Dare to Die (17 page)

“Do you know anything about the man she married?” Annie was well aware that half of all marriages end in divorce. A recital of that statistic never addressed the searing pain of parting. When love turned cold, the wound might heal but there were always scars.

“Nothing. No one on the island, to my knowledge, ever met him or knows anything about their life together or what happened.”

“She came home.” Annie wanted to believe in at least one friend. “Surely if she had anything to do with Jocelyn's death, she would never have returned.”

Henny said quietly, “Buck is here.”

Indeed he was. What if it was Buck who had been threatened by Iris's memories? What would that mean to Cara?

Annie looked up at Henny. “Friday night Iris must have remembered who she saw walking into the woods with Jocelyn. But if she remembered, why did she go into the woods with that person?”

“She must not have been certain.” Henny looked out at the marsh.

Annie looked, too, drawing comfort from the peace and beauty of the water and the rustle of the cordgrass in the onshore breeze.

Henny sighed. “Or it may be that Iris was reassured, that an explanation was offered. Possibly the claim was made that Jocelyn jumped from the pier and that had been kept secret to protect her mother.”

Annie was indignant. “Why was Iris so foolish?”

“That's easy to understand.” Henny's tone was sad. “Iris wanted to believe Jocelyn's death was an accident. Don't you see, if Jocelyn died because Iris warned the drug dealer, then Iris would have to face the terrible truth that her actions caused Jocelyn's death. Another hand would have pushed Jocelyn from the pier, but Iris would know that she was responsible. That would be a terrible burden.”

Annie understood. Iris desperately wanted to believe that her fears were unfounded, that her memory was faulty. She must have been quick to accept a glib explanation and so she walked into the woods with death.

Annie felt a hot rush of anger. She gestured at the yearbook. “They all seemed to have secrets. We have to find out more.”

 

A
NNIE SUMMED UP WHAT SHE'D LEARNED FROM
H
ENNY.
“There were all kinds of unhappiness in that group.” She looked at Max in dismay. “I don't know if any of it helps us much.”

Max tapped his pen on the yellow legal pad. “If Buck acted guilty after Sam Howard died, that's big. Why would Buck feel guilt about a friend overdosing on cocaine? That only makes sense if Buck supplied the drug. Maybe Jocelyn found out. Maybe Buck's the one Iris saw with Jocelyn.”

Annie had a sharp memory of Buck's poignant description of two yellow birds. Could he recall the little girl who'd meant so much to him if he'd killed her?

“Forget friendships for now.” Max's voice was hard. “One of our friends tried to kill us. It may have been Buck.”

Annie knew he'd not missed her woeful look when he spoke of Buck. She looked at him ruefully. “You don't miss much. You always read my mind.”

“I wish I could read some other minds.” Max pushed away the pad. “Did Liz smash Jocelyn's windshield? Does she have that kind of temper? Why was Russell avoiding Jocelyn that last night? Does Fran know something about Buck and Jocelyn that has her scared? What did Cara and Iris talk about when Cara came to Nightingale Courts Friday?”

“We'll find out. I'll ask them.”

“We'll ask them.” The correction was quick and firm. “And maybe Emma will keep writing and figure out everything for us.”

Annie grinned. “I didn't think Emma would quit writing for long. I expect she's thrilled to have a reason to focus on the book. Do you suppose she's convinced that if she keeps writing she'll figure out what happened when she was hit?”

Max was wry. “If she believes it, maybe it will happen. At
the least, we'll get her fictional take, which may or may not be helpful.”

Annie was a trifle jaundiced about Emma's plots, which had a distressing tendency to turn on invisible inked messages and clues turned up in buried chests. Feeling guilty at her negative thought, especially since Emma was the bestselling author in the store next to Agatha Christie, Annie said hurriedly, “Actually, Emma's a sweetheart to put us up. She's usually oblivious to the world when she's in the middle of a book.”

“I imagine she's given us the best help of all. Something in the hospital room hinted at her attacker.” He looked searchingly at Annie. “You searched Iris's room. You can make a list of everything you saw, compare it to the hospital room, see if you can find a link.”

Annie gave him another cool glance. Was he picturing her settled at a table in Confidential Commissions, safely out of the action, perhaps permitted a foray to the hospital?
In your dreams, Nick.

Barb plunged into Max's office. Her Dolly Parton–blond, beehive hairdo quivered in outrage. “I'm sorry I'm late. I went by the Courts and I've never seen anything so awful, the cabin a burned-out shell, all black and fallen in.” Barb's eyes were huge. “I don't see how you ever got out.”

