Death of the Party (22 page)

Max thudded down the stairs, ran to the path. Gerald was facing the golf cart.

Britt saw Max. The relief on her face indicated the depth of her uneasiness in unexpectedly confronting Gerald. Max approved of her caution. None of them could afford to forget that one familiar face masked a clever and ruthless killer.

“Gerald.” Max was conciliatory. “I'd appreciate some help at the cabin. I sent Britt to find a camera. It's important we put together a record so the sheriff will know there's been no tampering with the crime scene. Will you take the pictures for me? That will free Britt to make the circuit of the cabins and pick up the statements for Craig.”

Clearly Gerald wanted to leave. But he was a responsible man and he had worked for Jeremiah
Addison for many years. “All right.” His tone was grudging. “I can do that.”

Britt looked relieved. Max knew she wouldn't have complained but obviously she preferred not to be in the cabin with Everett's body. She gave Gerald a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“And, Gerald, if you have your report handy, Britt can take it.”

Gerald gave a bark of laughter. “You want those statements in hand before anyone knows about Everett. No creative touching up, right?” He answered himself. “That's fair enough. God knows this has to be dealt with. Someone”—his eyes looked haunted—“is dangerous as hell.” He reached into an inner pocket, pulled out several folded sheets, handed them to Britt.

Britt took the sheets. “I'll take good care of them. I won't let any of the reports out of my sight.”

Max checked his watch. Eleven-twenty. “Ask everyone to meet at the house at noon. Tell them I have some information for them.” He bent to retrieve the legal pad, measuring tape, and plastic bags from the passenger seat of the cart. He handed the camera to Gerald.

Britt nodded. “I'll hurry. That will give me time to get back to the house and write up my report.”

As the cart chugged away, Max called out. “Britt, keep an eye out for Annie.” He was deliberately vague.

“She was going to take a look around the cabins. I thought she'd be back by now.”

He'd not liked the idea of Annie making the circuit of the cabins even though she might learn something of value. As he followed Gerald up the stairs into Everett's cabin, Max reassured himself. Annie was safe enough. After all, she had the gun.

“I
WAS HOPING
I'
D CATCH YOU
.” Annie was as cheery as a real estate agent pushing a million-dollar house. She darted across the clearing and up the stairs before Kim could open the door.

Kim half turned toward Annie, her expression startled. There was no trace of concern. “Catch me?”

Annie contrived to trip on the top step, propel herself forward, arms windmilling. As she collided with Kim, Annie reached out, apparently grabbing for support. Her hand clutched the strap of the purse, pulling it loose. Annie tumbled to one side and the purse was dumped upside down, its contents bouncing onto the porch. “Oh golly, I'm sorry. The porch is slick. Ouch, I banged my knee.” Annie sat awkwardly, massaging her left knee. Her right hand was within inches of the knife in her sweater pocket.

“My camera,” Kim wailed, and she was on her hands and knees reaching for a sleek silver digital camera. She grabbed it, checked for damage.

“I'm so sorry. I hope it's okay. Here, I'll help pick everything up.” Annie scrambled closer, grabbed the purse. The minute she lifted the black Coach bag, her thudding heart slowed. The leather purse was heavy but not heavy enough to hold a gun. With an apologetic smile, Annie opened it wide and started
retrieving the spilled contents. She dropped in a change purse, billfold, compact, address book, three pens. Kim absently picked up some items, but she was still inspecting her camera.

It only took a moment, then Kim, fluid and graceful, came to her feet. She reached down, helped Annie up. Kim slipped the purse strap over one shoulder. Her attention was still focused on the camera. She turned toward Annie, lifted it, pushed the button. There was a bright flash. “It's okay. Come on in.”

Annie, still apologizing, followed her into the cabin. “…these shoes skid on wet wood. I'm awfully sorry…” As she chattered, she wondered where Kim had been. And why. Annie settled on the sofa and looked at the coffee table. For an instant, there was a chilling memory of Everett's identical coffee table and the legal pad with missing sheets. Kim's legal pad, obviously new and untouched, was pristine. Nothing had been written on it and no sheets torn away.

Kim saw her gaze. “Oh, yeah. I've got to get that done.” She dropped her purse casually on the floor, but she still held the camera. She lifted it, aimed with the ease of long practice, swiftly took three more pictures of Annie. “How long have you been working for Britt?”

Annie was startled.

Kim leaned forward. “Are you and your husband partners or do you handle secretarial stuff?”

Annie realized with a flash of surprise that she was being interviewed. “Partners.” Her response was automatic and true though perhaps not in the sense meant by Kim.

Kim's smile was admiring. “Running a detective agency must be fascinating. I doubt too many clients walk through the door and ask you to find a murderer. Tell me how you felt when Britt hired you.”

