Engaged to Die (23 page)

Rusty flung his hands wide. “I'd help you if I could.” His voice was hearty. “But like I said, I told her it was no go and hung up. I don't know who called. I don't know where she wanted the money put.”

Max's peripheral vision included Beth Kelly. She looked sharply at Rusty, then her face smoothed into blankness.

“I just took it as a wake-up call to get over here and straighten everything out.” Rusty heaved a sigh of relief. “I feel better about everything already.” He pushed to his feet. “Come on, Beth.”

Billy slowly stood. “You can go for now.” It was a growl. “Both of you be here at nine o'clock Monday morning to make formal statements. And I'll tell you something, Mr. Brandt. You'd be in jail right this minute, but I think you're telling the truth—you and Ms. Kelly—about what happened last night. Otherwise, the blood on your jacket would be spatters, not soaked in. See you Monday.”

 

“Mrs. Darling—” The voice was familiar.

Annie swung about, looked up and up. He was so tall, so very tall. “You came to the store yesterday. Bob Winslow.” He loomed over her, shoulders hunched, his long mild face creased by worry. Young Lover Two, and Chloe had hidden from him. Annie stuck out her hand.

He grabbed her hand, crushed it, pulled her farther from the counter before loosening his grip. He spoke in a low voice. “Mrs. Darling, do you know where Chloe is?” He poked his glasses higher on his bent nose. His dark spaniel eyes were imploring. “I heard you talking to her.” He looked toward Mavis. “They say Chloe's a fugitive.” He shook his head “That's crazy.” His hands
tightened into fists. “It's nonsense. Chloe never hurt anybody. I'm not going to let them put her in jail.”

“Bob”—Annie beamed at him—“I know Chloe's innocent. She told me Jake was alive when she left the point. But she is a fugitive, and that's what has to be dealt with. I'm going to try and persuade the chief to release her to Max and me.”

The door to the office corridor opened. Beth Kelly's heels clattered against the hard floor, she walked so fast. Rusty Brandt hurried to catch up. “Wait a minute, Beth. Wait a damn—” The door closed behind them.

Annie gave a whoop of relief. “Billy's free.” She flung hurried words toward the gangling Bob Winslow—“We'll talk when I come out”—and yanked open the door.

Mavis half rose from her chair. “Billy hasn't buzzed yet.”

Annie looked up at the clock. Thirteen minutes to five. “That's okay. I'll knock.” As the corridor door sighed shut behind her, Annie hurried down the hallway. Was Billy in his old office or had he taken over Pete Garrett's? It was two doors down. Light spilled from the partially open door. Yes, Pete's office. Would his unit be gone for a year? The last they'd heard he was in Kabul, interrogating terrorist prisoners. Annie lifted her hand to knock, froze like a statue when she heard Max's voice.

“…did you see her face? Beth Kelly looked shocked as hell when Rusty claimed he hung up before the blackmailer said where the money was to be left.”

Annie lowered her arm, eased close to the sliver of space between the door and jamb.

Billy was glum. “Yeah. I picked up on that. She knows he's a lying son of a bitch, but she's scared to
death something will come out in public.” A chair creaked, the wheels rattling against the floor. “It doesn't make any difference. If neither one will file a complaint, there's no point in our picking up Elaine Hasty. Besides, since Brandt and Kelly came in, there's nothing more Hasty can tell us.”

Annie pressed near enough to see a slice of the office. Billy stood behind his desk, one hand massaging the back of his neck.

Max's face furrowed in an intent frown. “Wait a minute, Billy.” Max's tone was thoughtful. “Maybe she saw someone else.”

Billy gave a hoot of disbelief. “Come on, how many people do you think went down to the point last night?” He held up his hand, flipped his fingers forward, one by one, “We got O'Neill. We got Chloe Martin. We got Beth Kelly. We got Rusty Brandt. Don't tell me you think somebody else was there!”

“Beth Kelly thought she heard something on the path into the garden.” Max shrugged. “Sure, it could have been a raccoon. And she was spooked by the fog. But maybe there was somebody there. If somebody took that path, who was it? Not Chloe Martin. Annie saw her on the gallery path. I leaned on Rusty, suggested he might have gotten to the point before Beth, killed O'Neill, taken the garden path, circled around to come up the gallery path and meet Beth as she fled from the body. But I don't think there was enough time. Not if he left the gallery about nine. The murder was either committed by Chloe Martin or it occurred between Chloe's departure and Beth's arrival. Somebody else could have followed O'Neill, listened to him and Chloe, then attacked him after Chloe left. The point is that the only way this could have happened
was for someone to have followed O'Neill. We know Elaine Hasty was watching out that kitchen window. We know she saw Chloe take the path to the point. Then she saw O'Neill. If anybody followed O'Neill, she knows. She saw Rusty and Beth, but they went independently. If they're telling the truth, they didn't follow O'Neill. And like you said, the stains on Rusty's jacket support his story that he was checking to see if O'Neill was still alive. We better talk to Elaine Hasty.”

