Dead Days of Summer

by Carolyn Hart

  Her cell phone rang. Quickly she jumped to her feet, found her purse, pulled out the cell. Her hands were hot and sweaty, her heart thumped. Would she ever hear the ring of a cell phone without dread and fear bubbling within? She glanced at caller ID. Unknown caller. It could be a reporter. But it could be something about Max. She punched on.

  “Hello.” Her throat felt stiff.

  “The Chapel of Saint Mary.” Billy Cameron spoke softly as if afraid he might be overheard. “Sometimes I stop there in the afternoon to say a prayer.”

  The connection ended.

  The chapel door opened to a cloister. In the courtyard between the chapel and the church, canna lilies, crape myrtle, and hibiscus flowered. A glossy-leaved magnolia drooped over the reflecting pond.

  Annie pulled open the heavy red door, stepped into the narthex. Ahead were the double doors into the chapel. To the left was the votive chapel and the stand with votive candles. The draft from the door stirred the flames of a half-dozen lit candles. Annie hesitated, then veered left. She picked up a packet of matches, lit one, held it to a wick, saw the small flame blaze, shining and golden. She knelt and said the familiar prayer with which she began every day: God be in my head and in my understanding; God be in mine eyes and in my looking; God be in my mouth and in my speaking; God be in my heart and in my thinking; God be at mine end and at my departing.

  When she rose and walked into the nave, she had a sense of peace. She was alone in the chapel. She slipped into one of the back pews, lowered the kneeler, again knelt, closed her eyes in prayer.

  In a few minutes, the breeze stirred at her back as the door opened. It sighed to a close and steps sounded on the stone floor, then the kneeler sagged beneath a heavy weight.

  She opened her eyes. Billy knelt beside her, head bowed, hands clasped. Annie lifted her gaze to the nearest stained-glass window. Saint George, magnificent in armor touched with gold, rode triumphantly astride a great white horse. He held aloft a mighty lance, poised to slay the fire-breathing dragon lunging toward him. The white of the horse, the gold of the saint’s plumed helmet and sword, and the crimson of his saddle glittered bright as jewels.

  The kneeler creaked as Billy straightened. “Slaying dragons.” Billy’s voice was soft in the hushed quiet of the chapel. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. Keep the beast away from the people in the city.” He shifted on the kneeler and it creaked again.

  Still wrapped in peace, Annie looked at her old friend, at a face grooved by weariness, eyes dark with discouragement but gaze steady and determined. He had summoned her here. She waited, knowing he would speak.

  “I’m on my way to Columbia. Terrorism course for law enforcement. As far as the mayor’s concerned, this case is over. There’s some stuff I can do. I’ve set up a special number for people to call with information about Vanessa Taylor, particularly sightings of her in the last week or so. Vince is going to run a piece in the Gazette, asking people to report, anonymously if they wish, any places she was spotted along with a description of her companions. See”—his smile was wry—“I slid that right past the mayor. He thinks I’m looking for confirmation Max was fooling around with her. I figure some man was involved with her and set up an elaborate frame by having her hire Max. I didn’t say anything about this to Posey. He would have laughed me out of the room. As far as the circuit solicitor’s concerned, the evidence against Max is overwhelming. I met with the circuit solicitor at the mayor’s office this morning.” Billy rested his forearms on the back of the next pew. “He already knew the facts. He’s going to oppose bail, says there’s plenty of evidence to justify a first-degree murder charge. I’d worked up a list of facts that don’t jibe with Max as the murderer. Circuit Solicitor Brice Willard Posey—”

  Annie had tangled with Posey on other occasions, remembered him as overbearing, impatient, and arrogant. On any occasion, public or private, he introduced himself with all three names.

  “—had an answer for everything. Posey says Max must have worn gloves in the cabin and that’s why there aren’t any of his prints there—”

  Annie was quiet even though she could have erupted in a cheer. This was big. This was what Handler Jones had hoped to elicit from the police witness.

