EIGHTEEN

I wanted to shove Quinn outside and lock the door. What right had she to ask for favors concerning Francine’s death? But wait. Maybe she had information to offer, facts that Zack and I needed.

“Give, Quinn. Come sit down. Tell me what sort of a favor you need.”

“You know I want a permanent job as staff writer for the Citizen—had my application in for ages.”

“Right.” I sat beside her on the couch. “Any luck? Have you submitted another article?”

“Yes. The editor accepted a human-interest piece on the monthly used-book sales our library sponsors. Look for it this coming Sunday. He gave me thumbs-up on my writing style, and before he forgets how much he liked both articles, I want to drop a new one on his desk tomorrow—on spec, of course.”

“And I can help?”

“Yes, Bailey. I know you can.”

“How? What’s your topic?”

“The inside story on Francine’s death.”

The words hung between us sizzling, ready to explode. My face flushed, and my hands shook in anger and surprise. When I didn’t reply, she pushed harder.

“Bailey, you’re an insider. You know the skinny. Why did Francine fall? The police say homicide, so did someone push her? Did someone startle her into hurtling herself down the stairs? The public wants to know the why, who, and how. If I had those answers, maybe even one of them, I could write an article that’d scoop the whole staff.”

Quinn’s plethora of words revealed her nervousness. I stood to make my position firm and clear. “Ms. Bahama, you’re asking the impossible. I have no answers for you. None.”

“I’d never reveal my source, Bailey. Never!”

“I believe you, but I have no intention of being your source.” I walked toward the door, hoping she’d take the hint and follow me. She didn’t.

“It’d be privileged material, Bailey, protected material. I’d go to jail before I’d talk. I’d be like that writer who interviewed Deep Throat years ago in the Watergate investigation. You remember reading about that guy, don’t you?”

“Quinn, believe me. I don’t have any answers for you. None. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” She rose and approached me.

“Maybe both. I’d never betray Zack Shipton by revealing information that might skew the police investigation, nor would I risk putting myself in jeopardy, maybe setting myself up for in-depth police queries.”

“Betray Zack? A slip of the tongue, Bailey? Or does that mean you think Zack knows more than he’s telling about his mother’s death?”

“Quinn, if you’re—”

“Put yourself in jeopardy? You’re afraid you’re on the suspect list?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I can build an article around any tidbit of information you’ll tell me. I can turn any fact you’ll give me into a scintillating article. I’m begging, Bailey.”

“No. Forget it.” I eased her toward the door.

“I thought we were friends, Bailey. I got you publicity in a paper that thousands of people read. Here’s your chance to return the favor. I’m only asking for a tiny nugget of information.”

I hated Quinn’s persistence in the face of my refusal. I needed to end this conversation—now. Even so, I felt afraid she might twist my words and write an article that would harm Zack or me—or maybe Mitch.

“The answer’s no, Quinn. Let’s forget you came here tonight. Let’s forget you questioned me. But please, let’s not let this disagreement spoil our friendship. Okay?”

Quinn didn’t answer. She turned and almost before I could move aside, she stormed outside, banging the door behind her. I hated to see our meeting end this way, but she had asked the impossible.

I snapped off the living room light and stood in the open doorway, peering after her. Clouds hid the moon and she melted into the darkness. So much for my plan of working on song lyrics! I couldn’t concentrate tonight. I took a long shower and dropped into bed. My radio tuned to soft music didn’t lull me to sleep. The scene with Quinn replayed in my mind until the scene with Courtney sliding so easily into Zack’s Thunderbird replaced it. I turned restlessly for a long time before I fell asleep.

The next morning an announcer wakened me with the day’s weather report. Sunshine. Winds at twenty. Small craft warnings. Only a nanosecond later I remembered Quinn’s visit. I must phone Zack. He needed to know her intent, know she’d been nosing around. But that call could wait until I dressed and ate breakfast.

As soon as I’d downed a piece of toast and a glass of chocolate milk, I opened the door and checked the carport for Zack’s convertible. Yes. Still there. I’d started to turn away when I saw I note taped low onto the screen. Had I missed an early-morning caller? Quinn? Zack? Had I been sleeping that soundly?

A corner tore from the folded paper when I pulled it from the screen, and I opened the note quickly, thinking Zack might have left a message to avoid wakening me. I didn’t start shaking until I’d read the words.

Take care, Bailey Green, if you want to live to record another CD. Stop snooping into affairs that are none of your business.

