Hit and Run (31 page)

Daisy touched her daughter's cheek. ‘You're freezing. How long were you—?'

‘Too long, apparently.' AnnaLise reached the bar, its counter bare. ‘We out of wine?'

‘I don't think Hart's Head will be “out” for centuries. Nicole is getting some from the wine cellar. Really now, AnnaLise. Are you all right?'

The younger woman turned, not sure why her eyes were welling with tears. ‘Oh, God, Daisy. I thought I had it all figured out, but now … I'm so confused.'

Her mother pulled AnnaLise to the couch and sat her down. ‘I was going to ask, “About what?” but it's pretty obvious.'

AnnaLise passed the back of her hand quickly, even roughly, across her eyes. ‘Did Boozer tell you that Dickens had cancer?'

Daisy hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘Do the police know?' If so, it would explain why Charity had said that the prescription drugs in Dickens' system were “accounted for.”'

‘I'm not sure,' Daisy said, confusion crawling across her own features. ‘Why?'

‘Because if Dickens was dying it could change everything.'

‘AnnaLise, I'm not crazy, but I still don't understand what you mean.'

‘Look, maybe I'm the one who's crazy.' AnnaLise was rubbing her hands against each other. ‘In fact, it's hard to believe I'm even thinking this.'

The mother took her daughter's hands, holding them still. ‘What is it that you're thinking?'

AnnaLise whispered, ‘How well do you know Boozer?'

‘Boozer? Why, I've known him for years. No, more like decades.'

‘But how
well
do you know him? For example, do you know he's in love with you?'

Daisy blushed. ‘Oh, don't be silly, AnnaLise. Just because we spent a night togeth—'

‘No, Daisy. I mean it. He's in love with you. And I think he must have been since the White Tail days.'

Her mother seemed almost stricken and sat back. ‘Did he tell you that?'

‘No.'

‘Then how—'

‘It's obvious. As clear to me as that it's going to snow tonight.'

Daisy didn't bother to glance out the window. ‘Does that bother you?'

‘That Boozer loves you? No. I'm just afraid …'

‘Please, spit out. You're scaring me.'

AnnaLise looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody else was within earshot, then scooched forward, their knees nearly touching now. ‘Daisy, could Boozer kill somebody?'

‘Of course not!' Daisy jumped up. ‘How could you possibly say that? Why would you ever say that?'

‘He loves you,' AnnaLise said, standing, too. ‘And he loved Dickens, who had cancer that was causing him suffering.'

‘And you're suggesting what? A mercy killing?' Daisy demanded. ‘With a champagne—'

‘Boozer's witnessing his own father dying a slow, terrible death and he's told me it's tearing him apart. He also said his dad used to be a veterinarian.'

A lot of blinking. ‘Well, yes. But what's that got to do with anything?'

AnnaLise looked over her shoulder again before saying, ‘Euthanasia. Boozer said his father advised people on when they should put their farm animals – even pets – out of their misery.'

‘Out of
whose
misery? The pets or the owners?'

It was only then that AnnaLise remembered Timothy Griggs' lingering death. ‘I'm sorry, Daisy. I forgot about Daddy.'

‘This isn't about your father – or at least
that
father. I just can't believe you're accusing a kind man like Boozer—'

‘That's just it, Daisy. He is kind. He could have done it to save Dickens further pain.'

But Daisy was swiveling her head back and forth, back and forth. ‘No. No, no. That just doesn't make sense. Even if Boozer believed he was sparing Dickens, why do it that way? And during this weekend with a house full of … gold-diggers?'

‘Maybe for
just
that reason,' said AnnaLise.

‘In the hope that someone else would be blamed?' Daisy's voice squeaked at its upper register. ‘Absolutely impossible, AnnaLise. Boozer would never do that – especially since suspicion could fall on you more than anybody else. He would never put my daughter in that—'

‘The man loves you, Daisy. Which is why this weekend was
exactly
the time for him to … forgive me, but kill two birds with one stone.'

Daisy looked dangerously close to killing her own baby bird with what might be close at hand. ‘AnnaLise Griggs, make yourself clear this second.'

Her daughter took a deep breath. ‘Maybe Boozer thought that by sparing Dickens from his suffering this weekend, he'd also protect my inheritance from those very gold-diggers you mentioned.'

