Annie stepped inside Yesterday’s Treasures.
Fran stood near a counter, one hand on a cobalt blue crystal perfume bottle. A garnet necklace blazed against the creamy beige of her tailored linen dress. Embroidered eyelet on the neckline and hem transformed the dress from ordinary to chic. Fran was the epitome of elegance except for her drawn face and shadowed eyes. She stared at Annie without a word of greeting.
Annie felt a pang of unhappiness. Where was the Fran she knew, laughing and energetic and always busy? Annie didn’t know this stone-faced woman with burning eyes.
Annie steeled herself to speak. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could hurry away from the hurt of a friendship that had apparently ended. “Max and I have learned a great deal about the night Jocelyn died.”
Fran’s eyes never left Annie’s face. Her fingers tightened on the sterling silver screw top of the perfume bottle.
Annie spoke into cold silence. “We know everyone who cared for Jocelyn and Iris and everyone who knew Darlene”—her classmates hadn’t been Darlene’s friends, Darlene made that clear—“are hoping the truth will be discovered.” Annie felt as if she tossed words into a well.
Fran unclasped her grip from the bottle. She spun turquoise-studded silver bracelets in a nervous jangle. Finally, she spoke. “How can anyone ever know the truth? It’s nonsense to say someone killed Jocelyn. She either fell or jumped from the pier. She wasn’t herself that night. Everyone knows she was upset. As for Iris and Darlene, they could have been involved with sleazy people.”
Annie wondered if Fran believed what she was saying or if she was trying desperately to turn the investigation away from those who had good reason to wish Jocelyn dead. If the former, she was due for heartbreak. If the latter, she was motivated by fear either for herself or Buck.
Annie shook her head. “The murders of Iris and Darlene resulted from Jocelyn’s death. Tonight we’re going to share what we know. Seven o’clock. At the pavilion.”
Fran wrapped her arms across her front. Her face was drawn, her eyes empty.
Annie pushed through the door, hurrying into April sunlight and the bustle of Main Street. She carried with her the image of a desolate woman.
MAX STOPPED THE GOLF CART NEAR THE FRENCH DOOR OF Buck Carlisle’s office. Max leaned out and knocked on a pane.
Buck looked toward the sound. He stared, then put down a sheaf of papers and pushed back his chair. When he opened the French door, he blocked the way inside. “Sorry, Max. I’ve got a deadline.” Buck looked tired and defensive.
Max nodded. “I won’t interrupt. Tonight Annie and I are going to explain everything we’ve discovered about Jocelyn. Seven o’clock. The pavilion.” Max turned the wheelchair. When he reached the sidewalk, he looked back.
Buck stood like a statue. He wasn’t looking at Max. Buck stared across the bay at Fish Haul pier.
LIZ MONTGOMERY SACKED UP A MIDDLE-AGED TOURIST’S purchase. “I put plenty of bubble wrap in the box. You should be able to check this in your luggage or mail it. Please think about us when you’re next on the island.”
Annie waited near a rosewood cabinet filled with Dresden figurines.
As the gray-haired shopper bustled past, Liz slowly turned toward Annie. Liz’s face was heavy and cold, her blue eyes bleak.
Annie wished they’d called everyone on the telephone. That had been her suggestion, immediately vetoed by Max and Emma. Both hoped for some revealing response to the invitation. Annie knew she was getting a good idea of just how upset everyone was. Was that a plus? She returned Liz’s cool gaze with equal frost. “There’s going to be a meeting tonight at the pavilion for Jocelyn’s friends. Seven o’clock.”
She turned to go.
A sharp voice stopped her. “Why should I come?”
Annie swung around. Her answer was rock hard. “Why shouldn’t you?”
MAX THANKED RUSSELL MONTGOMERY’S SECRETARY, SLIPPED his cell phone in his pocket. He steered the silent electric golf cart off the main drive. Once again he enjoyed the delights of his new mode of transportation, the dappled shade on the bike paths, the scent of pine, the cheerful chitter of birds and squirrels. The path was circuitous, but it brought him in only a few minutes to Sand Dune Road, home to the island’s lumberyard and a half-dozen modest warehouses.
Russell Montgomery stood on the flat roof of a weathered wooden building. He gestured as two workers used brushes to sweep a sticky black mass of coal tar across the roof. The pungent odor of hot tar overrode the smell of pines.