Annie was quick to give credit. “Dorothy L. woke us up and Duane got us out. We're all right.” Physically that was almost true except for Max's cut feet. Emotionally? How long would it be before she took life and safety for granted?

“Well, Billy Cameron just called and I told him things have come to a fine pass with murderers and arsonists running loose on the island. He had the nerve to tell me there was one murderer and one arsonist and they were the same.”

Annie knew Barb's anger wasn't directed at Billy. “You shouldn't have scolded Billy. He's doing his best.”

Barb stood with her arms akimbo. “Then why isn't he out looking for whoever set the fire? Why's he wasting time coming over here? I don't suppose if you knew who set the cabin on fire, you'd be keeping it a secret, but he's on his way over.”

B
illy Cameron dropped a tool with a thin oblong blade and rounded wooden handle on Max's desk. “Got this out of my toolbox. Handy when you're scraping paint. We found four putty knives just like this one at the cabin. One jammed beneath the front door, one between the sashes of the side window, one in the bathroom window, one in the sliding glass doors. There's no way you and Max could have got out. You were locked in better than any jail cell.”

Annie folded her arms tight across her front. “I heard a metallic sound. I didn't know what it was.”

Billy picked up the tool, balanced it on a broad palm. “Gas splashed all the way around the cabin, putty knives jammed home. Somebody trapped you easy as gigging frogs in a pond. If it hadn't been for Duane, you would have burned to death. I don't think the smoke would have got you first.”

Annie stared at their old friend's grim face. She wished she
could push away his measured words, but she couldn't. Just as she couldn't forget the horror when roaring fire and roiling smoke surrounded them and they had no way out.

Billy hitched his chair closer to Max's desk, looked from one to the other. “Tell me everything you know, everything you guess, everything that's happened from the time you first saw Iris Tilford to the fire.”

After all, it didn't amount to much. Brief contacts with Iris. Cara Wilkes's visit to Iris's cabin. The anonymous note at Death on Demand. Fran Carlisle linking Russell Montgomery to Jocelyn Howard. Annie's efforts for Iris's spirit poster, kind tributes from Buck and Russell and Cara, hostility from Liz, a delayed response from Fran. And, of course, their visit to the mission Sunday afternoon.

Billy rubbed a thumb against the handle of the putty knife. “So you know that Iris fronted for someone else in dealing drugs.”

Annie remembered the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the water in the pool. “Iris came back to the island because there were things she had to figure out. Brother Doyle said Iris told Jocelyn how Sam got the cocaine. Later that same night, Jocelyn died. Iris was afraid she remembered someone walking into the woods with Jocelyn.”

Billy's face folded into a heavy frown. “Once a killer, always a killer. Iris didn't have to be killed. So what if Iris saw—or thought she saw—someone with Jocelyn! That didn't prove anything. No one will ever prove Jocelyn's death was anything other than an accident or suicide.”

Annie nodded. “Maybe not. But this is a small island. How do you think one of her classmates would like to be publicly accused of drug dealing?”

Billy looked stubborn. “No proof. Iris's word wasn't worth much.”

Max shrugged. “Maybe not, but an accusation like that could ruin a marriage, destroy a business, break friendships.”

Billy turned the putty knife in his hands. “Killers don't care about anyone but themselves. The decision to murder Iris was made shortly after she came back to the island. The attack on Emma proved that. Someone came to Iris's cabin and searched to be sure Iris didn't keep a diary or have letters or papers that might be a link.”

Max looked hopeful. “Do you know who Iris contacted on the island?”

Billy leaned back in his chair. “Cara Wilkes said Iris called and asked her to come by Nightingale Courts. Fran Carlisle said she called and wanted to talk about the sports picnic. Fran told her she didn't remember much about that evening except it was so sad.”

Max's expression was cynical. “I'm sure both Cara and Fran claim all was pleasant, just a phone call between old friends. But one of Iris's old friends killed her.” Max pulled a legal pad nearer. “Okay. Here's what we've got.” He talked as he wrote. “One, Iris supplied cocaine to Sam. Two, at the sports picnic, Jocelyn accused Iris. Three, Iris told Jocelyn that she was the go-between and named the supplier. Four, afraid of cutting off her own supply, Iris told the drug dealer that Jocelyn knew. Five, Iris returned to the island, determined to lay to rest her fear that Jocelyn's death wasn't an accident. Six, Friday night Iris must have asked someone at our party about the night Jocelyn died.” He finished writing. “And Annie's picked up a bunch of personal stuff. There was a lot going on among the classmates.”

