Deadly Valentine (26 page)
Authors: Carolyn G. Hart
Dorothy L. jumped into Annie’s lap. Annie scooped up the kitten and pressed the soft ball of fluff to her cheek and felt the warmth of the little creature and the rapid flutter of her heartbeat. Life—vulnerable, irreplaceable.
And the general, unforgiving and heartless.
Annie gave Dorothy L. a kiss and dropped her gently to the floor.
The general, of course, has no need to worry about payment for his hospital stays, enjoying full military pension. Used private fortune, however, to avoid stays in VA hospitals. Health began to deteriorate several years ago. Now on heavy-dose medications. Suffers from hypertension, heart disease, moderate emphysema, arthritis, gout. Has had two moderate heart attacks, undergone triple bypass. During convalesence from latter met second wife. The former Eileen Berry, physical therapist. Married 1977 and bought present home in Scarlet King compound.
Annie slapped down the general’s bio. With a quiver of distaste, she searched through her stack.
E
ILEEN
M
ORGAN
B
ERRY
H
OUGHTON
—b. 1948 Pensacola, Fla. Graduate Florida State. Physical therapist seven years; quit to marry Johnnie Berry, stock car racer, killed Florida May Day rally 1977. Berry previously married, father of three. No children second marriage. Berry good-looking, stocky, coal-black hair, quite a ladies’ man until married Eileen. She always toured with him; marriage apparently happy. Couple enjoyed white-water rafting, scuba diving, spelunking. After his death, Eileen returned to work and that’s how she met general. Quit work again at second marriage. Expert bridge player. Physical fitness enthusiast, attending aerobics classes three times a week. According to Kris Thompson at Figure Fair, Eileen good enough to be leader and certainly good enough to be in advanced class. “I keep telling her she should come to the six o’clock session. I mean, those are people
who can do. But she just shakes her head. Once she said something about her husband preferring for her to exercise with women. She said, ‘The general has such old-fashioned views.’ I thought she ought to tell the old jerk to stuff it, but she’s really into this Madame General thing.”
Annie knew about that six o’clock coed class. Bodies of steel. She liked exercise, too, but there was a limit. So Eileen Houghton was on that level. How wearisome to be saddled with an unpleasant, old husband.
The rest of the report listed Eileen’s club memberships. A lot of them, including bridge. The president of the Audubon Society said, with a just detectable note of disdain, “Mrs. Houghton seems to be quite aware of her status as the general’s wife. Unfortunately, it hasn’t occurred to her that this is a resort community, not an army post.”
The phone rang.
Annie reached for it. “Hello.”
“Annie, has Laurel shown up
yet?”
“Not yet, honey. Why?”
“We definitely need to keep a leash on her. It’s looking blacker for Cahill every minute, and who knows what she may try to do to help him. No wonder Posey filed the murder charge! I just got a copy of the lab report. The blood on Cahill’s jacket has definitely been identified as Sydney’s. Plus they found his fingerprints on the mace.”
Annie recalled Laurel’s message, the Saint of Those in Desperate Straits. She had a feeling that Laurel did indeed know all about that lab report—and who knew what else?
But, of course, the duty of a wife is to reassure her husband in times of difficulty. “Oh, Max, everything will be all right. You know Laurel.”
She realized, when she hung up, that her answer could scarcely have consoled her worried husband. Oh well, there were sure to be marital failures as well as successes.
Annie was settling again at her desk, reaching for another bio, when a disquieting thought struck. Was Laurel even now at the home of a man who had been accused of first-degree murder?
Surely not.
Surely even Laurel had the good sense not to make a bad situation worse. Annie could imagine Posey at the trial, glowering at a winsome Laurel on the witness stand: “Mrs. Roethke, on the night of Sydney Cahill’s murder—the night that beautiful young woman was viciously and sadistically battered to death—did you enter the gardens of the Cahill mansion with the express purpose of visiting—and this was after midnight—with Sydney Cahill’s husband, Howard? Answer yes or no, Mrs. Roethke, yes or no.”
Annie stifled a sigh and popped back to her feet.
Annie hesitated when she reached the Cahill drive. A black limousine was parked near the front steps. She almost turned back. Then the frightful thought occurred: What if Laurel went to the funeral with Howard? Shoulders squared, Annie marched past the limousine and up the steps.
A mournful-faced middle-aged woman in a dark, rustling dress opened the door.
