by Carolyn Hart
Annie felt a tingle of excitement. Yes, Vanessa had been free to do as she wished that Monday. The same was true, since Lillian and Heather had been gone, for Lillian’s husband and Heather’s fiancé. “I doubt that it mattered.” Annie spoke slowly. Deep inside, she wondered if the time of Vanessa’s death had been chosen because Lillian and Heather were out of town.
“I hope not.” Lillian sighed. She tried to smile. “I’m sure you want to rest a bit. Come up to the house whenever you wish. Dinner is at seven. We’ll be in the family room before dinner. I’ll give your car keys to William. And here”—Lillian pulled a key on a plastic ring from the pocket of her skirt—“is the key to Vanessa’s cottage.”
Annie wanted to hurry straight to Vanessa’s cottage, but she forced herself to wait. This was a well-run household. Surely the maid would soon arrive with the requested celery and carrots.
She had time to use her cell phone to check messages on her home number. There were a half dozen she deleted as soon as she recognized them as calls for media interviews. Most of the other calls she saved for later consideration. Three were important:
1. “I’ve distributed almost a thousand flyers.” Henny was upbeat. “I may have a lead. At Seaside Realty, a girl at the front desk said one of the agents thought she’d seen the murdered woman Saturday night at that new restaurant where Raffles used to be. I’ve got the agent’s name and I’m trying to track her down.”
2. “Dear child.” Laurel’s husky voice gave no hint she had been surprised to encounter Annie at the Whitman house. “Such an instructive meeting with Lillian Dodd. Of course it was natural that I should want to hear all about Heather for my report to Joyce. Lillian was obviously very concerned about her daughter and tried to avoid any discussion of the wedding plans. I was quite obtuse and persistent. I warbled on about dear young people and how stressful it is to marry and that the best tack to take when there are last-minute hesitations is making sure they have every chance to talk. She seemed to pounce on that. Sometimes it’s easier to say things to a stranger. She looked utterly weary and said everything can get very confused and upsetting. Then she looked at me with this rueful smile and said, ‘I hope you’re right. I may have made a huge mistake. Heather hasn’t been answering her phone when Kyle calls. She makes us say she isn’t here. But she’s miserable. I called Kyle, persuaded him to come to dinner. I don’t know why I did it. I’ve opposed their getting married right from the beginning, but I’ve never seen her so unhappy. Maybe if he comes, it will make a difference. But please, if you see Heather, don’t tell her what I’ve done.’ I promised utmost discretion.”
Annie gave a mental thumbs-up to her mother-in-law. Her visit with Lillian Dodd had been instructive indeed. What was wrong between Heather and Kyle? Annie had a quick memory of Kyle Curtis’s photograph, a bold gaze and dangerously attractive face, a man who would be attractive to many women. Vanessa certainly would have been very careful not to let her employer know if she became involved with Heather’s fiancé. That would explain why her e-mails to Judy Denton made no reference to a man.
Annie looked impatiently toward the door. She’d wait a few more minutes, then go on to Vanessa’s cottage. If she could find Vanessa’s diary…
3. “Some encouraging news.” Handler Jones’s smooth drawl was light as Tennessee whisky. “I have a friend at the state crime lab. The preliminary report on Max’s clothes showed traces of the dead woman’s blood but no spatter pattern consistent with his wielding the weapon. The expert thinks blood and tissue were swiped against Max’s pants and likely his shirt as well. There’s no way to gauge the shirt, since he tried to wash out the blood. The prosecution will use that against him but we can come back with the lack of a pattern on his trousers. I’ll be seeing Max in the morning and I’ll bring you—”
A knock sounded on the front door.
Annie punched Save, clicked off the cell, slipped it in the pocket of her skirt. She hurried to the door, opened it, pulled the screen door wide. “Come in.”
The plump maid stepped inside. She gazed at Annie with avid curiosity as she handed her a bowl covered with plastic wrap.
Annie shut the screen, left the front door open. “Thank you.” She smiled. “You’re Maybelle?”
“Yes’m.” She smiled in return. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes.” Annie kept her voice light. “I’d like to visit with you about Vanessa.”
Maybelle’s eyes became round. Her face was suddenly solemn.
Annie pointed toward the sofa. “Mrs. Dodd said I could speak with everyone. Please come and sit down and let’s talk for a moment.”