Billy gave a huge yawn. “Oh, we can talk to her. I'll have Lou bring her in Monday. We'll make sure she corroborates Brandt and Kelly. I don't think there's anything else there. But she's done us a good turn. Her trying a spot of blackmail on Brandt and Kelly has cleared things up considerably. The fact that they came in pretty well clears them. Now if we can find Chloe Martin…”

Annie pushed through the door. She looked from Billy to Max—bless him for thinking hard, for keeping an open mind, for being her own dear wonderful Max—and back again.

“Yeah, Annie.” Billy waved her inside, his eyes stern. “What have you got for me? If you know where that girl is, you got to tell me.” His voice was as hard and unrelenting as a rock.

Annie gave a desperate glance at the clock. Eight minutes to five o'clock. Max always urged her to be tactful, to think before speaking, to emulate the charm and wisdom of Charlie Chan, Earl Derr Biggers's Honolulu sleuth (“The man who is about to cross the stream should not revile the crocodile's mother.”—
The Black Camel
).

With a loud tick, the hand of the old-fashioned clock jerked to seven minutes before the hour.

Annie was no Charlie Chan. She was tired, upset, frantic to make Billy understand, to reach him across the towering barrier of his resentment at Chloe's escape. Annie strode across the room, her shoes clicking loudly against the tile floor. She reached his desk, leaned forward, slapped her hands against the gray metal surface.

Billy stood with his feet spread apart, arms folded, as easy to move as a mountain. He looked much older than when they'd first met, a tousle-haired giant with a rugby player's strength and a country boy's openness. His appealing cowlick now contained streaks of gray. His face was heavier, lines of fatigue and stress cutting a groove from tightly compressed lips. He'd seen the ugliest that humans can do to each other, and those sights had marked his soul.

Annie stared into blue eyes that she knew well, eyes that adored when he looked toward his wife, brightened when he played with his stepson, glowed when voices lifted in angelic praise in church, eyes that now burned with determination to do a job well for a man gone to war and for the island he loved. She looked deep into the eyes of her friend, her dear and treasured friend. Big, brave, insecure, uncertain.

Annie's face softened. She reached across the desk, placed her hand on a muscular, rigid arm. “Billy, do you remember when Mavis was frightened?”

It was like watching a kaleidoscope move, blend, reform. The elements were unchanged, the pattern utterly dissimilar. His somber face held memory of the days when Mavis had fled an abusive husband, fearing for her life and for Kevin's. It was Billy who'd found her running down a dark road, her head bloody, carrying her crying toddler. It was Billy who'd brought her
to the island, helped her find a job, rented her a cabin at Nightingale Courts. All of this, his love for Mavis, his fear for her when murder came near, his devotion, looked at Annie from anguished blue eyes.

Annie's hand dropped. “Last night Chloe was scared. Do you remember what scared her? Not a murder charge, awful as that would be. Not being questioned. She was terrified of being locked up. She can scarcely bear to talk about it. You see”—Annie's tone was thin, as if the words were hard to say—“when she was little—maybe five years old—she misbehaved and her aunt locked her in a closet, a dark closet. Chloe cried and cried and cried, but she couldn't get out.”

“Five years old?” Max's voice was grim. He took two steps, stood beside Annie, slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“Five years old.” For an instant the office was utterly still, quiet enough to imagine the hiccuping wails of that long-ago child. “If you lock up Chloe, it will be like dangling somebody who's afraid of heights over a canyon. Sure, maybe there's a rope, maybe there's no way to fall, but that doesn't help. Nothing helps that kind of fear. If you put Chloe in a cell, she will fall to pieces. And”—Annie's voice quivered—“she said she'd rather die, that she'd walk out into the water. Oh, Billy, I know she shouldn't have run away. But she's out there somewhere with no place to go and no one to help her, and night's coming on and it's going to rain. I know you have to question her, maybe even hold her as a material witness, but you don't have to put her in jail to do that.” Annie raced ahead, talking faster and faster, the words running together, hard to understand.

