by Carolyn Hart
Annie restrained herself from caroling, “Good for Marigold.” No matter how maddening Emma might be, she was trying to be helpful. “That’s an excellent suggestion, Emma. I’ll do my best to find out more about the woman at the pier.”
“Dear Emma.” Laurel gazed admiringly at her hostess. “If only we all were as perceptive as you, as intelligent, commanding, and intuitive. I am humble in your presence.”
Annie grinned. Laurel was about to overdo the accolades.
“Years of experience, my dear, years of experience.” Emma’s becomingly modest tone indicated full acceptance of Laurel’s panegyric.
Laurel turned her brilliant gaze toward her daughter-in-law. “That is a perfect color choice, Annie. The cornflower blue of your blouse is so becoming to you.” She nodded approval. “Annie dearest, we’ll be home by Saturday evening at the latest. I feel guilty to confess”—a trill of laughter—“that we’ve become a trifle tired of Parcheesi and even canasta has lost its charm. Although we’ve played a number of games, our every thought is focused on Gwen’s murder. I can’t claim an epiphany, but I was jolted by the story linking a member of the Grant family to the theft and subsequent murder. That changed everything.” Suddenly her voice was crisp and incisive. “I never like to fuel gossip—”
Annie murmured, “Of course not.”
Did Laurel’s gaze sharpen a little? Annie maintained a sweet smile.
“—but you should know there was a rumor a year or so after Helen died that Geoff and Denise might be headed for marriage. Instead, he married Rhoda. Passion, my dear, is so often the background to crime.”
Annie frowned. A previous romantic link between Geoff and his former sister-in-law hardly seemed relevant to a current theft and murder. “Are you suggesting Denise stole the Double Eagles to get back at Geoff and Rhoda?”
Henny patted Laurel’s knee. “I heard that rumor, but I never gave it credence. I don’t think Denise was interested in Geoff. Denise loves everybody, her ex–brother-in-law, the postman, the clerk at the hardware store, her doctor. Everybody’s always her Instant New Best Friend, including me. Besides, Denise doesn’t hold grudges. She’s a dear. She threw herself into all the island charities after Helen died. I got to know her fairly well when we were working on the campaign to get fast foods out of the high school. Denise loves everybody, including Rhoda. In fact, Denise introduced Rhoda to Geoff. Rhoda works for Island Realty and Denise and Rhoda are great friends. Denise gave the sweetest toast at the wedding, something like, ‘To our dearest Rhoda and Geoff, now and forever, living, laughing, loving,’ and she was obviously delighted for them.”
Laurel brushed back a feathery curl. “I’m afraid something isn’t right in Geoff and Rhoda’s marriage. My Esperanza’s sister Gloria assisted Gwen Jamison in cleaning the Grant house.”
Laurel’s voice dropped. “Gloria told Esperanza that the Grants no longer share a bedroom. Last fall Rhoda moved into a room of her own. My dears. That is the first step to divorce.” Her voice vibrated with distress.
Annie wasn’t surprised at Laurel’s conclusion. Laurel foresaw disaster when a couple no longer shared the conjugal bed. Laurel had difficulty envisioning occupying a bed alone whether married or single…Annie sternly corralled her thoughts.
Henny threw up graceful hands and laughed with delight. “A separate room doesn’t prohibit marital bliss. Maybe he snores. Maybe she snores. Nothing prevents an assignation in the night. Or morning. Or afternoon.”
Laurel didn’t smile in return. Her face was grave. “I haven’t shared some knowledge I possess. I’m very much afraid that Rhoda has a lover. I may be wrong—”
Annie felt certain that Laurel had an extra special awareness of love affairs. Those who indulge…Annie again firmly corralled her thoughts.
“—but I was in Chastain one evening recently. I saw Rhoda with another man. They were leaving the Caballero Club.”
Annie raised an eyebrow. What was Max’s mother doing at a high-class gambling joint?
“I caught a glimpse of him from the back. He was much bigger than Geoff, sandy hair not dark. The way he held her arm told me they were lovers.”
