Death Walked In

by Carolyn Hart

  When Annie was trying to be an actress, she’d known dozens of girls like Barb with pretty faces and some talent. They all wanted more than they could afford, bewitched by styles and fragrances and a vision of elegance created by high-dollar advertising and films.

  Annie wondered if Geoff Grant treasured his adoptive children for glimpses of their dead mothers or if he was often bewildered by personalities foreign to his. How did his new wife view them?

  Rhoda Wickham Grant, 44. Born in Marietta, Georgia. Attended a business college in Atlanta. Married briefly to a Delta pilot, John Sanders. No children. She resumed her maiden name and was a real estate agent in Atlanta. She arrived on Broward’s Rock six years ago. Worked for Sandpiper Realty. A longtime pilot. Credit history mixed. A tendency to run up credit card debt with exotic vacations.

  There were two photographs from the Gazette, a wedding picture of Rhoda and Geoff, she in a mauve cocktail dress, he in a dark business suit, and Rhoda standing beside a Cessna Sky-hawk at the Broward’s Rock airport, the wind stirring her dark curls. She was smiling.

  Annie picked up the final dossier.

  Denise Howard Cramer, 37, born in Columbia. Older sister Helen married Geoff Grant. Various jobs as sales clerk, secretary, real estate agent. Marriage to Thomas Cramer ended in divorce in 1998. No children. She came to the island when her sister was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The former servants’ cottage had long been used as a retreat for Geoff Grant. He turned it over to his sister-in-law. Denise remained on the island after Helen’s death. She now rents the cottage. She is a successful island real estate agent. She introduced Rhoda to Geoff.

  In one photograph, Denise stood near the Sandpiper Realty sign in front of a Mediterranean-style mansion. In the other, she presided at a Rotary luncheon. She looked bubbly with curly brown hair, a plump face, and a big smile.

  Annie swept the sheets into a pile. The occupants of the house who deserved red flags seemed obvious, determinedly free-spirited Ben and financially irresponsible Barb. If Rhoda often spent more money than she had, she also might have been tempted by gold coins.

  “However…” Annie murmured aloud. Sometimes it was the most conventional who had the most to lose. The decision to kill Gwen Jamison might have been made as much to protect a reputation as to profit from the theft.

  The phone rang. Annie automatically checked caller ID. She saw the name and took a sudden quick breath.

  Max sniffed. Ever a man to appreciate home baking, he sorted out appetizing smells of rising rolls, stew, and apple pie. He stopped in the wide doorway that opened into a spotless kitchen. Butter-topped rolls rose on several trays. Steam wreathed above large pots. Six apple pies cooled on a rack. Three black women with gingham aprons moved about purposefully.

  Max knocked on the door frame. “Excuse me.”

  A tall woman with iron-gray hair looked up from a cutting board. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for Serena Shelby. Can you direct me to the preschool?”

  Unsmiling, she walked toward him, her gaze questioning. “Who might you be?”

  She obviously didn’t intend to lead an unknown man to a young woman working at her church.

  Max understood and knew he would have wanted the same protection for any of his sisters. He quickly discarded the idea of spinning a fake story. “I’m Max Darling. I’m working for the lawyer who’s defending Robert Jamison.”

  Quick awareness flickered in the woman’s dark eyes.

  “I know Serena’s a very nice girl.” His smile was disarming. “Terry Phillips thinks the world of her. He gave me Serena’s name, suggested I talk to her. I want to ask Serena for some information that may help prove Robert’s innocence.”

  The woman’s broad face folded into a thoughtful frown. Finally, she nodded. She pointed to the hall. “You can sit in the back of the sanctuary. Wait there.”

  “Death on Demand.” Annie always answered with a lilt as she announced the finest mystery bookstore north of Miami. But this was no ordinary call to order a book. Who was phoning her from the Geoffrey Grant household and why?

  “Annie Darling?” The woman’s voice was soft and hurried.

  “Yes. How may I help you?”