Max stopped the cart far enough from the structure that Russell would be able to see him. “Hey, Russell.”
At his shout, Russell slowly turned and looked down. Perhaps the slighter stature of the Latino workmen, though obviously wiry and strong, made Russell appear even larger, more formidable. He stood with his broad shoulders back, his feet planted apart, his blue work shirt rolled to his bulky forearms. After an instant of immobility, he moved swiftly, reached the parapet, swung over the side, and came down the ladder with familiar ease.
When he reached the cart, he stood with his arms folded. His strong face was studiously unrevealing. “You can take occupancy on the Franklin house next Monday. I’ll make a final check Friday, but everything looks on track.” He spoke with constraint. “There won’t be any charge for the repairs.”
“Or for the dead snake?”
Not a muscle moved in Russell’s face. There might have been a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Snake? You’ve lost me.”
“Right. Nobody shot a rattler and threw it on my desk. Maybe we can talk about that tonight.” Max’s look was level. “I didn’t come about the Franklin house.”
Russell’s hands dropped. “In that event, our discussion is over.” He turned away, walked toward his truck.
Max called after him. “You might be interested in coming to the pavilion tonight. Seven o’clock.”
Russell kept walking.
“Everyone there will hear about the baby who never got to live.”
Russell stopped. His shoulders bowed. His hands clenched into huge fists. He jerked around. “Damn you. Damn you to hell.”
The anguished shout hung in Max’s mind long after the truck roared to life and jolted down the gravel road to disappear in a cloud of dust.
CARA WILKES’S GAMINE FACE TWISTED IN A SCOWL. “WHY don’t you leave me alone?” She lifted the hammer and pounded on the top rim of the For Sale sign. Behind her a modest gray bungalow looked comfortable and welcoming in the soft morning sunshine though it had the air of emptiness common to un-inhabited structures.
Annie would have liked to wrap her arms around Cara’s thin shoulders, offer comfort. “I’m sorry.”
Cara lifted the hammer, let it fall to her side. Her lips trembled. “Everything’s horrible. Hideous. Hateful. I used to have bad dreams about Jocelyn. You don’t think you are going to die when you are eighteen. It was as if all the color bled away, as if the world was strange and everything familiar was off-kilter. The stars at night made me feel as if everything could disappear in an instant. I left the island and it got better and then everything was worse. You don’t know”—she looked at Annie with eyes glazed by sorrow—“what I would give if Melissa could have lived to be eighteen or twenty-eight. My baby was two when she died.”
Annie did reach out now, touched a rigid arm. “I’m sorry, Cara.”
“Sorry’s nice.” Cara’s voice was once again brittle as Annie had so often heard it, aloof, disengaged, distancing her from pain. “Nice, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Except God. I know Melissa’s fine now. I’m the one who isn’t fine.”
Annie moved closer, slipped her arms around Cara’s stiff body, held her for an instant, then stepped back.
Cara rubbed her eyes with a thin hand. “No one should have to die young, not Melissa, not Jocelyn, not Iris, not Darlene. I’ll come tonight.”
ANNIE STOOD WITH HER BACK AGAINST THE DOOR. IT WAS an ordinary hospital room, at the moment unoccupied. Small. Narrow. A TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. Open door to the bathroom. One window, a western exposure.
There had been three of them present, Annie, Pamela Potts, and Emma. Annie pictured Emma in the bed, head bandaged, face pale, spiky hair drooping, frowsy in a wrinkled hospital gown, one arm linked to an IV, but her blue eyes were alert and searching. She’d looked at Annie, snapped a crusty complaint. “My head hurts.”
Annie had placed the vase with three dozen pink carnations next to the planter with Liz Montgomery’s lavender blooms. Pamela had held out both the Homestead Purple and Annie’s carnations for Emma to admire. The room had been fragrant with the scent of flowers, including roses from the Altar Guild.
Emma’s eyes had fluttered closed, then opened. She spoke a few words, stopped. She’d started to remember what had happened to her and the memory fled.
What in this unadorned room had brought back the circumstances of her injury?
Nowhere in the confines of the room did there appear to be anything to trigger Emma’s memory. Annie looked outside at a majestic magnolia. In the afternoon, the glossy green leaves would shine. This was an old hospital. Had the window been lifted for fresh air? Pamela was a firm believer in fresh air.
