Engaged to Die (17 page)

Annie picked her words carefully. “Your dad knew about you and Jake?”

Elaine turned, looked down at the watercolor on the table, and reached out a finger to touch the dog, trace the curve of his head. “Somebody told him.” Her tone
was indifferent. “He laughed at me, told me nobody as high-toney as Jake was going to stick to a girl like me.”

Annie stepped nearer the table, watched Elaine's profile. “So your dad wasn't mad at Jake?”

Elaine swung toward Annie. “Mad at Jake? You've got to be kidding. Dad thought Jake was good for nothing, but it's always me he's mad at. Like my mom. Dad didn't give a damn about Jake.”

Annie's vision of Tony Hasty moving heavily through the fog, finding Jake O'Neill, attacking him, faded. Hasty was in the kitchen parking lot when Annie and Max hurried there, seeking Chloe. Hasty claimed he was worried about the girls who had run through the parking lot. Would a man with his bitter view of his wife and daughter be so quick to hurry to the defense of girls he didn't even know? Was his talk of protecting women a smokescreen? Maybe. Maybe not. Although he was grievously disappointed in his wife and the daughter in whom he saw her likeness, perhaps he had a quixotic view of women and was quick to wish to protect those whom he thought undefiled. Had he headed off toward the point because of Chloe's distress, found Jake, quarreled with him? The picture didn't fit. But a stubborn question remained. Why hadn't Hasty mentioned his knowledge about O'Neill in his statement? That answer seemed easy. Hasty might quarrel with his daughter. He might think her a tramp in his vengeful anger toward her mother whom he hated. She was still his daughter. Was he afraid she might have followed O'Neill down to the point?

“You saw Jake last night.” Annie was alert for hesitation, for dissembling, for too much care and caution.

Elaine's face hardened. She threw out her hands, the
thin bracelets on her arms jangling. “In his tuxedo.” The jealousy still rankled. “Looking like he was on top of the world. And Mrs. Neville holding on to his arm. Like he was a pet poodle. That's what I was going to tell him….” She trailed off, whispered, “I had it all planned. I was going to come home and use my lipstick and write it on his door: Pet Poodle. But he went down the path and he never came back.”

Annie hesitated. Maybe she should leave well enough alone, go out to her car and call Billy, tell him about Elaine. He would have to listen and come and see her. But the words were out before she could stop them. “You saw Jake go down the path?”

“Him in his fancy clothes and me with my arms in hot water up to my elbows. Oh, I saw him.” Elaine's lips pouted.

“What happened when you went after him?” It never occurred to Annie that Elaine, passionate and volatile and angry, hadn't set out into the fog. What did she see? What did she know? Annie's hands tightened into fists. Chloe's fate might rest on the words of this jealous and hurt girl.

“After him?” Elaine's glance was scornful. “Do you think I could run around like I was at a party? Fat chance. The help don't dance, don't you know. I stood at the kitchen sink most of the night. I looked out the window and watched him disappear into the fog. I was still there when the sirens sounded. But I didn't know anything then. Later Dad wouldn't say much. He told me, ‘Least said soonest mended,' and I was to keep quiet about Jake, not tell anybody that I'd ever known him.” She gave a short laugh. “But people always know. How did you know?”

Annie brushed away the question. “Can you prove
you didn't leave the kitchen between a quarter to nine and”—Annie figured the time—“nine-fifteen?”

“Sure.” Elaine's answer was quick and confident.

“Sue Lee Harris was bringing me stuff. She can tell you. What difference does it make?”

Standing at the sink…Annie felt a tingle in her mind. If Elaine saw Jake, she might have seen his murderer follow him. Or the murderer might have preceded him if a meeting had been arranged.

Elaine peered at Annie. “Why are you looking so funny?”

Annie didn't even think of disguising the eagerness in her voice. “Tell me everything you saw from the window.”

Elaine's dark eyes were puzzled and wary. “How come?”

“Look, you may know who killed him.” Annie's voice was excited. “Don't you see? He walked down to the point. We need to know everybody who took that path. And you were watching.” Of that, Annie felt certain. Stuck in the kitchen, hot, resentful, and angry, Elaine watched Jake in his finery. Of course she'd kept her eyes trained on the path.