“Hello. I’m a next-door neighbor, Mrs. Darling, and I need to speak briefly with Mr. Cahill. Would you—”
“Why, yes, ma’am. You step in here right now.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “I’m Mrs. Gaffney and we talked earlier today and I know all about you and that nice husband of yours and I know you’re doin’ all you can to help Mr. Howard. You just wait right here and I’ll go see if he can talk to you.” Her shoes scraped on the stone floor as she turned away.
The entryway, with only the lights in the wall sconces burning, had an uncannily funereal air. Annie didn’t look toward the suit of armor. She didn’t want to remember the mace.
But she did.
The heavy metal head studded with inch-long prongs; the smooth wooden handle worn shiny by years of touch.
“If you’ll—”
Annie jumped convulsively.
“Mrs. Darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you to death.” Mrs. Gaffney’s face drooped even more. “Oh my,
I don’t blame you a bit. This is a scary place now. Everywhere I look, it seems to me I can see Mrs. Sydney, and her pretty face is all streaked with tears. And poor Mr. Howard. Only a few minutes now and he has to go to the service. Just him, it’s going to be. And I think that’s a cryin’ shame, too. Nobody else there to mourn for Mrs. Sydney. But you come with me. He’ll see you before he goes.”
Once again, Annie was in the library of the Cahill mansion, but this time she faced Howard instead of his son.
He stood in front of the desk, his face remote. “Hello, Annie. Mrs. Gaffney said you needed to see me.” His olive skin had a grayish cast. He looked unkempt, his chin marked by a red cut where he’d shaved that morning, his dark hair ill combed, his suit jacket and trousers wrinkled. He didn’t ask her to sit down.
Annie went straight to the point. “Where’s Laurel?”
He wasted no words either. “I’m not a damn fool, Annie.”
“She’s not here?”
“No, definitely not,” he said crisply. His blunt-featured face mirrored impatience.
Annie couldn’t refrain from a sigh of relief.
For just an instant, Howard’s face softened. “You’re right, of course. She wanted to come.” He looked inquiringly at Annie. “She never counts the cost, does she?”
“Not when she cares.”
“I wish—” The brightness seeped from his face, leaving it once again weary and depressed. His voice was again cool when he continued. “Don’t worry. I won’t permit Laurel to place herself in any worse situation than she already faces. I made that clear to her this morning.”
Annie’s immediate thought was that Howard Cahill had a very imperfect understanding of Laurel. Howard wouldn’t “permit” Laurel to do something? Oh, he had a lot to learn.
Howard began to walk toward Annie, and she knew she was on her way out.
“It’s very good of you to come on her behalf,” he was saying, with finality. “I hope someday the circumstances will be different.”
Annie knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but
she spoke up anyway. “You could easily change the circumstances.”
He stopped, looked at her warily. “Oh?”
“Tell the police the truth. About Carleton.”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “What about Carleton?”
“Have you talked to him?” she asked impatiently.
The lines in his face deepened. “Yes.”
“Didn’t he tell you what happened that night?”
“I have no comment at all to make about that night. Nor will Carleton. Ever.” The words were harsh, clipped, final, and Howard’s dark eyes glittered with fear.
Annie was shaken.
Howard Cahill was a man struggling with terror. He was deathly afraid that Carleton was the murderer.
Wasn’t he?
The cookie jar held only five more peanut butter cookies. Annie was starving, her adrenaline still pumping from her encounter with Howard Cahill. What a mess. And what could she do about it?
She ate the cookies in a rush but forced herself to leave two. It was hell to face breakfast without a peanut butter cookie.
But the little spurt of good feeling engendered by the cookies did nothing to alleviate the turmoil in her mind.
Howard, fearing for his son.
And Carleton, after his talk with his father, without doubt even more afraid that his father committed the murder.
Annie sat down at her table and poured another cup of coffee. Did this mean she could with no question cross both from her list of suspects?
Not on your life.
Either could be guilty and running a double bluff. Annie sighed and looked at the bios. Surely somewhere in all of this information lay the key to Sydney’s death. She glanced at the clock. Almost two. She wanted to finish the bios before her meeting with Eileen Houghton. And surely Laurel would arrive soon. Annie would insist upon a frank, serious, realistic discussion of the present situation.
Sure. And the alligator in Scarlet King Lagoon wanted a tutu to celebrate May Day.
Annie grabbed the next bio.
