Dare to Die (18 page)

Annie wondered if she had it backward. Perhaps a guest saw Iris hurrying to the pavilion and slipped away from the party, carrying a pair of shucking gloves and a length of black cord.

“You'd think somebody would have seen something.” Barb was disgusted. “I was sitting at a table not far from the path and I never looked that way. Why would I? The party wasn't in the woods. I'll keep trying.” She glanced at her watch. “I'll order in from Parotti's. The usual?”

Annie opted for cole slaw as well as hush puppies with a fried clam sandwich. Max chose grilled flounder.

As Barb left, Max flipped to a fresh page. “I don't think Barb's going to get much information over the phone. By now the word's out all over the island about the fire last night. Let's say someone saw something odd Friday night. They may keep
quiet because they're scared. We've got to offer some protection. And,” his tone was determined, “an incentive.”

Quickly he sketched on the pad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Annie.

 

If YOU saw someone enter the woods at Harbor Pavilion

FRIDAY NIGHT with

Iris TILFORD

Call Confidential Commissions

CONFIDENTIALITY PROMISED

$10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of Iris Tilford's murderer

 

Annie admired his drawings in the margins, a path into pine trees, a cell phone, and a stack of greenbacks. “I'll take it out to Barb.”

“Tell her to run off two hundred copies. After lunch she can post them around town, leave stacks at the library.”

Annie put Max's sketch on Barb's desk with a note. When Annie returned, Max was again writing on the legal pad.

Annie thought the flyer might be a help, but their best hope was to find out where Fran, Buck, Liz, Russell, and Cara were when Iris walked toward the pavilion.

Max finished writing with a flourish just as Barb walked in clutching two brown bags with telltale grease spots. “I saw your note. I'll print up a flyer right now.”

“Have lunch first.” Annie spread paper towels on Max's desk.

“I'll eat while I work. Back in a flash.”

True to her promise, Barb returned in minutes with a bright yellow sheet.

Max spread several of the flyers on his desk. “I like the print size.” Barb had used huge flame-red letters. The flyers were definitely eye-catching. “They look great. Paste 'em up everywhere.”

Barb nodded. “Will do.” She hurried out.

Annie took another bite of her fried clam sandwich, wiped one hand on a napkin.

Max concluded writing with a flourish. “Here's what we need to find out.” He handed her the legal pad:

• 1. Get Marian Kenyon's notes on the deaths of Sam and Jocelyn Howard. What were the results of the autopsy on Jocelyn's brother Sam?
  
• 2. Check with Frank Saulter on the investigation into Jocelyn's death. Why wouldn't Doc Burford talk about the autopsy on Jocelyn Howard?
  
• 3. Talk to Coach Butterworth.
  
• 4. Why did Jocelyn come to the sports awards picnic? Her brother had died the previous Friday.
  
• 5. Did Buck and Jocelyn quarrel at the picnic?
  
• 6. What happened between Jocelyn and Russell?
  
• 7. Did Jocelyn suspect either Buck or Russell of giving the cocaine to Iris?
  
• 8. Was Fran trying to implicate Russell? Was she protecting Buck?
  
• 9. Did Cara tell Billy the truth about her reason for coming to Nightingale Courts to see Iris?
  
• 10. At the hospital, what reminded Emma of the attack on her?
  

M
ARIAN
K
ENYON BUMPED THE POP MACHINE IN THE
G
AZETTE
snack room. With a rattle, two cans dropped into the trough.
Marian retrieved them, placed the sodas next to a stack of folders and several notebooks on the scarred Formica-topped table. “You like peanuts in your Coke?” Marian avoided looking at Annie as she offered an opened packet of salty peanuts.

Annie declined. Some Southern favorites were not to her taste, including peanuts bobbing in Coke, boiled pig's feet, and sweet tea.

They settled on opposite sides of the table, Marian busy with notebooks and folders, her face averted.

Annie slid a bright yellow flyer across the table.

The reporter read it swiftly. Her eyes glinted. “This'll get everybody talking. It's too late for this afternoon's paper, but I'll write a story for tomorrow.” She sagged back in her chair, again avoided looking at Annie. “I didn't mean to put you in danger.” She could scarcely be heard.

