by Carolyn Hart
Harrison’s face furrowed. “He’s doing better. He gets to go home tomorrow. I don’t think he’ll be back until next week. But”—and she sounded delighted—“Billy called a little while ago. If Lily keeps some food down tomorrow, they’ll start home Saturday. Of course, he’s aware of everything we’ve learned and has given me instructions.”
It seemed odd to be in the police break room without Billy.
Max was forthright. “After you left the Grant house, we met with the family. As you may know, the Grants were disturbed by the article in today’s Gazette. They wanted to talk to Annie.”
“When the reporter called, I felt our investigation was being criticized.” She looked at Annie. “I had done as I promised you and informed the solicitor. He dismissed the episode on the pier as an effort to divert suspicion from Robert. I agreed. However, since Robert Jamison is no longer a suspect, we reviewed the case. We can’t rely on an unsubstantiated identification, but obviously the family must now be included as possible suspects. When Mr. Grant called about the article, I realized the family was on the defensive. That”—and she gave a sudden bright smile—“is good. Now, what brings you to see me?” She flipped open a notebook.
Max cradled his steaming cup. “We picked up some information you might want.” Harrison made notes as Max talked. When he concluded, she was judicious. “Let me confirm what you’ve reported:
No one admitted hearing anything out of the ordinary Monday night.
Rhoda Grant and Hal Porter were in the garden Wednesday morning near the time a resident of the house could have walked to the Jamison house. Neither observed anyone else in the garden.
The garden is visible from Geoff Grant’s study, from the library, and from the corner guest rooms occupied by Justin Foster-Grant and Justin’s fiancée, Margaret Brown.
Denise Cramer was home Wednesday morning, but she claimed not to have looked out her front windows.
Justin Foster-Grant departed in his car at a little after ten en route to the bank.
Geoff Grant often described the coin collection to his family. The family was well aware of which coins were most valuable.
According to Rhoda Grant, all the Grant children desperately want money. Also, Geoff Grant is pressed for cash.
Justin claims he saw Ben Travis-Grant returning to his room late Monday night.
Robert Jamison’s jalopy was familiar to every member of the Grant family.”
Harrison tapped her pen on the notebook. “The last is a big help. The murder weapon in Robert’s car and his refusal to state his whereabouts resulted in his arrest. There didn’t seem to be any reason other than guilt that the gun could be in his trunk. Now its presence appears to be a direct link to the Grant household.”
“Dinner was divine.” Annie slid the last plate into the dishwasher.
Dorothy L. observed from the windowsill and looked for all the world as if she were smiling benignly.
Max wrung out the dishcloth, hung it on a rack above the sink. “The okra makes all the difference.”
Annie came up behind him, slid her arms around him. “The chef makes all the difference. I’ve tasted plenty of gumbos”—she pressed against him—“but yours is special.”
Max swung around and held her. “Not nearly as special as you.”
Annie lifted her lips and felt the warmth of his. After a long moment, she sighed happily. She stepped back, caught his hand in hers. She was ready to turn and walk up the stairs until Max gave her fingers a squeeze and loosened his grasp. She looked at him in surprise. “You have a better idea?”
He looked rueful as he pointed at the clock. “I told Hal I’d be over no later than eight. He wanted to go by his place for a little while.”
“So you’ll be gone an hour or so?”
Max was abruptly hearty. “You can relax and enjoy that new Donna Leon book. I’ll fix you some cocoa before I leave. With marshmallows and cinnamon.”
Annie folded her arms. “And you?” she inquired sweetly.
“I’ll give Hal some backup. I dropped my stuff over there earlier today, a cot and sleeping bag and food. I even laid in some firewood. But it’s pretty spartan. There’s no need for you to be uncomfortable.” He avoided her gaze. “I’d better be on my way.”
He turned and reached for his leather jacket.
Annie was right behind him. “Great. A sleepover. Count me in.”
