Engaged to Die (19 page)

“The window, Tony.” Annie flung out her hands.

“She was at the window. She saw who went to the point. She saw Jake and she saw Chloe, and I know she saw someone else. But she won't say who it was. I'm afraid she's going to try and blackmail that person.”

“The hell she is.” He reached back, untied his apron, pulled it off. “I'll see about that.” He waved his hand at Annie. “Gotta close now. Come on, I'll lock up.” He shepherded Annie ahead of him through the door.

He pulled the door shut, locked it, and ran, moving fast for a big man, to the van parked in the side drive. The motor roared to life. Oyster shells spit from beneath the wheels, and the van lurched into the street.

Annie looked at the cloud of dust and wondered what she'd unleashed.

C
REAM-VOICED
D
ORIS
D
AY
crooned “Sentimental Journey” on the jukebox. Annie stirred her chili, watched the mound of grated cheese soften. Hmm, steamed corn kernels and onions, too. Vidalia, of course, and as sweet as heaven. Annie loved Ben Parotti's chili even though a Texas purist would take exception to the beans. And yes, she'd had a bowl for lunch yesterday, but she could never get enough.

Even before she spoke, Annie knew it was an exaggeration, but she was determined to get Max's full attention. “Obviously Elaine knows who killed him, and she's going to try a spot of blackmail.” Annie slapped the scarred wooden table of the booth for emphasis.

“That's a pretty serious accusation.” He poured his beer, watched the foam rise.

“You should have heard her.” Annie had a clear memory of her conversation with Elaine. “She was gloating. I think she's already counting the money in her head. Oh, Max, if only I hadn't lost her in the preserve. If I could have followed her, found out who she was going to go see or call…” But as her sensible Texas mother had often observed, there was no point in playing cards from the what-if deck. “Anyway, somebody's got to stop her. Maybe her dad will find her.”
Annie looked satisfied. “I can tell you he's going to give her an earful. But now that I've reported what she said, it's up to the police.” She flicked him a glance. “You and Billy.” As if it needed explanation. “When you find out what Elaine knows, Chloe will be cleared.” Annie's tone was forceful, recognizing the resistance in her husband's dark blue eyes. Annie took a sustaining spoonful of chili and wished this were an ordinary Saturday, free of the omnipresent sense of impending disaster that wrapped around her denser than any fog.

Max squeezed lemon over his baked flounder, forked a piece with a scoop of spinach. “Annie, that's like spotting a raccoon with a pizza box and deciding he likes pepperoni—”

Annie frowned. The logic escaped her.

“—when all it proves is that the raccoon likes pizza. Anyway”—his words were hurried, perhaps he felt his simile lacked application—“all you can be sure of is that Elaine saw—or claims she saw—people go down the path. She doesn't know who killed Jake.”

“She knows someone went to the point in addition to Chloe.” Annie had no doubt that was true. “You—the police—can't ignore that.”

“We won't. Billy won't.” But he frowned.

Annie was afraid she understood. “Billy's mad, isn't he?”

Max added a dash of salt to his fillet, didn't meet her eyes. “He's worried. And embarrassed. He feels like he's let Pete down, made the department look foolish. He keeps saying Pete wouldn't have been dumb enough to let Chloe leave last night. He says”—Max lifted his gaze, looked at her somberly—“that innocent people don't run away.”

“Chloe's scared.” Annie took a gulp of iced tea.

“You remember how upset she got when Billy said he was going to put her in jail.”

Max spooned more tartar sauce onto his plate. “Billy's looking at all possibilities—especially Rusty Brandt—but the evidence is a lot stronger against Chloe. She's going to jail as a material witness, that's for sure. Since she ran away, there's no chance a judge will set bail. Not that she could likely make bond anyway.”

“Oh, Max.” Annie stared at him, misery in her eyes.

He put down his fork, reached across the table, grabbed her hand. “Chloe blew it when she ran away.” His grip tightened. “If you find out where she is—if she calls you—you've got to turn her in.”

Annie's face stiffened. “No.” She pulled her hand away.

“That's like harboring a fugitive.” His blue eyes were insistent.

They looked at each other across a divide.

“How's everything?” Ben Parotti leaned into the booth. A chili-spattered apron only partially protected his bright green wool blazer. He glanced from one to the other, his leprechaun face concerned, and started to back away. “Not meaning to interrupt.”

