White Elephant Dead (20 page)

Footsteps thudded. Two medics carried a gurney around the end of the house.

“Maybe.” Max swatted at a bumblebee.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Annie watched the black-and-gold-striped insect.

“I’m simply giving him some direction.” But Max took two steps back and didn’t poke at the bumblebee as it curved near. “Okay, Emma. I’ll agree that Jake Chapman saw something. Or someone. He calls this morning. The murderer comes over, shoots Jake and drops the gun. And, since Annie saw the gun, she’s going to have to tell Garrett that it looks like the gun Ruth Yates described.”

“But if I do,” Annie said unhappily, “Ruth’s going to be in terrible trouble.”

Footsteps gritted on the terrace. Pete Garrett strode up to them.

P
ete Garrett’s hard glare fastened on Annie. “You find a body last night. You find a body today. How come?” The phrasing wasn’t elegant, but his point was clear.

Annie bristled. “That’s not fair. I found Kathryn’s body because I was hunting for Henny Brawley.”

Garrett jerked his head toward the house. “And this one?”

Laurel moved closer to Garrett. “My dear”—Laurel beamed at him—“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Laurel Roethke and I do so much appreciate the efforts of our wonderful enforcers of the law. It was my pleasure to observe you last night as you so efficiently performed your duties.”

Garrett was not immune to Laurel’s magic. For a moment, a light flickered in his eyes that had nothing to do with police work.

Annie observed her mother-in-law. How did Laurel do it? Was it her shining hair that glistened like burnished silver? Or those mesmerizing eyes, brilliant as a Greek sea? Or the curves subtly accented by her beautifully fitted clothes?

Garrett’s growl to Annie was transmuted to an accolade to Laurel. “Ma’am.”

Laurel’s eyes held his for a long moment. “I know you understand that we all want to do our part for the community. Mrs. Clyde”—Laurel nodded toward Emma—“is so active and such a supporter of the mayor’s. We felt it incumbent upon us to gather as much information as possible to aid you in your investigation. In my efforts, I discovered that no one was observed leaving Marsh Tacky Road after the arrival of Henny’s car and before the arrival of my son and daughter-in-law. Obviously”—her laughter tinkled like a wind chime—“the murderer fled through King Snake Park. Annie was simply exploring the surroundings and she came to this house.”

It took Garrett a couple of questions to sort it out, but he wasn’t slow. “So”—and he looked Annie—“you came up here to ask this guy if he saw anything last night?”

“Let me show you,” Annie urged.

A moment later, Garrett surveyed the tilted terra-cotta vase.

Annie pointed at the wall. “Jake Chapman saw somebody bump the wall last night. But he didn’t know about the murder. This morning he called to complain about the damage and the murderer had to kill Chapman.”

Garrett wheeled around and headed for the house. He was already crossing the club room when the interested quartet reached the door, Emma in the lead. Pirelli held up a hand, barring their entrance. Max looked over Emma’s shoulder while Annie and Laurel peered in through the window.

Garrett looped a string around the telephone receiver. Using a pencil, he pushed redial. The receiver dangled from the string. They all listened. One ring. A second. It was answered in midpeal. A sweet voice said, “Ruth Yates.”

Slowly, carefully, Garrett depressed the cradle.

Across the room, Horace Burford pushed back a chair. He stormed across the room, red face glowering. “What the
hell’s going on?” He swiveled, glared at Max in the doorway. “I warned you, Max. Alden Yates died of natural causes and that’s all there is to it. I’ll see you in court.”

Max turned his hands palms up. “I haven’t said a word about Alden Yates. Ask Chief Garrett.”

Burford stood quite still, his red face abruptly wary.

Garrett took two steps, stood inches from Burford. “Alden Yates? Who was he?”

Burford turned away.

Garrett moved at the same time, kept himself face-to-face with the doctor. “Who was Alden Yates? When did he die? Where did he die?”

Burford reached for his bag, snapped it shut. “An old man, a sick man. Brian Yates’s father. Died of the results of a series of strokes. That’s all there was to it.” He stalked toward the door. Max and Emma stepped aside.

Garrett didn’t follow this time. But he called sharply, “Did you sign the death certificate, Dr. Burford?”

Burford’s angry voice barked, “Damn sure did,” as he plunged out onto the terrace.

Garrett walked up to Max. “What do you know about Alden Yates?”

“I don’t
know
anything,” Max said carefully. “There’s been some gossip. You might check and see who was on duty at the hospital the night Alden Yates died.”

Annie avoided looking at the area where Jake Chapman’s body had lain. But she couldn’t resist one quick glance. The gun no longer lay on the floor. No doubt it had already been boxed for transport to the forensics laboratory in Columbia.

