Trace Their Shadows (17 page)

Brandy found the door to John’s room open, the dresser crowded with a cactus garden and a huge spray of irises and peace lilies, and no sign of Sharon. The game young doctor stood at John’s bedside, trying to listen to his heart, while John pled to go home. The doctor insisted that he had to keep a watch on John’s puffy, discolored hand——“proud flesh” he called it——and his swollen arm as well. Brandy cornered him in the corridor as he left the room.

The doctor halted, plainly still under the impression that she was family. “Today will tell whether we have to remove the dead muscle tissue. We’d rather not operate, but the main thing is to prevent gangrene. Mr. Able’s still getting anti–venom. It’s some better, and I’m encouraged. Maybe we can avoid surgery.”

Brandy stepped back into the room and crossed to John’s bed. He seemed less feverish. “Hi,” she said. “Waiting’s the hardest part, not knowing what will happen.”

“Hi, your own self.” He rubbed his forehead with his good hand. She was pleased to see the Chopin tape had been played. “Nice surprise. Didn’t expect a visit from Brenda Starr, girl reporter. Thought you’d be too busy.”

She accepted the remark as an invitation, perched on a chair beside the bed, and pulled her spiral note pad from her bag. “I came to take your mind off your hand. I had an informative talk with both Grace and Blackthorne. Interested?” She thought she detected a glimmer in his eyes and opened the note pad. “I also learned something new at the briefing. Eva Stone had a much younger brother. Name’s Weston Stone. He owns the Pub on the Lake and some other waterfront places, too.”

John nodded toward the foot of the bed. “The early edition of the Commercial is out. It has a story about the briefing.”

Brandy picked up the paper. “I’ve hardly got a scoop, have I?” The front page featured a photograph of Eva Stone that she had-n’t seen before, one with shorter hair and a more mature face, although Brandy instantly recognized the arching forehead, the luminous eyes, the full lips.

Under it was the account given by the lieutenant and a follow–up interview with Weston Stone. “He’s quoted as saying he was adopted after Eva Stone’s death,” she said, skimming the story. “He never knew her.”

Maybe John did care about Eva Stone’s fate, Brandy thought. “I need to talk to Weston Stone,” she said. “We’ll probably like him. He spoke up for preserving the lake view at the Chamber of Commerce meeting. He could give me access to his mother.”

John raised his head. “Surely you don’t want to bother the poor old lady now.”

“We’ll see if it’s necessary,” Brandy soothed. “Help me draw up a list. We need suspects, motives, and opportunity. It’s always done in murder mysteries.”

He stared at her with wonder. “I think you’re actually enjoying this. You’re not paying the least attention to my advice. Leave crime to the professionals.”

Brandy dredged a pencil up from the depths of her bag. “They’ll never solve it in time for my deadline. I’m not doing anything dangerous. And I’ve already got Sylvania mad at me. I don’t suppose she’s been to see you?”

He frowned. “Not likely.”

“All right. Number 1 suspect would be Brookfield himself. Motive: fear Eva might upset his plans to marry Grace, a marriage that meant a great increase in wealth. His whereabouts at the time of the disappearance are unknown, but the developer says Brookfield had an appointment at the house, apparently before Eva disappeared. Brookfield drove on home alone, earlier than the other men. Later he was seen in the water searching for the body. He went on searching for days.”

She stopped writing and bit her lip. “But the motive’s a trifle weak. Why would Eva present such a serious threat?” She scribbled furiously again for a few seconds.

“Number 2 is Sylvania.” She held up her hand. “Now don’t get upset. Everyone has to be a suspect. Eva represented a threat to Sylvania, too. Even though Sylvania had accepted Ace Langdon’s proposal, he made it plain he would ditch Sylvania for Eva. If he’d done that, pardon me——but according to Blackthorne’s cousin Sylvania would’ve been more of a laughing stock than she was already.

“As for opportunity, she was there helping her mother. Then she was the first in the water during the search. She was the best swimmer. That could’ve given her more opportunity to hide the body. We have to consider that poor Eva may have been dragged under, half–drowned, taken ashore, and bashed for good measure. Of course, anyone searching for Eva might’ve pulled that off.”

For the moment John entered into the spirit of the chase. “How could that happen with everyone else out looking for her?”

