Dare to Die (19 page)

The former police chief gave a brief, sour smile. “I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. Jocelyn was from a good Catholic family. She'd been accepted at Loyola. She had to be between a
rock and a hard place. If the baby's father wouldn't marry her, maybe she didn't see any way out. Add that stress to depression over Sam and it spelled suicide to me. Should I have told her mother? Then Mary Grace would have fought the anguish that Jocelyn hadn't come to her, hadn't asked for help. Worst of all, Mary Grace would have lost not only her son and her daughter but her grandchild.”

Max was silent. Frank had made the best decision he knew to make at the time.

Frank pushed up from the chair. “Doc and me kept it quiet. Mary Grace died two years ago. Thank God. They're all gone, the Hilliards and the Howards. Nothing can hurt Mary Grace now.” He paused in the doorway, looked back. “I would have kept my mouth shut now except Iris Tilford's murder proves I was wrong. Jocelyn didn't fall or jump. Somebody pushed her, and Iris knew too much.”

A
s she came out of the
Gazette
office, Annie glanced across Main Street at Parotti's Bar and Grill. Darlene Hopper might be at work. Was it worthwhile to try to talk to her? Darlene hadn't been part of Jocelyn's group of friends, and Billy Cameron was confident there hadn't been time for Darlene to walk into the woods with Iris. Still, Darlene had been in that class, and she was among the handful of those who had been present at the pavilion Friday night and ten years ago. Maybe Henny could tell her something about Darlene.

Annie walked to the railing at the edge of the harbor, stood in the sun, and welcomed the breeze. She punched a familiar number on her cell.

After the fourth ring, a voice message announced: “For the next few days, I'll be working at Death on Demand. Come by for coffee and conversation and pick up your copy of Sue Grafton's latest. What's up with her alphabet this time? See you soon.”

Annie's smile was quick. She realized it was the first time she'd smiled that day.
Thank you, Henny
. She punched the bookstore number, still smiling.

“Death on Demand, the best mystery bookstore north of Miami. How may I help you?”

Annie loved Henny's cultivated voice, which had reached to the back seats at so many little theater productions.

“Henny, you're wonderful.”

“Thank you. It's mutual. What's up?”

Annie's smile fled. “Darlene Hopper was in the same class as Iris and the others. She was a server Friday night and she was at the awards picnic ten years ago. Do you remember Darlene?”

“From school? Oh yes. I didn't mention her this morning because she certainly wasn't part of that group.” Henny paused, then murmured, “All God's children.”

“All God's children?”

Henny sighed. “I'd like to say that I always treated students equally. Sometimes it was difficult. I'm old enough to know there is a spark of divinity in every person. But,” her tone was rueful, “some people are adept at hiding every evidence of that. Darlene was uncooperative, bristling with anger, mean-spirited. And profoundly unhappy, of course. I thought highly of Jocelyn because she was kind to Darlene. Darlene adored Jocelyn. From a distance. Darlene never tried to be friends with Jocelyn, she just watched her. That would have worried a lot of people. It didn't bother Jocelyn.” Henny's tone was admiring. “Darlene was heart-broken when Jocelyn died. She didn't finish school. She stayed on the island. A big family. Not a very nice family. She's worked at the grocery and later at Parotti's. Ben has a kind heart.”

Annie felt a chill. “She told Billy Cameron she didn't pay any attention to Jocelyn at the sports awards picnic.”

Henny spoke quietly. “I doubt very much that she told Billy the truth.”

 

B
RANCHES INTERLOCKED ABOVE THE BLACKTOPPED BIKE
path. Ferns poked from scrubby undergrowth. Crows clamored. Max suspected the crows had sighted a fox. The somber, secluded pathway was in tune with Max's thoughts. Jocelyn Howard was pregnant when she died. That changed everything.

The golf cart careened around a curve. Max slowed. This was no time to end up mired in the dank, green-scummed swamp water that bordered the path. It was another half mile to the cemetery. He wasn't sure his idea would work out. First he needed to spot the grave site, then he could make a pitch to Billy. If Jocelyn's body were disinterred, could a forensic pathologist determine the DNA of the fetus? Even if that wouldn't be possible after all these years, the threat of DNA testing might be enough to scare a statement from Russell. If he wasn't the father, he'd be eager to see that proved as well.

Jocelyn may have died because she demanded the father acknowledge the baby. Or she may have died because Iris told her the name of their classmate who provided the cocaine that killed Sam. There was only one certainty. Jocelyn was murdered. Iris's death made it clear that Jocelyn did not jump or fall from the pier. Jocelyn was pushed.