‘S
o, I noticed your mother wasn't talking to you at dinner just now.' Despite – or, maybe because of – the outside temperature, Joy Tamarack fired up a cigarette.

She and AnnaLise had repaired to their usual nest on the patio after dropping a plate of food off with on-duty officer Gary Fearon.

Now AnnaLise hunched closer to the space heater. ‘I may have made a tactical error. Or just an error, period.'

‘Give.'

‘I suggested to Daisy that the new man in her life may have killed the old man in her life.'

Joy gasped. ‘Boozer killed Hart?'

‘Possibly.'

‘What happened to your old theory about our Debbie? Weren't you going to the police with
that
one?'

‘I did.' Before elaborating, AnnaLise got up and pulled her chair even closer to the heater. ‘Charity seemed quite interested, in fact. She also told me that the fingerprints had been wiped off the champagne bottle and the glass in Hart's room that still held wine.'

‘What about the other one, the one with the stuff in it?'

‘Turns out the stuff was, indeed, Rohypnol. And the only fingerprints on the glass were mine.'

The corners of Joy's mouth tilted down like a cartoon character's. ‘Well, that's not good.'

‘Agreed. But I was reassured that they're still also considering Eddie and Tyler and their mothers as possible suspects. Both men have money problems – Eddie because he's a druggie, as much as he denies it. And Tyler is a stockbroker.'

‘Tyler's a stockbroker?'

‘
That's
the part that stops you?' AnnaLise said, remembering Joy had been coming down from her own brush with illegal substances when they'd discussed the two men's professions during Thanksgiving dinner.

‘Of course.' Joy took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Everybody should have known Eddie was sky high.'

‘Speaking of which, should you be smoking next to the space heater?' asked AnnaLise. ‘The tank is filled with propane gas. We could be blown from here to the mountain top.'

‘Honestly?' Yet, Joy didn't put the thing out. ‘Back to Tyler. Was he convicted of insider trading or something?'

‘Not that Charity told me. Just that he gave some bad advice, resulting in both him and his clients losing a lot of money.'

‘And probably losing the clients as well. What else?'

‘From Charity? Nada.'

‘Well, good. That mean's Debbie's still on the table as a suspect.'

‘I think so far as they know. But it's something I found out later that makes me think maybe it wasn't Debbie.'

‘Damn, I take an afternoon nap and the world around me switches poles. Spill it.'

‘Dickens Hart had prostate cancer.'

‘I thought it must have come back.' Joy's cigarette glowed orange in the dark.

‘You knew?'

‘Of course I did. I was his wife, remember?' Another dangerously deep drag. ‘Actually, his
ex
-wife by then. Hart was diagnosed just after we divorced. I told him it was divine retribution for getting his dicky sticky in Sugar.'

Thanks
ever
so much for sharing. ‘That would have been, what? Nineteen ninety-six?'

‘Thereabouts. It's a long time to be in remission.'

‘Assuming he was that entire time. Boozer told me they didn't find it until Dickens' back started hurting.'

Even Joy flinched. ‘The cancer went to his spine?'

‘Yes. He'd had treatment, hence the pot that Rose found in his nightstand, but—'

‘Wait. Rose stole Hart's medical marijuana?'

‘I'm afraid so. Though Boozer said Dickens wasn't—'

‘And she shared it with me.' Joy was smiling. ‘What a cool old broad.'

AnnaLise shook her head. ‘If you say so.'

‘OK, I understand that Hart's cancer had returned. But why does that let Debbie off the hook and put Boozer on it?'

‘Because I can't imagine Dickens inviting Debbie to his room if he was dying of prostate cancer.'

‘Why not?'

‘Well, because … I mean, isn't the prostate in his—'

‘Dicky? No. Besides, if Hart's joystick fell off, he'd pick the thing up, duct-tape it back on, and start all over again.'

‘Joy, please?'

‘Sorry. Forgot we were talking about your father, not just my unfaithful scumball of an ex-husband. But my point is that Hart didn't have the recommended surgery when he was diagnosed in the first place.'

‘Boozer said he was afraid of erectile dysfunction.'