Annie's look at Billy was grave. “I talked to Henny. She
knew them all. Iris hung around with Sam that spring. Henny thought he was using her for sex, but now we know she had cocaine.” Annie felt sad. Iris had longed for love. “Liz was crazy about Russell. Henny thought maybe Liz had vandalized Jocelyn's car.” Annie could hear Henny's quiet voice:
I'm very much afraid Liz hated Jocelyn.
“Russell and Jocelyn had broken up. He tried to avoid her at the picnic. After she died, he acted guilty. Buck seemed deeply upset after Sam's death. Buck and Cara had dated but they quarreled and that's when Fran went after him.”

“Oh, those golden high school years.” Max's voice was wry.

Annie shivered. “They had a hard time. But one of them caused Sam's death and that is probably behind everything that's happened. We know the drug dealer was Iris's friend. We know who her friends were. We can be sure of one fact, the drug dealer was at the pavilion ten years ago and on Friday night.” She looked at Billy.

“I've checked out the people who were at the sports picnic and at your party. It's a short list.” Billy ticked them off one by one, clicking the edge of the putty knife against Max's desk. “The other seniors that year, Buck and Fran Carlisle, Russell and Liz Montgomery, Cara Wilkes. The only other guests Friday night who were at both parties are Henny Brawley, Coach Butterworth, and Darlene Hopper.”

“Darlene Hopper?” Annie looked puzzled.

“One of the servers in the steam line.” Billy clearly didn't consider her to be important. “Darlene was in the same high school class, but not part of that crowd. I've talked to all three about the night Jocelyn drowned but didn't get much. There's no reason to consider Darlene or Henny or Coach as suspects. None of them are even outside probabilities to be the dope runner. Iris wouldn't have described any of them as a ‘friend.'
There was a flare of drugs that spring. After Sam Howard died, we didn't pick up on any more drug dealing. I figure we had an amateur at work, somebody in the class, and that's how Iris came to be the go-between. In addition, I can knock Darlene Hopper off the list Friday night. She was working at the steam table and was never gone long enough to have connected with Iris in the woods. I didn't get much out of Darlene. She didn't remember a lot about the sports picnic and Friday night she was too busy dishing up food to pay any attention to the party. She wasn't helpful. I guess she doesn't like being part of the help.”

Annie wondered if it would do any good to talk to Darlene. Ben Parotti could tell them how to find her. Henny hadn't mentioned Darlene. Obviously, she hadn't considered Darlene part of Jocelyn's crowd.

Billy massaged the back of his neck. “We've got a long way to go.” He looked at Annie. “You talked to Iris's friends for your spirit poster.”

Annie knew he hoped for something from her, some kind of lead.

He watched her closely. “Tell me how you felt with each of them.”

Haltingly, she tried to distill the essence of those moments. “Buck was kind. He knew what it was to struggle, to be in the shadows. Liz wouldn't give me anything. I think she's scared for Russell. Fran was angry because I told you what she'd said about Russell. She didn't want to talk about Iris. Russell must care about animals. He remembered how much Iris loved her pet owl. Cara was sweet. She and Iris must have been awfully close.”

Billy looked disappointed. “You didn't sense danger?”

Danger. These were her friends. She'd laughed, had good
times, spent sunny days with them. Annie shook her head. “If one of them intended to kill us,” she kept her voice steady with an effort, “you think I should have felt something?”

“When I was a young cop on the mainland, a sergeant told me never to ignore a sense of uneasiness, and, if I felt scared, get ready to fight.” His expression was thoughtful. “I don't believe anyone who kills ever feels at peace. Unless there's a strain of viciousness, that memory has to hurt. But one of them has had a good long while to get good at hiding emotion. Like ten years. Killing takes a lot of emotion. Striking down Iris was a response to fear of exposure. Maybe you talked to the murderer before the decision was made to set the cabin on fire so you wouldn't have picked up a feeling of threat.”

Max was grim. “The trigger for the fire was the story in the Sunday
Gazette
. That was after Annie had talked to them.”

Billy lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “Marian's story made it sound like Iris told Annie a lot. But it could be the killer saw Annie bring that note to the station and thought she was involved in the investigation. It could be that Annie talked too much about Iris.”

Max leaned forward. “You've checked out everybody at our party. Do you have a suspect? ‘A person of interest'?”