The golf cart emerged from dimness. Ahead a dusty gray road led into the island cemetery. Markers dotted family plots lying among live oaks and palmettos. Birds chittered. Squirrels darted. A small weathered gray wooden building that served as the office was tucked among willows, not far from the marble-faced columbarium.

Max stopped the golf cart in front of the office. He swung out the wheelchair, opened it. He grimaced as he maneuvered himself into the seat. Damn, his feet hurt. But he was beginning to feel at ease with his new transport.

The office was shadowy inside. “Hello.” His call was met by silence. A small notice on the counter listed a telephone number and advised that the cemetery was open from dawn to dusk. An arrow pointed to an interactive screen for those seeking information about grave-site locations.

Max rolled nearer. He touched the icon for grave sites. A pop-up offered the alphabet. He tapped
H
. Names appeared. He scanned down to Howard, Jocelyn, C48. He returned to the desktop, touched the map icon.

He studied the map and let out a sigh. He'd had great hopes. Now they were ashes. C48 was a niche in the columbarium.

Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.

No one would ever prove the identity of the father of that long dead baby.

 

S
EABIRDS CAWED.
A
BOLD CROW HOPPED NEAR THE GARBAGE
pails. It was cool and shadowy in the alley behind Parotti's. The smell of garbage mixed with the scent of the sea and the odor of hot cooking oil. Annie understood Henny's murmured “All God's children” as she stepped back a pace to avoid a stream of cigarette smoke. Darlene Hopper's stare was sullen. A stripe of red blazed in her dark hair. Silver rings glinted from eyebrows, nose, ears, and lips. Purplish tattoos covered her plump arms from shoulders to wrists. Reddened hands from dishwashing emphasized the darkness of the tattoos.

“I know who you are.” Darlene's tone wasn't friendly. “I
worked the food line Friday night.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette. “I wish I hadn't left before you found Iris. That must have been exciting.”

Annie controlled a flare of anger. Was Darlene as callous as she sounded? Or was the sardonic remark thrown out to see if it rankled? “You knew Iris.”

Even Darlene's fingers were tattooed with tracery of a spider's web. Her shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “In school. She was a dork.”

This was not the time or the place to defend Iris. One day soon the spirit poster would be finished and Annie could push away all memory of Darlene's meanness. For now, Annie forced herself to speak without animus. “You were at the sports picnic the night Jocelyn Howard died.”

Darlene's hand, the half-smoked cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger, stopped midway to her ring-pulled lips. “Jocelyn.” Her face softened. Her voice slid to a depth of sadness. “She was always wonderful to me. Until that night. I knew she went out with Russell. But that was what everybody expected. She was homecoming queen. He was a football star. But I never thought about them…not like that.” Her voice trailed away. “I wish I hadn't run away from the picnic. Oh God, if only I hadn't left. If I'd known what she was going to do, I'd have stayed with her, helped her. But she yelled at me and I ran away. I went home. I didn't find out she was missing,” Darlene's voice was dull, “until the next afternoon. I went to the pavilion and helped look. I walked through the woods, back and forth. We didn't find her. She wasn't in the woods. She was in the water.”

“She was your friend?” Annie tried to connect the elegant princess with Darlene.

“Friend?” It was as if Darlene repeated a word from an unknown language. She blinked at Annie. “I wasn't one of Jocelyn's friends. Everybody wanted to be her friend. Liz and Cara and Fran. Iris hung around them, but she didn't count. And there were Sam's friends, Buck and Russell. None of them were special like her. I always sat close to her.” Darlene's voice was proud. “Hopper. Howard. We had English together and Spanish and history and math. Jocelyn smiled at me every day. She was beautiful, her hair, her face. Perfect. Like sunset on the water. Or the sky when it's so blue it makes you ache inside. Our lockers were next to each other. Her locker always smelled good. Once I asked her what made the locker smell so nice, like a field after rain. She said it was sachet. I didn't know what that was, but I didn't tell her that. I just told her it made me feel good when she opened her locker door. The very next day she brought me a little lacy bag of sachet. Rose, just like hers.” Darlene looked at the burning cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She dropped the stub, ground it beneath a dirt-stained sneaker. Perhaps the rank smell of tobacco dimmed the sweet memory of rose.

Sadness washed over Annie. Darlene had created a fantasy based on Jocelyn's casual kindness. How little Darlene's own life must have afforded her in the way of love and caring.

“That was very nice of Jocelyn. I see why you found her so special.” Annie picked her words carefully. “What happened that last night?”