Elaine's face was abruptly still and unreadable. “Between a quarter to nine and nine-fifteen?”

Annie felt a surge of triumph. If Billy had done his job, he'd be near the solution to the murder right this minute, but it was Annie who'd followed the clues and Annie who would oh-so-soon ring up Billy and his deputy—aka Max Darling—and inform them the case was solved. “Right. Who went down the path?” Elaine's answer could make all the difference for Chloe. Whom did Elaine see? And in what order? And when? Chloe Martin? Rusty Brandt? Maybe Beth
Kelly since she too had run through the kitchen parking lot near the critical time. Elaine was a witness whose word could force the police to look at others besides Chloe.

Elaine's dark eyes flashed. “Wait a minute. Nobody's told me anything. All I know is Dad saw some girl running away and he went out to check in the gardens and found Jake. I don't even know how he died.” Her gaze was insistent.

“He was found facedown on the bricked oval near the point. Someone hit him from behind.” Annie didn't want to describe that massive wound. “They haven't found the weapon.”

“From behind? Well”—Elaine's voice was confident—“that lets out my dad. He'd never hit anybody from behind. Besides, Dad wouldn't need a weapon to knock anybody down, especially not somebody like Jake.”

Annie remembered the caterer's tough face and burly build.

Elaine shrugged. “What difference does it make who went out there? Dad said some girl in a green dress killed him.” Her face twisted. “I knew Jake had found somebody new. He probably strung her along, just like me. Then she found out about Mrs. Neville.”

Elaine's quick judgment was so uncannily close that Annie stared at her in surprise.

Elaine gave her a bitter look. “Oh, yeah, that's pure Jake. I kept thinking I could get him to change his mind. Jake said we could keep things going the way they were after he got married. I told him he could go to hell. But I was still seeing him until a few days ago, and all of a sudden he wouldn't let me in. I knew there was somebody.” Her face looked old despite her youth,
raddled by loss and anguish. “I guess he tangled with the wrong person.”

“She didn't kill him, Elaine, I'm sure she didn't.” Annie hoped that she could reach this angry, hurt girl. If only Annie could make Elaine understand that Chloe's life might depend upon what Elaine had seen from that window. “Yes, she went down to the point to meet Jake. You see”—Annie knew she had to be careful here—“she'd just met Jake, and she thought they were in love—”

Elaine bent her head and clasped her hands tightly together.

“—but she didn't know who he was. When she came to the party she was excited to find him. He asked her to come down to the point. He told her he was going to marry Virginia Neville. They quarreled, and she ran away. That's when your dad saw her, but Jake was alive when she left. She heard him call after her. Someone else must have been there and come up behind him and struck him down.”

Elaine reached up, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She gazed off into the distance, her eyes narrowed. “Oh. If she didn't do it, somebody else did, somebody else who went down the path….”

Annie scarcely dared to breathe. That Elaine had seen another person on the path seemed a certainty.

Elaine's head lifted. She shot Annie a cunning, triumphant look. “Yeah. Oh, sure. It makes sense.”

“Who?” Annie leaned forward.

Elaine combed her fingers through her thick black hair, shook the curls away from her face. “So maybe I'm in the catbird seat. Maybe people better pay attention to me. Or I can make it hot for them.” The tears had dried on her face. She looked satisfied. And dangerous.

“Elaine, no.” Annie spoke sharply. “If you saw anyone, you must tell the police. Don't threaten anyone. What good would it do you?”

Elaine's dark eyes burned with contempt and determination. “Who knows? People might be grateful not to have the police come calling. And there are those that have been so high and mighty that might have to treat me nice. That would be a change.”

Annie reached out, gripped a slender arm. “Elaine, please. Chloe needs your help and—”

Elaine yanked her arm free. “Why should I care about her? A rich girl in a fancy dress thinking Jake belonged to her. Well, he didn't. I don't care what happens to her. Maybe nobody else went to the point except her and Jake. What if I told the police that? She'd be in a fix, wouldn't she?”

They stood a few feet apart, Annie beseeching, Elaine defiant.