“I’ve considered that carefully. There’s the spit of land in front of the house with a huge bougainvillea growing on it. It’s in the old photograph. Someone could conceal a body there for a short time.”

“Very risky,” he said.

“Number 3 is Grace,” she went on. “Her motive: She expected to marry Brookfield and could’ve seen Eva as a dangerous rival. Maybe Brookfield said he was still in love with Eva. Maybe he was going to break their engagement after it had just been announced. That would be devastating to a woman everyone says is so sensitive. Her whereabouts? That’s the catch, of course. She was seen leaving before the search got well underway, so she seems to have an alibi.”

“Grace seems awfully mild to go about bashing skulls.”

Brandy nodded. “Then we have Ace Langdon as Number 4. Motive: Maybe he wasn’t so unsuccessful with Eva. We only have his word for that. Maybe he’d been fooling around with her and she came there to blackmail him. We know he’s always been an incorrigible woman chaser. Maybe he’d had an affair with her and she threatened to tell. After all, he was planning to marry into a wealthy family and have a cushy job for life. That could be a powerful motive.

“His whereabouts at the time of Eva’s disappearance? Unknown. He says he was alone in the billiard room. Earlier we know he had been with Eva.” She paused to take more notes.

“And last, we have the ever–popular Axel Blackthorne. This afternoon he was surprisingly forthcoming, considering how he hates us both. He was devoted to Sylvania, but I don’t see why that gave him a reason to do away with Eva Stone. There’s one plausible motive. A commonplace in crime forever. Maybe he was paid to do the killing.

“Blackthorne himself says he was with Brookfield that afternoon. If Brookfield wanted Eva dead, he might’ve persuaded Blackthorne to do the job.”

“And how would he be paid without anyone knowing?”

“By providing financing for Blackthorne’s new construction company. Brookfield backed the developer’s business the following year. How else would a poor boy just out of the service be able to start up a construction company?

“Blackthorne had the opportunity to find Eva in the water. Maybe he was only supposed to discourage Eva, the way Blackthorne’s man tried to discourage me. He could’ve followed her into the water, got carried away while everyone was milling around, and killed her in a panic. Physically he’s a brute of a man. Blackthorne as a hired killer makes sense.”

Brandy looked up and closed her notebook. “We have motives and opportunities here, but there’s still something that we don’t know. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing. I feel it.”

John turned partly on one side to face her. “Steve says the Sheriff’s Office has taken down the boat house plank by plank today. Tomorrow they start excavating the area, looking for——dare I say the word——clues. You don’t have to do their job.”

Brandy tried to reassure him by patting his arm and smiling. Mentally she tallied up her activities for the next day: a call to Weston Stone to set up an appointment with Eva’s mother, a visit to the boat house site, the two o’clock session with Mrs. Hall.

He looked down at his swollen hand. “I don’t suppose you’ve found any time to check up on my interests. Have you talked to Curt Greene?”

She nodded. “Still hasn’t found a buyer. Tomorrow’s contract signing was postponed, but Sylvania says she’s going ahead with it as soon as the Sheriff’s Office is through digging on her property.”

She closed her bag. John looked tired, his coloring grayer, his body under the cover thinner than two days ago. Maybe she had worried him further. “I was hoping to cheer you up.”

“By telling me half my family may be killers?” But he gave her his rare smile.

She grinned back and started for the door.

“Brandy.” John’s voice startled her. When she turned she noticed the name tag on the large arrangement of flowers on the dresser. She recognized the tidy, precise handwriting and the two word message, “Love, Sharon.” In a way John’s girlfriend had been with them after all.

He raised his head while she paused before the flowers. “There’s something I need to explain…“

Brandy interrupted quickly. “No need. I understand about your girl friend. Don’t worry. There’s Mack, you know.” Of course she understood. What happened between them was a thing of the moment, a release of nervous tension after a crisis. No need for him to feel guilty. No need for her plans with Mack to change. But again she felt the lump of lead in her chest.

As she pulled the door partially closed behind her, she could see him lie back, a troubled look in his dark eyes.

Outside the wind had died down and the sky grown overcast. A fine mist hung in the low spots of the parking lot. The Florida dusk would be short and night fall like a trap. As Brandy drove down the darkening streets, she tried to push from her mind all thoughts of Sharon and Mack, and even of John. She could do nothing about Sharon, and she still had a few days to decide about Mack.

