Engaged to Die

by Carolyn Hart

  “this investigation’s fouled up, and it’s all because that girl’s a runaway. I’ve got to talk to these people”—he rattled the folder—“on Monday as well as Hasty and Brandt and Kelly. Plus I got to keep hunting for Martin. You do what you please. In between chatting up a fugitive on your cell phone.”

  He moved heavily and wearily to the door.

  Annie called out, “Billy—”

  Max reached out a long arm, pulled her close. “Let it go, honey.”

  Annie looked up into sympathetic blue eyes. “Billy’s not going to do anything about Elaine Hasty.”

  “Not right now.” Max’s voice was kind. And sad.

  “Annie, I know you’re on Chloe’s side, but it looks like Chloe’s spun you a tale. She promised to call. She didn’t. So how likely is it she’s telling the truth about what happened with her and Jake? And Billy’s right. How many people could have been there?”

  Annie shot back. “I heard you say that Beth thought she heard someone on the garden path. Max, somebody else could have been there.”

  “Maybe. It’s a damn long shot.” He shrugged.

  “There were only a few minutes between the time Chloe said she left him alive and when Beth Kelly found him dead. I don’t think there was time.”

  “Yes, there was.” Annie’s tone was resolute. “I asked Doc Burford. He told me it would only take two, maybe three minutes to kill him. There was time. So we’ve got to find Elaine. If anyone else took the path to the point besides Rusty and Beth, Elaine saw that person.”

  “If you’re right,” he said quickly, “Elaine will have tried blackmail there, too. If she thinks she’s got money coming, she won’t say a word.”

  “Maybe we can persuade her. And”—Annie brightened—“if she won’t tell us anything, that’s a kind of proof right there. Then we’ll follow her. If she picks up an envelope of money, well, Billy will have to pay attention to that.”

  “Follow her? That’s a lot easier said than done. Okay.” He was reassuring. “We’ll give it a try. After all, Billy said you could talk to Elaine if you wanted to. We’ll take my car, leave yours here for now.” He grinned. “And I’m still a deputy.”

  As they came down the hall, angry voices rose in the waiting room. They pushed through the door. Billy stood face-to-face with a frowning Bob Winslow. The front door was wide open. Mavis stood outside on the top step, tying the belt of her raincoat, looking back worriedly at her husband and the tall young man.

  Winslow blocked Billy’s way. “I have a right to know what you are doing.”

  “I’m investigating a murder.” Billy was not as tall as Winslow but he was forty pounds heavier. He leaned forward, his face stony. “You want to know more, read the Gazette. Or talk to them.” He jerked his head toward Annie and Max. “Now”—Billy swept a big hand and the folder crackled—“everybody out. The station’s closed. Out.”

  As the door slammed shut, Billy grabbed his wife’s elbow, hustled her to the cruiser parked in the chief’s slot. The engine roared.

  The wind rattled the leaves in the magnolia. The air was heavy and wet with the smell of approaching rain and the salty scent from the sea. A black cloud bank hid the setting sun. Harbor lights glittered in the fading twilight like diamonds scattered on black velvet. The water, already dark as a pool of tar, surged toward shore, the slap against the harbor wall relentless, unending. Light from a lamppost spilled down over the three cars in the station parking lot—Annie’s Volvo, Max’s Maserati, Bob Winslow’s Ford Explorer.

  The taillights of Billy’s cruiser diminished, disappeared.

  Bob Winslow hunched against the cold breeze. “Mrs. Darling—”

  “Annie. Please.” She braced for his questions. She had no answers, and she was afraid, terribly afraid, for Chloe.

  “Annie.” Bob’s voice was gruff. “You’re Chloe’s only friend. If she’s going to ask for help from anybody, it will be from you. If she gets in touch, will you call me? Let me help? I’ve got a card.” He pulled out his billfold, found a card. “It’s got all my numbers, office, home, cell. I’ll keep my cell on.”

  “I will. I promise.” Annie shivered. She’d made a lot of promises this day and had yet to keep a one of them.

