by Carolyn Hart
A small hand reached up to touch Ben’s arm. Kerry Foster-Grant, lovely and slender, perched on the edge of the petit-point chair near Ben. Her narrow face was troubled. When Ben looked down, she gave him a quick, sweet smile.
Ben’s face softened. He reached down, brushed back a lock of her raven hair.
Kerry held his hand against her cheek for a moment.
Annie knew she’d glimpsed a private moment, a display of deep affection.
Geoff Grant watched, too, his face drawn in a frown.
Barb Travis-Grant huddled in a Queen Anne wing chair. Barb’s pinched face made her look ill. The cup of tea on a nearby table remained untasted.
Rhoda sat stiffly behind the tea table, her hands tightly folded. Her dark hair gleamed in the light of the chandelier. She was stylish in a pale blue sweater and gray slacks, but her face was strained. The vermilion, jade, and gold beads in her necklace emphasized her worried expression. Every so often she darted a covert glance at her husband.
Denise Cramer stood near a curio cabinet a little behind and to the left of Geoff Grant’s wing chair. Her glass of sherry was almost empty. Her bright, curious eyes moved quickly around the room. Her plump face looked interested and excited. She had the air of an onlooker at an unexpectedly interesting meeting.
Justin Foster-Grant’s teacup clicked against a tabletop. He abruptly stood, pushing back his chair with a clatter, and moved with a quick, hurried energy to the center of the library to stand next to the case that held the Double Eagles. His bright red hair and luxuriant mustache gleamed in the light from the chandelier. He challenged Max. “I don’t believe in foolproof alibis.”
Margaret Brown, slim and elegant in a red sweater and cream slacks, nodded approvingly at her fiancé. She appeared relaxed on a small sofa, stirring her tea. She had an aura of privilege, a young woman accustomed to deference and admiration.
Max was unruffled. “My wife found Gwen Jamison dying at approximately ten thirty-eight. At that precise moment, Robert Jamison was speaking with Reverend Shelby. Moreover, Robert had arrived at the church at ten-fifteen. My secretary spoke with Mrs. Jamison at twenty minutes past ten.”
Justin waved away Max’s claims. “The clock could be wrong at the church. They could all be lying. Robert went to see his girlfriend, right? Maybe he told her he needed an alibi. Have you thought of that? Or your wife could be wrong. Or maybe she’s lying.”
Justin jerked toward Annie. “You’ve had a lot to say about all of this. One thing sticks out. You claim the woman at the pier told you Gwen hid the Double Eagles and a note about who took them in your house. How come your house? Sure, Gwen used to work there but”—he spaced the words—“it seems odd to me that all the accusations are coming from you and the coins were taken to your place and Gwen was on the phone to you people and you hotfoot it to her house and say you found her shot. Maybe you and your husband set it up to have the coins stolen. Then it makes sense to fling around accusations at other people.” He looked around the room for support.
His fiancée’s thin high voice was patronizing. “It may be much simpler.” A faint flush lighted the pale face framed by sleek silver hair. “Obviously, Gwen Jamison was the thief and working with someone else. She wanted to keep police suspicion away from her so she told a friend that she saw a member of the family, but her partner decided to kill her and keep all the loot. Then her friend contacted you.” The red-tipped finger leveled at Annie was accusatory. “You repeated a lie.”
Annie was solemn. “I repeated what I was told. I felt I heard the truth.”
Emotion surged in the room. Worry, anger, and distress were justified if the accusation was false, but Annie detected a current of fear. Annie glanced quickly at each in turn. Surely that fear must be imprinted on one face, clear to see.
Geoff Grant looked much older. He stared into the fire, his face drooping with weariness. Rhoda folded her arms, her posture rigid with disavowal. Denise moved uneasily, her round face puckered with dismay. Ben glowered. Dark-haired Kerry glanced up at him, her violet eyes wide with concern. Barb clutched the chair arm. Justin’s chin jutted in disagreement. Margaret’s frown made her face disagreeable.