Henny shook her head. “That’s sad, but it doesn’t have anything to do with theft and murder. I doubt that sex matters here. What matters is character.” Suddenly her thoughtful face was grave. “I suggested earlier that the authorities might want to take a close look at Ben Travis-Grant. But it isn’t fair to single him out. I was still teaching when the Grant children were in high school. There were two incidents I should mention. There was an ugly hazing scandal. A freshman was left tied to a stake in the woods overnight. The boy was found the next morning by a couple out for an early bird watch. He was hysterical. Apparently there was a den of snakes nearby and several crawled near him. Fortunately they were not poisonous, but the boy had no way of knowing that. Justin Foster-Grant was part of the group responsible. Criminal action was threatened, but the family was persuaded not to bring charges. Also, Barb Travis-Grant was caught shoplifting and narrowly escaped being charged.” Henny sighed. “People make mistakes. Especially kids. But I felt I should make it clear that Ben isn’t the only member of the family with some question marks about character.”
Annie felt chilled. What kind of self-absorption or lack of empathy did it require on Justin’s part to leave a younger boy captive in woods known to harbor wild boars, cougars, foxes, rattlers, and copperheads? As for Barb, shoplifting as a teenager could have resulted from peer pressure, but stealing could also indicate a hunger for possessions untroubled by any sense of right or wrong.
Henny’s face softened. “The only one universally admired is Kerry Foster-Grant. Every nice thing said about her is deserved. A fine girl.”
In the background, the yacht’s whistle sounded. The traveling trio stood and waved.
A blown kiss from Laurel. “We’re on our way, darling. Take care.”
Henny looked impatient. “Wish we were there. We’re coming as fast as we can.”
“Beware the Trojan Horse.” Emma’s voice was deep and confident.
Annie leaned closer to the Webcam. If only she could make Emma understand that the woman beneath the pier was terrified. Before she could speak, the picture was gone.
Chapter 12
Max walked through the garden to the parking area east of the Grant house. A wheelbarrow sat next to a huge black pickup with an alligator emblazoned on the driver’s door. That would be Hal’s truck. Max noted a half-dozen cars.
He looked up at the second floor. The curtains hung still and straight in the windows that overlooked the parking area. There were many vantage points where Robert’s arrival in a noisy rattletrap might have been noted. And acted upon. The gun in Robert’s trunk had almost succeeded in a charge of murder against the hapless teenager.
The decision to place the murder weapon in Robert’s trunk reflected an opportunistic quickness, but it revealed much more. Gwen Jamison’s murder could have been an act of desperation, a frantic effort to prevent exposure or save a reputation. Or perhaps the motive was greed. However, Robert posed no threat to the murderer. Implicating Robert indicated a self-serving ruthlessness. Whoever they sought was calculating, callous, and dangerous by nature.
Max turned and walked swiftly back to the garden. It would soon be time to meet Annie at the Franklin house and return here to speak with the Grant family. There was one more stop he wanted to make.
The garden sloped gracefully. Dark green mounds of azaleas curved in banks all the way to the woods. Hal Porter stood on his ladder at the birdhouse, a screwdriver in one hand.
Max stopped at the fountain and surveyed the back porch and its inviting wicker rockers. In the fog and chill Wednesday morning, it was unlikely any of the chairs were occupied. There was the possibility that someone might have glanced from a back window as the murderer walked toward Gwen’s house. That could be checked out.
His gaze stopped at the attractive cottage that sat among weeping wil
lows. The cottage front porch overlooked the garden and the paths. That’s where the former sister-in-law lived. She was a real estate agent. Perhaps she’d been home Wednesday morning.
As Max walked toward the front steps, the front door opened and a plump, curly-haired woman bustled outside. She clutched two manila folders, a pot of geraniums, and a massive purse. Spotting Max, she skidded to a stop next to a redwood bench with an intricately carved back.
Max smiled and came up the steps. “Denise Cramer? I’m Max Darling, and I’d appreciate a moment of your time.”
