April Fool Dead (22 page)

Annie sped through the residential checkpoint with a wave for the guard. Almost there. Only a few more blocks to the police station. Annie marshaled facts in her mind. All she had to do was present them, make everything clear to Pete…. She turned onto Main
Street, slowed, and pointed toward the one-story cinder-block police station, its cream paint gleaming in the mid-morning sun. “Max, look!”

There wasn't an empty parking spot anywhere on the block and cars were parked three deep in the dusty lot north of the station, including pickups, vans and sedans, all black. Television vans were double-parked in front of the station.

Annie turned right and made an immediate left into a narrow lane. “We can park by the Littlefield shop. You can bet it's closed today.” They slammed out of the car and Annie hurried to match Max's long stride. “Do you suppose they've arrested Diane?”

“I don't know what's going on.” Max walked faster. “It looks like the television stations from Savannah and Charleston are here.”

By the time they reached the police station, a phalanx of cameramen waited on either side of the shallow front steps. The door opened. Cameras swung that way. Lights flashed. Reporters pressed forward.

Annie gripped Max's arm. “Look. It's the circuit solicitor. Something big's happened.” Wherever there were news cameras, Circuit Solicitor Brice Willard Posey was sure to be found.

Posey paused at the top of the steps, his florid face exuding overweening pride. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press…” Was there a flicker of unhappiness that a mass of listeners wasn't arrayed before him? Bearing up to the disappointment, Posey clapped his hand on the shoulder of Chief Garrett, whose face was drawn with fatigue. “I am proud to announce that the great state of South Carolina has arrested smugglers at
tempting to transship more than a hundred kilos of cocaine from this fair island to the mainland. Thanks to the excellent work of our local police”—Posey moved his shoulder in front of Garrett, blocking him from the view of the cameras—“and the magnificent assistance of our federal Drug Enforcement Agency, I am announcing the arrest of”—he glanced at an index card in his hand—“Terry and Eva Crawford. DEA agents infiltrated the island last night and, working with local authorities, staged a surprise raid at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, arresting not only the Crawfords but more than a half dozen of their associates who had arrived on the island to pick up portions of the shipment. This shipment is estimated to be worth a minimum of three point six million dollars. My office will make a news release available”—Posey, resplendent in a navy suit just a little too tight in the chest, a blue Oxford cloth shirt and a rep tie, lifted his well-tailored arm to check his watch—“at two o'clock this afternoon.”

Max leaned close to Annie, whispered, “Requiring the reporters to hotfoot it to his office on the mainland where, of course, he will be happy to pose for further photos.”

“So that's why Pete's been so hard to get in touch with this week. Max, do you suppose that Laurel…” Annie shook her head. “No. How could she possibly have known anything about the Crawfords?”

“I don't know.” Max's tone was bemused. “But, Annie, I checked the map when I was trying to figure out why Laurel was near the inlet where Kay Nevis
lived.” His dark blue eyes were wide. “The Crawford house is on the next point.”

“I'll be damned.” Annie brushed back a tangle of hair. She tugged at Max's arm. “We'd better get out of the way.”

The reporters, shouting questions, swarmed after Posey as he strode toward a waiting car. In a moment he was gone, and the reporters headed back into the police station, following Chief Garrett.

“Come on, Max.” Annie jerked her head toward the pier a half block away. “There's no point in getting involved in that mess. I'll use my cell phone.”

Annie tried three times, then, her face determined, she punched in 911. “Mavis? This is Annie Darling. Listen, I have to talk to the chief.” Annie frowned. “Left? My God, how could he have left?”

Max was pointing up the street at the police car rolling out of the parking lot.

“Look, I know you've got a lot going on. We saw the news conference. You'd think Posey captured them all single-handedly”—Annie nodded in agreement—“that's for sure. Nobody's had any sleep? Everybody's calling in congratulations?” Annie smiled. “And the mayor said he'll put out a proclamation for Chief Garrett Day. Oh hey, that's great, Mavis.” Annie hesitated. “Was it a big undercover operation?” Annie looked at Max. “Oh, information received. A video of the stuff being landed! That's amazing.”

Max bent closer and Annie tilted the phone so he could hear.

Mavis's voice was high and breathless. “The most exciting day I've ever had! The video was here Friday
morning. And that was after everybody'd been up all night watching Frank's house for Jud Hamilton. You know what happened there! Frank shot the gun out of Jud's hand before anybody could get to them. Frank just did a marvelous job. Everybody's so proud of him. But that had all happened and then Friday morning there was this video and Pete got busy and called the DEA and the circuit solicitor and the sheriff's office and everybody coordinated and last night the Crawfords were having a party and there were a bunch of people who'd come over from the mainland and they caught them putting the kilos of cocaine in their cars and it's the biggest drug bust ever and—”

Annie broke in. “Where's Pete gone now?”