Annie was intrigued. Kim's smile invited confidences. Her gaze was warm. She was laying on the charm, hoping for an exclusive about the gathering on Golden Silk. “That's a good angle for a story,” Annie replied. She could play the admiration game, too. “Is that what you've been working on this morning instead of your report?”

Kim's smile fled. Obviously, she preferred to ask questions rather than answer them. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you near the house a little while ago.” Annie's hand hovered near the concealed knife. “I wondered what you were doing there.” Stealing Max's gun? Grabbing our papers?

Kim looked satisfied. “Nothing that would interest you. I'm looking for a ticket back to the big time. I'm going to scoop the hell out of Everett.”

Annie challenged her. “If you've found out anything to help solve Jeremiah's murder, Craig Addison will insist you reveal it.” Not to mention the police.

Kim shook her head. “I don't have anything new. If I did, I'd take it right to Craig. That would get me hired.” She gave a little shrug. “Unless he's the one that pushed dear old Dad down the stairs.”

She claimed to be working on a story…. Annie glanced at the silver camera Kim had placed on the coffee table. “Were you taking pictures?”

Now Kim didn't look quite so pleasant, her eyes cold and determined. “What I do is none of your business. And damn sure none of Everett's business.”

Annie stared into glittering blue eyes. Kim was either innocent of Everett's murder or an arrogant killer spreading a smokescreen. “I won't be telling Everett anything. You can count on it. Anyway you're obviously leagues ahead of him.” Being alive was a definite advantage.

Kim gloried in Annie's admiring tone. “You bet I am. He's not a real reporter. While he's lying around this morning—”

Annie recalled that still form and grayish face and perfect pompadour and blood.

“—I was working. The world will know all about it when I sell the story.”

“Look,” Annie said, “if you'll tell me what you were doing”—Kim was out of her cabin during the critical moment when Everett was shot. If she was innocent of Everett's murder, where had she been? Had she seen anyone?—“I'll give you an exclusive on being hired by Britt. I won't breathe a word to Everett about what you've discovered.”

Kim brushed back a golden curl, her face thoughtful. Slowly she nodded. “All right.” Her gaze was avid. “You first.”

Annie wished for the inventiveness of Agatha Christie's Tuppence Beresford in
N or M
. Tuppence was never at a loss for easy prattle. Further, Annie had to come up with something interesting enough for Kim to consider a trade of information worth her
while. Annie scooted to the edge of the chair, opened her eyes wide. “When Britt explained the situation, I had the most extraordinary feeling. I wouldn't claim to be psychic—”

There was a flicker of disdain in Kim's eyes, but her encouraging smile never wavered. She wrote fast as Annie spoke.

“—but I felt distinctly cold. An unearthly coldness. It was as though I'd stepped onto a glacier. I knew then that something dreadful was going to happen if Britt reunited everyone on the island.” Annie imagined Kim's breathy tones in a voice-over: Private Investigator Annie Darling shared her innermost foreboding and her conviction that the deadly specter of Death awaited all who traveled to Golden Silk. “Max insisted she contact the sheriff instead. She refused. In fact, she was on her way out of the office when he stopped her. When he realized she was determined to proceed, he agreed for us to come. He was afraid the murderer might attack her. Britt insisted on going forward even though she understood the danger. My own feeling at the time”—Annie lifted a hand to her throat, an artistic gesture—“was one of deep foreboding.” Annie dropped her voice. “I felt even worse the next morning when we were on our way to Golden Silk.” There was sincerity in her tone. “I sensed impending doom. I was touched by emanations of evil. I truly believe Golden Silk harbors death.” Annie doubted even Tuppence could have topped this performance.

Kim finished her notes with a flourish. “Okay. That's good.” Another sharp look. “You won't give this to Everett?”

Annie's pleasure in playacting seeped away. “No. I won't tell Everett. Where did you go this morning?”

Kim looked as satisfied as a cat in the sun. “I had the run of the island. Everyone was tucked in a cabin, writing about that weekend. I got pix of the boathouse and Harry's cabin and the smashed desk in the library. Everett's not a real reporter.” Her disdain was evident. “All he knows are scripts. When we get off this island, I'll have the story and the pix and he can eat his heart out.”

Every word could be true. Perhaps Kim had done as she claimed, hoping for an exclusive. If so, she hadn't been near the cabins at the critical time. There might be proof of that. “May I see the pictures?” Some digital cameras record not only the date but the time the picture was taken.

“You'll see them when the story runs.” Kim slipped the camera into her pocket. “Now, why did you want to catch me?”

The better to eat you, my dear
…Annie managed another bright smile. “I think you are the very best person to help us trap Jeremiah's murderer.”

This time flattery didn't charm. Kim's cold blue eyes regarded Annie thoughtfully. “Why me?”

“Well,” Annie said, settling into the cushions with the air of a woman ready for a just-between-us-girls chat, “as I understand it, wedding bells were going to ring.” Annie made no mention of Cissy. What was an invalid wife when discussing the course of true love?