Perhaps the mention of her employer was reassuring. After a hesitant moment, Maybelle edged toward the sofa, sat stiffly on the edge of a cushion, looking as though she’d like to jump to her feet and run away.
Annie placed the bowl on a side table, sat opposite Maybelle. “I promised Vanessa’s sister I would find out everything I could about the day Vanessa died. Did you see her Monday?”
A jerky nod. “In Mrs. Dodd’s study. I was looking for her. I went to the study—that’s where Mrs. Dodd has her computer—because I knew Vanessa was there and I felt like I had to tell her what I knew.” The diffident mask of a servant fell away. “Vanessa didn’t pay me no never mind.” Maybelle’s plump face was a study in conflicting emotions. She looked resentful, yet smug. “She was high and mighty even though I warned her. See, people don’t believe me when I tell them.”
Annie leaned forward. “When you tell them…”
Maybelle’s eyes glittered. “I know about the magic. I told her what I saw. I saw the Evil Eye. She laughed and laughed, well, I guess she didn’t have the last laugh. The Evil Eye means Death and Death always comes. I saw the Evil Eye, sure as the sun goes down. The Evil Eye looked at her and—”
“Maybelle, you get back to the house.” The gruff voice sounded through the screen door. “Got your luggage here, miss.”
Maybelle gave a little gasp and came to her feet. She rushed to the door. As she pushed through the screen, head down, shoulders tucked, a lanky man with grizzled hair swung Annie’s suitcase inside. “Don’t you give her the time of day, miss. Esther don’t want that kind of talk. Esther says, ‘Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you.’ Maybelle don’t have the sense God gave a rabbit in springtime. I’ll see she don’t bother you again.”
Annie stepped into Vanessa’s cottage and felt a shiver ripple through her mind and body. She wasn’t prepared for this moment. She’d not thought beyond gaining entrance and searching for Vanessa’s diary. Yet now she stood, stricken. She smelled a faint scent of lilies, saw a book spread open on the coffee table, a pale blue cardigan draped carelessly over the back of a chair, a Belk shopping bag yet to be emptied, flowers drooping in a pale green vase for want of fresh water, a room left with every intention of return.
Although the furnishings were similar to those in Annie’s guest cottage, this room reflected Vanessa. She had chosen the matted prints, the Chicago skyline in a swirl of snow, a heron perched on one leg in the dark water of a lagoon, a ribbon of train track in a misty rain. She had curled comfortably, creating a slight depression in the soft cushion of a chintz-covered chair. She had held the book…. Annie walked nearer, saw photographs of French chateaus in the Loire valley, a world far from Vanessa. Had she wanted to visit there, see grand buildings in faraway countries?
Annie felt ashamed. She was here under false pretenses, claiming to be Vanessa’s friend. That was far from true. If Vanessa were here, Annie would confront her angrily. Vanessa had lied to Max. Max had thought he was helping her and it was all a lie.
Annie’s fingers lightly touched the blue sweater, a beautiful cashmere sweater. Its owner had been only a few years younger than Annie. Abruptly, Annie’s anger fled. Vanessa had been tricked too. Vanessa had left this room on Monday, gone out with a devious plan to execute. She’d played a role, not knowing that she was a victim too.
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sp; The room no longer resisted Annie. She wasn’t quite sure why. Was it because she’d made room for understanding as well as anger in her heart? Or was it because she now felt that she was in league with Vanessa? If Annie succeeded in her quest, not only would Max be freed, Vanessa would be avenged.
Annie checked the obvious places first—bookcases, desk, chest of drawers, and vanity in the bedroom. She scanned the bathroom, looked in the cabinets. Then it was a matter of pulling out cushions, running a hand beneath furniture, lifting the mattress, peering at the shelving in the closets.
It was almost six when she gave up. Tomorrow when she packed Vanessa’s belongings in boxes, she would shake out everything, make a final thorough search. As she walked back to her cabin, she was already focusing on what was to come, dinner at the Whitman house and her introduction to the men Vanessa had known.
Billy Cameron stood behind a potted palm in the hotel lobby. Conference attendees were streaming toward the banquet hall. He’d get there in a minute. He punched the cell, was pleased when Lou Pirelli answered.
“Lou, Billy. Anything?” He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Lou knew that Billy was frustrated to be 170 miles away and blocked from directing a search for that damnable, elusive silver car.