Mavis was abruptly quiet.

“I have to talk to him, Mavis. We've learned something important about Meredith Muir.”

“Well”—her voice dropped—“there was something else on the tape. I guess you know the Crawford house isn't far from where Kay Nevis lived. Pete's got a lead. He's gone out to the high school. You can catch him there.”

 

A cheer erupted as the center fielder made an over-the-shoulder catch on the warning track. The wooden stands near the baseball diamond reverberated as a group of boys stomped and shouted. About fifteen cars were clustered in the high school parking lot at the point nearest the ball field. A police cruiser sat at the other end of the lot, a short walk from the pier that jutted into the water. Annie parked next to the cruiser.

As they started up the dusty path, Annie shaded her
eyes. “The door to the boathouse is open. What do you suppose they're doing in there?” She shot Max a startled look. “Mavis said something about the Crawford place not being far from the Nevis house. Laurel must have got a shot of that motorboat Wednesday night. Oh, Max, maybe everything's going to be okay for Diane, after all. You know, they can enhance tapes. Maybe they even know who was in the boat.” They reached the pier and their shoes clattered on the wooden planks.

Billy Cameron poked his head out of the boathouse. He called over his shoulder, “Chief, the Darlings are here.”

In a moment, a slump-shouldered Pete Garrett stepped out into the sunlight. He blinked bloodshot eyes. In one hand, he held an oversized flashlight. He clicked it off.

Annie stopped in front of him. She craned to look past him and saw a motorboat in the shadowy interior.

Garrett jerked his head at Billy. “Lock the boathouse and put up no-entry tape.” He yawned hugely. “Folks, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home for a while.”

“Pete, we've been looking everywhere for you. We know who killed Kay Nevis and Meredith Muir.” Annie ignored Max's waving hands.

The police chief blinked. He managed a dour smile. “You got a confession from somebody? Annie, I
haven't had any sleep since Wednesday. Whatever you've got will keep.”

Annie clapped her hands on her hips. “Did you know Meredith Muir was having an affair with a teacher? Well, anyway…” She couldn't ignore Max's strangled “Annie!” She avoided meeting his glare. “Chief, we're almost sure about that. Kay Nevis was worried about a student and she was upset with one of the teachers at her lunch table. We've found out why. Ben Bradford, he used to date—”

Garrett yawned again, began to walk toward the shore. “I know. He was the girl's old boyfriend.”

Annie was impressed. Garrett was apparently on top of the murder investigations. Somehow, between the stakeout for Jud Hamilton and the drug bust, Garrett had kept apprised of the details in the murder investigations. She relaxed a little, but she wished Garrett would stop and listen. She kept pace with him. “That's right. But get this! Meredith dropped Ben”—Annie paused—“for an older man.”

They reached the end of the pier. Garrett rubbed his face. “So that's the boy's story, huh? Maybe. Maybe not. Look, Annie, we have a lot more investigating to do, but so far there's no trace of the Muir girl being involved with anybody. That's the first thing we look for in a murder investigation”—his tone was faintly patronizing—“the sex angle. Sure, Ben Bradford wants there to be another guy. Otherwise, he's hanging out there by himself because she got tired of him. Maybe he was one big bore. Anyway, it's pretty obvious what happened. The girl knew something about the
teacher's murder. Either she looked across the inlet Wednesday night—”

“Chief”—they were at the black-and-white cruiser now—“that's what I'm trying to tell you. Look at it another way. What if Kay Nevis looked across the inlet one night recently and saw someone she knew at the Muir cabana? What if she saw a man and he was coming or going late at night? What if she recognized him?”

Garrett rubbed his blotchy face. “So is Nevis going to keep quiet about it if one of the teacher's scr—fooling around with a student? Get real, Annie.” He pulled open the passenger door, slumped wearily on the seat.

Annie clenched her hands. “That's the point! Kay Nevis warned him. Maybe she insisted he resign, quit teaching. Maybe she said she'd tell Dr. Allensworth and that would mean he'd never ever get another job in a school. Don't you see?”

Garrett slammed the door.

Annie opened it, leaned into the car. “What was he going to do? Quit his job? And what was he going to tell his wife? Both of the men—the ones who sat at her lunch table, Jack Quinn and George Wilson—are married. So Quinn or Wilson, one of them, decided Kay had to die. The murderer was clever as hell. He saw one of my WHODUNIT flyers and realized he could come up with accusations that had some basis in fact and would be sure to upset the people mentioned. And look what happened—the whole island started talking about old crimes. But it was just a smoke screen, like Emma said.”