Kim rocked back against the sofa, locking her fingers around one knee. “It was a little early for an
announcement.” Her voice was bland. “But yes, that was our plan.”

“You were almost the only person on the island who wasn't angry with Jeremiah.” Annie looked at her eagerly. “You must have been in his confidence. Did he plan something that one of them simply wouldn't tolerate? Or was he afraid of one of them?”

For an instant, Kim looked discomfited, her expression defensive.

Annie was as sure as though Jeremiah stood in the room with them, his face sardonic and a trifle cruel, that Kim had romanticized her relationship with him. She hadn't been in his confidence. She was a pretty girl and he enjoyed pretty girls, and that was the extent of his interest.

Kim's smile was feminine and secretive, but her eyes still looked cold. “We had better things to do than waste our time talking about people he despised. Craig irritated him because he was always trying to take over. Jeremiah said he didn't trust Craig's instincts. Jeremiah was disappointed in Jay. He thought Jay was weak and indecisive. Jeremiah loathed Britt, called her a blood-sucking leech. But he was never afraid of anybody.” She loosed her hands, reached for the legal pad. “I'd better get this done.”

Annie knew better than to press for more. Kim didn't want to talk further about Jeremiah's last weekend and reveal how much or how little she knew of his plans.

Annie sighed and stood up. “I have to go up to the house. I promised I'd help with lunch. I hate to go by myself. It's spooky there. I keep imagining noises. Once I thought it sounded like someone falling down
stairs.” She shivered. “I think I'll look around for Britt. Did you see her or anyone while you were out?” Annie hoped Kim would think this an inconsequential question, a nervous woman seeking company.

“Only Dana.” Kim's tone was dismissive.

Annie smiled. “Oh, she's nice. Where was she? Maybe I can find her.” Dana should have been in her cabin, she and Jay, working on the reports.

Kim gestured vaguely toward the forest. “I doubt she's still there. I was on my way back here and I saw her skulking along the path that goes to the lagoon. She kept looking over her shoulder. She scuttled. Like a crab. I thought that was odd. I followed her.”

Annie figured the timing in her mind. This explained Kim's excursion on that path and why she had arrived at the cabin after Annie.

“Just about the time I got to the lagoon, there was a big splash. She was standing on the bank. I almost asked her what she'd thrown away. But there was something about the way she stood there…” Kim's voice trailed away. “She had her back to me. She never knew I saw her. I got a couple of pictures just in case. She's such a silly woman. Who knows what she was doing? I doubt it mattered. Probably something to do with her wimp of a husband.”

Annie pictured Dana's slender form standing stiffly at the edge of the lagoon. What had she thrown that was large enough, heavy enough to make a splash? Not the packet of letters. They would have slapped into the water, slipped quietly down.

A gun would splash.

Two guns were missing, the one that had killed Ev
erett and the one Max had brought to the island. Was one of them resting on the bottom of the lagoon?

 

Max used the ice tongs from the kitchen to lift the legal pad from Everett's coffee table, slid it carefully into the gallon-sized plastic bag. He slipped a second bag over the exposed end. Britt's fingerprints, of course, would be on the pad. It was unlikely the murderer was foolish enough to leave any trace, but the pad had to be checked. All that remained was for Britt to provide a secure place to keep the evidence until the sheriff arrived.

Gerald was waiting by the front door. He held up the small camera. “I've got shots from every angle, including close-ups of Everett. I'll do a panorama and we'll be done.”

“Right.” Max walked out onto the porch. He added a final note to a sheet with detailed descriptions of the approximate time the shot was heard, the arrival of himself and Annie and Britt at the cabin, the contents of the room, the appearance of the victim. This information added to the array of photographs should assure the sheriff on his arrival that the scene was unchanged. Any deviation would be starkly apparent.

Gerald was framed in the doorway. A series of clicks marked his final photographs. He lowered the camera, but he made no move to join Max.

Max had a clear view of his profile.

Face somber, Gerald stared into the living room. “I met Everett's mother once. He was getting an Emmy and she came to the awards. Somehow she and I ended up talking at the cocktail party. She got out of
an abusive marriage. Everett was about twelve. They were dirt-poor. On food stamps. She worked three jobs at one point. Sometimes they didn't have enough to eat. She said Everett got a job as soon as he could. She looked kind of wistful. She told me sometimes she worried that he cared so much for things. She said, ‘Mr. Gamble, it's not good for him to want to be so rich. I know he hated being poor, it made him feel like he didn't count. He swore I'd never have to go hungry when he could work. But now'—and she'd touched her sleeve, it was a silk dress—‘he wants me to be fine. I keep telling him that he doesn't need to buy me fancy clothes. And I worry that he sounds mean on his program. He says he's just being aggressive. But quarrelsome words can come back to haunt you.'”