Annie nodded. There had been a slight fresh breeze. Perhaps Emma heard the clack of magnolia leaves, a quick snapping sound like a step. Annie walked to the window, lifted the sash, heard the rattle of magnolia leaves and the faint clink of the metal rings on the flagpole.
BILLY BUILT A STEEPLE WITH HIS FINGERS. WHEN MAX finished speaking, Billy took his time answering. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t think this murderer’s going to be rattled by a confrontation, no matter how unpleasant it is. But it can’t do any harm for you to talk to them.” Billy’s smile was dour. “It should be safe enough with the whole group there. Let me know what happens.”
SHADOWS FROM THE PINES THREW THE PICNIC GROUND in dark shadow, broken only by occasional lamplights and the gleam from the interior of the open-air pavilion. In the distance, the lights on the boardwalk were in bright contrast to the darkness of the water beyond. The last vestiges of sunset streaked the sky with tendrils of crimson.
Emma led the way, marching up the pavilion steps as if to a throne. Annie wondered if she’d ever achieve the mystery author’s compelling presence. The answer was swift. Not in this lifetime or any other.
Balanced on the edge of a foot, Max swung the crutches over the last step into the pavilion. Annie was afraid he was rushing his progress and knew from the tightness of his face and the careful way he placed his feet that walking was hard.
Annie came last. Only a few days before, she’d been eager to greet their guests, a cheerful milling throng. Would she ever come to the harbor pavilion again without a feeling of dread? In the distance, mourning doves gave their soft cry.
Emma appeared affected by the silence of the cavernous pavilion and the stark metal-shaded lights that hung from the ridgepole, affording occasional spots of brightness that emphasized the gloom of the perimeter. She stood with hands on her hips, tonight’s fringed caftan a swirl of georgette with alternating blocks of orange and green enlivened by embroidery of bold black dragons.
Emma swung a dismissive hand at the pavilion’s picnic tables. “Those aren’t suitable. People sitting on either side reminds me of a boardroom.” She scanned the area, gave a decisive nod.
Emma pointed at the low brick wall that separated the fireplace from the main expanse of the pavilion. “Excellent. The overhead light shines there. We’ll invite everyone to sit on the wall. We’ll stand there.” She gestured to a spot a few feet away.
Obediently, Annie’s gaze followed. Maybe Emma had a talent. Definitely she had a gift for the dramatic. If their guests complied, they would be in harsh relief, their hosts—interrogators?—in shadow.
THEY WALKED UP THE PAVILION STEPS, FOOTSTEPS ECHOING. Not one of the five classmates spoke.
Annie knew she would never forget their silence, five faces that struggled to reveal nothing, five classmates forever bound to the pavilion by heartbreak and violence.
Cara came last, walking by herself. She stood a little distance away from the two couples. Emma looked about, as if seeking inspiration. Her gaze stopped at the low wall. She gestured. “Please take a seat on the wall. We’ll be brief.”
After a disdainful look at the dusty bricks, Liz shrugged and gingerly sat. She folded her arms, her face hostile. Russell sat heavily beside her. He had an old athlete’s look of dominance, shoulders bullish, hands planted on his thighs. He looked ready for a fight.
Fran dropped down next to Russell. She pushed back a tangle of dark curls, jingling her silver bracelets. She was pale, though she’d obviously made her usual effort to be stylish. Ebony linen trousers emphasized the Florentine orange of her floral jacquard top. A glum Buck settled beside her. He stared at the floor. Cara was last. She left extra space between her and Buck. To Annie, the space emphasized Cara’s awareness of him.
Emma moved nearer the wall. She was impressive, character and determination in her square face, cool intelligence in her gaze. “One of you decided ten years ago that Jocelyn Howard had to die.” Her brusque voice was intimidating.
Annie expected denials, recriminations, exclamations of innocence.
The only sound was the cry of the doves.
“From that decision flowed Iris’s murder”—Emma’s indictment was inexorable—“the attempt to kill Annie and Max, and Darlene’s murder. All of you know some part of what happened ten years ago. Tonight the innocent will have an opportunity to speak out and bring an end to a desperate murderer who lashes out at any perceived threat.” Emma looked at each of the five in turn. “If you are reluctant to reveal what you know, understand that no one is safe until Jocelyn’s killer is found.”
Cara shivered. She gave a soft cry of distress. She looked shrunken, as if her black silk jacket was too large.