  “—but that means he took the gloves off to swing the tire tool. Funny thing to do, but hell, I’m just a cop. I guess I don’t understand how a murderer can be kind of crazy.” It was as though the words were quoted. “I sure don’t understand why he’d have gloves with him in August or where the gloves could be right now. Posey says that’s just another indication that the crime was premeditated. Posey says the bloodhounds got it wrong when they didn’t pick up Max’s scent between the Jag and the cabin steps. As for the blood test, Posey said all it does is prove Max was high and of course he’s claiming he didn’t take the stuff himself. And the silver car—”

  Billy looked sharply at Annie, his eyes intent.

  Annie scarcely breathed. This was important. This was why Billy had met her at the chapel. He wanted her to know there had been a silver car and it mattered.

  “—was a coincidence. Now Posey can argue all he wants to that Ted Dooley—he’s the guy who owns Dooley’s Mine—made up that car. I don’t buy it.” Billy’s tone was ruminative, as if he were thinking out loud. “I’m sure the silver car existed. Dooley doesn’t want anybody believing a drunk leaves Dooley’s Mine driving a car. Dooley made sure Max was in the passenger seat and he watched the Jag go out of the lot. When Dooley was turning to go back inside, he saw a silver car turn out of the lot. That car turned left, just like the Jag, and that’s the way to the dead end and the cabin where Vanessa Taylor was killed. As God is my witness”—Billy glanced up at Saint George—“Dooley was telling the truth. Now, sure, maybe that silver car turning left after the Jag doesn’t mean anything. Coincidences happen. Yeah”—Billy’s jaw jutted out—“one coincidence I can swallow. Two makes me gag.”

  Billy pushed up from the kneeler, slid back onto the pew.

  Annie slipped onto the seat, turned toward him. Her eyes never left his face.

  “Like I told Posey, everything about Vanessa Taylor, no matter where you start, ends up at the same place, the Whitman house on Tree Swallow Lane.” He saw the question in Annie’s face. “Yeah, it’s still called the Whitman house even though she’s married again. Husband now is Jon Dodd. First husband kicked off—natural causes—nine years ago. Anyway, living at the house are Mrs. Dodd, her husband, her daughter Heather from the first marriage, her secretary Vanessa Taylor. Frequent visitor is daughter’s fiancé, Kyle Curtis. Kind of a clubby atmosphere at that end of the island. The place has a pool, of course, and a cabana and some guest cabins. Pretty ritzy. Lots of people in and out, especially their next-door neighbors—”

  Annie felt a rising excitement. Billy’s exhaustive survey of the Whitman house and its occupants obviously meant he believed someone connected to the house was involved in Vanessa’s death.

  This confirmed Handler Jones’s research indicating Vanessa Taylor had no obvious social existence outside the Dodds and their circle. Emma’s instinct, as always, had been right on. They needed to know everything possible about Vanessa. Annie’s hands tightened. Somehow, some way, she must help find out the truth about Vanessa.

  “—the Goldens, Sam and Martha. Course, like Posey said, there wasn’t time to follow up every lead about where Vanessa went and who she knew and where she hung out. Posey said it didn’t matter. Max was with her the night she died, no doubt about it. His tire tool killed her. His fingerprints were on the weapon. Now, he claims somebody slipped him a mickey, but the only candidate is the dead girl. That doesn’t compute. Posey said the case is wrapped up solid.” Billy’s nose wrinkled. “Maybe I would have agreed—except for the silver car. Then when I went out to see Mrs. Dodd, she acted as spooked as Lily when she sees a clown—”

  Annie had been carrying a platter with cups of Kool-Aid when a clown came into Lily’s class at Vacation Bible School. Lily pani
cked and ran full tilt into Annie, dousing them both in sticky purple punch.