“That isn't true and you know it.” Annie would have liked to grab Elaine Hasty and shake the truth out of her. She couldn't do that. But the police had every right to demand—and get—answers from her. Annie forced herself to be calm. Maybe Elaine would listen to reason. “If you don't care about her, you'd better care about yourself. Someone who walked down that path killed Jake. You didn't see him, the blood pooling around his head—”

Elaine clapped her hands over her ears.

Annie kept talking, loud and fast. “—beaten to death. You better not try to get money—”

Elaine's eyes flared, but her gaze was unbending and rebellious.

“—for keeping quiet. I'm going to the police. You'll have to answer to them.”

Elaine's hands dropped. She rushed to the door, flung it open. “Get out.”

Annie tried one more time. “Elaine, please, let's talk.”

“Get out.” The girl pointed at the door.

Annie took one step, two, and she was through the door and down the steps.

Elaine stood in the doorway. “As for the police, I'm not talking to them. I don't have anything to say. Except maybe”—her sarcasm was evident—“I'll tell them I didn't see a thing out of that window. I'll tell them you came to my house and tried to get me to make up something to save this friend of yours.”

The door slammed shut.

 

Billy Cameron clattered down the steps of the Broward's Rock police station. He flung words over his shoulder. “Keep after it, Max. See if you can find Annie. She's the only one in town who really knows the girl.”

As Billy yanked open the door to the police cruiser, Max put out a restraining hand. “Maybe we should sketch out a plan for the investigation—”

Billy hunched over the wheel, his face set in hard, tight lines. “First thing we got to do is find that girl. I shouldn't have let her go last night. Well, I won't be fooled twice. I'm going to find her pronto. It's her fault we aren't farther ahead. We got to find out about Brandt's jacket”—the preliminary test proved positive for human blood—“and talk to the Neville family. We'll meet back here in an hour. Keep your cell phone on. I'll do the same.” He pulled the door shut.

Max stepped back, and the cruiser roared away. Max watched the dust-churning car barrel down the
road. Billy knew there was much to do, many avenues to explore, but everything was on hold until Chloe Martin was found. Was there anything Max could have said or done to calm Billy down? Max shook his head. The acting chief was past listening. He was too upset, still second-guessing his decision not to take Chloe Martin into custody last night. His entire focus for the moment was on capturing her. Bulletins were out to county and state law enforcement staffs. Lou Pirelli was scouring back roads. Their best guess was that Chloe was riding the old blue bike missing from her aunt's garage. Or she could have started out on the bike and now be on foot. Either way she could easily dart from a road into the woods when she heard a car. As for the rest of the investigation, the statements Annie had gathered still awaited Billy's review. Frank Saulter had already been out to the crime scene and taken a series of photos in daylight. And Frank had packaged Chloe's stained green stole and Rusty Brandt's dinner jacket to send to the state crime lab. Max's assignment was to camp out at Death on Demand in case Chloe called there. Maybe it was time to let his fingers do the walking. He pulled out his cell phone, turned it on, punched the number of Death on Demand.

“Death on Demand, the finest mystery bookstore east of Atlanta.” Henny's well-modulated voice, rich and precise from years as a successful amateur actress, brimmed with welcome.

Max grinned. “Hi, Henny. Has Annie recruited you to the Let's-Save-Chloe campaign?”

“I declined. Has Annie ever seen a windmill she hasn't attacked?” Admiration mixed with bemusement.

“But I felt bad that I refused to help. I called back and there was no answer so I knew she'd closed up shop
and was out trying to help Chloe. I decided to come down and open the store for her.”

Max frowned. “Any idea where she's gone?”

“No. But she'll be pleased. I've already sold four books,
White Shell Woman
by James Doss,
Case of the Murdered Muckraker
by Carola Dunn,
Tishomingo Blues
by Elmore Leonard, and
Death at Dartmoor
by Robin Paige.” A thoughtful pause. “Your mom must have been by. There was a card slipped under the door. No signature, but I know Laurel's writing. Max, your mother is one of a kind.”

Max made an indeterminate noise. It might have been acquiescence. Or resignation. Or possibly denial.