to Everett’s murder, his careful collection of evidence, and now his painstaking re-creation of the day’s events might yet play a big role in solving both the new crime and the old.

  He had done the best he could. But this wasn’t the moment to try to free him from the burden of Everett’s death.

  Annie tapped the sheets into a neat pile. “It’s all here. Everything.”

  “And here’s this.” He handed her another sheet.

  Annie took it, read quickly:

  CRITICAL FACTS AT A GLANCE

  Britt Barlow admits removing a wire strung across the top of the stairs that caused Jeremiah Addison’s fatal fall last year.

  Everett Crenshaw saw Britt remove the wire.

  He sent Britt a letter suggesting he felt compelled to notify the police.

  In response, Britt invited Crenshaw and everyone else who was present when Jeremiah died to return to Golden Silk this weekend.

  Britt hired Max Darling of Confidential Commissions to assist her in her efforts to discover who set the trap for Jeremiah.

  Crenshaw revealed the true purpose of the gathering at dinner last night.

  Several times both after dinner and at breakfast this morning Crenshaw suggested he was privy to more information than he had publicly revealed. It seems clear he knew the identity of Jeremiah’s murderer and intendedto use that information to his own advantage, but the murderer silenced him.

  The shot that killed Everett Crenshaw was heard at approximately 10:30 a.m. by Britt Barlow, Annie Darling, and Max Darling.

  Claimed location of weekend guests and employees at 10:30 a.m.:

  Isabel Addison (Cabin 1)—En route to Cabin 7.

  Millicent McRae (Cabin 2)—On path from her cabin to central pathway. (See attached drawing. Envision cabins on a clock face, Cabin 1 at 10 a.m. An outer path links the cabins in a circle. Individual paths, like spokes in a wheel, lead to the main path that bisects the circle.)

  Nick McRae (Cabin 2)—On central pathway walking toward the beach.

  Dana Addison (Cabin 4)—Searching for husband, cannot pinpoint location.

  Jay Addison (Cabin 4)—At the northeast end of the island on the remains of a wrecked freighter.

  Kim Kennedy (Cabin 5)—Taking a photograph in the living room of Harry Lyle’s quarters. The timing device in the digital camera proves her presence there at the time Crenshaw was shot.

  Gerald Gamble (Cabin 6)—In his cabin, completing his report on the weekend Jeremiah Addison died.

  Craig Addison (Cabin 7)—Walking on the beach.

  Lucinda Phillips—Cleaning Cabin 7 or en route to Cabin 6.

  Harry Lyle—Disappeared from the island Friday night, taking the yacht The Yellow Kid and the ham radio.

  10. A semiautomatic handgun, a Smith and Wesson .45 caliber, retrieved from bottom of lagoon. Dana Addison said she found the gun near the steps of their cabin (4) and threw it into the lagoon because the gun frightened her. She insists she had no knowledge of Crenshaw’s death. Britt Barlow identified the gun as one that was stolen on Friday night from a locked desk drawer in the library.

  11. Jay Addison stated he never saw Crenshaw after breakfast and knew nothing about the gun’s presence at their cabin.

  12. There was no trace in Crenshaw’s cabin of the report he had been asked to write along with others about the weekend that Jeremiah Addison died. Serrated edges indicate pages had been removed from the legal pad found on the coffee table. (Britt Barlow had earlier delivered new legal pads to each cabin.) Moreover, material Everett had gathered about those present on the island was also missing.

  13. A handgun (Colt .45, Lightweight Commander model, silver finish) was stolen from the room of Max Darling sometime between breakfast Saturday and Mrs. Darling’s return to the room at approximately 10:45 a.m. Information gathered by Darling prior to arrival on the island was also taken. Neither the gun nor the papers have been found.

  Annie placed the fact sheet on top of Max’s summary. She gave him a rueful smile. “Everything’s there, but nothing points to the identity of the killer. It could be anyone.”

  “Not quite. We’re in the clear and so are Britt and Kim,” he said briskly. “That leaves Craig, Isabel, Jay,
Dana, Millicent, Nick, Gerald, and Lucinda. Which one? We have to think about who they are as well as why each one wanted Jeremiah dead. Obviously Everett was killed because he threatened the murderer. We can’t forget it all goes back to Jeremiah. Let’s take Craig. His father ostensibly intended to groom him to take over the business. That obviously hadn’t gone well. In fact, Jeremiah had publicly humiliated him. When you add this to the way Jeremiah treated his ex-wife, you had plenty of motive for Craig.”

  Annie knew this was true and that these facts were why Craig’s wife had suspected a struggle between father and son. She also knew what had happened since Everett’s revelation about the wire at the top of the stairs. “Not Craig.” Annie spoke with certainty. “No one knows him better than Isabel. She says there’s no way Craig would set a trap.”

  Max slowly nodded. “That’s exactly what Jay said. I heard Jay and Craig talking. Each one had suspected the other. But”—he looked skeptical—“if either one’s guilty, he wouldn’t admit it.”

  “Jay had the strongest motive.” Annie knew that was true. “He’s emotional enough to lose control of himself and kill somebody. But that’s not what happened. Stringing a wire takes planning.”

  Max leaned forward, his face eager. “So did shooting Everett. The gun was taken from the library sometime during the night on Friday. That means both Jeremiah’s and Everett’s murders were planned.”

  “I’d say Millicent McRae is a super planner.” Or was. Annie wondered if the artful politician would ever completely recover from the trauma of this weekend. “Next to Jay, I think she was the most emotionally bruised by Jeremiah. She’d do anything to try and save her marriage.”