Buck’s turn toward her was immediate. And immediately halted.
Fran’s eyes were dark. A muscle flickered in her slender throat.
Buck hunched his shoulders and again stared down at the floor.
Emma was crisp. “Annie will share newly discovered information that tells us a great deal about Jocelyn’s last night.”
Annie clasped her hands together. She was aware of anger and fear. She felt her own wash of fear. Billy had warned them. Don’t taunt a tiger. What choice did they have? She took a breath and spoke, trying to keep her voice steady. “Everything goes back to the sports picnic ten years ago. You were close friends.” Annie looked at each in turn. “Liz. Russell. Fran. Buck. Cara.” She took another breath. “And Sam and Jocelyn. Darlene Hopper was in your class. None of you had anything to do with her. Except Jocelyn. Jocelyn was nice to Darlene. Darlene loved Jocelyn. I talked to Darlene yesterday.” Yesterday Darlene had been alive.
Annie looked from face to face, Fran wary, Buck grim, Liz angry, Russell bleak, Cara frightened. To some who listened, the revelations would be shocking. Others knew only too well. Yesterday in the alley, sullen Darlene had shed her toughness, her loneliness. Long-ago passions had awakened. She set out to avenge Jocelyn’s death, but she’d run to meet her own. “At the sports picnic, Russell made every effort to avoid Jocelyn. Darlene said Russell looked mean.”
Russell’s hard face revealed nothing. His steady gaze never wavered.
Liz’s eyes glittered with anger. “Russell didn’t look mean. He was upset. His best friend was dead.”
“Darlene told me.” Annie’s voice was sad. “Darlene said Jocelyn came up behind Russell, caught his arm. She was crying.”
“Of course she was crying.” Liz’s voice was harsh. “Her brother was dead, you fool.”
Annie shut out Liz’s voice, but she couldn’t escape Russell’s anguished eyes. “Darlene followed Jocelyn and Russell when they left the pavilion. They went on the path toward the woods. When they were far enough from the pavilion not to be heard, Jocelyn told Russell she needed help. Russell said he couldn’t do anything. She grabbed his arm and said, ‘I’m not talking about the baby.’”
Cara’s lips parted in an O of surprise. Liz’s pale face flushed. She sat rigid as stone. Russell folded his arms, appearing massive and immovable. He did not look toward his wife. Buck’s eyes widened. Fran watched warily, turning the thin silver bracelets on her wrist.
“Darlene cried out in shock.” Annie wondered if they could hear that piteous cry in their hearts. “Jocelyn saw her and screamed at her to go away. Darlene ran. That was the last time Darlene saw Jocelyn.”
Annie looked at Russell with grave, questioning eyes.
Russell said nothing. His face was empty, defeated.
Liz turned to him, clutched at his arm. “Tell them what happened.”
Russell jerked toward her in surprise.
Liz’s voice was sharp. “Tell them, Russell.”
Russell tried to speak, stopped. His face crumpled.
Liz struggled to control her breathing. She was dangerously flushed. “I went after Russell when I saw Jocelyn pulling him into the fog. Darlene was ahead of me. I stayed off the path. No one heard me. I heard every word. When Darlene ran away, I came nearer. Jocelyn didn’t ask Russell for help for the baby.”
Russell turned a tear-streaked face to his wife. “You knew? You’ve known all these years?”
She took his big hand, held it tight. Her face was open and vulnerable. “I’ve always known.”
His voice was uneven. “You don’t despise me?”
“Oh God, honey. You were only a boy. I don’t know what you should have done. That night I hated her. I wanted her dead.”
The words hung in the silent pavilion.
Emma’s blue eyes were cold. “She died.”
Liz shuddered. “I didn’t kill her. I know Russell didn’t. His dad…Russell couldn’t have gone to The Citadel. It was his dad’s dream. Maybe Jocelyn could have had the baby, put it up for adoption. I don’t know. All I know is that Russell didn’t go into the woods with Jocelyn. Tell them, Russell.”