“It's okay, Ben.” Annie managed a smile. “Don't you and Miss Jolene sometimes”—her eyes turned to Max—“agree to disagree?”

Ben rubbed his nose. “Hmm, the missus and me”—a sudden sunny smile created an angelic leprechaun—“we're boppin' to the same tune.” He shuffled his shoes to a dance Annie vaguely remembered from home movies of her mother. He finished with a slap of his hands on his knees, stood straight, cleared his
throat. His wrinkled face turned a rusty color. Hurriedly, he loosened his apron to search the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a folded note card. He looked at Max. “Your mama dropped by a minute ago and asked me to bring this to you. Said she thought it was something you needed.” He held out the card on a calloused hand. “Both of you.”

“Thank you, Ben.” Annie took the card. Clasped hands rimmed the border.

Ben looked bemused. “She came and she went with a smile and a wave of her hand and a perfume that reminds me of fields of lavender.” Bemused, enchanted, and uplifted. “I don't hold with saying she's a one from without the world as we know it, but I do believe she's got a sight beyond our ken.” Ben backed away, then scooted toward the kitchen.

Annie held the card where Max could read, too: “Richard Barnfield, ‘Address to the Nightingale': He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need.”

In her unmistakable looping script, as if every word ended in a butterfly, Laurel had added: “Remain steadfast, Dear Children. Friendship shines with an everlasting light.”

Max absently buttered a cornbread muffin. “I'm surprised she isn't holding up the boy on the burning deck as an inspiration.” His eyes glinted with amusement and irritation. “Sometimes I'd like to wring her neck.” Fondness warred with exasperation. “She's certainly been busy. There's another card for you at the store.”

Annie raised an eyebrow.

“I called a while ago. Henny's there. She figured you needed someone to run the cash desk. She said to tell you she's sold four books. She also reported a card from Laurel.” He repeated the verse from Ecclesiasti
cus. There was a little dimple just at the edge of his lips when he frowned. Annie wondered what he would do if she leaned across the table and kissed him there.

He caught her glance and his face brightened.

She shook her head though her eyes were soft. “Max, it's clear as clear! Laurel's been communing.” Annie decided it would be unprofitable to suggest in what manner and with whom. “Anyway, she's urging us on. If you do your thing and I do mine, it will all come right.” She held aloft a heaping spoonful of chili in salute.

 

Annie watched Max's car pull away. Maybe her brave words to Max would come true. It would certainly improve matters if Chloe came back of her own accord. Annie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Finding Chloe was essential. Annie pulled out her cell phone, clicked it on, called Death on Demand.

The salutation was upbeat. “Death on Demand, the finest mystery bookstore east—”

Annie smiled. “Henny, you are a sweetheart. I appreciate your taking over.”

The answer was swift, if not to the point. “The newly appointed magistrate to the Peng-lai district.” Henny's voice purred like a cat surfeited with cream.

Annie's tone was equally unctuous. “Judge Dee, of course. One of his early cases,
The Chinese Gold Murders,
by Robert van Gulik.”

“Humph. Very good.” The accolade was gracious.

“Well, everything's fine here. Not much to report. Max rang up. Oh, there was one other call for you,” she said carelessly. “Some young woman.”

Annie's hand tightened on the phone.

Henny was bland. “She didn't leave her name. She
sounded as though she was eager to talk to you so I gave her your cell number.”

If Annie had been at the store, she would have hugged her old friend. “Thanks, Henny. I'll keep my phone turned on.”

“Are you making any progress?” The question was gentle.

“Yes.” Annie didn't have to think about it. “Elaine Hasty was looking out the kitchen window at the gallery last night. Max promised to find out what she saw. I'm going to the gallery now to check it out.” What could Elaine see from that window?

 

Max eased his Maserati around a pothole just past the entrance to Nightingale Courts. Duane needed to fill that one in. Max looked toward the Webb cabin. There was no car in front. Max drove on. The tan Camry Annie had followed and lost was backed up to the front door of cabin 6, the trunk open.

A pretty dark-haired girl in a tight sweater and slacks peered over the mound of clothes clasped in her arms. She edged down the steps and flung the clothes into the trunk. She jerked around as Max slammed out of his car. Her face was wary.

“Miss Hasty?” He stopped next to the steps, looked straight into resentful eyes.

She folded her arms across her front. “What do you want?”

“Deputy Max Darling. I'm investigating the murder of Jake O'Neill.” He tried a smile.