L
EROY
W
ILLISTON
(B
UCK
) B
URGER
—b. 1925, Del Rio, Texas. Joined USMC 1942. Lied about age. Served South Pacific. In landing party Iwo Jima. Purple Heart. Mustered out sergeant first class. BA Texas A&M, 1949. LLB Baylor University, 1952. Order of the Coif. Assistant DA, Dallas, 1952–57, DA 1957–63. Established Burger and Associates 1963. Handled both criminal and million-dollar divorce cases. Involved in numerous well-known controversies. Reputed to be man to hire when it didn’t look like there was any way out but jail. Hard-nosed trial lawyer. Gave no quarter, asked none. Phenomenal 89 percent success rate. Licensed to carry a gun for self-protection. Involved in shoot-out San Marcos court house 1972 with divorce client’s husband. Burger wounded right leg, shot assailant dead. “Drilled him right between the eyes,” a deputy said admiringly. Enjoys flamboyant life style. Owns five-acre estate in Dallas, peacocks and llamas on lawns, hunting lodge down in hill country, ski lodge in Taos, house on Broward’s Rock. Poker player, rides, hunts, fishes, scuba dives. He and his wife, Billye, have five children, all grown and married, and nine grandchildren. Although Buck has reputation as womanizer, has been married to Billye for almost 37 years. In own fashion, devoted family man, often flying in whole clan for holidays. All three sons avid sportsmen, often join father in fall for deer hunting.
Annie was willing to bet those were boisterous outings. She picked up the next sheet.
B
ILLYE
J
O
K
URTH
B
URGER
—b. 1932, Abilene, Texas. Well-to-do rancher’s daughter, apple of his eye. Billye shopped in Dallas at Neiman-Marcus high school days on. At Baylor, fraternity queen, yearbook beauty.
Young men courted her from first day on campus but moment she met Buck Burger, future decided. Married end her freshman year. Billye glories in femininity, but, reflecting ranch background, excellent horsewoman, first-class shot. In her thirties she took up tennis, still plays twice a week. An intense competitor. As one of her opponents said, “Why, Billye’d rather
die
than lose. I’ve seen her come back and win when she’s down five games. Playin’ on clay on a
July
afternoon!”
Annie felt an instant kinship. It was something Max would never comprehend, that do-all-or-die attitude of the committed tennis player. Why Max wouldn’t even
play
tennis on a July afternoon, pointing out, he thought quite reasonably, that it was
hot
.
She placed Billye’s bio atop Buck’s. Max’s research confirmed Annie’s judgment; the Burgers were imperious, aggressive, and tough as a West Texas boot.
And Sydney’s killer had to be tough as they come.
Which brought her to the only live-in employee in the compound, the Burgers’ houseman-watchdog.
J
IM
T
OM
M
ARSHALL
—b. Amarillo, Texas, 1946. Joined army at 18. Two tours Vietnam. Discharged sergeant first class 1970. Won division heavyweight wrestling title twice. Worked for Acme Security Dallas 1970–72. Hired as watchman/bodyguard by Buck Burger 1972. Belongs local bodybuilding club. Never married. Lt. Col. Richard Gonzales: “Born soldier. A crime he had to get out of the service. I don’t give a damn what a man does on his own time when he can soldier like that.” Walt Melton, owner Acme Security: “Tough son of a bitch. Light on his feet. Mix it up with anybody.” When asked about sexual preference, Melton asked, “You think anybody’s gonna get on Jim Tom’s case? Man, he’s six foot two in his socks. So he likes guys. I didn’t give a damn and neither did Buck. You want to feel safe, you’re lucky to find somebody like Jim Tom. Buck wanted the best bodyguard in the
business; he got him.” Was Jim Tom the kind of gay who hated women? “Oh, hell no. He’s no nut. He doesn’t care about women any way at all.”
No wonder Marshall had been immune to Sydney’s charms. But Annie wasn’t quite ready to dismiss the bodyguard from her list of suspects. Just how far would he go, how much dirty work would he do for his employer? Would he lie to protect Buck Burger?
She glanced at the clock. Just time before her appointment with Madame General to finish up with the Graham bios.
G
EORGE
B
RUCE
G
RAHAM
—b. 1943, Reston, Va. Second son career government official. BS Washington and Lee, DDS University of Virginia. Track and field athlete in college. Served three years U.S. Army, Ft. Dix, N.J., captain, medical corps. Married Kathleen Murray 1969. One son, Joel, b. 1971. Established practice on Broward’s Rock 1971. Active United Fund Drive, Chamber of Commerce, Red Cross, Men’s Dinner Club, Broward’s Rock Runners Club. Divorced from Kathleen 1984. Joel in mother’s custody but returned to island as high school junior after mother’s remarriage to engineer based in Norway. Married Lisa Wetherby 1985. No children. Was involved with Sydney before she married Howard. Embrace in alcove at party suggests continued involvement.
