Engaged to Die (25 page)

Max bent toward Annie. “Keep an eye on everyone.”

Annie nodded. A blackmailer's death not more than a hundred yards distant. Shots here. Cause and effect? If so, the reason was obscure. But there had to be a link. She hurried after the family members into the kitchen and breakfast room area. A rib roast sat on a platter. The succulent aroma filled the kitchen. Lids rattled atop pans on the stove. Annie glanced around the room with its bright yellow walls, shiny white table, and rattan chairs. The room's everyday appearance was marred by the strained, anxious faces and the bloody footprints left on the tile floor by Carl.

Susan bustled about, pulling out chairs for Virginia and Carl. She glanced toward the middle-aged woman with a white apron over her dark dress. “Sylvia, please
bring me some alcohol and gauze and tape. Hold out your arm, Virginia.” Susan's brisk tone evoked no response. Virginia slumped in a chair, the blanket bunched behind her, her arm resting on the table. Her eyes were sunk in her strained face, her lips set. Louise, her lips pressed in a tight line, brought a decanter of whisky, poured a good two inches into a small glass, placed it beside Virginia.

Carl unwound the towel from his foot, wrapped it up again. His hands were trembling. He looked anxiously at Virginia. “What happened? I was in the pool and—” He saw Annie's look of surprise, smiled briefly. “Indoor pool. I was taking a swim before dinner and I heard shots.”

The housekeeper returned, carrying a plastic bottle of alcohol, a box of gauze, scissors, tape, and a plastic basin. She placed everything on the table, hesitated, then moved toward the stove, lifted lids, adjusted heat, glancing nervously toward the doors that overlooked the courtyard.

Virginia shuddered. “I was in the study. Someone shot at me.” Her voice was deep and harsh.

Susan stood with the bottle of alcohol in one hand, the cap in the other. “At you? Oh, no. That can't be.”

“I heard the shots.” Irene smoothed back her vivid dark hair. Her lovely face was creased in a frown. “I was putting on my makeup.” She lifted a hand, lightly stroked her cheek.

Louise said nothing, but her dark eyes never moved from Virginia's face.

Virginia's eyes, brilliant with anger and fear, moved to each of them in turn. “Last night someone killed Jake. Tonight someone tried to kill me.”

Susan sloshed alcohol over Virginia's arm. Blood swirled into the basin.

Virginia drew her breath in sharply, briefly closed her eyes.

Rusty's head jutted forward. “That's absurd.”

Louise pointed toward the door, still open to the night. “We should have searched out there.”

Susan bent over Virginia's outstretched arm, frowned. “This may need stitches.”

Virginia, her face a cold mask, glanced without expression at the uneven cut on the side of her forearm. “No. Cut small strips of tape, close it up. It's clean.”

Annie stepped forward. “We can call Dr. Burford.” He was most likely already on his way. Just like last night, the mechanics of a murder investigation were surely under way, the arrival of the forensic team, the gathering of evidence, the photographs and filming, the painstaking survey of the surroundings.

Rusty stalked across the floor, leaving more wet footprints on the cream-colored tiles. He stood beside his wife, glared down at Virginia. “Don't make things worse than they are. I don't know why anybody shot at the house. It's crazy to say they were shooting at you. Who would know you were in the study?”

Virginia pulled her arm free. She pushed back her chair and stood, the blanket sagging to the floor. She looked at each family member in turn, her lips quivering. “All of you.” Her voice rose hysterically. “That's where I am every evening. Eating by myself because I'm not welcome to eat with you.” Bitterness laced her voice. “All of you know that—and all of you hate me.” She fingered the bandage on her arm. “There was an awful noise. Loud. The glass cracked. I threw myself to one side. I fell on the floor and crawled to hide behind the couch. I thought whoever it was would break through the door and run across the room and lean over
the couch and shoot me. I lay there and waited to die.” Her eyes glazed. “I waited to die.” Her voice broke. “I was afraid to move. I waited and waited…and then I heard people outside, shouting. I crawled to the door—that's when I cut my arm—and peeked out, and everyone was there so I came out. But one of you…”

The lovely room with its smell of food was utterly quiet. From the front hall came the sound of men's voices and heavy footsteps. Billy strode into the breakfast room, Max close behind him. Billy's yellow slicker glistened with raindrops. Beneath the curved bill of his hat, his face was set in a hard mask.