“She can wear an ankle monitor or wrist monitor or whatever those things are. You know, when people are
under house arrest and they can't go places, they wear something that beeps or zings so you know where they are every minute. She can stay at our house. She'll have to promise to stay at our house and there won't be any way to remove the monitor—” Annie heard the tick as the minute hand on the clock moved. Three minutes to five. She plunged her hand into her purse, grabbed her cell phone. “And you can ask her all about that night, and she'll tell you how he was alive when she left the point. I'm sure Elaine Hasty saw somebody else follow Jake because I know Chloe's innocent. Billy, please!” She ended with a gulp for breath.

Billy stared down at his desktop, his face heavy with thought. And indecision. He kneaded his cheek with the knuckles of his right hand. Finally, he lifted his head, still frowning. “The evidence against her is damn strong. There's other stuff to check out, but I'm making no promises that she won't end up charged with murder. Probably second-degree. No premeditation. Still”—his tone was reasonable—“the investigation isn't over. If she turns herself in—” He looked up at the clock. It was one minute to five “—I'll agree to a twenty-four-hour monitored detention at your house, providing she agrees to be questioned.”

“Oh, Billy.” Annie beamed at him. “You're wonderful.”

Max gave Billy a thumb's-up.

Annie smiled at them both. She yanked out the phone. “It's all going to work out. Chloe's going to call me at five o'clock.” Relief pumped her voice. Annie held up the phone. She waited, her face eager. When Chloe called, Annie would explain, tell her she would be safe at Annie and Max's house. Not locked up. Never locked up.

The minute hand ticked to the hour.

Another minute passed.

Another.

The phone didn't ring.

A
T FIVE PAST
the hour, Billy glanced at his watch. “So she promised to call.” His voice was dour and cold, his gaze sardonic. “I tell you, Annie, she's acting guilty as hell. And how come you've been talking to her? Where is she?” He scooped up a small legal pad, flipped it open, waited.

“I don't know.” Annie traced her fingers lightly over the buttons of the cell phone. “She didn't say. Except she could see the water…” Her voice trailed away. “I can't believe she hasn't called.”

“If she calls again”—Billy's voice grated—“get in touch with me. Or she won't be the only one I put in jail.”

Annie's chin lifted. “How about Elaine Hasty? Are you going to let her get away with hiding what she knows?”

“We know what she knows.” Billy threw out an impatient hand. “You've been listening at doors, so you know Brandt and his lady friend were on the point last night. Hasty's blackmail is a flop. I can't help it if they won't make a complaint.” His face flushed with resentment.

Annie's eyes flashed. “You can pick up Elaine, interrogate her—”

“What do we ask? We know what she saw. She saw Brandt and his girlfriend.” Billy slammed down the pad. “You want to ask Elaine Hasty questions, you do it. Maybe you'll be lucky and find out”—heavy sarcasm weighted his voice—“that another five or six people were down on the point. Hell, maybe a baker's dozen for all I know. Of course, it's strange they didn't bump into each other. As a matter of fact we know Brandt and Kelly were there and they didn't see another soul. Nothing except a body. You can bet they would have told us if they had. Who knows? Maybe Elvis was there. I can't wait to find out. But not tonight. The only thing that interests me right now is the hunt for Chloe Martin. I've got deputies coming to the island tomorrow with dogs. We'll find her. Right now, I'm going home.” He reached down, grabbed up a folder. “I got these statements to read.” He took a breath, shot her a conciliatory glance. “That was good work on your part, Annie. But”—his frown returned—

“this investigation's fouled up, and it's all because that girl's a runaway. I've got to talk to these people”—he rattled the folder—“on Monday as well as Hasty and Brandt and Kelly. Plus I got to keep hunting for Martin. You do what you please. In between chatting up a fugitive on your cell phone.”

He moved heavily and wearily to the door.

Annie called out, “Billy—”

Max reached out a long arm, pulled her close. “Let it go, honey.”

Annie looked up into sympathetic blue eyes. “Billy's not going to do anything about Elaine Hasty.”

“Not right now.” Max's voice was kind. And sad.

“Annie, I know you're on Chloe's side, but it looks like Chloe's spun you a tale. She promised to call. She
didn't. So how likely is it she's telling the truth about what happened with her and Jake? And Billy's right. How many people could have been there?”

Annie shot back. “I heard you say that Beth thought she heard someone on the garden path. Max, somebody else could have been there.”

“Maybe. It's a damn long shot.” He shrugged.

“There were only a few minutes between the time Chloe said she left him alive and when Beth Kelly found him dead. I don't think there was time.”

“Yes, there was.” Annie's tone was resolute. “I asked Doc Burford. He told me it would only take two, maybe three minutes to kill him. There was time. So we've got to find Elaine. If anyone else took the path to the point besides Rusty and Beth, Elaine saw that person.”

“If you're right,” he said quickly, “Elaine will have tried blackmail there, too. If she thinks she's got money coming, she won't say a word.”