Garrett saw that quick glance. “What are you looking at?”

“The gun’s gone.” She took a deep breath.

He was immediately alert. “What do you know about the gun?”

She knew what she said might be the last nail in Ruth Yate’s coffin. But she had to speak. She had to tell Garrett
everything she knew about that gun. Or everything she thought she knew. She started with the gunshot outside Kathryn Girard’s shop.

Garrett pounced like Agatha after fresh liver. “What were you people doing there?”

Annie and Max exchanged a swift glance.

Max said smoothly, “We were checking to see if anyone was at the apartment. There was no answer to our knock. But I’m sure you want to know what happened when we arrived.” And the implication was clear: Don’t push us and we’ll give you some useful information.

Garrett’s eyes glittered. He started to speak, stopped, took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Annie moved swiftly from the shot in the night to her discovery of the list in Henny’s pocket, her arrival at the hospital to find Ruth Yates in Henny’s room, Ruth’s question about a gun, Annie’s pursuit of Ruth and their tense exchange. “But,” Annie concluded, “Ruth said Kathryn took the gun away from her. That means the murderer could have taken it from the back of the van.”

“A pearl-handled grip?” Garrett demanded.

“Yes.” Annie’s voice was troubled.

Emma cocked her head like a pirate spotting a silver piece. “So Ruth said Kathryn took the gun. Damn clever lie. If it was a lie. In
The Mystery of the Moribund Macaw
, the murderer pulled a triple bluff. Marigold figured it out, of course.”

Max rubbed a bright red mosquito welt. “Do you really think Ruth’s capable of bluffing anybody? About anything?”

Laurel murmured, “Ruth is quite sensitive. And kind-hearted. Really, she is so distressed at the proposal to kill the deer.” The island was presently overrun with deer. Other suggested solutions included deportation or pills to prevent pregnancy. “She most emphatically opposes killing the deer.”

Annie shot her mother-in-law a quick glance. Laurel always seemed so spacey, but sometimes she knew what mat
tered. Would a woman who didn’t want Bambi killed have committed three murders? However, Marie Campbell fought for the deer, too. Did that make either or both of them less likely to have killed Kathryn?

Emma folded her arms. “Let’s not forget that Kathryn’s list included the Campbells, Vince Ellis and the Pierces as well as Ruth. Marigold never makes the mistake of dismissing suspects from her consideration merely because a piece of physical evidence is linked to only one of them. In
The Case of the Confident Captain
—”

“Ma’am.” Emma might be the mayor’s confidante, but she lacked Laurel’s allure. Garrett said grimly, “You folks have been very helpful. But this is a crime scene and I’ll have to ask you to leave. Now.” He turned away, stepped into the clubroom.

Undaunted, Emma lifted her voice, reminding Annie of a load of gravel being dumped. “Chief, does this mean Henny Brawley is no longer under suspicion?”

Garrett’s pugnacious face was expressionless. Finally, he said carefully, “At this point in the investigation, it would appear that Mrs. Brawley, who has been under police surveillance, could have had nothing to do with this murder. I would say that the focus of the investigation presently—”

Emma cut in. “Are you going to remove the police guard?”

Garrett gave an abrupt nod and closed the door. With finality.

Annie felt a surge of relief. At least Henny was no longer a suspect, although it was dreadful that it had taken a second murder to convince Garrett.

“Butterfly weed. I shall go home and prepare a card.” Laurel clapped her hands in pleasure. “The flowers are quite bright and lovely. Orange.”

“Let me go,” Emma said absently.

Just for an instant, Laurel looked just a trifle miffed. “Yes, indeed,” Laurel admitted.

Annie knew her mother-in-law would die before she’d
ask how Emma knew. After all, Laurel was the authority on the language of flowers. “Why, Emma”—Annie’s eyes were wide with admiration—“how did you ever know?” She ignored Max’s sharp glance—would she rain on Laurel’s parade?—and said ingenuously, “That’s simply wonderful.”

“Oh, just one of those odd facts you pick up as a writer.” Emma looked as satisfied as Agatha with a mustache of whipped cream. “Like the fact that Lusaka is the capital of Zambia or minestrone is 89.5 percent water or an impeller is the rotating part of a centrifugal pump.”

Annie was so thankful that Henny was no longer at risk, she was willing to nod admiringly at Emma, though the writer’s ego outpaced Hercule Poirot’s.

Max grabbed her arm. “No guard. Come on. We have to get to the hospital.”