Justin strode toward Annie, stood a foot away. “Accusations by a person or persons unknown have no standing. Not here. Not in a court of law. It’s your responsibility to help discover this accuser’s identity. We have a right to confront her. You are the one who talked to her, or at least that is what you claim. What did she look like? Describe her.”
“I’ve already spoken to the police about that.” Once again Annie sensed a flood of panic. “Unfortunately, I scarcely caught a glimpse of her as she disappeared around the headland. I saw only a shape against the horizon. But the police are certainly seeking her.”
Max stepped nearer. “I’m offering a reward for any information that leads to the arrest or conviction of the murderer.”
Annie felt a cheer inside. A reward would be wonderful.
Max looked around the room. “Someone may possess information that will prove the woman wrong. Moreover”—Max’s tone was easy—“I suggest we let the police deal with this woman. We don’t have any way to find her. Annie didn’t see her well enough to describe her. But the police can reach out into the community. Instead of focusing on her, let’s pool the information we have. Let’s work together. We may learn facts that will lead to the right person.”
It was utterly quiet.
Max pointed at the glass display case. “I understand the original case was smashed open. Did anyone hear an unexpected noise Monday night?”
No one spoke.
Max persisted. “Was there any kind of noise either inside the house or outside the house?”
Again, he was met by silence.
“Did anyone come downstairs at any time that night?”
No response.
Annie looked around the room. The faces were shuttered against Max.
Geoff was impatient. “No one saw anything because it wasn’t one of us. The best thing we can do is find that woman, get her to admit she made a mistake or at least insist she own up publicly if she’s going to accuse us. We have to prove that she’s wrong.”
Max was emphatic. “Every fact we learn helps protect the innocent.”
Ben Travis-Grant’s gaze was pugnacious. “Why do you care? Why should we tell you anything?”
Max met his stare directly. “I run a business that helps people with problems. I find out answers. Gwen Jamison called me for help. I didn’t help her. I can’t change what happened. I can’t change what I didn’t do. I know what I can do. I can look and hunt and see what I can discover. There’s no law against asking questions. Maybe a fact or idea we come up with will help the police find her murderer.”
Kerry Foster-Grant shivered. “The police keep coming. They talked to each one of us alone. I didn’t like it. None of us would steal Geoff‘s coins or hurt Gwen. The thief had to be a stranger. What can we do to find someone like that?”
Rhoda nodded energetically. “Kerry’s right. We don’t know anything.”
Geoff was on his feet. “That’s why there’s no reason for us to avoid talking with Max and Annie.” His voice was resolute. “Gwen was a good woman.” He took a breath. “Everyone in this room is good, too.” There was a tremor in his voice. He looked at Max. “We’ll do everything we can to help.”
“Murder doesn’t have anything to do with us.” Barb Travis-Grant’s voice was shrill. “I don’t know anything. I wish we could have a good time this week like we always do when we come home. Everything’s ruined.”
Ben moved to his sister, patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Barbie. I’ll take care of you.” His voice was soft and soothing.
Barb’s lips trembled. She pressed her head against his hand.
Justin Foster-Grant flung himself into an easy chair next to Margaret. He stared at Max with no effort to mask his disdain. “Okay, miracle man. What’s your plan?”
Max’s express
ion was pleasant. “While we are together, let’s clear up a few points.” He turned toward Geoff. “How many bedrooms are on the second floor?”
Geoff looked bewildered. “Eight.”
“Four on the east side, four on the west?”
“Yes.”
“Who is staying in each of the east rooms?”
Geoff frowned. “What difference does it make?”
“It may be helpful.” Max didn’t explain.
Annie hadn’t realized how strained the atmosphere had been until she felt a sudden easing of tension. No one saw a threat in Max’s queries about the inhabitants of the bedrooms. She wondered why he cared.
Geoff shrugged. “On the east side, Ben has the first bedroom to the north. Barb is next to him. Across the hall is Kerry. Justin has the south corner room.”
“The bedrooms on the west side?” Max was casual.
“The northwest room is mine. Rhoda has the adjoining room. The room across the hall is empty and our guest”—Geoff smiled at Margaret—“is in the southwest corner room.”