Annie glanced toward Max. He gave an infinitesimal nod. So Billy had been down to the point, seen the sprawled body lying in the rain.

Virginia moved unsteadily toward him. She looked up, her face imploring. “You can keep them from hurting me, can't you?”

Rusty slammed his hand against a blue cupboard, rattling the dishes. “Billy, she's off her head.” He glared at Virginia. “For God's sake, nobody knows who shot into the study. We all ran to see what was happening. Now that you're here, you can look it over. Whoever did it must be miles from here. Maybe you can figure out something.”

“At least three shots were fired into the study,” Billy announced. “But we haven't found a weapon.”

Rusty threw up his hands. “Virginia thinks the shots were aimed at her. Well, the curtains weren't drawn. Whoever came up to the window could see inside. Hell, maybe they were shooting at her. I don't know. But I, for one, am damn cold and wet. I'm going to take a shower and then”—he looked toward Sylvia,
holding a hot pad, her eyes flaring like a startled horse ready to bolt—“you can get our dinner ready.”

“Dinner can wait.” Billy pointed at a chair. “Take a seat, Brandt. Nobody's leaving this room for now.”

Carl's head jerked up. “Your tone seems offensive to me.” His mild face was puzzled. “We called the police because there's been an unfortunate incident. We expect to cooperate in an investigation, but your attitude is unwarranted.” He leaned forward.

Susan snipped a length of gauze. “Hold still, Carl.” She wound the wrapping around his foot. “Tell me if it's too tight.”

Billy's voice was heavy. “An unfortunate incident. Yeah. Murder's always unfortunate.” He moved around the room, staring at legs and feet, ignoring their questions. “Wet. They're all wet. It could have been any one of them.” His cell phone buzzed. He un-strapped it from his belt, punched to receive, held it to his ear. His blunt face never changed. Finally, he asked, “Doc's sure?” In a moment, he clicked it off, looked at each face in turn. “Shots here. A body—shot to death—found at the point at a little after six o'clock. Nobody's leaving this room until we've searched the house.”

“Someone else? Where Jake died?” Virginia Neville's voice was hollow. She reached out toward Billy. “Who? You have to tell us! Who's been killed?”

“One of the catering staff. She was working at the party last night.” Billy's voice was grim. “Elaine Hasty.”

“One of the catering staff…” Virginia swung toward Annie. “This afternoon you told me there was someone who might know who had followed Jake. You said you were going to talk to her.” Tears began to edge
down her face. “This girl who's dead, is she the one? Could she have told us who killed Jake?”

Each word hurt Annie. “I tried….” Annie's voice faded away.

Virginia reached out imploring hands, the bandage stark against her left arm. “You promised.”

Max's face was hard, his words quick. “Annie talked to Elaine. I talked to Elaine. She refused to say who she saw last night. She said people who'd never paid her any attention were listening to her now. She asked for money.” His gaze was bleak. “She got murder.”

“Blackmail…” Virginia lifted trembling fingers to her lips.

“Chief?” Frank Saulter, water dripping from his poncho, poked his head into the breakfast room. “Got something.”

Billy jerked his head toward Max. “Keep 'em quiet.” He walked out into the main hall, listening to the low rumble of Frank's voice. In a moment, a door slammed.

Carl brushed back a lank strand of hair. His face was slack with shock. “Elaine Hasty…God, that's awful.” He looked down at his hands. They trembled. He clasped them tightly together.

Louise marched to the refrigerator, yanked out a container of orange juice, poured a glass. She brought it to Carl, then looked defiantly at Max. “Everything's running late. Carl's diabetic. He needs something to eat.”

Carl lifted the glass with a shaky hand. His face was pale. “Thank you, Louise.”

Annie glanced toward Irene. Carl's wife looked uninterested, one finger twirled in a thick tangle of lus
trous dark hair. It was Louise who stood by Carl's side, watching him anxiously.

Virginia stared wildly around the room. “That girl murdered—and someone shot at me. I was supposed to die, too.” She folded her arms across her front, rocked back and forth.

Annie felt pummeled by emotion. Virginia teetered on the edge of collapse. Her fear, utter and complete and overwhelming, dominated the room.