Chapter 14
The unfurnished drawing room glowed with fresh paint and repaired woodwork. Two cots in front of the fireplace looked small in the great expanse. Flames flickered red and orange as logs crackled. Annie walked near, held out her hands for warmth.
She grinned at Max. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for our first night in the Franklin house.” They’d already planned the menu for that wonderful beginning. She had yet to choose the wine. Perhaps they’d enjoy champagne at evening’s end. She watched the dancing flames. The grand moment of their first official night would be the presentation of the Franklin house history to Max. Would she give Max his surprise before dinner? Or when they had coffee here in front of the fire? Or should she save it for their first morning together as he awoke? She could put the slender volume with its long-ago tales of the lives and loves of the Franklin house on his breakfast tray.
“Hey, Annie. You’re a million miles away.”
“Actually,” her tone was light, “I’m totally here in the Franklin house.”
Max put another log on the flames. He strode to the kitchen, returned in a moment with two green plastic garden chairs. He placed them near the fire. “Madame, make yourself comfortable. And hey, I’m glad you’re here.”
Annie slipped into a chair, welcoming the warmth of the fire.
Max poked his chair. “No brocade but it will do for now.” He sat down. “All the comforts of home. Almost.”
She gazed up at the pale lilac coved ceiling with its elaborate cornice. The graceful and fluid garlands of vines looped from the center were as lively as rippling forest ferns in a spring breeze. “Max, it’s lovely. I wish our beautiful house wasn’t part of a crime.”
Max’s reply was swift and firm. “When we find out what happened, you won’t feel that way. There will be too many happy things to dwell on this. Every old house has had good days and bad days. We’re going to have good days. But we can’t ignore trouble when we’re right in the middle of it.” He came to his feet, gestured to her. “Come on, we should be able to figure out where Gwen hid the coins. She needed a space”—he spread his hands perhaps six inches apart—“at least this big. Now”—his eyes scanned the big room—“the floors have been refinished, so we can knock out any idea of lifting a board.”
Annie came to her feet. Surely they could work out the secret of the Franklin house. “The hiding place had to be within reach and she was no taller than I am.” Annie stepped to a wall, placed her hand high above her head.
Max stepped to the mantel, ran his hand along the loops of carved ivy. He pushed, tugged, pulled to no avail. Annie moved to the doorway and studied the lintels. They poked, pressed, and yanked, including wainscoting and baseboards. Everything they touched remained secure.
Max led the way to the dark dining room. He flipped switches and the chandelier burst into brightness, the freshly cleaned crystal prisms and hurricane lamps brilliant as the day they were made almost two centuries before. The cascade of light emphasized the blackness of the night beyond the dark panes of the uncurtained windows. Max concentrated on the mantel. Annie studied the lintels, pulled at marble windowsills. She moved in a crablike crouch to check the baseboards.
Annie shook her head in discouragement. She pushed up and moved to the center of the room where their Sheraton dining table would sit, looked skeptically around. “This is a wild-goose chase.”
Max frowned. “She put the coins somewhere in this house.”
They continued from room to room, turning on lights as they went. Annie rapped on a cypress panel in the library. “Oh wait, this is wha
t the carpenter just replaced.” But she was talking to herself. Max’s voice floated from the hall. “Think I’ll pop down to the basement. That’s where people hide things.”
Annie recalled the basement’s pristine walls with a bright coat of new white paint, the newly installed heating unit on a solid concrete base, the almost endless rows of new shelving. Empty new shelving.
If it were the old basement, Max might be right, but the walls had been torn out and replaced. A hiding place would have been exposed. Exasperated, she put her hands on her hips and turned in a slow circle, seeking inspiration.
Had Max been in the library with her, she might have dismissed the sound as the click of his shoe on the wooden floor. Max wasn’t in the library. Her sneakers made no sound.
There had been a sound. A sharp click.
If a figure moved behind the shrubbery at the window, pressed near the windows, a button or zipper on a jacket might snap against a pane. That was the kind of sound she’d heard.
Annie tried to continue to look perplexed and thoughtful though her heart thudded. The sound came again.
