“THANKS, INGRID. IF you’ll take care of everything at the store…No. Nobody knows what happened.” Annie reached out to stroke Dorothy L. as she rolled on her back on the kitchen counter next to the phone. “Apparently Happy was killed around midnight. No suspects yet.” Except her father, but Annie wasn’t going to put that into words. Of course, Rachel was convinced that Emory Swanson killed her mother. Annie rubbed behind Dorothy L.’s ears. Emory Swanson…“Listen, Ingrid, see what you and Duane can find out about Emory Swanson. There’s a suggestion Happy Laurance knew something that would keep him from getting big bucks from Marguerite Dumaney…. Right. I’ll check with you later.”
Annie hung up the phone and scooped up the purring white cat. “Nobody knows more people than Ingrid and Duane.” Ingrid not only worked at the bookstore, she and her husband, a retired newspaper editor, managed Nightingale Courts, a complex of rental cabins on the Sound. Annie nuzzled Dorothy L. “From little acorns…” she murmured. Who knew what might happen if a rumor swirled around the island that the murdered woman and Swanson were at odds?
Annie glanced around the kitchen, at the breakfast dishes still unwashed. Carrying Dorothy L. over her shoulder, she wandered to the kitchen table and picked up the rest of her sweet roll. Breakfast seemed eons ago. But she knew she was dallying. She didn’t really want to do what had to be done. Would Rachel be furious? Oh yes, of course, if she learned of Annie’s efforts.
Rachel. Pudge. They both mattered to her. She didn’t want to choose between them. But she would not protect one at the expense of the other.
Frowning, Annie picked up the memo pad beside the phone and found a pen. She wrote fast, ripped off the sheet and propped it beside the phone.
It was only two blocks from the Broward’s Rock Police Station to Parotti’s Bar and Grill. Max walked fast. Pudge in jail. Garrett on his way back to the Dumaney house. At the pay phone in front of Parotti’s, Max plunked in the coins. He tried home. No answer. He left a message, then dialed Annie’s cell phone. No answer.
“Damn.” Max looked across the street. The island’s one taxi was parked in front of the ferry boatdock. Its owner, Joe Bob Kelly, sat on the pier, legs dangling, holding a fishing pole. A good day for black drum or flounder. So, one problem solved. He could get a ride home and get his car. But Garrett was on his way to the Dumaney house. Max yanked up the phone, dropped his coins and called information. He was taking a lot on himself, but he felt there was no time to lose. If only Judge (ret.) Halladay was home. And if only Max could persuade him to take on a client, who needed help now. The operator came on the line. Max added fifty cents for the number to be dialed. A gruff voice answered and Max spoke urgently. “Judge Halladay…”
Two cars were at the pumps at Parotti’s Gas’N’Go. Annie waited until both drivers had paid before stepping inside the convenience store. Sleigh bells jingled as the door closed.
Mike’s eyes were startled, then eager. He came around the counter, hurried toward her. “Is Rachel all right? I can’t get through to her. I called as soon as I got her message. But I had to come here after school.”
Annie studied him, large dark eyes, regular features, dimpled chin. He was boy-next-door handsome. “She called you?”
“This morning. But I’d already left. I didn’t pick up the message until I got here.” He clenched his hands. “She was crying and she said somebody’d killed her mom and everything was awful, but I should wait to hear from her. I’ve been trying to get somebody to take over for me, but it’s Christmas. Everybody’s busy. I get off at five. I’ll go over.” He rubbed his face. “I guess I can’t go to the house. Could you ask her to meet me at the gazebo?”
Annie said offhandedly, “Is that where you met last night? Before you went up to Rachel’s room?”
He blinked in surprise. “Did she tell you? I thought—” He broke off.
“That she wanted you not to tell anyone?” Annie was sure that had been part of Rachel’s message to Mike. “But”—and she kept her voice matter-of-fact—“we need to figure out if you saw anything last night that could help.”
“Last night?” He sounded puzzled. “Why…?” He stared at her. “Was that when it happened?” His voice was hushed.
“Yes. So it’s important to know whether you saw anyone around the house. Or if a boat came up to the dock or if there was a strange car parked near the drive.” Or if, still angry, you stopped by Happy’s room when you left the house last night. But that was a question that belonged to Chief Garrett.
Mike frowned, jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I was on my bike. I came on the bike trails and the golf cart path. I was never near the front of the house.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened from the time you arrived.” Come into my parlor…“You might remember something that would help.”
The sleigh bells jangled. Mike looked past her. His face lightened. “Hey, Jimmy, listen, man, could you take over here for me for a few minutes? Just long enough so I can”—he looked through the plate glass—“check this lady’s car for her?”
Jimmy was stork-tall with arms that dangled to his knees and a long face that looked patient and equable. “Sure, Mike.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll be right back.”
Annie followed Mike outside.
“Why don’t you pop the hood,” he suggested.
Annie slid into the driver’s seat, pulled the lever.
Mike lifted the hood and she joined him.
Crows cawed, hopping along the road. Annie spoke over their raucous cries. “What time did you get to the house last night?”