  “Yeah.” Winslow stood a moment longer, then walked heavily to his car.

  Annie grabbed Max’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Faster.” Annie leaned forward, straining against the seat belt, peering out into the night.

  “Deer,” Max said briefly. But he increased his speed. Nightingale Courts was no more than a five-minute drive from the harbor.

  “I’ll call Duane, see if Elaine’s in her cabin.” As Annie pulled her cell phone from her purse, it rang. She glanced at the illuminated number, knew it at once. “It must be Henny.” A quick frown. “I wonder why she’s still at the store.” Death on Demand closed at five on Saturdays in the winter. Annie’s voice lifted.

  “Maybe she’s heard from Chloe.” She pressed the button. “Henny, have you heard from—” she paused. Maybe she should be cautious. “—from the girl who called earlier?”

  Over static, Henny spoke fast. “No. Not a word. But there has been a disturbing call.” Henny’s voice was somber. “Just before closing, a man called, asked for you. I said you weren’t in, could I take a message. He laughed. It was nasty. More of a giggle. Think Richard Widmark in Kiss of Death. A slimy voice. He said to tell you, ‘People who cause trouble get trouble.’ The words were slurred. I’d say he’d had too much to drink or was on drugs. After he hung up I checked caller ID, but I’d grabbed it up on the first ring, so nothing registered. Anyway, are you with Max?”

  Annie looked toward her husband, his features just discernible in the glow from the dashboard. “Why, Henny”—Annie was amused—“don’t tell me an old World War II pilot and Peace Corps volunteer who’s been to Africa thinks a gal has to have a man around to protect her?”

  Max turned an inquiring face.

  Annie waved his attention back to the road, which curled among a dense stand of pines.

  “My dear”—Henny’s voice was acerbic—“gothics had a point. There’s nothing like a white knight rushing in to save the heroine in the penultimate chapter. Or the dark and brooding master of the manse with a heart of gold, literally and figuratively.” There was a slight pause, then faster than a speeding bullet, Henny snapped, “Foggy Cornish coast. Governess. Alvean.”

  Equally quickly, Annie retorted, “Mistress of Mellyn, Victoria Holt.”

  “Okay, okay.” Henny laughed. Then she said quite seriously, “That call wasn’t nice. Somebody doesn’t like you—”

  From her tone, Annie knew Henny was truly worried by the call.

  “—so take care. Stick close to Max, independence be damned. Tell him I said so.” The directive was brusque. “If you still need help at the store, I’ll be glad to come in on Monday. Are you getting anywhere?”

  The headlights illuminated the arched entrance to Nightingale Courts.

  “Oh, Henny, we hope we’re making progress.” Annie added, her voice soft, “Thanks, friend.”

  “Friends…” Henny’s rich contralto was thoughtful.

  “Another offering from Laurel. This time she quoted from Shadows on the Rock by Willa Cather, ‘to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything.’ I guess that sums it up for Chloe. Good luck, Annie.”

  Annie clicked off the phone. Her smile faded.

  Max looked at her. The car slowed. “What’s wrong?”

  She reached out, touched his arm. He knew. Without being told, he knew when she was worried. She lifted her chin. She’d be damned if she’d let a slime—how well Henny had caught the sound of J. J. Brown’s voice—frighten her. But—she took a breath. “Henny got a phone call threatening me. She said the voice was slimy. I’ll bet anything it’s that guy from Snug Harbor.”

  “Threatening you?” The car rolled to a stop in front of the entrance.

  Annie shook his arm. “It�
��s just a phone call. He’s that kind of creep. It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go.” She craned to look toward the cabins.

  Max hesitated, then nosed the Maserati beneath the arch at the entrance to Nightingale Courts. “Hardly anybody home.” Duane and Ingrid’s cabin was dark. Lights glowed in cabins 2 and 4. Cabins 3, 6, and 7 were dark.

  Annie frowned. “If Elaine’s there, she’s sitting in the dark. Damn. Max, what can we do? How can we find her?”

  The lights from the Maserati illuminated the front of Elaine’s cabin as Max braked.