  “The reporter called Geoff and said you talked to the police, told them about that woman on the pier.” The caller struggled for breath. “Who was that woman talking about? Geoff’s beside himself. He’s gone to the police station to try and find out.”

  “Who is this?” Annie held tight to the receiver. When she’d tipped off Marian Kenyon, shared what she’d learned during that meeting on the dark pier, she’d hoped to stir up the Grants. Now she felt a qualm at the fear so apparent in her caller’s voice.

  “Rhoda Grant.” The words came fast. “We met at Charlie Jamison’s house. That doesn’t matter. You have to help me.” There was a note of anger as well as determination. “If that woman claims Gwen saw one of the family hiding the coins, she has to be found. Maybe she lied. That’s possible, isn’t it? You have to tell me what happened.”

  Rhoda Grant had every right to demand to know the circumstances. “The facts will be in the newspaper story, but here’s what happened.” It didn’t take long to describe that short encounter in the darkness.

  “What did she look like?”

  “It was dark.” Dark with night and heavy with the fleeing woman’s fear.

  “There was moonlight.” Rhoda’s voice was sharp. “You saw the boat. Was she a big woman? Slender? Heavy? Tall? Short? You’ve seen people row a boat. How big was she?”

  Annie’s memory was distinct. The woman had rowed jerkily, as fast as she could, angular arms pumping. She wasn’t a big woman. She was likely no taller than five feet five or six. There had been nothing youthful in her movements so she was an older woman. How easy would it be for the thief to run through a list of Gwen Jamison’s friends and find the one who knew too much?

  Annie knew better than to create a false picture. Gwen no doubt had friends who were bulky and heavyset. Any description could be dangerous to someone. “It took me a moment to climb up the ladder. By the time I got up on the pier, I barely glimpsed the boat going around the headland.”

  “You don’t have any idea who it could have been?” Rhoda sounded discouraged.

  A sudden peal marked the opening of Death on Demand’s front door. “I’m sorry. That’s all I know. I have to go now. I have a customer.” Annie clicked off the phone and stepped into the center aisle.

  Geoff Grant walked toward her, his face grim.

  Max sat in the last pew. The long, narrow, dim sanctuary reflected age, the natural cypress walls glowing with a rich softness. Straight-backed pews were close together. The hymnals looked worn and well used.

  A door opened near the choir loft.

  Max rose and stepped into the aisle.

  A big man in a dark blue suit walked toward him. He was impressive, a domed forehead, blunt chin, massive shoulders. Although his hair was white, his face was youthful with bright, dark eyes. Perhaps he was in his late forties. He was a good four inches taller than Max. He didn’t offer to shake hands and his gaze was measuring. “Pastor Harold Shelby. I’ve been told you want to talk to Serena.”

  “Yes, sir.” Max met his piercing gaze openly. “I understand she was with Robert Jamison yesterday morning.” This was the critical piece of information Terry Phillips reluctantly revealed.

  The preacher folded his arms. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “She was forbidden to see him.” His face folded in an angry frown. “No-account, that’s what Robert is. He grieved his mama. He couldn’t hold a job and he hung around a nice girl, a good girl, even when he was told to keep his distance.”

  Abruptly Max understood. “Is Serena your daughter?”

  Shelby glared. “Didn’t Robert tell you? I warned him to stay away from my girl.”

  “Robert has told us nothing.” Max spoke quietly. “He refused to say where he was yesterday morning. That’s one reason he was arrested. He cla
imed he was driving around the north end of the island. His mother was shot between ten-twenty and ten-forty. If we can prove where he was during that period, the police will have to release him.”

  Shelby’s eyes widened. “Robert didn’t send you here?”

  “No, sir. Terry Phillips, a friend of Robert’s, thought he’d talked to Serena during that time. That’s why I’ve come.”

  Shelby’s voice was sharp. “Ten-twenty to ten-forty? You’re sure of the time?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Shelby stared at the floor. Finally, he lifted his eyes, his face grim, and jerked his head toward the door. “Come with me.”

