Dare to Die (11 page)

Marian shook her head. “As far as the cop shop can find out, nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. No physical traces. Weapon of opportunity. Unless the killer confesses, this will be the unsolved crime of modern time.”

Ben rubbed his leathery cheek. “Poor damn kid. She worked for us for a couple of years when she was in junior high. Sweet as pie. It was in high school that she got fuzzy. Moved in slow motion. Didn't show up. Dropped things. I had to let her go when she spilled chili on the mayor. Damn hot chili.” Ben didn't sound grieved. Mayor Cosgrove hustled for the island but lacked personal charm. “I'd already warned her a couple of times. I tried to get her to go for help, but she claimed she wasn't on drugs. I knew better. Where's she been the last few years?”

Marian's face screwed into a ferocious frown. “I'd say Iris didn't know where she'd been most of the time. Savannah mostly. I talked to her last night. She didn't say much, but I connected the dots. Vague as mist. I'd bet she'd been on the street for a long time. She said she was living with friends. As far as I could find out this morning, she might have dropped in from Mars. If anybody knows her address, they're not telling.”

Max saw Annie's lips part and kicked her under the table. She picked up her tea, drank deeply.

Ben nodded. “I saw her on the ferry, but I don't know where she came from. I'll get the malted.” He turned away.

Marian's head swivelled toward Annie. “Speaking of dropping in, how come she was at your party? Billy said she was a guest.”

Max pushed the bread basket with jalapeño cornbread toward Marian. “Hot and good. The butter's fresh. The invitation to the picnic was a last-minute thing. There's no story there. We're staying at Nightingale Courts until the Franklin house is ready. Iris was in Cabin Six. Annie and Iris got to talking and Annie asked her if she'd like to come to the picnic.”

Marian's eyes narrowed. She gave Max a short stare, fastened again on Annie. “You and Max are staying at Nightingale Courts. I got that. An unknown woman checks into Cabin Six. You say hello. That I can buy. You like people. But then you asked her to your party? Come on now, Annie. Spit it out. How did that happen?”

“It was no big deal. Like I told Russell when I saw him out at the house today.” Max kept his voice pleasant though he felt grim. Marian was the nearest thing to a human vacuum cleaner, sucking up everything in her path with an uncanny talent for uncovering anything hidden. “Annie and Iris took a dip in the
pool and Annie thought she might like to come to the party.”

If Marian had been a bird dog, she'd have gone on point. “Jeez, Max, you would have thought I asked
you
a question. I asked Annie. Last I knew Annie was a big girl, able to talk and walk and chew gum all at the same time. Let me try again.” She faced Annie and her eyes glistened. “Annie,” Marian enunciated loudly, “why did you invite Iris?”

Annie's eyes warned Max.

He understood. The more Annie didn't answer, the harder Marian would pry. He gave an infinitesimal nod.

Annie was casual. “I decided to take a swim before the party. Iris was standing on her cabin deck. She looked lonely so I asked her if she'd like to swim. We had a good time. I didn't want to rush off to a party and leave her there so I invited her. Like Max said, it was no big deal.”

“What did she look like?” Marian slipped a notebook from her purse, began to write.

“Thin.” Annie's voice was soft. “Pretty. Dark eyes and dark hair and a sweet smile. She was a good listener. I told her about last summer when Max and I were in trouble. And then—”

Max felt uneasy but if he interrupted, Marian would be like a terrier after a bone. Better to let Annie talk. Surely there was nothing that could bring harm to her.

“—she said she hadn't realized people like me had troubles. I asked her if she had troubles. She said things were better, that she belonged to AA and NA. I told her that she was brave. She said she was trying to make up for things in the past and that's why she came home. She said—”

“Maybe we'd better leave it at that.” Max gave Annie a hard stare. He was firm with Marian. “You've got enough for a story.”

Marian hesitated, shot an anguished look at the clock. “Eight
minutes. Yeah. I got to go. Keep my food for me. I'll be back.” She slid out of the booth, headed for the door in a dead run, shouted over her shoulder. “Thanks, Annie. Iris deserves something bright, something besides diagrams of the woods and police handouts.”