“Yeah. Sometimes you find out the old-fashioned way. You know how hard we’ve tried to find anything at all on that silver car, the one Dooley saw leaving the parking lot right after Max’s Jag? I decided to walk River Otter Road between Dooley’s Mine and the murder cabin. I wasn’t looking for anything special, but I thought maybe I’d get an idea. I spotted a shack about halfway and I saw a guy sitting on his front porch. I—”
Billy covered one ear, strained to hear over the din of conversations around him. Lou was always low key, but tonight his voice sounded excited.
“—went up to see him. Old man, bib overalls, drinking a beer, had a shepherd on a chain. Damn dog lunged like he wanted to sink his teeth in my throat. There was tar paper over the front window. One of the porch steps was missing. I had to stay a couple of feet from the stairs because of the dog. The guy looked at me like I was pond scum. I told him I was police and we were trying to find anybody who’d seen cars on River Otter Road about sundown Monday. He folded his face up in a frown, said he didn’t hold with people coming where they weren’t wanted. Cars and trucks and whatnot up and down the road all week and he was damn tired of it. Wished that girl had picked herself someplace else to get killed. Got so he didn’t even bother to look, there’d been so many. I almost gave it up right then but something about the way he’d said he’d stopped looking made me wonder how much he’d seen earlier. So I tried again. I told him it was real important if he remembered any cars on Monday evening before all the traffic started. Since River Otter Road was a dead end and there were only fishing shacks down the way. He’d wondered what was up Monday night because those shacks sure weren’t fancy like the cars he’d seen. I’ll tell you, Billy, I almost stopped breathing when he said that. Then he got this cagey look on his face, looked like a weasel near the henhouse. He wanted to know about the reward that he’d seen written up in the paper. Well, hell, I thought he was getting ready to play me like a fish, make up something and try to get some money. But I told him the truth. The family would pay ten thousand dollars for any information that helped convict the murderer. He wrinkled his nose and said any fool knew it took years to get a murder case to court and he’d probably be dead before any money got ponied up. I said he didn’t have anything to lose by trying. He didn’t say anything for a minute, guzzled some beer and leaned back in his rocker and all the while that damn dog kept lunging toward me, not making any sound but his lips curled back. The old man finished his beer and tossed the bottle over the bushes and it landed with a clink. There were probably a hundred beer bottles behind those bushes. He rubbed his nose and asked if I could take what he told me and get the reward. I told him no way and if he had any information, I’d write it down—I got my notebook out—and he could sign it and I’d sign it and date it and he could keep it to prove what he’d told me.”
Billy moved out of the way of a bellman with a filled luggage cart. “Smart, Lou.”
“About seven Monday evening, he saw two cars pass, a red Jag and right behind it a silver Lexus.”
“A Lexus. For sure he said it was a Lexus?”
“For sure.”
Billy’s smile was grimly pleased. One of the cars in the garage at the Whitman house was a silver Lexus. Oh damn, Lou had done good work.
“He said Buck Finney who owns the cabins rented them out some but not to big-dollar people. It’s pretty clear he and Finney don’t like each other. The guy—his name’s Lester Lyle—went on and on about Finney trying to shoot his dog once. Lyle said he wondered why the cars hadn’t come back. He decided to take a look-see. He went down his road and walked about a hundred yards and then, he said, ‘That silver car had pulled off the road onto an old track that used to lead to the marsh. I went up and looked at it—’”
“License number?” Billy hoped against hope.
“No. Said he didn’t think of it, no reason for him to notice. Said he went up to the car and looked it over but nobody was in it. And then he said he was damn hot and tired and if some fool didn’t know the old track was overgrown, he sure wasn’t going to slog after them to tell them something they’d figure out pretty soon anyway, so he turned and went back to his place, said he was hot and thirsty and wanted another beer. I wrote it up just the way he’d told me and we both signed it and I gave it to him, then I had him show me where he’d seen the car. By this time the sun was heading down and this patch was in deep shadow. But the ground looked sandy. I put up crime scene tape, marked off the area. I’m going back tomorrow, go over it inch by inch. It hasn’t rained since Monday. If we’re lucky, there may be some tread prints.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Billy’s smile stretched wide as a hallelujah. If Lou found prints, he’d make molds, and if the tire treads matched the silver car at the Whitman house, there would be a link that couldn’t be denied.