  Geoff Grant’s broad, capable-looking hands bunched into fists. His usually pinkish face was pale. He would have looked at home in a yacht’s saloon in his yellow cashmere turtleneck, olive wool slacks, and burgundy loafers. Instead he was a picture of disbelief and anger as he hunched in a wicker chair in the reader’s nook, listening intently.

  When Annie finished, he said, “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  She met his gaze steadily. “I reported information important to a murder investigation to the police.”

  “You did more than that. Reporting to the police is understandable even if someone told you lies. But you weren’t satisfied with that.” Anger toughened the words. “You called the newspaper. Now everyone on the island will know. You’ve accused someone in my family of theft and murder.”

  “I didn’t make the accusation.” She leaned forward. “I’m sorry if innocent persons are affected, but the police arrested Robert and they aren’t looking any further. Do you believe Robert would shoot his mother? Do you think Robert is smart enough, sophisticated enough, to steal only the most valuable coins from your collection?” She watched him carefully.

  Grant looked away, made no answer.

  Annie felt sadness for a man confronting family anguish. His silent acquiescence meant the thief had carefully chosen from among valuable and less valuable coins.

  She continued quietly, “Do you believe Gwen Jamison would cover up for her son if she suspected he was involved in theft?”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know what to think. I’ll be honest with you. Robert’s a sweet kid. He always was. He got off the rails after his dad died. Gwen did her best, but he started running around with a wild bunch, stayed out too late, drank too much. Grief’s hard on everyone, especially hard on kids.” His eyes held memories of pain, the understanding of loss. “Anyway, last week Gwen told me he’d found a job and he was in love with a nice girl. She was really glad I’d helped with bail. Robert swore he didn’t know about the marijuana, that somebody else had stuffed it behind the seat. She said, ‘I know my boy. He’s done things he shouldn’t have, but I know when he’s lying. He’s telling the truth about this.’ Still, maybe he fooled her. If he was strung out on drugs anything could happen.”

  “No.” Annie was definite. Max had seen Robert as he learned of his mother’s death. His pain had been deep and raw with no buffering by alcohol or drugs. Drug use was never hard to recognize. “Not yesterday morning.”

  The flat statement hung between them.

  “If not…” His eyes reflected despair. “My kids are here for my birthday. I watched them grow up. I loved their mothers. I love them. I’ll never believe one of them would kill.”

  Annie lifted a hand in appeal. “Tell me about them.”

  He looked shocked. “Betray them?”

  “If they are innocent, nothing you say will cause harm.”

  Grant’s face lightened. “I have nothing to hide. They have nothing to hide. Oh, they’ve made some mistakes in the past, but they’re good kids.” His shoulders lifted and fell in an impatient shrug. “They’re young. Lots of kids make false starts and need time to figure out what matters in life.” He spoke in a professorial tone.

  Annie kept her face friendly and nonjudgmental, but her inner imp gave a sniff. The Grant progeny were in their mid-twenties, close in age to Annie. How hard was it to add and subtract and know what you could afford or couldn’t? Her imp chanted, “Calvinist, that’s what you are.” Annie shrugged the thought away. The imp had taken his cue from Max who insisted she was a Calvinist with the saving grace of a sense of humor. She always protested that she wasn’t grim about work. After all, work was simply the most splendid exercise of one’s talents. Max always murmured something about lilies of the field and slid his arm around her shoulders and suggested that an afternoon—or morning or midday or midnight—frolic was just the ticket to increase joy in the workplace. She felt an inner glow, forced herself to focus on the Grant family.

  “Justin sounds like a hard worker.” Her tone was approving.

  Grant beamed. “I’m proud of him. He’s had a financial struggle. I helped as much as I could but I’m evenhanded with the children so my contribution had to be limited. I can only manage so much. Justin had to go into debt. Without student loans, he’d never have been able to finish. That wouldn’t be so bad if he could pay them off, but now that he’s planning to get married, it won’t be easy.”

  Annie was puzzled. How expensive was it to get married? If you didn’t have any money, you planned a modest ceremony.