 

A
NNIE WALKED SWIFTLY ON THE BOARDWALK, BREATHING
deeply of the slightly fishy ocean smell, welcoming the bustle and charm of the marina with boats ranging from modest sailfish to multimillion-dollar yachts. She always felt she was coming home when she entered Death on Demand. Dispossessed from their old house, barred from their antebellum home-to-be, this was her world with its glorious new book–old book smell, shining heart-pine floors, rich scent of brewed Colombian, a memory of Uncle Ambrose's pipe smoke, and glorious Agatha, queen of cats and dictator of her domain.

Annie felt the usual lift when she saw the small gold letters at the lower right of the front window: P
ROP.
A
NNIE
D
ARLING.
She looked through the plate glass and blinked in surprise. She'd taken great pleasure in her display, putting a trowel and dirt-stained canvas gloves next to two potted azaleas, one pink, one white, and gardening mysteries that evoked the rich smell of freshly turned dark earth:
Death in the Orchid Garden
by Ann Ripley,
The Blue Rose
by Anthony Eglin,
Trouble in Spades
by Heather Webber,
Summer of the Big Bachi
by Naomi Hirahara, and
Ghost Orchid
by Carol Goodman.

Instead, toy soldiers now marched in formation. A Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes hung from flagpoles behind a battered canvas-covered canteen and a miniature troop train. A
poster of
Allies Day, May 1917
by Childe Hassam rested on an easel. Annie nodded approval when she saw the books with their roots in World War I:
The Murder Stone
by Charles Todd,
Angels in the Gloom
by Anne Perry,
Pardonable Lies
by Jacqueline Win-spear,
The Mark of the Lion
by Suzanne Arruda, and
Twenty-Three and a Half Hour's Leave
by Mary Roberts Rinehart.

They were all wonderful books, but it seemed a little presumptuous that her gardening display had been preempted.

A neatly printed card taped to the easel announced:

Annie understood. Henny was a retired teacher, a past president of the Friends of the Library, and a World War II veteran. No doubt she'd created this window display. Okay. Death on Demand always supported the library. Besides, it would be churlish to be miffed by such obvious enthusiasm and dedication to superb mystery fiction. Annie brightened. No doubt the great mysteries set during or after World War I would be part of Henny's presentation. She'd be sure and stock more copies of the books displayed and add Carola Dunn's delightful twenties mysteries with their link to the Great War.

Annie's smile slipped away. For an instant, she'd been immersed in her own wonderful everyday world. If only she could be caught up in thinking about ordering books and not drained by the words that now never seemed far away:
She came in the rain. Alone. On a bicycle.

Annie took a deep breath, remembering Laurel's chirpy in
struction to lift her arms and embrace the world, breathing all the while, and smiling.

Annie assumed a relaxed posture and curved her arms above her head. How did it go? Reach up and pull down a cloud. That was the ticket, envision clouds, fluffy white-as-divinity clouds.

The door opened, the bell jangling.

“Dearest Annie.” Laurel's husky voice had never been warmer. “An excellent beginning. I was watching through the window. You are burdened and tai chi can lift that burden.”

Annie stepped inside and found herself in the central hallway of her beloved bookstore with Laurel executing graceful motions and murmuring, “More fluidity. Let us hold our arms as if we embrace a ball, one of those gloriously light beach balls with the dearest red-and-yellow stripes….”

Mesmerized, Annie made her best effort to gather clouds, bathe in the spring, and shrug shoulders like a big bear despite fending off Agatha, who seemed to take flowing arms as a personal affront. Annie had a little difficulty with Stork Spreads Its Wings, but came back strong as she grasped a sparrow's tail.

Agatha crouched, green eyes gleaming, mouth open in excitement, tail flicking.

Without missing a beat, Laurel stroked Agatha's arched back, made a soft cooing sound.

Agatha sat back and began to purr. She lifted a paw.

Annie was adamant with herself. Cats did not do tai chi.

The purr intensified.

Annie shot her cat a resentful glare.

“Now, now, dear Annie.” Laurel's smile was beatific. She moved as gracefully as, well, as a stork spreading its wings. “Breathe deeply, let go of all tensions, be free of petty emotions.”