  “—and sure, it’s a shock when someone you know is murdered, but Mrs. Dodd stood like a stone. She asked who’d done it and it was like she was waiting for the shoe to drop. Posey says that sounds like a soap opera but I know what I saw. I told her we were searching for the owner of the car found near the murder cabin. She asked whose car. I told her. That’s when she started to breathe again and a little color came back in her face. That’s when I got curious, asked her who Vanessa spent time with and damn if it didn’t come back to that house. Mrs. Dodd couldn’t come up with another name. Either Mrs. Dodd didn’t know much about Vanessa or there wasn’t anybody in Vanessa’s life but the people at that house and people who came to that house. Pretty soon Mrs. Dodd’s husband came in, slick guy, you know the kind, looks like he ought to be in a golf club ad. He was all over her, upset for her. Seemed to me he might have been a little upset for Vanessa, but quick as possible, he shooed her off to her room, said he’d take care of everything. He was efficient, got me the name of Vanessa’s sister so I could call, told me he’d have the family lawyer get in touch with her, see what arrangements she’d want made. Sounded to me like he intended to get him and his wife removed from any involvement. You’d think she could have called the sister, not a lawyer. It was the husband who took me out to the cottage where Vanessa lived, one of four in a stand of pines between the beach and the main house. He unlocked the door. I took a look around, didn’t see anything helpful.”

  Annie wished she’d been with him. “One of her friends said she kept a diary. Billy, if she was having a love affair, that’s sure to be in there. Did you notice a diary?”

  He shook his head. “I looked over her desk. There was a computer. That’s probably where she did her work for Mrs. Dodd. I saw some letters to charities, that sort of thing. When I’d finished, Dodd asked if they could do anything more for me. He walked out to the cruiser with me, then went inside. I almost left but I decided to take a stroll around. If anybody asked…” He gave a lopsided grin. “I don’t know. Maybe I could have said I was trying to get a feel for Vanessa’s background. But nobody asked. I’d already seen the cottages, so I went around the back of the house to the other side. I found the garage. It wasn’t locked. I went in a side door. That would have been a little harder to explain but nobody asked. There were three cars—a silver Lexus, a red PT Cruiser, and a black Porsche.” His heavy shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Sure. The island crawls with silver cars. Favorite color of the rich. But what are the odds Dooley sees a silver car follow the Jag and in the garage of the house where the murdered woman lived there’s a silver car? Not only that, the garage is open and the keys to the cars are hanging on some nails by the door. Anybody who knew the family could use one of those cars. I know it’s not much. Nothing to take to a judge or jury. But it sticks in my craw. That and the call I got from Jon Dodd this morning. Congratulated me on solving the crime, said how disturbing it had been for them, fine girl, almost like one of the family, hoped they could be helpful to Vanessa’s sister, had instructed their lawyer to make arrangements for the shipment of the body, intended to make a substantial contribution in Vanessa’s memory to her college, and if any further assistance was needed we should feel free to stay in contact with their lawyer since they were leaving this weekend to drive up to Cape Cod.”

  “Leaving…” Annie felt the blood rush from her face. If the Dodds left, they would take with them all the intimate knowledge about Vanessa.

  “Yeah. Getting the hell out of Dodge, I’d say. It doesn’t leave us much time.”

  Somehow. Some way. Before Saturday…

  Billy slid out of the pew. He was turning to go when he gave Annie a sweet, lopsided smile. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket, held it out to her. “Here’s that real estate circular you found in Max’s office.”

  Annie’s fingers closed around it. “Max—” She broke off. She’d almost said that Max had told her it had nothing to do with the woman who hired him. But Billy must never know she’d talked to Max in the jail last night.

  “When I gave the circuit solicitor my list of reasons why Max is innocent, I almost told him about this. I didn’t bother because he wouldn’t care.” Billy’s eyes glinted. “And sure, that silver car Dooley saw is real evidence. But after I talked to Cynthia Darrough, I knew Max never ran around on you. Give her a call, Annie. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Annie watched the cruiser pull out of the church lot, Billy on his way to Columbia. Although she counted Mavis a friend and liked Lou Pirelli, there would be no help for her at the police station without Billy. She was on her own. If Max were to be freed, it was up to her and their friends. Annie walked swiftly toward her Volvo, though the late afternoon heat pressed against her, steamy and soggy as wet towels at a spa. She slid behind the wheel, turned the air conditioner on high, waited until there was a faint hint of cool before raising the windows. She was bursting to share the information she’d received from Billy. But first…

  She yanked her cell phone from her purse, turned it on. The quick beep indicated messages, but she had a call to make first.