Someone watched her from the darkness. Casually, she strolled toward the mantel, gave it a sharp rap. Shaking her head, she walked to the hall. Once out of sight of the window, she flung herself toward the kitchen. In a flash, she was at the top of the basement stairs. “Max!” Her whisper was piercing.
He looked up, startled.
Annie put a finger to her lips, then gestured for him to come.
Max ran lightly up the steps.
She gripped his arm, whispered, the words tumbling in a rush. “Someone’s outside. Watching us. Outside the library.”
“Stay here.” His voice was low. He moved to go past her.
Annie held on tight. “Let’s get Hal. He has a gun.”
Max’s expression was grave. “If it’s too dangerous for us, it’s too dangerous for Hal. You go back to the library, wander around, keep it casual. I’ll slip upstairs and go out on the side porch and see if I can spot anyone. No confrontations with a killer. All we need is a look.”
Annie nodded and walked swiftly up the basement stairs, Max close behind. In the central hallway, Max hurried up the main stairs. Annie strolled into the library and called over her shoulder as if Max were just outside the door. “The rosewood cabinet will fit perfectly between the windows.” She half turned as if listening, then smiled and walked to the fireplace. She lifted her hand, knocked on a side panel. “Sounds solid as a rock to me.”
In a moment, Max wandered into the library. “We’ve almost finished downstairs. Let’s check the hallway and stairs.”
Once out of sight of the library window, Max spoke softly. “I looked from the upstairs porch, but the shadows are too dark. I think someone’s there. Get my flashlight from the kitchen. Go upstairs and out on the porch. I’ll turn off the hall light and ease out the front door and down into the yard. Once I’m in the shadows, I’ll move where I can throw this.” He waggled a can of soda from the refrigerator he’d stocked earlier. “I’ll toss it about thirty yards away from the house. It should make a racket. If somebody bolts from the bush, turn on the flashlight, and see if you can get a look.”
Annie found the flashlight in the kitchen. Back in the main hall, Max waited in the dark foyer, ready to step onto the porch. She ran lightly up the stairs. It was also dark on the second floor. She moved with a hand outstretched. At the porch door, she opened it carefully. On the upper porch, the cool night air smelled of dampness and wood and foliage. There was an aromatic scent from the cedar near the front walk. She took one noiseless step at a time to the end of the porch. She stood behind a massive column and strained to see.
Max threw the can and brush crackled west of the house, the sound explosive in the night silence. The shrubbery near the library windows rustled. Annie pressed the button. Light speared over the side of the porch down toward the shrubbery.
A shot rang out.
“Annie,” Max shouted. “Get down.”
She ran for the door, struggling to breathe. Max had called out and he was in the yard, alone, unarmed.
Another shot exploded.
Annie ran through the upper hall to the stairs, calling out, “Max, get inside.” Be safe. Be safe. Be safe.
Muffled but terrifying came the crack of three shots in quick succession.
When she reached the kitchen, the back door burst open. Max plunged inside. They came together in the center of the kitchen.
She clung to him.
In an instant, he pushed her toward the hallway. “Get out of sight. If the door opens, I’ll go for him. You get out the front door.”
Steps pounded on the back porch. “Max? Annie?” Hal yelled. “Are you there? Are you all right?”
Max flung open the door.
Hal rushed inside, a revolver in his right hand. “I was in my tent and I heard shots. They came from the west. I grabbed my gun and hustled outside. Someone ran toward the woods. I got off a couple of shots, but I was shooting blind.” He swiftly looked them over. “You all right? What’s going on?” He clicked the safety on his gun, stuffed it in the side pocket of his jacket.
Max described their effort to catch a glimpse of the observer. “We tried to be clever. We’re lucky the shots went wild.”
Hal looked disappointed. “I didn’t think anybody’d try to get in with the lights on, so I was taking a break. I was watching the Lady Tigers play North Carolina State. Man, I like lady athletes.” At Annie’s look of surprise, he smiled. “I was married to a basketball player once. I don’t miss many games. I got a battery-powered TV. All the comforts of home.” His smile was brief. “I feel bad I messed up. But”—he looked puzzled—“why would somebody watch you guys? And why shoot at you?”