Footsteps thudded in the central hall. Billy walked into the breakfast room, Frank Saulter behind him. Billy flung a sodden heap onto the floor. Rivulets of water puddled away from the soggy mound. “We fished these out of the fountain.” He used the toe of his black shoe to edge apart two canvas gardening gloves, puffed with water.

“Gardening gloves.” Susan spoke quietly. “They could belong to anyone, come from anywhere.”

Frank moved past Billy. He wore a surgical glove on his right hand. He held a small pistol by the tip of the barrel. “How about this, Mr. Brandt?”

But it was Susan who darted forward, bent to look at the weapon. “That looks like one of Dad's guns.” She whirled toward Carl. “I thought you were going to get rid of them.”

Annie was aware of them all, the bubble of panic in Susan's voice, the flaccid droop of Rusty's cheeks, the brooding frown on Louise's face, the predatory sharpness of Irene's elegant facial structure, Carl's bewildered stare, but she kept her gaze on Virginia. Virginia stared across the room at the gun as if it were a snake, horror twisting her face.

Carl pushed up from the chair, limped to stand beside his sister. He reached out for the pistol.

Frank pulled back his arm. As the barrel dipped, drops of water spattered onto the floor. “We'll fingerprint it.”

Carl's hand dropped. His face was tight and grim. “Those initials on the stock, NN. It's Dad's gun all right.”

Irene's heels clattered on the floor as she hurried to her husband's side. “What does it mean?” Her sultry beauty was gone and in its place the drawn and tired look of a frightened woman. “Who put it in the fountain? How did they find Pop's gun?” Her head jerked toward the windows, her eyes wide and staring. “How did they get in?”

“Get in?” Virginia's voice rose and cracked in a hideous parody of laughter. “Oh, that's so funny. How did they get in? Nobody got in, Irene. It has to be one of you with Nathaniel's gun.” She pointed at each in turn, Susan with her hands pressed against her cheeks, Carl staring at the gun in shocked disbelief, Irene plucking at the strands of a carnelian necklace, Rusty jutting his head forward pugnaciously, Louise looking like an aged, frightened crone.

Virginia swung toward Billy. “I demand protection. I want a policeman with me until I can get off the island, get away from here.” She licked her lips, her breathing shallow, her eyes darting around the room to settle on Carl. “Listen, I'll sign over everything to you right now.” She threw her hands wide. “The Gallery. The bank accounts. All of it. Everything. Get me some paper. I'll sign it and they”—she pointed at Annie and Max—“can witness it. The police can sign it too. I'll leave in the morning. I'll only take my clothes and enough money to get a start—”

Carl took two steps, winced as he forgot and put his
weight on his injured foot. He stopped in front of Virginia, his sensitive face glacial. “Don't be an utter fool, Virginia. No one wants what belongs to you. You'll be safe here if I have to sit outside your room with a gun myself. There has to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. Like Dad's guns—one day when Jake was here, I was looking for something in Dad's desk and Jake saw them.” His eyes shifted to Billy. “They were more for show than anything else. A pair of twenty-two caliber revolvers with pearl handles, both initialed. Some old friend gave them to him years ago. A bet of some kind.”

“I told him guns brought death.” Louise nodded like a bird over a worm. “I told him and he laughed.”

Annie looked at the gun, small in Frank's gloved hand. Little but deadly. A gun didn't have to be big to kill.

Carl took a deep breath. “Jake thought they were cool and I said he could have them. I supposed he'd taken them. I didn't give them another thought.”

“Jake?” Virginia shook her head. “He would have told me. I'm sure he would have told me.”

Irene turned from a cabinet. She held a wineglass and a bottle. She filled the glass to the brim, drank it down, choked a little. “Would he have told you?” Her voice was sharp. “My dear Virginia, he didn't tell you everything, did he? He didn't tell you about the pretty girl he met at the point, did he? Maybe he had the guns. Maybe the girl knew about them. Maybe she got one and came here tonight—”

Annie had heard enough. “Chloe never said a word about any guns—”

“She would scarcely tell anyone, would she?” Irene challenged. She stalked to Billy. “Do we appear to be
mad? I ask you. Why would one of us commit a murder, then try to shoot Virginia with a gun that belongs in the family?”