‘That and incontinence, both of which can be addressed a little better now.' She tapped her cigarette on the arm of the chair and a glowing clump of ash fell downward. ‘Dead, however, can't be fixed. Ever.'

AnnaLise sighed. ‘Quite true. So are you telling me that I just hurt Daisy for no reason?'

‘I'm saying that Hart let nothing slow him down, sexually, so I wouldn't be so quick to rule out Debbie. But back to what you said about Boozer Bacchus maybe killing Hart: why in the world would the loyal retainer do that? Boozer's one of the few people here that Hart didn't fu—'

AnnaLise didn't let her finish. ‘A kind of mercy killing, maybe? One that would also save my fortune?'

Joy seemed to mull that over. ‘But it wouldn't, so far as I can see. Patrick said Eddie and Tyler still have time to prove their paternity. Or Hart's of them, I guess.'

‘Boozer didn't know that?'

‘Maybe not. But it seems like a pretty major thing to overlook. Besides, if “mercy” was Boozer's motive, why now?'

‘That's exactly what Daisy asked me,' said AnnaLise.

‘And your answer?'

‘Only that he needed to do it before things proceeded further.'

‘Lame,' Joy said. ‘And it doesn't address my point. Boozer could have killed Hart a couple of weeks ago, before any of the “potential heirs,” as Patrick put it, were even contacted, much less actually here.'

‘Dickens' prognosis had worsened? Or Boozer needed time to plan once Dickens told him about this weekend?'

‘And how does Chef Debbie fit in? If she didn't kill Hart, somebody sure tried to make it look that way. If you hadn't gone into Dickens' room that night she'd have been the clear prime suspect.'

AnnaLise sat up straight. ‘Maybe it was Boozer who called Debbie from the house.'

‘As a woman?'

‘All he'd have to say is “you're fired” in a falsetto.'

‘Maybe, or …'

AnnaLise felt Joy's gaze, even in the dark. ‘What?'

‘Boozer could have had a woman do it.'

‘What woman?' AnnaLise demanded. ‘There's nobody who Boozer—'

As AnnaLise realized who Joy had in mind, the snow began to fall in silent, clotted handfuls.

‘D
aisy?' AnnaLise whispered hoarsely. Joy didn't answer.

‘My mother would never have had anything to do with Dickens' – or anybody else's – death.' AnnaLise felt herself struggle to get the words out.

‘I'm not suggesting she did,' Joy said.

‘That's exactly what you suggested.'

‘What I meant was the telephone call. Listen to me, AnnaLise. It's clear that Boozer and Daisy have something going on, which is great. Hell, they've known each other nearly all their adult lives. What would Daisy have done if Boozer had told her what'd happened?'

‘That he'd crushed his boss' skull with a champagne bottle?'

‘A boss who Daisy couldn't care much for in the first place, given their history.'

‘Their “history” being me?'

‘Obviously. But let's assume your mother didn't despise my smarmy ex-husband for knocking her up. We
do
know she cares about Boozer. If he brained Hart to spare the great man pain, especially as part of a misguided effort to protect you, isn't it possible Daisy would agree to help Boozer cover up the killing, even if she didn't fully approve? Smoaks said he thought a woman dumped something – and we're thinking the overnight bag – into the lake. Could it have been Daisy?'

A gust of wind blew some of the falling snow toward their feet. AnnaLise put a hand to her forehead, realizing she was shaking only when skin drummed against skin. ‘Daisy, aside from being my mother, is one of the kindest people I've ever known. She might want to help a man she loved, given there was nothing she could do at that point to save Dickens, but I just don't see her helping Boozer in any plan to pin it on Debbie.'

‘Could Daisy have done so during one of her – I think we're calling them … “spells”?'

AnnaLise's heart plummeted. ‘Daisy's possible dementia made her forget it's bad form to be an accessory to murder and frame an innocent person?'

‘Accessory after the fact, at worst, but you know what I mean. Your mother doesn't always think as clearly as she used to.'

AnnaLise stood. ‘Sorry, I can't talk about this anymore.'

Joy got up, too, letting the now stub of her cigarette fall from her fingers. The dying orange glow sizzled when it hit the snow before going out. ‘No, I'm the one who's sorry. Just trying to work through your theory number two – or is it three? Anyway, I didn't mean to upset you.'