“Maybe we can persuade her. And”—Annie brightened—“if she won't tell us anything, that's a kind of proof right there. Then we'll follow her. If she picks up an envelope of money, well, Billy will have to pay attention to that.”

“Follow her? That's a lot easier said than done. Okay.” He was reassuring. “We'll give it a try. After all, Billy said you could talk to Elaine if you wanted to. We'll take my car, leave yours here for now.” He grinned. “And I'm still a deputy.”

As they came down the hall, angry voices rose in the waiting room. They pushed through the door. Billy stood face-to-face with a frowning Bob Winslow. The front door was wide open. Mavis stood outside on the top step, tying the belt of her raincoat, looking back worriedly at her husband and the tall young man.

Winslow blocked Billy's way. “I have a right to know what you are doing.”

“I'm investigating a murder.” Billy was not as tall as Winslow but he was forty pounds heavier. He leaned forward, his face stony. “You want to know more, read the
Gazette
. Or talk to them.” He jerked his head toward Annie and Max. “Now”—Billy swept a big hand and the folder crackled—“everybody out. The station's closed. Out.”

As the door slammed shut, Billy grabbed his wife's elbow, hustled her to the cruiser parked in the chief's slot. The engine roared.

The wind rattled the leaves in the magnolia. The air was heavy and wet with the smell of approaching rain and the salty scent from the sea. A black cloud bank hid the setting sun. Harbor lights glittered in the fading twilight like diamonds scattered on black velvet. The water, already dark as a pool of tar, surged toward shore, the slap against the harbor wall relentless, unending. Light from a lamppost spilled down over the three cars in the station parking lot—Annie's Volvo, Max's Maserati, Bob Winslow's Ford Explorer.

The taillights of Billy's cruiser diminished, disappeared.

Bob Winslow hunched against the cold breeze. “Mrs. Darling—”

“Annie. Please.” She braced for his questions. She had no answers, and she was afraid, terribly afraid, for Chloe.

“Annie.” Bob's voice was gruff. “You're Chloe's only friend. If she's going to ask for help from anybody, it will be from you. If she gets in touch, will you call me? Let me help? I've got a card.” He pulled out his billfold, found a card. “It's got all my numbers, office, home, cell. I'll keep my cell on.”

“I will. I promise.” Annie shivered. She'd made a lot of promises this day and had yet to keep a one of them.

“Yeah.” Winslow stood a moment longer, then walked heavily to his car.

Annie grabbed Max's arm. “Come on, let's go.”

 

“Faster.” Annie leaned forward, straining against the seat belt, peering out into the night.

“Deer,” Max said briefly. But he increased his speed. Nightingale Courts was no more than a five-minute drive from the harbor.

“I'll call Duane, see if Elaine's in her cabin.” As Annie pulled her cell phone from her purse, it rang. She glanced at the illuminated number, knew it at once. “It must be Henny.” A quick frown. “I wonder why she's still at the store.” Death on Demand closed at five on Saturdays in the winter. Annie's voice lifted.

“Maybe she's heard from Chloe.” She pressed the button. “Henny, have you heard from—” she paused. Maybe she should be cautious. “—from the girl who called earlier?”

Over static, Henny spoke fast. “No. Not a word. But there has been a disturbing call.” Henny's voice was somber. “Just before closing, a man called, asked for you. I said you weren't in, could I take a message. He laughed. It was nasty. More of a giggle. Think Richard Widmark in
Kiss of Death
. A slimy voice. He said to tell you, ‘People who cause trouble get trouble.' The words were slurred. I'd say he'd had too much to drink or was on drugs. After he hung up I checked caller ID, but I'd grabbed it up on the first ring, so nothing registered. Anyway, are you with Max?”

Annie looked toward her husband, his features just discernible in the glow from the dashboard. “Why,
Henny”—Annie was amused—“don't tell me an old World War II pilot and Peace Corps volunteer who's been to Africa thinks a gal has to have a man around to protect her?”

Max turned an inquiring face.

Annie waved his attention back to the road, which curled among a dense stand of pines.

“My dear”—Henny's voice was acerbic—“gothics had a point. There's nothing like a white knight rushing in to save the heroine in the penultimate chapter. Or the dark and brooding master of the manse with a heart of gold, literally and figuratively.” There was a slight pause, then faster than a speeding bullet, Henny snapped, “Foggy Cornish coast. Governess. Alvean.”

Equally quickly, Annie retorted, “
Mistress of Mellyn,
Victoria Holt.”

“Okay, okay.” Henny laughed. Then she said quite seriously, “That call wasn't nice. Somebody doesn't like you—”

From her tone, Annie knew Henny was truly worried by the call.