“That’s clear.” Max smiled his approval. “Now let’s place everyone yesterday morning about a quarter past ten.”
Denise bent forward, her brown eyes curious. “What’s important about a quarter past ten?”
“Gwen Jamison was alive at twenty minutes after ten. Annie found her dying about ten-forty. Obviously if some of you were together here in the house or can prove you were somewhere else at ten-fifteen, that will go far to eliminate you as suspects.” Max sounded reassuring.
Ben gave a sour smile. “You think we’re all pretty dumb, asking about who sleeps where when that obviously doesn’t matter. Why beat around the bush? Why not ask which one of us hustled through the garden to Gwen’s house at a quarter past ten?”
Rhoda lifted a hand to her throat. “That’s terrible. It isn’t fair to suspect us because we were here. We live here. I was outside yesterday morning. I don’t know what time. I went to check on the birdhouse. I came right back inside. I didn’t see a soul.” She stopped, looked startled. “Oh, wait. I talked to Hal Porter. He’s doing some repair work for us.”
“When you came inside, where did you go?”
Rhoda looked flustered. “I went to the pantry. I wanted to get some preserves. That may have been later. I looked around for Gwen. I wanted to talk to her about dinner, but I couldn’t find her. Then I went upstairs.”
“Did you see anyone?”
Rhoda brightened. “Barb was coming downstairs. I remember that.”
Barb brushed back a lock of golden-brown hair. “You’re mixed up, Rhoda. I didn’t come down until almost eleven.” Her look at Max was emphatic. “I’d just gotten up.”
Ben moved impatiently. “I don’t think you’re going to find anybody in the garden at the right time. We’re on holiday. We sleep in. Everybody but Justin. He’s always bright-eyed. How about it, Justin. Were you out in the garden eating worms?”
Ben’s tone was disagreeable. There was no brotherly affection.
Annie felt startled for an instant then realized there was no reason why they should have been close. They weren’t brothers. Ben Travis, now Ben Travis-Grant, and Barb Travis, now Barb Travis-Grant, had been pushed into a melded family by their mother’s marriage to Geoff. That held true for Justin Foster, now Justin Foster-Grant, and Kerry Foster, now Kerry Foster-Grant. All these adoptive siblings had in common was the fact their mothers had married Geoff. There were no family ties among the four. Obviously, Ben and Justin disliked each other. That was unfortunate since Ben and Kerry clearly were in love.
Justin gave Ben a look of active dislike. “I had an early appointment at the bank. Then I went by the lot where the clinic will be built.”
Max nodded. “You drove?”
Justin’s gaze at Max was equally cold. “I drove.”
Kerry hurried to speak as if to make up for her brother’s rudeness. “I didn’t sleep late.” She smiled at Ben. “You’ve always loved sleeping in. I was up early and the only one down for breakfast.” Suddenly her face was sad. “Gwen was there. I fixed an English muffin with orange marmalade and asked her about Charlie. She was so excited about the baby coming. But there was something wrong. I asked her if she felt all right. She said everything was fine, but I knew something was bothering her. Oh, if only I’d insisted she tell me. But I didn’t want to press. I knew she’d had trouble with Robert and Geoff had helped them. On my way upstairs, I gave her a hug. I’d intended to take a walk, but when I looked out the window I saw it was foggy. So I settled at my desk and worked on some files I’d brought with me.”
Annie enjoyed hearing Kerry speak. Her soft voice was kind and cheerful.
Max smiled at Kerry. “Did you look out of the window again?”
“I got up to stretch around ten.” She smiled at her brother. “I saw Justin’s car leave.”
“Which,” Justin snapped, “proves nothing.”
“Justin called me from the bank and told me about his meeting.” Margaret sounded smug. “The clinic’s going to be beautiful.”
“Did he call you on your cell phone?” Max was courteous, but Annie knew full well he didn’t like Margaret.
Margaret smoothed back a strand of ice-blond hair. “Of course. I was relaxing in my room. And no, I didn’t look out of the window. Who looks at fog?”
Max turned toward Geoff.
“I was in my study.” He gestured to his right. “It adjoins the library. I was working on notes for my class.”