With Liz’s hand in his, Russell spoke in short, harsh bursts. “I’ve gone over that night in my mind. A million times. I let Jocelyn down. I should have stood by her. She and I weren’t right for each other. I’d already realized it was Liz I wanted, but I should have stood by Jocelyn. I don’t think she wanted to marry me. She had plans, too. I don’t know what she would have done, but she didn’t come to me because of the baby. She wanted help because of the note. She found a note in Sam’s letter jacket. He wore the jacket the night he died. The note was dated Friday. The message was brief: Pick me up at midnight at the foot of the drive. It was signed by Buck. The last Friday Sam wore the jacket was the night he died, a week before the picnic. Jocelyn wanted me to come with her to confront Buck. I told Jocelyn it didn’t matter if Buck was with Sam that night. Buck didn’t snort cocaine for him. I asked Jocelyn to drop it.” He took a deep breath. “She wouldn’t agree. I told her I wasn’t going to go after Buck. She said she’d go by herself.”
Fran came to her feet. “You aren’t going to make Buck the fall guy. Buck may have known something about Sam’s death, but he wasn’t the father of a baby no one wanted.” Resentment burned in every word.
Liz was implacable. “Jocelyn left Russell and went to find Buck.”
Fran flung out her hands, her bracelets jangling. Her ravaged face twisted in anger. “You and Russell have had plenty of time to invent whatever you please. Ten years of time. The baby would be pretty big by now. Ten years old. But daddy wouldn’t be a Citadel man, would he?”
Russell rubbed at reddened eyes. “Shut up, Fran.”
“Ten years old…” Fran’s voice wavered. She began to cry. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”
“You think you’re sorry.” Russell’s voice was unsteady. “How do you think I feel? All these years I thought Jocelyn jumped off the pier. But now…” He looked toward Buck.
“I didn’t hurt Jocelyn.” Buck’s big open face looked haunted. “She told me she asked Russell for help and he refused. She and I went into the woods, but Jocelyn wasn’t scared of me. She was furious. I told her to let it go, that Sam was dead, that nothing would bring him back, to let him rest in peace.” Buck’s hands opened and closed, opened and closed. “I wish to God I could rest in peace. I’ve kept that night when Sam died a secret for ten years. I’ve always felt sick and ashamed. I’m tired of feeling like a coward. Oh hell, I was a coward. My dad would have kicked me out. I guess I could have gone to jail. I don’t know. I would have been in big trouble. I tried to make Jocelyn understand. I couldn’t have helped Sam.” He came to a full stop, swallowed hard. “But I left him there, dead in the forest preserve.”
Max’s tone was sharp. “Did Sam pick you up at midnight?”
Buck avoided looking at Max. “I had a midnight curfew. There was an old live oak near my window and I used to climb down and meet Sam at the foot of the drive. My folks went to bed at ten. They never knew. That night was like any other. Sam was in a great mood. When I first started sneaking out, we’d take a couple of six-packs to the forest preserve and drink and think we were studs. Pretty soon Sam started bringing whiskey. He had no trouble getting bourbon at his place. His mom never knew how much she had, she just bought more. Then Sam started snorting cocaine. I never did. He ragged me, told me I was chicken. I told him I liked bourbon better. That Friday night we went to a clearing in the preserve like we always did. We got out of the car. I was pouring some bourbon into a plastic glass. I heard a choking sound and looked up. Sam was shaking and then he fell face forward. I rolled him over.” Buck looked sick. “He was dead.” He looked up in appeal. “Even if I’d called nine-one-one, it was too late. He was dead. I tried pushing on his chest. Maybe I didn’t do it right, but it didn’t matter. Nothing helped.”
Emma cleared her throat. “What did Jocelyn threaten to do?”
Buck looked hapless. “She was going to tell the police. I don’t know what they would have done. My dad would have kicked me out. Conduct unbecoming a gentleman.” His tone put the stiff words in quote marks, as if he’d heard them and hated them for many years. “I told Jocelyn it wasn’t my fault. Sam got the cocaine from Iris. Jocelyn said it didn’t matter how Sam got cocaine, I shouldn’t have gone off and left him like a dog that had been hit by a car. Yeah, that’s what I did. I was scared. I know that’s no excuse. But I couldn’t have saved him. He was dead, lying there in the moonlight, his face like marble.” He shuddered. “It happened so fast, he was laughing and swaggering like he always did, and then he died.”
Emma was blunt. “You were in the woods alone with Jocelyn. You were desperate to keep Jocelyn quiet.”