She gave him a bright smile. Her gaze was frankly admiring. “I know. My friends sent you to celebrate my birthday. Tall, blond, and handsome, just what the birthday girl ordered. But you’re six months late. Or have I won the lottery? I’ll take the cash now. Or maybe you want to buy a house and you couldn’t wait for me to get to the office.” She calculated the expense of his blue cashmere sweater, worsted wool slacks, and Italian loafers. “Am I about to smart-mouth my way out of contention to be your real estate agent? I can be serious”—she sucked in her cheeks and looked grave—“and I’ve got some listings to die for.”
Max laughed. “None of the above, but may you have many happy returns whenever you celebrate.” He gestured to the south. “My wife and I—”
“That’s what I figured. The choice ones are always spoken for. Oh well, better luck next time.”
“—are your new neighbors. We’re going to move into the Franklin house.”
“That’s swell. Maybe we can play badminton sometime. Right now I’ve got to run. Glad to meet you and all that sort of thing.” She clattered down the steps. “If you’re making neighborly calls, I’m a tenant. Geoff Grant’s the man you’re looking for.”
She swept past without a backward glance. In a moment, a shiny red Cadillac wheeled from behind the cottage and roared out the front drive.
Max jingled coins in his pocket and wondered at Denise Cramer’s hurry. Was she always this ebullient? Or was she clever at avoiding questions she might not want to answer? Or—his mouth turned down in wry self-doubt—was he seeing every action by a member of the Grant household through a lens of guilt? After all, Denise Cramer could not have had any idea why he wanted to see her.
Annie nosed the Volvo into a spot of sunshine next to Max’s Corvette. The shadows were lengthening even though it wasn’t quite three o’clock. She didn’t bother to click the car lock. That was one of the joys of living on an island. Since cars don’t have water wings, theft wasn’t likely.
On the back porch, she checked the windows. Everything was in order. She heard the distant whir of a buzz saw.
“Yo, Annie.” Max’s voice rose clear and strong.
She turned and looked down into the garden. Max strode toward her, smiling.
Her lips curved. She moved toward the steps. Suddenly the muffled peal of her cell phone sounded. Annie’s eyes widened. Cell phone. It might not be anything important, but it might be very important. She opened her purse and grabbed the phone.
“Hello.”
“You shouldn’t ought to’ve put it all in the paper, girl.” The whispery voice was familiar and especially the cadence and the appellation. Girl. There was something poignant about that title.
Annie’s hand tightened on the cell. “I was afraid the police wouldn’t pay any attention.”
There might have been a faint laugh. “You got their attention, girl. You got mine. I be gone now for a spell. But I got friends. Five of us together, we’re taking a trip so nobody will know which one of us talked to Gwen. You’re no fool, girl. You knew Gwen told me who she saw. Might you should read tea leaves, girl. I didn’t want to tell you. I can’t prove anything. But I thought about what you said and how I couldn’t have blood on my hands if there was more trouble so I did what you asked. I called that police number even though I don’t expect them to pay no never mind. I told them who it was Gwen saw, so now they know. You keep out of it, girl. Don’t go meeting nobody else in the dark. Leave it to the police.”
Annie felt a rush of relief so intense she felt giddy. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
The line was empty, the caller gone.
Max ran up the steps. “What’s happened?” His arm curved around her shoulders, held her tight.
She leaned against him. “Good news. Finally, we have good news. Gwen’s friend called the police, told them who Gwen said she saw that night. I was terrified the murderer would find her. Now I don’t have to be afraid any longer.”
Max looked startled. “Who did she say Gwen saw?”
Annie shook her head. “She didn’t tell me. She said she’d called the police. That’s all she said. She hung up before I could ask.”
Max nodded swift approval. “Smart woman. She’s told the people who need to know. It’s up to them now. She didn’t want to put you in danger, too.”
Annie moved out of his clasp, walked to the porch railing, and looked toward the pond and the woods that lay between the Franklin house and the Grant home. “Do you suppose we still need to go there?”
Max joined her at the railing, his face thoughtful. “Definitely. Don’t mention this second call. If the police want to announce anything, let them do it. As far as you are concerned, you met this unknown woman at the pier and you’re glad to share what you were told with the Grants. Leave it at that.”