Darlene's lips trembled. “She was unhappy and Russell looked mean. I was worried about her. I decided to hang around in case she needed me. I could have walked back to the fire with her, held on to her.” There was a depth of longing in her voice, all her customary bravado and disdain and anger shed.

Annie understood more than she wished to know. Darlene
had seen herself as a rescuer, a white knight restoring a beloved lady to safety and esteem. Darlene had built a dream in her mind with herself as heroine, but the dream had no reality.

Annie wondered if she was within reach of understanding Jocelyn's death. “Russell looked mean?”

Darlene's face hardened. Anger burned in her eyes. Red patches blotched her sallow cheeks. “He wouldn't talk to Jocelyn. He ducked away every time she started toward him. Russell's so big and ugly. I hate him. Finally, she came up behind him and caught his arm. She was crying. He looked like he wanted to push her away. She pointed outside the pavilion and they started walking that way. The fog made everything hard to see. You could only go a little way and everything was all blurry. I went after them because I wanted to protect her.” Tears slipped down Darlene's cheeks. She made no effort to brush them away.

“I suppose it was private away from the pavilion.” A private place for a desperate girl and the boy who didn't want to talk to her.

“Private. Quiet. I couldn't hear a sound from the picnic. It was like being in a cloud somewhere. I came closer and closer. I wanted to reach out and touch her. She was crying. Jocelyn told him she needed help. Russell said he couldn't do anything, that his dad would kill him, that he had to go to The Citadel. I didn't know what he was talking about. Jocelyn grabbed his arm. ‘I'm not talking about the baby. I don't care about your dad or whether you go to The Citadel. You should have thought about that before you said you loved me. But you've got to help me tonight—' I didn't mean to, but I guess I called her name. I couldn't believe it. Jocelyn and him. I started to cry and she turned around and saw me. I wasn't thinking and I stepped toward her and she”—Darlene choked back a sob—“screamed at
me to go away, leave her alone, stop spying on her. I turned and ran. I never saw her again. I didn't know she'd jump off the pier.”

Annie was stunned. Jocelyn pregnant, Russell the father, and a confrontation. “You didn't tell anyone?”

Darlene slumped against the wall. “What good would it do? She was gone. Russell would lie. I didn't want people talking about her. I wanted everyone to remember her the way she was, beautiful and clean and perfect.”

Annie looked into red-rimmed eyes. Darlene had not been able to save Jocelyn, but Darlene had guarded the world's picture of her.

“If I'd known she was going to jump—”

Annie's voice was sharp. “Jocelyn didn't jump. She was pushed.” Annie reached in her purse, pulled out the bright yellow flyer, thrust it at Darlene. “That's why Iris came home. She saw someone walk into the woods with Jocelyn at the sports picnic. Iris was afraid Jocelyn's death wasn't an accident. Iris came back to the island to try to find out the truth. Somebody strangled her to keep her quiet.”

Darlene stared down at the flyer. One hand came to her chest, pressed against it as if to quiet a racing heart. She stood rigid as steel.

“That's why we have to find out what happened the night Jocelyn died. Are you sure she meant that Russell was the father?”

Darlene stood mute. It was not so much that she ignored Annie as that she was unaware of Annie's presence. Darlene looked up from the flyer, her eyes wide and fixed. She flexed thin, spiderweb-tattooed fingers, curled them tight, crushing the flyer.

Annie tried to break through that wall of silence. “Don't you see? Friday night Iris went into the woods with someone. She was strangled with the cord from a table so it had to be a guest who killed her. Iris must have been persuaded that everything was all right. Maybe the murderer promised to show her what happened with Jocelyn.”

Darlene stared into the distance. “Jocelyn.” The word was thick and slow as if dredged from deep within. Abruptly, she pulled off the stained apron, flung it on the ground. She was short and chunky in a tie-dye T-shirt and tight jeans. She turned away.

“Darlene.” Annie moved after her. “Please…”

Darlene yanked a rusted blue bike from a rack and flung herself on it. She hunched over the handlebars, pedaled away fast.

 

M
AX ROLLED THE WHEELCHAIR INTO THE MAIN ENTRANCE
of the high school and recognized the familiar school smell, a combination of wax and antiseptic and the scent of baking. Hurrying teenagers, loud and boisterous, opened a path that closed behind him. He checked in at the main office, grinned at dark, intense Angie Taylor, the receptionist who also volunteered at The Haven. “Hey, Angie. I'm here to see Coach Butterworth.”