Max glanced toward the closed door. “Does your study have a window onto the terrace like the library?”
“French doors. I open them in the summer. I can smell the honeysuckle when I’m working. I like that. It was too cold yesterday morning.”
“Did you look out into the garden?”
Geoff shook his head. “I sit with my back to the doors. I was absorbed in my writing.”
“Monkeys no see, monkeys no hear, monkeys no speak.” Denise pushed back her chair, jumped up. “This has been…” She giggled. “Well, a little peculiar but definitely not boring like some of my appointments. Speaking of appointments, ladies and gentlemen, I have one. To show a beach house. For that kind of money, I’d better be on time.” She moved toward the door.
Max stepped into her path. “You haven’t said where you were at a quarter past ten.”
She stopped. “Me? On the phone, handsome. Drumming up business.”
“Could you see into the garden?”
Just for an instant, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She parted red lips, looked past him, abruptly shook her head. “Not to speak of. Sorry.” She adroitly sidestepped Max and was out the library door.
As it closed behind her, Max once again faced the family. “Annie and I are looking forward to a few private minutes with each of you.”
Chapter 13
The sunroom was a haven of warmth from its southern exposure. A quartet of wicker chairs with gay chintz cushions overlooked the garden. Yellow-orange abutilon blossomed in four hanging baskets, the tapered bell-shaped flowers glowing bright as Seville oranges. Annie admired the healthy plants. Someone had a green thumb. Every time she tried to grow abutilon, spider mites attacked. A glossy-leaved rubber tree dwarfed one corner. Ivy climbed on posts between the chairs. Pots of ferns nudged the windowsills, flanked the doorway. Annie felt as if she’d been dropped into a tiny pocket of jungle. At any moment Tarzan might burst from behind a robust Royal fern.
Geoff sat in an opposite chair. The blaze of sunlight emphasized every line in his face. He looked worried and tired. “I wish I’d been here yesterday morning instead of my study.” He pointed out the windows at the sweep of the garden, gleaming statuary, banks of azaleas, the broad well-kept path. “If I had, I’d be able to tell you no one took the path to Gwen’s.”
“Let’s not worry about that for the moment.” Max’s tone was soothing. “I know you’ve been under stress ever since the robbery.” Max leaned back in the
wicker chair. “Though I suppose the coins were covered by insurance.”
Geoff massaged one temple, squinted as if the sunlight hurt his eyes. “The collection is insured but that won’t bring the coins back. Double Eagles. They’re the most beautiful coins ever made. I loved holding them, trying to imagine who might have owned them. Some are from the San Francisco mint and I thought about the gold rush. Can’t you see a miner striding into an assayer’s office, his hat filled with gold nuggets? Maybe the miner had been a riverboat gambler or a druggist or a horse thief, and there he was, part of the most exciting gold hunt the world has ever known. That’s the kind of thing I used to think about when I held the coins. I had some really rare ones.” His animation fled. “Those are the ones that were taken, the special ones.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes sunken in his face. “The ones”—his voice was almost a whisper—“I used to tell the family about. I like talking about the coins. I’d pick different ones and give their history. Last summer the family was here for the Fourth of July and I asked each one to make up a story about a 1927 Double Eagle. Rhoda’s was cleverest. She pretended the coin had been in Lindbergh’s pocket when he made the flight in The Spirit of St. Louis. Did you know sometimes the plane skimmed only ten feet above the water?” He let the question fall into silence. Last summer’s fun had no life now. “I always brought the coins out when they visited. We sat around the fire and turned out the lights and I held my beauties up to let everyone see them glow in the firelight. I wanted them to see the beauty, but I don’t believe in keeping treasures private. I gave the collection to Chastain College to receive upon my death. The collection is insured and they’ll receive the money, but they won’t be able to replace some of my coins.”
Rhoda moved uneasily in the chair. “I didn’t see a soul in the garden. I’m sure there’s been a mistake.”
“Except Hal, of course.”
Rhoda’s fingers wrapped around the strands of her necklace. “Oh, Hal.” She took a quick breath. “He was working in the garden. I told you that. Maybe he saw someone.”