The note wasn’t signed. Death threats seldom carry signatures. I darted inside, closed and locked the door. Who? Who had written this? Who had come skulking to the cottage and taped this threat to the screen? Quinn Bahama? She’d left last night thwarted and in high dudgeon. Was this her way of getting even? Childish. Did Quinn really think she could frighten me with a note? I wouldn’t admit fright, but she’d shaken me. I called Zack as soon as I’d calmed down.

“I’ll be right over,” Zack said. “Don’t handle the note. The police may be able to lift some fingerprints.”

I should have known better than to touch the note, but I never dreamed it would contain a threat. I pulled a plastic bag from a utility drawer, and using kitchen tongs, I lifted the note and laid it inside the bag. The only prints on it should be mine—and those of the person who taped it onto my screen.

Zack ducked his head as he entered the cottage, a protective habit tall people develop. The scent of lime aftershave accompanied him. He’d unzipped the bottom half from his pant legs and I wondered why he didn’t wear shorts more often. He looked good in them. His casual appearance told me he didn’t intend to go to his office.

“Where is it, Bailey? Let’s see the note.”

When I handed him the Baggie, he grinned. “Good work, detective.” His grin disappeared as he read the threat. “W-who…”

“I think I know who.” I told him about Quinn’s visit, her request for information. “She stormed out of here last night, banging the door. She must have returned later to leave the note.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Zack studied the note again. “Where’s the piece that’s missing? You tear it getting it off the door?”

“Guess I did. It’d been taped to the screen.” I followed Zack who’d already headed for the door, and I stopped him seconds before he touched the paper. “Fingerprints. Remember?”

I used the kitchen tongs to remove the torn scrap, took it to the snack bar, and stuck it inside the Baggie before we tried to examine it.

“It’s so tiny, Zack. I don’t think there’s anything on it. Guess I didn’t destroy any evidence after all.”

“Maybe not. But look at this.” Zack had turned the baggie over and used his thumbnail, pointing to a dark S-shaped line.

“A snake.” I leaned closer to be sure I hadn’t made a mistake.

“Yes, a snake.” Zack scowled.

“So what do we do now? I’m not the Nervous Nellie type, but this scares me.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“Wait. Let’s think a minute. Quinn’s nobody to be afraid of. Anyway, I don’t see her that way. Maybe we both need to calm down before we call the police. Maybe we should call Quinn and talk to her about this.”

“Think, Bailey. Quinn couldn’t have written this note. So far the police have released no information about a snake. None.”

“Then if Quinn already knew about the snake, maybe she had something to do with the murder. Or maybe she knows more than she’s telling. That’s hard to believe. She’s the last person I’d suspect of murder.”

“Forget Quinn for now. I’m thinking about that guy we saw on the dock yesterday afternoon.”

“Reptile Man? He flared up because he thought you were accusing him of stealing his snake. But, Zack, he had no way of knowing our names or address. And even if he did know, why wouldn’t he have left the note on your door rather than on mine?”

“I don’t know how that guy fits into the picture, but he seems at home with reptiles. Maybe he supplied a snake to some unsavory character—maybe to the murderer. That’s possible. He may know more about Mother’s death than we think” Zack tapped the Baggie with his finger. “We need to get this note to the police right now. You may be in danger.”

Zack stepped to the phone and punched Cassidy’s number. When he had him on the line, the one-sided conversation told me Cassidy would arrive here in living color soon.

“We couldn’t bring the note in for him to examine at the police station?”

“No. He wants to check the area around the cottage and the mansion for footprints or other signs of disturbance.”

I brewed a pot of coffee and set three mugs on the snack bar.

“Better make it four,” Zack said. “Burgundy will probably come with him.”

I brought out another mug and added more Oreos to a plate. We’d each had a cup of coffee and several cookies before the detectives arrived in their unmarked car, which to me had become an oppressive hallmark of their presence.

Detective Burgundy towered over Cassidy on the bar stools as they examined the note.

“Good thinking to place it in the bag.” Burgundy’s smile dissipated some of the tension in the room. Cassidy never changed his dour expression, acting as if underlings always presented him evidence prewrapped in see-through plastic.

He spent several minutes listening to my story and studying the note from every angle before he spoke.

“I’ll take a look around the cottage, Joe.” Without a smile and without saying thanks for the coffee—and six Oreos—Cassidy tucked the note into his jacket pocket and nodded toward Zack’s home. “You take a look around the mansion. If we find any unusual footprints, we can get some photos—maybe make a plaster cast.”

Zack and I drank more coffee, devoured more cookies. I’d opened a fresh bag of peanut butter cups before Cassidy returned to the door.

“Found nothing significant,” he said. “I’ll take the note to headquarters and have it checked for prints. We find anything, we’ll let you know.”