If he hadn't been tired to the bone, Garrett might not
have responded. He pushed his fists against his eyes, then glared at her. “That red Jeep's no smoke screen, Annie. And Diane Littlefield was at the Muir house Wednesday night, and she and Meredith quarreled at the assembly.”

Annie flung her arm toward the boathouse. “You came here to check out that boat, didn't you? Diane Littlefield has a motorboat. Why would she use that one? And surely you got some kind of picture of who was driving it? Was it a man or a woman?”

Garrett looked toward the boathouse, frowned. “We got enough of the registration number to trace the boat here. But who knows? Nothing's ever a complete fit in any case. Diane goes to school here. Maybe she didn't want to use her own boat. Maybe this boat had nothing to do with anything. There's no way to tell who was driving it. Dark clothes, hunched over the wheel. Could have been anybody. But we know where we found those damn flyers. They were in the Nevis house. Henny Brawley's on my case, says her friend wouldn't do anything like that. Well, Nevis taught here, she knew the background on Jud Hamilton, and she lived across from the Muir girl. Maybe she saw that Jeep the morning Bob Tower was killed and didn't put it all together until later. I'll tell you something else, Annie: You can come up with all the fancy theories you want, but we got to have proof. Can you prove one of those men ever saw Muir outside of class? Can you prove one of them was ever in that cabana? Oh, I'll check 'em out, but there's not a shred of evidence that either one of them was involved with Meredith Muir.”

M
AX GLANCED
toward the clock. Almost three. Confidential Commissions was, of course, closed on a Saturday afternoon, but he'd been able to round up quite a bit of information about Jack Quinn and George Wilson. Would it do any good? Annie was convinced that she was on the right track, but Max had a hollow feeling that Garrett's insistence was correct. Theories were fine, but proof was essential.

Max picked up a sheaf of papers. There were, for sure, some suggestive points.

“In your dreams,” Max muttered. He flipped to the next sheet, which contained a confidential assessment by Mrs. Riley, provided only after many promises of utter discretion on Max's part.

But maybe not so good at maintaining his marriage. Max put those sheets aside. And then there was…

Max picked up a highlighter, turned the words bright orange.

Max returned to Mrs. Riley's comments:

Max stacked the sheets, slipped them into a folder. His face was thoughtful as he clicked off the desk
light. On his way out of the office, he stopped to look once again at the photographs spread on the worktable. They were printed through his computer, primarily from newspaper archives.

Five photos in the top row:

Five photos in the bottom row:

Max hesitated, then swept the pictures into a pile, added them to his folder. He'd show them to Annie. Would she see the face of a murderer?

 

Annie edged along the pittosporum hedge. The sweet bananalike fragrance attracted bumblebees. Annie ducked, hoped she wouldn't be stung. Damn, she didn't like the huge, awkward, dramatically striped bees, but if she kept close to the hedge she was out of sight of the Muir house.

Her heart thudded. So okay, she wasn't cut out to be a cat burglar. It sounded so damn glamorous. Maybe if she could handle stress better, like they do in the movies. Cary Grant and Pierce Brosnan were always cool.

A bumblebee zoomed within inches of her face. Annie bolted away from the hedge, thudded up the steps onto the veranda and lunged toward the door. She stopped, looked toward the Muir house. There were some cars, but the blinds were drawn at the windows. Quickly, she checked the Nevis house. Still lots of cars but no one was on the porch that overlooked both the inlet and the entrance to the cabana where Annie stood, trying to look a part of the weathered gray wood.

Okay, okay. She reached for the doorknob, froze. Fingerprints. Annie took a deep breath, pulled out her blouse, used it to clutch the knob. The door opened. Was it usually kept locked, or had Meredith walked out of the cabana Thursday night, leaving it open?

Annie slipped inside the shadowy room. She glanced toward the windows. The shutters were closed. She turned on the light, using her elbow to nudge up the switch. The cabana was long and narrow. A wooden plaque inscribed
GUYS
hung on the bright blue door opposite her.
GALS
adorned a plaque on the pink door to the right. A curved sofa faced the near end of the room and a giant-screen TV. Small sofas sat on either side of a big low coffee table in the middle of the room opposite a wet bar. A half-dozen small vials of fingernail polish were scattered atop the coffee table. Annie came closer, noted various shades of pink. There was a mound of used cotton balls. A bottle of polish remover was open. Annie wrinkled her nose at the cloying scent. A copy of
Cosmopolitan
lay atop a stack of magazines. At the end of the room, next to a closed door, was a CD player on a stand. Brightly colored CDs were carelessly flung next to the player. Annie didn't even recognize the names of most of the groups.