The wide front piazza of the Grant house was inviting on this bright, sunny, capriciously warm afternoon. Red cushions decorated green wicker furniture. A white wooden swing hung at one end.
As they climbed the steps, a distraught Geoff Grant opened the front door and came outside. “The police just left. That’s the second time today. They’re hounding us. I don’t like the tenor of their questions.”
Max was unruffled. “They’re trying to solve the crime.”
Annie was elated, though she was careful to give no hint of her pleasure. She felt sure the second round of questioning was in response to the Crime Stoppers tip.
“I hope”—Geoff stared at Annie—“that you can help us prove these suspicions are baseless.”
Max’s gaze was direct. “Robert Jamison has been cleared.”
Geoff’s face was suddenly older. “I see.” His tone was heavy. “We’ll go to the library.”
They walked down a spacious central hallway. When they stepped into the library, the murmur of conversation ended. All of the family had gathered, but there were no looks of welcome. The stiff silence was in marked contrast to the serenity of the decor. Soft green woodwork provided a lovely backdrop for a Chinese painting of five robed figures. Silk wall panels depicted peach blossoms and a winding shallow stream. On the Georgian mantel above a flickering fire, glazed green and orange replicas of Tang dynasty tomb figures evoked a world far distant in time and space. A hand-painted royal peacock posed majestically beneath a stylized tree on a black lacquer screen. A suit of armor, dark and tarnished, stood by the fireplace.
Annie and Max followed their host past a figurine of a green celadon horse on a rosewood stand and a glass display case and lustrous gold Double Eagles. She noted several empty spots, the velvet darker than the surrounding field.
Geoff tried to be a good host. “Tea? Sherry?”
“No, thank you.” Max shook his head.
Annie accepted a cup of tea.
Rhoda poured, her hand shaking a little. There was a flurry of movement to the tea table or to the sideboard for sherry.
Geoff stood in front of the fireplace. He looked around the room at the assembled family. “Max and Annie Darling have agreed to help us try to make some sense of what’s been happening.” He came to a full stop. Finally, he said, “I understand Robert Jamison is no longer a suspect in Gwen’s murder.” There was an instant of shock at his words. “Max has been in touch with the circuit solicitor.” Geoff’s expression was bleak as he sat down. “He will tell us what he knows.”
Annie waited by the fireplace. The room seemed hot and crowded. Perhaps standi
ng near the fire contributed to her discomfort, that and the knowledge that the faces turned toward her were hostile.
She tallied those present: Geoff and Rhoda Grant, Kerry Foster-Grant, Justin Foster-Grant and his fiancée, Margaret Brown, Barb Travis-Grant and Ben Travis-Grant, Denise Cramer. Annie felt a sharp disappointment. They were all here. No arrest had been made despite the call received by Crime Stoppers. Knowing and proving were separate and distinct. The police had to have more than a name. They had to be able to prove that the suspect could have been in Gwen Jamison’s house. They had to find evidence. Everyone present appeared uncomfortable, some angry, some fearful, but not one more than the others. Apparently the police hadn’t revealed interest in a particular suspect in the second round of questioning.
Max stepped forward. “This morning in a meeting with the circuit solicitor…” Max spoke easily and well. Annie took strength from his strength. He was forceful, confident. “It is fortunate that Reverend Shelby is an honorable man and…”
His audience was unmoved. Robert’s release signaled danger for them.
Geoff Grant’s dark head bent forward as if he were intent on capturing every word. His rounded face was somber. Once he glanced toward Ben Travis-Grant who stood near the door. Geoff as quickly looked away.
Annie tried to define the quicksilver impression she’d received from Geoff’s hurried glance. Suspicion? Fear?
Ben tossed off his glass of sherry. His muscles bunched as if he were ready to engage in a fistfight or possibly bolt into the hall. His curly chestnut hair was scarcely combed. His reddish face folded in a frown. His yellow and black flannel shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The leg pockets of his travel khakis bulged. He could carry a great deal in those pockets. A flashlight. Maps. Food. A gun?
Perhaps he felt Geoff’s scrutiny. Ben glanced at Geoff, a quick, cool, defiant look.