  The front door was ajar.

  Annie looked at Max, yanked the handle. She was out of her seat before he put the car in park, cut the motor. She rushed up the steps, pushed the door wider, fumbled for the light switch. There was a general air of disorder, magazines tossed carelessly on the warped coffee table, the cabinet doors wide open in the kitchenette, the wastebasket overflowing. Boxes were stacked along one wall, Elaine’s belongings crammed in haphazardly.

  Max was right behind Annie when she stepped into the bedroom. The drawers of the chest were open and empty, the mattress bare of cover. The closet door stood wide. Discarded hangers dangled from the rod. More boxes held clothes and shoes.

  “She’s all packed up to move.” Annie clenched her hands into fists. “Max, this proves she saw someone besides Rusty and Beth.”

  Max looked bewildered. He flung out a hand. “Because she’s moving out?”

  “Exactly.” Annie’s eyes were bright. “This afternoon she said she wanted to move, but she didn’t have enough money. If she’s packed her stuff, it’s because someone’s promised to pay her off.”

  Max looked at the boxes. “I’d say she’s going to move out tonight. We can stay here, wait for her.”

  Annie hurried back into the living room. Max followed. Annie shook her head. “If only we’d gotten here a little sooner. I’ll bet she’s gone to get money. I wonder…” Annie walked over to the side table that held the telephone and answering machine. The light flashed. “She called Rusty and Beth.” Annie shot a quick glance at Max, then, her face determined, reached down and punched the play button.

  Tony Hasty didn’t mince words. “Elaine, call me. I know you’re ducking around trying to avoid me. Don’t be a damn fool. If you saw anything, you call the cops.”

  The second recording startled Annie. Chloe Martin’s voice was high and distraught. “I know you’re there. It won’t do any good to hang up on me. You can’t tell the police I was the only person you saw. You can’t do that to me.” The connection ended.

  “Chloe called Elaine.” Annie worked it out. “Elaine answered, and when Chloe asked for help, Elaine hung up. So Chloe called back. Do you suppose Chloe came here?” Annie looked slowly around the room.

  Max frowned. “Did Chloe tell you she intended to contact Elaine?”

  “No.” Annie had told Chloe of her conversation with Elaine to offer encouragement. Apparently Chloe had mounted her own investigation. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t called Annie at five, she was busy trying to find out what Elaine knew. Where was Chloe now? Had she ridden her bike here, found this empty cabin? Or had she found Elaine? If Elaine refused to talk to Chloe, where was Chloe now?

  Annie shook her head. “I don’t get it. But I’m sure of one thing. Elaine wouldn’t let Chloe slow her down. Elaine was determined to get money. She must be on her way right now to the drop-off spot. Max, if only we knew where it was.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Rusty claimed he didn’t know where the money was to be put, but I’m sure he was lying. Elaine may be waiting there right now.” Max yanked the keys out of his pocket. “There’s a chance we can join the party.”

  The back of the Brewster Arms overlooked a swimming pool embraced by clumps of palmettos. Beyond the lighted pool lay a dark lagoon. Apartment 24 was on the second level. As they walked up the outside steps, a fine rain began to fall. Annie wished she had on her down jacket instead of her windbreaker. The cold, cheerless night matched her mood. No word from Chloe. Elaine gone. Now their hopes rested on the possibility of cajoling information from an angry woman.

  Max rattled the brass knocker, a dolphin curved in a graceful arc.

  The outside light flicked on as the door opened. Beth Kelly looked out. For an instant, her expression was unguarded, hope flashing like a comet before destructing into the bitterness of disappointment. “What do you want?”

  “Your help.” Once again Max spoke quietly. No bombast. No demand. “Annie and I are trying to find the woman who attempted to blackmail you. This won’t involve you in any way. Will you talk to us for a minute?”

  Annie stepped forward, edging past Max. Beth often shopped at Death on Demand. Her favorite author was Anne George, the wonderfully funny southern mystery writer whose untimely death left her fans and admirers remembering her with warmth, rereading her books to hold on to her charm. “Beth, you bought a lot of books over Christmas. Do you remember the girl who’s been working for me? Chloe Martin?”