“—so take care. Stick close to Max, independence be damned. Tell him I said so.” The directive was brusque. “If you still need help at the store, I'll be glad to come in on Monday. Are you getting anywhere?”

The headlights illuminated the arched entrance to Nightingale Courts.

“Oh, Henny, we hope we're making progress.” Annie added, her voice soft, “Thanks, friend.”

“Friends…” Henny's rich contralto was thoughtful.

“Another offering from Laurel. This time she quoted from
Shadows on the Rock
by Willa Cather, ‘to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything.' I guess that sums it up for Chloe. Good luck, Annie.”

Annie clicked off the phone. Her smile faded.

Max looked at her. The car slowed. “What's wrong?”

She reached out, touched his arm. He knew. Without being told, he knew when she was worried. She lifted her chin. She'd be damned if she'd let a slime—how well Henny had caught the sound of J. J. Brown's voice—frighten her. But—she took a breath. “Henny got a phone call threatening me. She said the voice was slimy. I'll bet anything it's that guy from Snug Harbor.”

“Threatening you?” The car rolled to a stop in front of the entrance.

Annie shook his arm. “It's just a phone call. He's that kind of creep. It doesn't matter right now. Let's go.” She craned to look toward the cabins.

Max hesitated, then nosed the Maserati beneath the arch at the entrance to Nightingale Courts. “Hardly anybody home.” Duane and Ingrid's cabin was dark. Lights glowed in cabins 2 and 4. Cabins 3, 6, and 7 were dark.

Annie frowned. “If Elaine's there, she's sitting in the dark. Damn. Max, what can we do? How can we find her?”

The lights from the Maserati illuminated the front of Elaine's cabin as Max braked.

The front door was ajar.

Annie looked at Max, yanked the handle. She was out of her seat before he put the car in park, cut the motor. She rushed up the steps, pushed the door wider, fumbled for the light switch. There was a general air of disorder, magazines tossed carelessly on the warped coffee table, the cabinet doors wide open in the kitchenette, the wastebasket overflowing. Boxes were
stacked along one wall, Elaine's belongings crammed in haphazardly.

Max was right behind Annie when she stepped into the bedroom. The drawers of the chest were open and empty, the mattress bare of cover. The closet door stood wide. Discarded hangers dangled from the rod. More boxes held clothes and shoes.

“She's all packed up to move.” Annie clenched her hands into fists. “Max, this proves she saw someone besides Rusty and Beth.”

Max looked bewildered. He flung out a hand. “Because she's moving out?”

“Exactly.” Annie's eyes were bright. “This afternoon she said she wanted to move, but she didn't have enough money. If she's packed her stuff, it's because someone's promised to pay her off.”

Max looked at the boxes. “I'd say she's going to move out tonight. We can stay here, wait for her.”

Annie hurried back into the living room. Max followed. Annie shook her head. “If only we'd gotten here a little sooner. I'll bet she's gone to get money. I wonder…” Annie walked over to the side table that held the telephone and answering machine. The light flashed. “She called Rusty and Beth.” Annie shot a quick glance at Max, then, her face determined, reached down and punched the play button.

Tony Hasty didn't mince words. “Elaine, call me. I know you're ducking around trying to avoid me. Don't be a damn fool. If you saw anything, you call the cops.”

The second recording startled Annie. Chloe Martin's voice was high and distraught. “I know you're there. It won't do any good to hang up on me. You can't tell the police I was the only person you saw. You can't do that to me.” The connection ended.

“Chloe called Elaine.” Annie worked it out. “Elaine answered, and when Chloe asked for help, Elaine hung up. So Chloe called back. Do you suppose Chloe came here?” Annie looked slowly around the room.

Max frowned. “Did Chloe tell you she intended to contact Elaine?”

“No.” Annie had told Chloe of her conversation with Elaine to offer encouragement. Apparently Chloe had mounted her own investigation. Perhaps that's why she hadn't called Annie at five, she was busy trying to find out what Elaine knew. Where was Chloe now? Had she ridden her bike here, found this empty cabin? Or had she found Elaine? If Elaine refused to talk to Chloe, where was Chloe now?

Annie shook her head. “I don't get it. But I'm sure of one thing. Elaine wouldn't let Chloe slow her down. Elaine was determined to get money. She must be on her way right now to the drop-off spot. Max, if only we knew where it was.”

Max's eyes narrowed. “Rusty claimed he didn't know where the money was to be put, but I'm sure he was lying. Elaine may be waiting there right now.” Max yanked the keys out of his pocket. “There's a chance we can join the party.”