“Of course you didn't.” Annie reached across the table, gave Marian's arm a quick squeeze.

Marian looked up. Her face brightened. She lifted the Coke, slurped and munched, said mournfully, “I wonder if I'll ever be savvy enough to remember about unintended consequences. It frosted me when nobody gave me anything personal after Iris was killed. All I got was vague responses.
A former classmate. Someone I knew a long time ago. I said hello to her, but we only talked for a moment.
Anyway”—finally she gazed directly at Annie—“I'm sorry as hell about you and Max. I've got a new mantra: Count the cost, stupid.” She pointed at the folders. “I've scoured my files for anything that might help. I've made copies of a bunch of stuff. Let me tell you what I know that never made it into the
Gazette
.”

Annie opened a notebook, pen poised to write.

Marian drank more Coke. Her face furrowed in remem
brance. “It was foggy the night Jocelyn disappeared. There were maybe sixty kids and parents at the sports awards picnic. Two faculty sponsors, Coach Butterworth and Henny Brawley.

“They had a big bonfire in the pavilion, but the lights aren't too bright. You could walk a few feet away from the pavilion and the fog swallowed you up. From what I found out, the picnic was subdued. Foggy, chilly, and the Grim Reaper lurking in their minds. Sam Howard had been found dead of a drug overdose a week earlier. Everybody was surprised when Jocelyn showed up.” Marian flipped open a notebook. “She came late. Kids got glimpses of her, talking to different people. She was wearing her brother's letter jacket. The program started at eight, student athletes receiving their letters. When Sam's name was called, nobody came up for the patches. Sam had been varsity in three sports. It got real quiet. Coach gave a tribute to him. Nobody mentioned Jocelyn. They thought she was too upset to come forward. Sam was one of the golden boys. Here's a picture.”

Annie looked at the smiling face of a handsome boy with curly chestnut hair. His expression held a hint of swagger, his green eyes were confident with an almost arrogant gleam.

“He was found next to his car in the forest preserve. An early morning jogger spotted him and raised the alarm. Nobody'd reported Sam missing yet. He'd told his mom he was going to the movies. His mom thought he was in bed when she got the call. He went to the movie. There was a triple bill that night and nobody noticed when he left. Nobody knows where he went or what he did after he left the movie. He wasn't seen again until his body was found. I don't know if they ever found out anything more. When the autopsy report showed cocaine, Frank dropped it. I guess he figured Sam had gone to the pre
serve for a snort and ended up dead. Maybe too much coke, maybe a weak heart. Since the death was deemed accidental, I was able to get a copy of the file. I drew a sketch of the death scene.”

The drawing was meticulous. A road curled among trees. A squarish car—labeled Jeep—was angled off the side of the road, the hood nudged against a tree trunk. A stick figure lay in the road behind the car. A notation read:
Car registered to Samuel James Howard, found one-quarter mile from preserve entrance, keys in ignition, letter jacket with his billfold in the backseat. Two credit cards and thirty-two dollars in cash in billfold.

Annie studied the drawing. “Why was his body in the road?”

Marian licked salt from her fingertips, shrugged. “Why not? Maybe he liked to sniff coke outside. Maybe he got woozy and got out of the car. Bottom line: no other trauma, healthy Caucasian male aged eighteen, verdict accidental death from cocaine.” She upended the Coke, drank greedily. “I talked to some kids, promised them I wouldn't squeal, and I got the lowdown that Sam was a big alcohol and drug man so where's the surprise. There are always a few in every class and sometimes they're the golden boys who have it all, looks, money, personality, and a streak of I'm-invincible, gonna-do-what-I-want-a-do. I don't figure there was any mystery about what happened to Sam. As for Jocelyn, everybody interviewed said she was really upset at the sports awards picnic. They figured she came because the kids were getting their emblems for the various sports and Sam had lettered in football, basketball, and tennis.”

At Annie's high school, guys received jackets, girls cardigan sweaters. Each sport had an emblem.

Marian took a last gurgle of Coke. “Everybody noticed she
had on her brother's letter jacket. That was spooky because his personal effects, including the jacket, had been returned to the family that afternoon.” Marian shuffled through papers, handed Annie another photograph.