  “Cynthia Darrough?” Annie knew her voice was high and strained. “This is Annie Darling.”

  “Max Darling’s Annie?”

  “Yes. Billy Cameron—”

  The light sweet voice broke in. “Oh, Mrs. Darling, I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened, but Chief Cameron said it was all a mistake and everything would be ironed out—”

  Annie held tight to the cell, wondered how Billy could be so optimistic. If the Dodds left on Saturday…

  “—and I surely hope so because your young man—”

  Annie’s eyes were wet. How sweet and how Southern, calling Max her young man. And he was, oh, God, yes, he was.

  “—is just the nicest boy. Oh, I know Mr. Darling isn’t a boy, but he’s the age of my oldest grandson, who turns thirty next month, and I wish my Edward was as thoughtful for his wife. Mr. Darling told me all about how he wanted to keep it a secret and surprise you if he was able to buy the Franklin house—”

  Annie’s eyes widened. Buy the Franklin house? That ramshackle, down-at-heels, boarded-up wreck of a house?

  “—and you and he could fix it all up. He said you have a nice house—”

  Nice house? Annie loved her house, the first permanent place she’d had to call her own since her mother died. She loved the banks of windows and their cozy den and the terrace room and library and Max’s kingly kitchen.

  “—but he wanted to have a place that was big and rambly with plenty of room someday for kids. And he liked the idea of being close to town. He said he grew up in a big family and he loved having people in and out and lots going on and he knew you’d be thrilled. You’d have room for lots of visitors and someday when you had kids, there would be enough for a bunch. He laughed and said, ‘Not the Brady bunch, but maybe three or four.’ He was so excited, thinking about making the Franklin house a beautiful home for you and him and someday for your family.” A soft sigh. “When he talked about you, there was so much love in his voice. Now, you tell him Mrs. Darrough knows right enough he didn’t do that awful thing.”

  Annie held tight to the cell. She couldn’t break down now. She had to keep on, fight for Max. “I’ll tell him, Mrs. Darrough.”

  When the connection ended, Annie held the circular to her face, pressed her lips to the now creased and wrinkled sheet. Finally she gently refolded the piece of paper and slipped it into her pocket, a talisman for Max. Her lips still curved in a smile as she called up the messages on her cell:

  1. “Annie, you won’t be able to keep your schedule for altar duty. I’ve already spoken to Father Cooley.” Pamela Potts’s sweet, high voice was breathless and determinedly matter-of-fact. “Ingrid said Duane got Dorothy L. for you, so that’s all right. I dropped by the store a couple of times today to hold Agatha, since I know Ingrid’s so busy—”

  Anni
e’s eyebrows rose. Agatha was a notorious biter. Only an innocent such as Pamela would even think of picking her up and holding her.

  “—and I’m going to where—”

  Pamela’s careful subtlety was obviously to prevent an eavesdropper from knowing Annie was at Nightingale Courts.

  “—Dorothy L. is staying, to give her some attention. Since you won’t be at your house, I’ll run by every so often to keep an eye on it. You and Max are in my thoughts and prayers. Everything will come right. It simply has to.” The last was an anguished bleat.

  2. “I just saw the news on TV and I’m on my way back to the island.” Max’s secretary sizzled. “I’ll get in tonight and go straight to the office. Leave me instructions on what to do.”

  3. “Handler Jones calling at ten minutes after three. If you ring my cell phone before three-thirty, I’ll be with Max and you can talk to him.” He gave the number, spacing each digit so that it was clear and easy to understand. “The arraignment…”