  She’d been on her own when she and Max married. She’d kept within a budget although she’d agreed to let Max and his mother plan the reception. It would have been ungracious to refuse. The wedding wasn’t magnificent, but it was lovely and heartfelt on a sunny summer day. Happiness didn’t cost a penny.

  “Does he want a big ceremony?”

  Grant was rueful. “Justin would be happy with a picnic on the beach, but Margaret, well, Margaret wants everything to be grand. She’s talking about an evening wedding and a sit-down dinner at the Sea Side Inn with an orchestra. He wants his band, of course. She’s a little put out about that. When she isn’t happy, she won’t say a word, and that gets to Justin. He wants her to be all bubbly. That’s what he told me once, that Margaret was like a glass of champagne. I have to say she reminds me of champagne. She has white-gold hair, just like champagne. Margaret is incredibly beautiful and very charming, certainly one of the most attractive young women I’ve ever met.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  Annie looked at him inquiringly. “Does she care for Justin?”

  “I’d say she does. But”—he looked worried—“she has expensive tastes. Sometimes a parent tries to make up for things by spending too much money. I don’t want to be critical, but her mother has spoiled her. You see”—he hitched his chair closer—“Margaret’s mother Jan is divorced. Her husband was a doctor so she was used to having whatever she wanted. After the divorce, she had to get a job. She’s a paralegal and doesn’t make a great deal of money. Nevertheless, Jan was determined that Margaret would have everything she would have had if her father hadn’t left them. He paid child support but not a huge amount. When he remarried and had several more children, Jan spent even more money on Margaret, so she’s grown up expecting to have anything and everything she wants. Justin is going to do fine as a vet, but he has to go into even more debt to buy into the practice here and they are planning on a new building. He’s worried about how he’s going to swing everything. He already has quite a bit of credit card debt. I’ll tell you, it isn’t easy for young people today. Everything is so expensive. I had no idea how much weddings cost, and her father isn’t helping.”

  Annie had been poor before she married a rich man. She remembered living on a tight budget, but no one had ever pressed her to spend money she didn’t have. She felt a quick sympathy for Justin.

  “Still”—Grant brightened—“Justin will do well. He never gave Nancy and me a minute’s trouble. He’ll figure out a way.” His smile was confident.

  Annie smiled in return and wondered if Geoff Grant had any inkling he’d supplied Justin with a solid motive for taking the coins. Justin certainly would understand gradations in value among the coins. Moreover, she wasn’t sure about requirements for a vet’s license, but she doub
ted one could be granted or held by a man accused of grand larceny. Exposure would rob him of the career he’d sought so long and likely derail his marriage. If Justin were guilty, he couldn’t take the chance that Gwen Jamison might speak out. She had promised the thief silence, but the thief either decided the risk was too great or was determined to reap the profits.

  Grant continued to smile. “Nancy and I were always proud of Justin and”—his eyes were soft—“humbled by Kerry. She’s been the same ever since she was little, always trying to help everyone. The only time she is ever angry is when she sees injustice.” His smile slipped away. “I’m afraid she’s often angry now. She’s trying to raise money for a homeless mission and, of course, there are always more in need than can ever be helped.”

  Annie was thoughtful. “I suppose she’d like for people to give more for the poor and spend less on luxuries.”

  “Absolutely.” Geoff was emphatic.

  Annie pictured Double Eagles against black velvet. How did Kerry balance the value of Geoff Grant’s collection against hunger, disease, and misery? How many people would eat if she stole the coins and sold them? But it would take an unbalanced mind to commit murder in the name of charity. Kerry’s pictures showed a sweet face and kind eyes with no hint of zealotry.

  “I understand Ben’s an adventurous sort.” Annie sounded approving.

  Grant settled back in his chair. “It’s all very well and good to enjoy travel, even to seek out the exotic.” His frown made it clear he found Ben’s attitude incomprehensible. “But a man has to settle down eventually and it’s time for Ben to make something of himself.” Geoff was indignant. “He had one of the highest SAT scores in the state his year. He could do anything. A lawyer or a doctor or an accountant.”