Annie felt haunted by unfinished lives. Jocelyn had been lovely, a blue-eyed blonde with a confident gaze and smile. She was as golden in her way as her brother had been.

Marian crushed the soda can. “One of the girls said Jocelyn looked awful that night, pale and shaky, her eyes red from crying.”

Annie studied the photograph, made when the future looked bright with expectations of happiness, excitement, fulfillment. That last night, Jocelyn struggled with grief. Was she upset because her brother was gone, distraught at the finality of death? Or was she upset with the living?

 

F
RANK
S
AULTER FINISHED THE LAST CRUMB OF ANGEL FOOD
cake, placed the fork and plate on Max's desk. “I don't know what's better, the cake or the lemon icing. Barb's wasted as a girl Friday.”

No one appreciated his secretary's culinary skills more than Max. When time hung heavy, she created amazing treats in Confidential Commissions' small kitchen. She also cooked when stressed. Today, she'd talked on the phone, posted the reward flyers, tallied results of her survey, and whipped a dozen eggs for the cake, while regularly checking on Max's well-being and muttering imprecations about nasty, lowlife people who set things on fire.

Frank glanced at the wheelchair. “Glad you can get around. I bunged up my feet once. Coral. I expect you hurt like hell.”

Max's feet throbbed. But the haze of pain was better than the haze of pain pills. Maybe the pain helped him concentrate. “They make it easy to remember somebody out there doesn't like Annie and me.” Max appreciated Frank's question because, in addition to indicating concern for his comfort, it was also an oblique recognition that Frank understood Max had a very personal interest in seeing Iris Tilford's murder solved.

Max chose his words carefully. Frank Saulter had been a superior police chief, honest, careful, thorough. Like Billy Cameron, he was an island native. Frank knew his island and its people. That was a plus in leading to answers that weren't always obvious unless you were aware of families and their histories. That knowledge also meant an emotional tie to many of those involved in investigations. “I asked Doc Burford about the autopsy on Jocelyn Howard. Doc cut me off. What did the autopsy show that he didn't want to reveal?”

Frank's hawklike features folded into a frown. He could be genial. Since his retirement, he had seemed to relax and smile more often, but in repose his face reflected a somber nature, perhaps formed by years of dealing with unhappy lives and grim realities. “The Howards ran to trouble. Not being an island boy—”

Max knew he'd never be a real island boy. When he and Annie had kids, that would be their birthright.

“—you wouldn't know much about the family. Five generations on Jocelyn's mom's side, the Hilliards. Now they're all gone. Mary Grace Hilliard was an heiress, married a golfer she met at some country club up north. He was a drunk, ran his MG into a live oak one night, leaving her with two kids, Sam and Jocelyn. Mary Grace was a sweet lady, but she drank too much, too. She may not have been a sober mother, but she loved those
kids. After they died, it was like watching a leaf crumble into little pieces. She got thinner and thinner and one morning she didn't wake up.”

Frank stared into the distance, seeing a picture Max couldn't see. “When I went to the house to tell her about the report on Jocelyn, Mary Grace's first words were, ‘It was an accident, Frank. My girl never jumped into that water. She hated water. She wouldn't even go in a swimming pool.' She got up and walked away from me. She stared out at the ocean, then buried her face in her hands and sobbed.” Frank looked old and tired. “She hurt so bad I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd died right there in the room. Her boy dead of a drug overdose, her girl gone a week later. Do you think I was going to tell her that Jocelyn drowned and that it looked to be an accident but”—Frank's dark eyes were bleak—“maybe it could have been suicide because of the circumstances.”

Max was puzzled. “Her brother's death?”

“Sam's death knocked Jocelyn down. She was upset and crying at the awards picnic. Everybody thought she was grieving for Sam. Maybe so, maybe not.” His face folded into lines of sadness, a man who had seen heartbreak, knew it too well. “She was pregnant.”

Max was quick to object. “Come on, Frank. An unmarried girl getting pregnant hasn't been a scandal for a long time.” Maybe a hundred years ago, a distraught young woman might choose to die or resort to possibly deadly backroom butchery, but now? Unwed mothers were no rarity. Girls opted to have babies and raise them alone every day.