Annie didn't want to appear petty to her mother-in-law. She managed a smile, likely not beatific. In passing, while stepping over a log, she gave Agatha a pat.

Agatha's paw swiped out.

Annie jerked away.

“Smoothly, dear child, smoothly,” Laurel murmured.

Annie concentrated upon being smooth, envisioning a milk-shake dappled with caramel. And yes, she did feel better, more relaxed, less stressed when they concluded. Agatha even jumped up on the cash counter to be adored.

Laurel beamed approval. “You have great promise.”

Annie's antenna wriggled. Was that Laurel-speak for: Sweetie, you're lousy, but there's always hope?

“Great promise.” Laurel was emphatic, clapping her hands together. “Let's celebrate. You're going to love the changes to the coffee bar.” She sped down the center aisle, gracefully, of course.

Annie followed, trying to retain smoothness. Changes?

Laurel set to work behind the counter. “Jamaican sodas are perfect after exertion. The hibiscus tea is already brewed.” She poured from a pitcher into a glass filled with ice. She turned to an expanded array of syrups. “I'll add a splash of passion fruit syrup and soda.” She splashed, stirred, and garnished the tall glass with an orange slice. “Here you are.”

Annie would have preferred an espresso topped with whipped cream, but refusing would have been churlish. Was there a pattern here? Annie tasted the tea hesitantly and found the flavor unusual, but compelling. “Delicious. It will be a wonderful addition to our menu. Laurel, you and Henny have done a great job. I certainly appreciate the help while Ingrid's been gone. I know you will be happy to learn that Duane's back and I can take over here.”

Graceful hands waved like sun-kissed clouds. “Perish the thought. Henny and I are here to shoulder any burden. You have too much to do to return now.” Laurel beamed. “I spoke with dear Max. He told me of your wonderful plan to honor Iris. He said tomorrow afternoon you planned to go to Savannah to the mission.”

Annie put down her glass.
She came in the rain. Alone. On a bicycle.

“Oh my dear. I know.” Laurel came around the counter, slid onto the next leatherette stool, took Annie's hands in hers. “Such sadness. But you made her welcome.”

Annie looked into Laurel's kind blue eyes. Last night Laurel had reached out to Iris. “You did, too.” Though it often seemed to Annie that her mother-in-law was never quite of this world, Laurel had a shepherd's instinct and she gathered strays with warmth and caring.

Laurel's eyes had a faraway gaze. “I understand being alone.”

Annie heard an undertone of sorrow. Laurel had been much married, sometimes widowed, sometimes divorced. She attracted men from nine to ninety with her beauty and a vibrant delight in life that lifted everyone around her.

Laurel looked into her glass, as if remembering. “Iris was standing beneath the willow by herself. I asked her to join me. We walked to one of the faraway tables. We had a lovely visit. She told me about growing up on the island. When she was little, she loved to go to Blackbeard's Beach because she thought treasure was buried there. She dug and dug but she mostly found bottle caps and bits of plastic. Once the water brought in a perfect sand dollar. Since it was dead, her grandmother let her keep it. They bleached it and she painted it pale purple and called it Pansy. She was Iris and her shell was Pansy. She said her grand
mother told her that was God's way, to bring unexpected treasures when we'd given up.”

Annie pictured a suntanned little girl and a purple sand dollar on a string around her neck. Annie blinked away sudden tears. “Laurel, you gave Iris back some happy days.”

“I hope so.” Laurel looked grave. “I'm afraid”—her fine brows drew down into a thoughtful frown—“that something upset her later. I saw her walking toward the pavilion and her face looked old, old and drawn. I almost started after her. Oh, how I wish I had. A group came between us, and I lost track of her.” Laurel sighed. “That was the last time I saw Iris. I called Billy and told him.” She looked sad. “He asked if I noticed her after dinner talking to anyone or going into the woods with someone. I wasn't able to help him.”

Annie gave Laurel a quick hug. “You've helped me. Now I have a happy memory for Iris's poster. When I go to the mission, I won't find out about happy days, but I'll find out about her courage. I'm sure of that. I'll pick the best of everything for her poster.”