“I didn’t get off work until ten. I went home for a sandwich, then I rode my bike over.” He unscrewed the oil cap. “It was probably around eleven.”
“Was Rachel waiting at the gazebo?”
Mike used the dipstick, replaced the cap. “Yes. We sat there for a few minutes, but it was pretty cold, so we decided to go up to her room.” He avoided Annie’s eyes.
Annie wasn’t interested in romantic interludes. She said briskly, “Before you went in the house, did you see anyone in the garden?”
Mike rubbed his face. “It was real dark last night. No moonlight. We didn’t see anyone, but I thought I saw a light near the maze. Maybe it was just headlights in the lane. Rachel said nobody’d be coming out of the house this late. We ducked down on the floor of the gazebo.” He frowned. “I was almost sure I saw a light, but I didn’t hear a car. Maybe it had stopped. Anyway, we waited a few minutes, then we went up to the house. Rachel said nobody would come to her room. So we snuck up on the grass. We didn’t walk on the path because the shells make too much noise. When we got in the house, I thought I heard somebody ahead of us in that big room. We listened, but nothing happened, so we hurried through that room and up the stairs.”
“Was everything quiet on the second floor?” The floor where Happy died. The door to her room was not more than twenty feet from the stairs. Annie watched his face and wondered at the odd light in his dark eyes.
“Yeah.” He spoke in a whisper. “Rachel pointed at her mom’s room and told me to be quiet. There was a light under her door. She said her mom must still be up. We tiptoed up the stairs.”
So Mike knew which room belonged to Happy.
“Did you hear any noises when you were in Rachel’s room?” The house was huge and well built. But how could a woman be battered to death and no one hear any sound of struggle or call for help? If the first blow was unexpected and brutal enough, Happy might have fallen without a cry. The only sound would have been the weapon striking bone and flesh. Annie did not want to imagine that sound.
Mike’s shoulders hunched. “Nothing. We didn’t hear a thing. We had on some music.”
“Did Rachel come downstairs with you when you left?”
He shook his head. “No. I know my way out.”
Annie guessed this wasn’t the first evening he’d ridden his bike through the darkness and met Rachel in the gazebo and crept up the stairs to her room. But that could also be a question for Chief Garrett.
“How about Happy’s room? Was there still a light under the door?”
Mike jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. I didn’t look.”
A young man stealing down a staircase after an illicit visit to a girl’s room would surely check the door to her mother’s room. If for no other reason, to be sure the door remained shut. What if that door had opened?
There were other questions that could be asked, but not now and not by Annie. What had he worn last night? Could he produce those clothes? “When you got outside, did you see anyone? Hear anything?”
He shook his head. “I ducked off the path and ran down to the gazebo. I’d left my bike there. I got on it and rode home. I didn’t see anybody.”
Judge Halladay lifted grizzled silver brows. “Most irregular.” He made no move to open the car door. “No mother or father.” His big shoulders heaved impatiently and he lifted a massive hand. “All right. I remember. I’m not in my dotage. Stepfather’s in jail. The girl’s your wife’s younger sister. So you’re the brother-in-law.” His cold brown eyes scanned Max. “I’ve seen you at the club.” The judge was a scratch golfer. “You’re pretty good. Well, let’s get on with it. No need to sit here all day.” He opened the car door, pulled himself out. He’d topped six feet five inches in his youth. Now he bent forward, moved like an old but still powerful bear, wisps of white hair falling over a broad, mottled forehead, small wire glasses perched on a bulbous nose, a wiry beard fluffing from his heavy jaws.
Max hurried to keep up. The judge was irascible and unpredictable, but if he committed to a client, he was unstoppable. The judge ignored the whale fountain and the dragon’s head poking out of the fake cave. Max thought that after half a lifetime on the bench, nothing surprised him. Or amused him.
This afternoon the glass bubbles on the front door were dark. Max pulled the silver chain.
The judge looked at the curving drive with brooding eyes. “Police chief’s car,” he observed.
“Yes. That’s why I hurried. He’s here to talk to Rachel. I hope we’re in time.” Max impatiently jerked the chain again.
The Broward’s Rock Police Department was in a pastel building with a great view of the small harbor. Annie jolted to a stop and slammed out of her car. She scanned the parking lot. It held one police cruiser and the small Honda that belonged to Mavis Cameron, Billy’s wife and the station dispatcher and chief clerk.
Annie pushed in the door and smiled at Mavis. They’d met years ago when Mavis had fled to the island to escape an abusive marriage. She and Billy had since married.
Mavis looked up and her kind brown eyes were worried. She didn’t smile.
Annie understood. “My dad’s here?”
Mavis nodded. “He’s talking to his lawyer.”
“How about Max?” Annie peered down the corridor. It was hard to miss Max’s voice.
“He just left.” Mavis beckoned to Annie.
When she reached the counter, Mavis whispered, “He went to get a lawyer for that girl. Annie, you’d better hurry back there.” She paused, bit her lip, then said unhappily, “That’s all I can say.”