Billy shrugged. “Suspects? Sure. I got suspects, Iris's friends. I have five on my list.”

Annie ticked off names in her mind: Fran and Buck Carlisle, Liz and Russell Montgomery, and Cara Wilkes.

“A person of interest?” Billy flexed his fingers as if his hand felt stiff. “Not yet. Maybe I'm a moon shot away from ever having a person of interest. People talked to Iris. They admit that. Nobody was spotted leaving the picnic with her. Last night, Duane got a glimpse of somebody in dark clothes on a bike, but
that was the last thing on his mind. When the door didn't open or the window, he figured they were blocked. He picked up a chunk of firewood and busted out the window for you, then used the hose to splash down the wood and give you a chance to get out.”

Annie pictured flames leaping high, black smoke, and a hunched figure on a bicycle disappearing into the woods.

Max looked eager. “Man? Woman? Are there any tracks?”

“Duane saw a dark shape, but he didn't have time to do anything about it. He had a fire to fight. We found the bike's trail in the woods. Nice tracks.” Billy's voice was dour. “They match a bike we found abandoned in the parking lot at St. Mary's. A tourist reported the bike stolen this morning from condos near the forest preserve. He hadn't bothered to use the chain and lock. We found an empty gas tin near the deck. It's got fingerprints.” Billy didn't sound enthused. “Some of them were pretty smeared so the last person who hauled it probably wore gloves.” He slumped in the chair, a man numbed by exhaustion and frustration.

“A bike taken from a rental condo. Maybe a filched gas tin.” Max drew a big zero on a legal pad. “If you pick up prints, they may not lead anywhere.”

“We'll see if there's a match with any of the five. If we trace the tin, we'll ask when it was last seen. A defense attorney could have fun with that one.” Billy was sardonic. “‘Chief Cameron, when did you last see the gasoline tin in your garage?' I answer, ‘Last Saturday when I mowed the yard.' ‘Chief, do you lock your garage?' I say, ‘No. Who does? We live on an island.' The defense attorney paces around for a minute, then opens up a box on the defense table. ‘Chief, is this your gasoline tin?'”

Annie would have laughed, but there was nothing funny
about gasoline splashed on the cabin that could have been their pyre.

Max sketched a thumb, crosshatched it with lines. “I'll lay a little bet the prints match those of a guest at our party.”

Billy's gaze was sharp. “How do you figure?”

“Put yourself in the murderer's skin.” Max drew a bicycle. “This isn't a careless criminal. Iris was killed with a cord from the centerpieces. A bicycle was used that couldn't be linked to anyone. I'm sure the tin was deliberately left behind. If so, it can't be linked to the murderer. What are the odds it incriminates someone else?”

Billy slowly nodded. “Probably you're right, though it's possible Duane was on the scene quick enough to panic the murderer.” He looked soberly from Annie to Max. “You almost got snuffed last night. I tried to keep you two out of this. It didn't work.” He pushed up from the chair. “If you talk to your friends, maybe they'll be willing to say more than they would to the police. Right now, I don't think you are in any danger. The murderer's breathing easy. Obviously, I talked to you after the fire last night. I haven't shown up at anybody's door with a warrant. The killer has to figure the story in the
Gazette
was a crock and you don't know anything.” He pushed up from the chair, clearly weary. “That's a pretty good deal.” At the door he paused and looked back. “Don't push your luck. It's dangerous to taunt a tiger.”

 

B
ARB POKED HER HEAD IN
M
AX'S OFFICE AFTER
B
ILLY LEFT.

“I'm halfway through the list.” She flapped a sheet that contained names and phone numbers of guests at their party Friday night. “Most of them either never noticed Iris or didn't
know her. Martha Farrington was a friend of Iris's grandmother. Martha saw Iris walking up toward the pavilion around seven. Martha said Iris was walking like she had something she had to do. Martha said she looked like a ghost. But hey, maybe that's a touch of drama since Iris was killed.”

Annie felt her heart squeeze. “Was anyone with Iris?”

Barb was regretful. “She was alone. I'll keep calling.”

Annie fought away disappointment. They were no further ahead. Why had Iris hurried to the pavilion? Had she arranged to talk to someone? Was she following someone? Had she remembered what happened ten years ago?

“Good work, Barb.” Max was pleased. “The more we know, the more people we can exclude.”

Annie was glad Max felt encouraged. She didn't share his satisfaction. Maybe they had excluded people, but so far they hadn't connected Iris with anyone after supper.