Buck straightened, his broad face earnest. “I didn’t hurt Jocelyn. I swear I didn’t. When she wouldn’t listen, I didn’t know what was going to happen. But there was nothing I could do. I left her there in the woods and went back to the picnic. Coach Butterworth asked me what was going on and I told him Jocelyn was upset about Sam. I thought he’d probably go and see and then I’d be done for. Instead he turned and went back to the picnic grounds. I told Jodie I was feeling sick and wasn’t going to stay for the awards. She was getting a letter in swimming. She said a friend would bring her home. Mom and Dad were in Atlanta. I went to the parking lot behind the pavilion and got my car and went home. I sat up all night in my room in the dark, looking out the window, waiting for car lights to turn into the drive. I thought the police would come and get me.”
Max’s face was sad. “Did Iris see you walk into the woods with Jocelyn?”
Buck turned strained eyes to Max. “I don’t know. But I never hurt Iris. Or Darlene.”
Cara stood and stepped toward them. “Buck is telling the truth.” Her voice was steady, weary. She glanced toward Liz. “I guess Liz and I wore our hearts on our sleeves back then. It paid off for Liz.” Cara’s angular face was passionless, as if she spoke of times so distant they didn’t matter. “Liz followed Russell and Jocelyn. I followed Jocelyn and Buck. Buck told you the truth. He ran back toward the picnic grounds.”
Annie looked at Cara and felt cold. When Iris came back to the island, Cara visited her at Nightingale Courts. Had Cara been summoned because she was the last person to be with Jocelyn? But how would Iris have known?
Cara ran nervous fingers through her tousled short curls. “I talked to Jocelyn.”
Was there a ripple of fear in the pavilion?
Annie looked quickly from face to face. All of them bore signs of strain and despair and regret. Fran’s cheekbones jutted. Her eyes locked on Cara’s face. Buck’s shoulders slumped. His expression was a mixture of misery and shame. Liz clung to Russell’s arm, ready to defend him. Russell had an air of exhaustion, a man nearing the end of his endurance.
Cara spoke softly. “I begged Jocelyn not to tell on Buck. I told her how he’d grieved for Sam.” Cara looked at Buck. “Buck was sick at heart. But Jocelyn…” Cara shivered. “She was angry, white hot with anger, like a fiery sword. I’ve always thought how sad that she died being angry. Anger sucks out your soul. I was angry when Melissa died, angry at the emptiness of my world, angry for the years she didn’t have, angry at her father for running away. I had to root out the anger or it would have killed me. But Jocelyn was set on vengeance. She told me it didn’t matter if Buck was sorry. Being sorry wasn’t enough. She was going to talk to Iris and then she was going to go to the police.”
Cara pulled her sweater closer. “That’s the last time I saw her. She left me there and ran back toward the picnic to find Iris. I walked to the boardwalk and went home.” In the silence, she said abruptly, “I didn’t walk to the pier with Jocelyn and push her in the water. When Iris came back to the island, she called and asked me to come and see her at Nightingale Courts. I went there and we talked. I told her all that I knew. I told her that Buck left Jocelyn alive and I left her alive.”
No one moved or spoke. The silence pulsed with anger, hurt, sadness, and despair. Liz’s creamy complexion was tinged by gray. Russell slumped like a man who’d run too far and too fast. Fran’s cheekbones were hard and sharp, her eyes brilliant. Buck looked diminished. Cara moved uneasily like a horse scenting danger.
Annie felt sickening disappointment. Even if every word they’d heard was true, there was not to be an answer. Iris had admitted that she told Jocelyn the name of the drug supplier. Any of the haunted faces there in the pavilion could have been the shadowy unseen figure who provided cocaine to Iris. Jocelyn may have died because she confronted that hidden dealer of death. But drugs might not be the reason Jocelyn’s life ended in cold seawater. She may have died to hide Buck’s presence in the forest preserve. She may have died because Russell was determined to escape responsibility for an unwanted baby. She may have died because Liz was possessed by jealousy. She may have died because Cara was determined to protect Buck.
Fran jumped up. “This is intolerable.” Her voice was high and fast. “Buck and I have nothing to do with this. We don’t know what happened.” She bolted forward.
Buck slowly stood, lifted a hand as if to keep Fran near.
Fran hurried past Emma, then stopped, turned, gestured to Buck. “Let’s get out of here.” Her bracelets jangled. “We don’t have to listen to this.” She was perhaps a foot behind Emma.