Annie pushed in the kitchen door. Esther bent near a pot, eyes intent, poking inside with a fork. William murmured to himself, “…five…six…” as he placed dessert dishes on a tray. Hands in plastic gloves, Cora dipped chicken breasts in a flour mixture. William turned toward the opening door.
Annie held up a disposable camera. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a few pictures. Vanessa often wrote home about how wonderful the staff was”—she smiled but there were no corresponding smiles—“and how much she enjoyed the delicious dinners. I promised her sister I’d get a picture of each of you. I won’t be a minute. Please go on with what you are doing.”
As the door closed behind her, Annie held up the camera, snapped Esther, who ignored her. Cora offered a bright smile. William stood straight and gazed at her with grave dignity. When she’d taken two pictures of each, she looked hopefully around. “Where is Maybelle?”
Cora once again was dipping the breasts, first in milk mixture, then into a flour mixture. “Her night off. We alternate serving. This is one of Maybelle’s nights when she goes to one of her meetings.”
Esther slapped the fork onto the range top. “‘Be sober; be vigilant; because your adversary, the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.’ That girl won’t listen and I’ve told her and told her.”
Cora’s voice was gentle. “Don’t worry so, Auntie. It’s all nonsense.”
Annie remembered Maybelle’s staring gaze and her halting words. I saw the Evil Eye.
“God tells us not to delve in darkness.” A timer buzzed. “Here now, I’ve got to get that casserole out.”
“Please tell Maybelle I’d like to get her picture tomorrow.” Annie was pleased. It was a piece of luck that Maybelle was off tonight. Now Annie had a good reason to seek her out tomorrow and discover what she meant when she spoke of seeing an evil eye. Annie’s search for a diary was a bust so far, but maybe her luck was
going to turn. “Thanks very much.”
It was a few minutes before seven when Annie reached the main hallway. She heard a murmur of voices to her left. Lillian had said they gathered in the family room before dinner. As she neared the end of the hall, she heard the clink of glasses and a gurgle of laughter. With a glance behind to be sure she wasn’t observed, she moved lightly and eased next to the archway.
A woman’s voice was strident. “You are much too easily put upon, Lillian. Why should that girl be staying here? It would have been much easier for you to have William box up Vanessa’s things, send them off. If this girl is as much of a tramp as Vanessa—”
“Martha, let me show you something.” The man’s voice boomed. “Come here, honey. Look what Jon’s bought for Lillian’s birthday. Now, isn’t that something!”
There was a squeal of excitement. “Lillian, you didn’t even mention it. Why, that’s the prettiest bracelet I’ve ever seen. Oh, look at that diamond butterfly. And those rubies on both sides…”
Annie stepped into the archway. She had a moment to observe the dramatic room and its occupants. Pale lime cushions dotted overstuffed white sofas. The paved floor was alternating bands of obsidian and cream. The coffee tables and side tables were made of glass. A huge oil painting almost filled an interior wall, its swirl of colors—orange, green, a brilliant crimson—bright as a kaleidoscope.
Lillian Dodd was again in blue, a scalloped-hem dress with a V-neck and graceful sash and matching loop sandals. Her face looked tired as she held out her arm to the woman admiring the bracelet. Unkempt red-gold hair straggled unevenly to frame a ravaged face with bleary green eyes. Martha Golden was shockingly aged from the photographs Annie had studied. Her pleated low-cut silk dress hung from bony shoulders, sagged low against her hips. She wasn’t fashionably thin. She was emaciated, her arms thin to the point of caricature. Perhaps she looked more worn than usual in contrast to Lady Hamilton, who was lovely in a mauve eyelet dress. Lady Hamilton’s brilliant blue eyes studied Lillian, not her new jewelry. Heather Whitman stood near the mantel, her dark hair a nice contrast to her terra-cotta dress. She too looked sharply different from the photographs. In the pictures, she’d been happy. Now her face was remote and sad. She stood by herself. Across the room, Kyle Curtis lounged with one elbow propped on a grand piano. His eyes were Heathcliff brooding, his mobile mouth twisted in a bitter frown. The only man smiling was Jon Dodd. Jon gazed at his wife, eyes warm, lips curved in a soft smile, beaming pride and satisfaction as she displayed the lovely bracelet. Sam Golden looked somber. He was only an arm’s length from his wife, his face wary and tense.