  Slowly, Beth nodded. “The redhead?”

  “The police think Chloe killed Jake. Chloe thought she was in love with him. He was stringing her along, but he was going to marry Virginia Neville and—”

  “Stringing her along?” Beth’s fingers closed around the thick gold chain that glittered on her black velour pullover. Her red lips twisted. “Join the club. You’ve heard about Women Who Love Too Much. I’ve got a better one, Women Who Pick Sorry Bastards to Love. Oh, yeah, Chloe and I can get together, talk about men—”

  “Not if they put Chloe in jail.” Annie reached out.

  “If we can find the girl who tried to blackmail you, we may be able to prove that Chloe is innocent.”

  Beth’s tear-reddened eyes looked from Annie to Max. “I don’t know who called.”

  “But you know where the money was to be left.” Max stated it as a fact.

  Beth pushed back a strand of blond hair. “If I tell, you’ll keep me out of it?”

  Max nodded. “All we need is a place.”

  She took a deep breath, held the door wide for them to enter.

  The living room was small but cheerful, a Navajo rug hanging from one wall, watercolors of the beach above the fireplace, a red-and-yellow plaid sofa, two forest green easy chairs, another Navajo rug on the floor. Books filled the cases on one wall.

  Beth waved them toward the easy chairs. She stood by the fireplace, her face somber. “How’d you know Rusty was lying?” She gave a harsh half laugh, half sob. “Why do I even ask? He’s always lying. Okay, here’s what happened. I got the call about four. Like Rusty said, she spoke in a whisper. She said she’d seen me last night going down the path after Jake O’Neill. She’d tell the police unless I paid up. I was to tape an envelope with five hundred dollars in twenties to the back of the Fort Loomis sign at the point. The envelope had to be in place by six o’clock.”

  She reached out to the mantel, touched the Venetian glass clock shaped like a cat. It was ten minutes to six.

  The dirt road had been scoured by last week’s nor’easter. Max’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as the Maserati’s wheels bumped in the uneven ruts. “Damn. It’s a public road. Why don’t they grade it?”

  Annie patted his knee. Max loved his red car, and despite the rough ride and the slanting rain that splashed into puddles, turning the sand soft and slippery, he was driving as fast as he dared. The dashboard clock read 6:01. They were too late for the deadline set by the blackmailer, but as Max had pointed out, they weren’t being blackmailed so it made no difference. However, if greed propelled Elaine, she was there right now, looking for her bonanza. Moreover, this was the likeliest road for Elaine to have taken. It ended at a turnaround about thirty yards from the fort and its sign.

  “Almost there,” he said reassuringly. He reached out, turned off the car lights. “No point in announcing our arrival.” The car slowed to a cautious crawl as it came around a curve.

  “Max, look!” Annie poin
ted to the dark shape of a car parked in the turnaround. “I’ll bet that’s her car.”

  Max reached toward the headlight switch, changed his mind. “We’ll surprise her.” He eased the Maserati to a stop. Annie started to open the door.

  “Wait a minute.” Max turned and backed until the Maserati was sideways to the trunk of the parked car, effectively blocking the road. He took the flashlight from the car pocket. He turned it on just long enough to confirm that the car in the darkness was Elaine’s tan Camry. “Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s move quietly. See what we can find out.”

  The rain pelted down. By the time they reached the graveled path that curved around the base of the ruins, Annie’s hair was drenched and her clothes plastered against her. Her feet ached with cold as she splashed through puddles. She hoped Elaine Hasty was equally miserable. Where was she? Was she waiting near the sign, growing ever angrier that her hopes for quick money had come to nothing?

  Rain trickled coldly down Annie’s back. The physical sensation was nothing to the sudden coldness in her mind. If Elaine waited for money that hadn’t come, did that mean she’d seen only Rusty and Beth, that the movement Beth had sensed on the garden path was nothing more than an inquisitive raccoon? Ahead of them the canebrake wavered in the rain.