If she ever had a chance with John, she had certainly ruined it. She had gotten him dunked into the lake at night, bitten by a poisonous snake, and in trouble with all his relatives, especially the great–aunt whose support and trust he most wanted. Brandy clinched her fingers around the steering wheel. Suddenly she needed very much to be home, to be alone with her loose leaf notebook on the case, thinking only about the mystery of Eva Stone.

Fog had settled over the tall pines in the vacant lot next to the driveway, around her mother’s Ford, and along the chain link fence in the back yard. When she heard Meg’s happy, welcome–home bark, she knelt for a moment and stroked the coppery head before letting herself into the kitchen. Her mother sat at her usual place at the dining room table, wielding a red pen over a stack of papers. She looked up, lips pressed together.

“Well, have you beaten the detectives at their own game and solved the murder? I read the evening paper.” She stood and crossed to the telephone stand. “A weekly paper doesn’t pay much. It shouldn’t require you to put your life on the line.”

Brandy mumbled something about still working on the same story, and stayed in the kitchen to set a cup of instant coffee into the microwave.

“You had two messages,” Mrs. O’Bannon said. She tore a note from the memo pad on the dining room table and handed it to Brandy. “A man called about five.”

“Mr. Hyer from Hyer’s Retirement Home,” Brandy read. “Mrs. Stone wants to talk to the reporter from the Tavares Beacon. She won’t talk to any others. Call at the home tomorrow at four.” Her mother had scribbled down a Tavares address.

The older woman crossed into the kitchen. “He said Mrs. Stone had a doctor’s appointment in the morning and then had her lunch and took a long nap. Said she’ll see you after that. I guess it’s good news for you.” She pulled an iron kettle out of a cupboard. “Mr. Hyer said Mrs. Stone wants to thank you for finding her daughter’s remains.” She lifted her chin and cut her eyes sideways at her daughter. “A doubtful pleasure, I’m sure. After all these years, it must have reminded her of her painful loss. Why not let sleeping dogs lie?”

Brandy couldn’t resist a pun. “Because someone’s been lying about Eva Stone for years.” She took a sip of the hot coffee. The times would work out tomorrow if she hurried, Mrs. Hall at two, Mrs. Stone at four. “And the other message?”

Her mother handed her an envelope with no stamp and no return address. “This was in the mailbox when I got home.” Brandy slit the envelope with a paring knife and unfolded a single sheet of cheap bond paper with a few lines of type and no signature. “I have important information for your investigation,” she read silently, “but I can’t reveal my identity. I’ll leave a package of documents in your garage tonight by midnight. If I see anyone watching, I won’t stop and I’ll destroy the evidence.”

Hello, Brandy thought. Things are looking up. What kind of documents might relate to Eva Stone? Surely something that tied her to her killer——letters, legal papers? The note came in a plain white envelope, the kind carried in every drug and grocery store. Its style sounded formal, but Brandy had met no illiterates in her investigation. She tucked the note into her canvas bag and decided not to discuss it with her mother. She could imagine her reaction, surely something sarcastic about Sherlock Holmes.

Brandy glanced out the window. The fog had not lifted. The garage was a blurry, peaked shape at the rear of the lot. After a supper of Mrs. O’Bannon’s homemade vegetable–beef soup and muffins, Brandy nipped outside, through the gate, and past their cars in the driveway. When she switched on a small bulb above the open garage doors, a faint glow spread over the counters of potted plants and bags of potting soil——a clever, out of the way place for her correspondent to stash the treasure. Brandy had been pleased with Steve Able as a source, but the note had brought her another, even more valuable.

She considered leaving Meg outside, where her barking would signal the visitor’s arrival, but she decided to let the grateful dog slink through the kitchen and into her bedroom. Meg might frighten Brandy’s benefactor away.

In her room Brandy changed into a shirt and jeans, ready to dart back out to the garage around midnight. By nine– thirty she was at her desk, transcribing notes into a loose leaf binder while the interviews with Ace, Blackthorne, and Grace were still sharp in her mind. Meg scrambled under the bed, her chew rag in her jaws, her feathery tail thumping, and they settled down to wait. About ten Brandy heard her mother’s door close. Summer school started early.