Max gestured toward the library. “We were hunting for the coins. That was obvious. When Annie realized someone was out there, I thought we had a chance to see who it was. We came too close. The watcher couldn’t afford to be seen. That has to mean it was the murderer.”
Hal looked glum. “If I’d been on my toes, we might have it all wrapped up right this minute.” He was gruff. “I would’ve gone after him, but first I had to check on you two.”
Max flicked a glance toward the porch. “Think there’s any chance we can find him now?”
“Not likely.” Hal gestured to the woods. “He didn’t hang around.”
Annie looked quizzically at Max and Hal. “Why do you both keep saying ‘he’?”
Hal gave an odd sideways smile. “You got a point. My ex-wife was a whiz at trapshooting.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “If she’d been out there, one of you would be dead. Are any of the Grant ladies trapshooters?”
“We’ll find out.” Max looked determined. “We’re too late to catch anyone and there’s no point calling Harrison now. But we can take a look by the library windows.”
Annie remembered the distinctive clink that had betrayed the silent watcher. There might be a trace of that presence.
Camellia sasanqua ran the length of the west side of the house. In the glare of the flashlights, fragrant white blossoms were vivid against the shiny dark green leaves. The shrubbery was cut back to permit a good foot of clearance between the house and the planting.
Max knelt and aimed the light beam down the narrow space. “The leaves look like they’ve been kicked underfoot.” His voice lifted in excitement. “About six feet from here, the leaves are mashed down. Looks like someone skidded. There’s a muddy place near a water faucet. I can see the edge of a footprint.”
Annie bent near. “A man’s shoe or a woman’s?”
“The print isn’t large enough for me to tell. I can see treads, maybe a portion of a running shoe. Every shoe wears differently.” Max backed out of the opening, came to his feet, reached down to brush twigs and leaves from his knees. In the upward glow from the flashlight, he looked like a man with a winning Derby ticket. “Tomorrow Harrison can get a cast. Finally, we have something concrete, a link to
the murderer.”
Curious, Hal knelt to get a look. “I see it. Maybe I should get a board to cover it up.”
Max shook his head. “Better not. In daylight, Harrison can go slow. There may be other prints we’d mess up if we got in there.”
Officer Harrison was crisp in a fresh uniform, the French blue shirt and pants immaculate. Her dusky red hair shone in the soft morning sun. The cloudless blue sky promised a seductive February day with a gentle breeze. A cardinal’s trill sounded amid the glossy leaves of the magnolia near the sundial.
Annie felt the kind of happiness that good days bring. No matter the dark reason for this morning’s early outing, it was a gorgeous day to be alive. She felt like wrapping her arms around her world, the tall pines, the live oaks with their dangling Spanish moss, the saw palmettos. Annie’s rush of affection extended even to the several hundred chattering, milling jackdaws that dotted the trees and strutted atop the roof.
Max led the way as he described the night to Harrison.
Harrison’s face looked stiff. “You should have called the authorities immediately, Mr. Darling.”
Annie noted that Harrison’s high-polish black leather shoes left a clear print on sandy portions of the ground.
Max gestured toward the woods. “When Hal Porter got here from his tent, the murderer was well into the woods. By the time you could have arrived, he’d have been long gone. But there’s a footprint behind the hedge. There may be other prints as well. That’s why we waited until morning. It would be easy in the darkness to miss a print.”
The narrow tunnel between the house and the camellias was dusky. Harrison pointed the brilliant beam of her Maglite into the opening.
Annie shivered a little and fastened the belt of her cardigan. It would be in the sixties by midafternoon, but now the air was cool. She leaned close to Max, whispered, “We’re always in trouble with Harrison.”
Harrison backed away from the hedge. She turned pale blue inscrutable eyes on Max. “You left the site undisturbed?”