Annie’s sense of ease vanished. Abruptly she understood. Yes, it was wonderful that Henny was no longer a suspect, but that didn’t mean all danger was past. Jake Chapman died because this murderer took no chances. Henny was perfectly safe if Ruth Yates was guilty. But what if Ruth didn’t kill Kathryn Girard or Jake Chapman? Would this murderer gamble that Henny’s memory would never return?

Not likely.

“Max, you’re right. You go straight there. I’ll get my car. Emma—”

Emma held up both hands. “Wait a minute. Here’s what we’ll do….”

Water slapped against the hull of the yacht. Max rowed past the prow. In the moonlight, the name was clearly visible:
Marigold’s Pleasure
.

“This way, sir.” A dark figure moved along the deck. “If you’ll throw the mooring rope, I’ll fasten it. The ladder is amidships.”

Annie got a kick out of climbing up the rope ladder. It was as close as she’d likely ever come to a Hammond Innes
adventure. When she and Max reached the deck, the crewman pointed to a lit stairwell. “Mrs. Clyde’s guest is in the saloon.”

And she was.

Annie hurried across the gray and pink Persian rug. “Henny, oh Henny.”

Their old friend was ensconced on a silk sofa, soft pillows bunched behind her, a pale pink afghan over her knees. Except for a small bandage and a very pale face, she looked like the Henny of old, bright dark eyes sparkling with interest.

“Thanks, Annie, Max.” Just for an instant Henny blinked away a tear.

Annie grabbed a thin hand, held it tight. “Emma’s the smart one. You’ll be safe here. How did you get out of the hospital?”

“Oh, it was vintage Emma.” Henny gingerly touched her head. “She bought a red wig so heavy I could barely walk and a purple and yellow caftan. We waited until the hall was clear, then I hurried to the stairs and went down to the emergency room. Emma stayed in my room and I’m sure”—Henny’s smile was quick—“she talked at length about her new book,
The Adventure of the Airborne Aardvark
, to the pillows we mounded in the bed. Then she stood in the hall and wished me a good night, loudly. She was heading out to a party, said she’d tell me all about it tomorrow. I walked out to the emergency drive. Emma’s housekeeper, Cleo Binton, was waiting for me. We drove to the ferry. Emma had talked to Ben. Cleo and I waited until he returned from a regular trip, then scooted on board and he pulled out with only the one car. If anyone had followed, they’d think we were going to the mainland. We started across the Sound, then he veered around the end of the island and we rendezvoused with
Marigold’s Pleasure
and here I am.” The vivacity seeped from her face. “But I want to know everything. Emma told me about the houses Kathryn listed. I don’t remember putting the note card in my pocket.” She gingerly
touched her temple. “I suppose I must have driven to the houses in turn and at some point spotted the van and followed it to Marsh Tacky Road. And someone at one of the houses had already killed Kathryn.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know, I should be able to tell you who did it. I know all of these people. It seems laughable to suspect Ruth. She’s disorganized and vague and indecisive, not exactly qualities for a successful murderer.”

Annie almost pointed out that Ruth’s arrest was imminent, so the degree of success could be in question.

But Henny churned ahead. “Now, Dave Pierce seems quite capable of murder in a crisp, cold, unemotional way. As for Janet, I’ve never dealt with anyone better able to plan and accomplish whatever goal she might have. And Gary Campbell”—Henny smoothed her afghan—“is one of those quiet ones. Nothing would surprise me about Gary. It always makes me uncomfortable the way he sticks so close to Marie, like she’s going to vanish if he blinks his eyes.”

Annie hitched a chair closer to the divan. Adelaide was sure Henny knew everything about local theater. “What ran Gary and Marie away from the Little Theater?”

Henny started to shake her head, stopped, touched the bandage. “Damn.” She waited a minute. “I went on a train trip across Canada that summer. When I left, they were big in rehearsals, and when I came back, they had dropped out. No one made anything of it. They were always kind of aloof. He always seemed to draw a magic circle around Marie, never let anyone get close. At cast parties, he was right at her side. And I don’t know why. I don’t remember ever seeing her flirt with anyone. But maybe it was him. Maybe he never felt comfortable unless she was close at hand.”

Max dropped into a cane chair. He picked up a book from the coffee table, held it so Annie could read the title,
The Case of the Coy Cook
.

Annie wrinkled her nose.

Henny waved her hand. “Not one of her best. But actually, it has some parallels here. A fellow like Gary Campbell,
lots of money, upper-middle-class white male, lawyer, and the whole thing hinges on the guy’s temper.”

Temper. Annie looked at Henny sharply. That was the second time someone had mentioned temper in connection with Gary Campbell. “But why? What’s he got to be mad about?”