Dare to Die (27 page)

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.

A
nnie pushed the small mahogany table a little to the left of the fireplace.

“That's good.” Henny stepped forward. She set a black cardboard poster in the center of the table. A white sheet was pasted in the center of the poster. Henny read aloud:

Henny admired the illustrations. Iris's high school yearbook picture was above her name. Decorating the margins were a canary, a bright red biplane pulling a banner with the motto “See You in Zanzibar,” an iris in all of its springtime glory, a pale purple sand dollar, sheet music of “Magic,” and a brown owl. “Very nice,” Henny's voice was warm.

“I think Iris would be pleased.” Annie arranged books in a semicircle face up:
Witness to the Truth
by Edith Hamilton,
Mother Angelica's Little Book of Life Lessons and Everyday Spirituality
edited by Raymond Arroyo, and
Seeking Enlightenment Hat by Hat
by Nevada Barr.

Henny straightened a printed stack of the Twelve Steps.

Laurel came out of the storeroom with a crystal vase holding a single fresh iris and set it on one side of the table.

Annie walked to the coffee bar, picked up Agatha, and buried her face in sweet-smelling fur. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. It was already the last day in April. There had been the funerals for Iris and Darlene, and, finally, for Fran, whose body was found in the water two days after she fled into darkness to jump from Fish Haul pier and drown. Though they'd called 911 and Billy was there in only minutes, Fran was gone.

Annie touched Iris's poster. So much heartbreak for so many. Buck and Terry had moved to Charleston. Annie had heard he
planned to open a woodworking shop. Would Cara someday, not too soon, not too late, move to Charleston and offer friendship to a damaged family? Cara understood loss and pain and melancholy memories.

Henny came around the table, gave Annie's shoulders a squeeze. “We'd better check the coffee bar. It will soon be time for tai chi.” She chattered brightly all the way down the central aisle.

Annie was grateful for her kindness. Every happy day that passed helped push away dark memories. At the coffee bar, Annie slid onto a seat. Laurel sat beside her.

Henny expertly brewed cappuccino, topped three cups with whipping cream and maraschino cherries.

Annie glanced up at the paintings over the mantel. No winner as yet. “I believe I'll carry the contest over into May.” She shot a quick glance at Henny.

Henny grinned, a devil-may-care, saucy grin. “I have generously refrained from announcing the winners because I understand there is a wish for others to prevail. However, I think our customers would be distressed if new paintings weren't hung for May.”

“Hear, hear,” Laurel chirruped, lifting her mug in affirmation.

Henny pointed at each watercolor in turn and announced the titles in a clarion tone. “
Thistle and Twigg
by Mary Saums,
Death of a Musketeer
by Sarah D'Almeida,
Bring Your Own Poison
by Jimmie Ruth Evans,
My Heart May Be Broken, but My Hair Still Looks Great
by Dixie Cash, and
Handbags and Homicide
by Dorothy Howell.”

Annie laughed aloud. “Henny, I love you.” She looked at Laurel. “And you.” Swept by happiness, Annie lifted her mug. “To Henny and Laurel and Death on Demand.”

Jacket design by James L. Iacobelli

Jacket photograph by Mark Bauer/Trevillion Images