She brushed back a tangle of glossy black hair. For an instant, she looked young and sad and hopeless. The expression was gone almost before Max saw it. Her eyes flashed. “I know who you are. You aren't the po
lice. Your wife was here, wanting to know what I saw last night. But I don't care who you are. I'll tell you and anybody who wants to know just what I told her.”

Max pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I've been deputized by Chief Cameron. Whatever you observed may be helpful to his investigation.”

“Maybe.” Her voice was taunting. “Maybe not. Like I told your wife, I saw Jake—” She swallowed convulsively. It was a moment before she continued, her anger and jealousy clear in her bitter look. “—and he was going down the path to the point after a girl in a green dress.”

“Who else did you see on that path?” Max challenged her. He held his pen over his pad.

She laughed. “Everybody wants to know, don't they?” She drawled the words. “I've got everybody's attention. Nobody cared about me yesterday. Now”—her lips curved in triumph—“everybody's listening to me. I like that.”

Max felt like a bloodhound on a scent:
Everybody's listening to me
. He rapped out, “Who's listening to you?”

From the living room the telephone shrilled. She looked startled, then turned, hurried inside. The screen banged, but the door was open.

Max walked up the steps, listened.

“Hello.” An impatient sigh. “Yeah, Dad.” The wary tone was gone, replaced by irritation. “No. I just got back…. Who, me?” She half turned, glanced through the screen, saw Max. She gave him a derisive look. “Yeah. Everybody wants to know what I saw out the window. But I'm not telling…. Don't worry, I'm not stupid…. And maybe it will turn out I didn't see a thing.” She gave a peal of laughter and slammed down
the phone. It rang again as she moved across the living room. “I guess you heard all that. You, your wife, my dad. Hey, everybody wants to know. Well, tune in tomorrow. There may be another chapter, there may not.” She tossed her head, turned away.

Max put his hand on the handle of the screen door. “Miss Hasty, I can take you into custody as a material witness.” He wasn't at all certain he could. And if he did, would Billy hold her?

She faced him, glaring, hands on her hips. “A material witness to what? I told you what I saw. That's all I'm going to say.” She reached the door, slammed it shut.

Max recalled Annie's lack of success with Elaine. It looked like today the score was Elaine Hasty: 2; Darlings: 0.

Maybe Billy could change the equation.

 

Occasionally a shaft of sunlight pierced the thick canopy of clouds. Annie nosed the Volvo against a bulky pittosporum hedge. In summertime the hedge's tiny white blossoms smelled like ripe bananas. Today there was nothing more than the smell of damp winter air and the dankness of undergrowth beneath the darkness of the towering pines. Annie shivered and zipped her lilac jacket shut. Last night the caterer's van had been open near the walkway to the kitchen door of the gallery. She glanced at the empty parking slot where the VW had sat last night. It was the presence of the VW that had frightened Virginia Neville. Now it was gone. Had the police removed it? Max hadn't mentioned the VW, so most likely a search had revealed nothing of interest. Jake O'Neill had no knowledge when he parked his car that he would walk into the fog
to his death later that night. The only cars in the lot this morning were Annie's red car and a black Mercedes sedan. The red and the black…

As she walked across the crunchy oyster shells, she wondered why the compartments of a roulette wheel alternated red and black. Easy to read? Danger and death? The designer's whim? Funny—perhaps chilling—to think about the difference chance makes in life. And perhaps in death. Was Elaine Hasty's sweaty job at a sink to be a determining factor in Chloe Martin's life? Maybe. Maybe not. As the wheel turned…

Annie knocked. No sound, no movement from within. No light shone from the kitchen windows. She bent close to the nearest window, peered inside. The kitchen was untenanted. Annie hesitated, eased open the screen door, reached for the knob. It turned in her hand. In an instant, she stood inside the long linoleum-floored room. Once, an old iron range would have stood against the wall, stovepipe grimed by smoke. Now everything was modern—two electric ranges with tempered glass cooking surfaces, two wall ovens, a massive refrigerator, and two dishwashers, everything necessary for large parties. Only the Delft tiles above the unused fireplace and an iron kettle on a tripod remained of long-ago days.

Annie's heart thudded. She had no business here. But if she'd gone to the front door and entered the gallery's public rooms, she'd have had no reasonable excuse to visit the kitchen. All she needed was a few minutes….