She looked at the closed door. The
GUYS
and
GALS
doors at the other end of the room likely indicated bathrooms with space to change and shower. This door wouldn't open to a kitchen. All of those appliances—a microwave, small refrigerator, sink—were in the wet bar.

Annie hurried to the door, gripped the knob through the fabric of her blouse, pushed. She looked at an un-made bed, the spread flung carelessly to the floor, the pillows rumpled. Annie studied the bedroom. If she was right about Meredith and a man, this would be where they had met. Not in her house, not even when her parents were absent. The cabana was Meredith's
preserve. How recently had that bed been slept in? Last week, perhaps? Was that when Kay Nevis looked across the inlet and recognized a visitor who should never have been there? But how could Annie—or the police—ever link that shadowy figure to this room, to Meredith?

There might be a way.

 

Max shoved his hand through thick blond curls. “Annie, that smacks of entrapment.” He glanced down at his array of photos spread atop the Death on Demand coffee bar: the confident track coach, the laugh-a-minute counselor. Two men…Which one?

“We…” Her hand hesitated above the sugar bowl. Was a splash of brown sugar sheer indulgence atop the whipped cream on the caffe latte? The lid clinked as she removed it, scooped a huge golden heap of sugar and deposited it on the mound of cream. “…are not the police. Look at it, Max, if my plan works we can at the very least get a picture of the murderer. At the best, Pete captures the killer.”

She poked her tongue into the whipped cream with the dissolving crystals of sugar. “Hmm.”

“You have a whipped-cream mustache.” Max raised an eyebrow. “I don't think that's what the national milk council had in mind.”

“The more fools they.” Annie picked out two of the pictures, Quinn on the platform above the tank of water, Wilson diving from the side of the boat. “Good-looking men.” Her tone was admiring.

Max leaned against the coffee bar, his expression skeptical. “Do you think so?”

Annie grinned. “Not, of course, to me personally.” The smile slipped away. “But to a teenage girl? She'd be impressed, Max.” Annie shuffled the pictures into a pile, turned them facedown, her mouth in a tight line. “Damn him. Whichever one it is. Listen, we have to give it a try. It can't do any harm. We know Pete pays attention to tips about crimes. For all he knows, this tip will come from the person who took the videos of the cocaine arriving at the Crawford house. He won't dare ignore a message.” She reached for the phone.

“That's a hell of a good point.” Max's brows drew into a straight line. “But what if the guy comes after you—”

She reached out, placed a finger on his lips. “That would be killing the messenger, wouldn't it?” She glanced at the two numbers written on a pad and punched in the first. “Hello. Mr. Quinn? Annie Darling here.” Her gray eyes glinted with determination. “Yes, I just wanted to let you know that we've learned a great deal since I last spoke with you and I knew you'd want to know…Your information about Meredith scratching Mrs. Nevis's car was very helpful. Anyway, my sister heard all about this from one of the senior girls who told the police that Meredith was having an affair with an older man and the police have arranged for the state crime lab to send over some technicians Monday to take some DNA samples from the Muir cabana…. As you well know, there have been extraordinary strides in the use of DNA in criminal investigations. Anyway, the details don't matter, but I was sure you'd be pleased to know the police are making great progress…. No, the girls didn't seem
to know who the man might be. I don't suppose you've heard anything about this?” Annie poked at the pile of photos. “Yes, of course, I'll call you if we learn anything else. Thanks.” She hung up.

Annie gulped down some coffee. “Funny thing is, he kind of wondered who the man might be.”

Max shook his head. “A natural question, Annie.”

She flicked on the phone. “Now for Mr. Wilson. Hey, I wonder if he's—” She broke off, gave a quick sigh of relief. “Hello, Mr. Wilson, I'm glad I caught you. This is Annie Darling. I understand you're often out of town…. Oh, of course, I know you feel you should be available in case any students need you this weekend.” Annie made yakety-yak motions with her fingers, moved restively, finally broke in. “Right. I understand. Truly awful. I know you are sorry you didn't have a chance to talk to Meredith that last day…. Anyway, I thought it might make you feel better if you knew the police are getting close to a solution. Yes, they are. Apparently, Meredith was involved with some man and they're going to test the Muir cabana for DNA and they think they'll get a good lead…. Right. So it should all be over pretty soon. Right. I'll keep in touch.” She clicked off the phone. She took a deep breath. “Okay, Max, the ball's in your court.”