Emma stood utterly still, as if shocked into immobility, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. Slowly a hand came up to touch the red scar visible against the purplish bruise on her forehead.
“Emma?” Annie took a step forward. The author wasn’t that long from her stay in the hospital. Was she feeling faint?
Emma’s caftan swirled as she slowly turned to face Fran. “You.”
Fran drew in a sharp breath. Moving fast, Fran hurried to the wall and scooped up her purse. In four quick steps, she stood facing them, her eyes dark and empty.
Emma looked shaken. “I smelled your perfume.”
Annie remembered the hospital room and the spicy scent of carnations.
Fran took another step back.
“I heard your bracelets.” Emma once again touched her scar.
Through the open window of the hospital, flag rings had clanked against the pole.
Emma pointed at Fran. “You were behind the door in Iris’s cabin.”
Buck took a step forward. “Fran?” His voice was uncertain.
Russell came to his feet, hands clenched into fists. “Did you kill Jocelyn? Why? Dear God, why?” His voice was ragged.
Fran’s features were rigid. “Iris told Jocelyn she got cocaine from me. Jocelyn was going to go to the police. I got drugs at Frankie’s, the club on the mainland where I worked. I dated a guy, a bartender. He sold drugs. He had an MG and cashmere sweaters and a Rolex. I didn’t know it would kill anyone. I didn’t mean for anyone to be hurt. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” There was despair in her voice. “I didn’t know Jocelyn was pregnant. We walked through the woods and went out on the pier. I promised I’d never sell drugs again. She wouldn’t listen. She was going to tell the police and everything would have been ruined. I begged her not to go to the police. If she did, I would lose everything I’d worked for, going to school, having a decent life. I couldn’t help it if Sam died. He didn’t have to buy cocaine. If he hadn’t bought cocaine from Iris, he’d have gotten it somewhere. But Jocelyn wouldn’t listen.”
Russell took a step toward her, his face implacable.
Fran yanked open her purse, pulled out a dark blue pistol.
“Fran!” Buck’s voice shook. He reached out.
Russell tried to take another step, Liz came to her feet and flung herself toward him, clutched his arm, her face white.
Fran’s dark hair stirred as the gentle breeze eddied through the pavilion. Her tone was almost conversational. “Russell, don’t make me shoot.” She stared mournfully at Buck. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry for everything, for taking your gun, for…everything. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” She dropped her purse, held the gun steady with both hands. “I didn’t have a choice. I told Iris that Jocelyn jumped, that I’d seen her jump and I’d show Iris what happened if we went to the pier. I’d always been afraid Iris would come home. She was the only one who knew about the drugs. If she told anyone, my life was ruined. If only she’d been willing to stay quiet…But she said she had to tell the truth. She had to die. I thought I was safe until I saw the story in the paper.” She turned her tortured gaze toward Annie and Max. “I was afraid of what Iris might have told you. I got the gas tin from Cara’s garage. But you both escaped. When the police didn’t come after me, I began to relax. Until Darlene called. I convinced her that I’d walked into the woods with Iris but we talked and when I left her there I saw Russell going after her but I’d been afraid to tell the police. Darlene hated Russell. I told Darlene I’d call him and set it up for him to meet me in the woods and she could be hidden and hear everything and then we’d have proof for the police.” Fran’s eyes were weary. “Darlene was always a fool.”
Emma once again touched her forehead. “Why did you push me?”
Fran flicked her a dismissive glance. “I had to be sure nothing in Iris’s cabin pointed to me. No diary or notes. You came in and almost caught me. I didn’t have any choice.”
“Nothing ever seems to be your fault.” Emma’s gaze was cold. “And now?”
Fran’s face twisted in despair. “I’m going to Fish Haul pier. That’s where it started. Let me end it there. Alone.” She lifted the gun, briefly touched her temple, then swung it toward them. “If I hear anyone behind me, I’ll shoot.” Tears trickled unheeded down her gaunt cheeks.
Buck moved toward her.
She again raised the gun to her temple.
He stopped. “You aren’t well. Let me help. Let me take you home.”
Her lips trembled. “It’s too late. Years too late. Kiss Terry for me. Tell her I love her.”
Buck’s face folded in misery. Tears welled in his eyes.
Fran took one step back, then another. At the far end of the pavilion, she whirled and ran down the steps to vanish in the darkness.