Death at the Door (13 page)

She glanced in the mirror and was surprised that she didn't look an utter hag with only four hours of sleep. Makeup hid the dark shadows below her eyes and she'd chosen a vivid carmine lip gloss. While Emma, Henny, and Laurel read the dossiers and summaries and her bits and pieces of information, she drank coffee, waiting for the life-lifting caffeine-and-chocolate jolt.

Emma flipped her folder shut, tapped the cover. “Good work.”

Laurel was thoughtful. “Interesting that Jane had a presentiment.”

Henny said quietly, “Last night when I read the
Gazette
, I almost called. I had a sense Marian's story about Lucy and Paul might trigger trouble. Now I wish I had.”

Annie understood. She felt, too, as if she'd not looked ahead to imagine a killer's response. “I'm afraid the paragraph about Lucy hiring a crime expert might have caused the arson. Lucy's lucky to be alive. I dropped by the hospital a little while ago. Lucy's doing well, though she still coughs a lot and says her throat hurts. Pamela brewed green tea, added honey and fresh lemon, and Lucy felt better after she drank it. I told Lucy we'd find out who caused the fire.”

Henny's dark eyes were grave. “Do you think the intent was to kill Lucy?”

Annie drank her delectable brew, wished she didn't remember the hungry flames crawling across the roof of the Martin house and the choking pall of smoke. “Maybe. But the fire was set on the other side of the house from her bedroom. Maybe the plan was to destroy Paul's study and any evidence there. But whoever set the fire knew she was asleep upstairs.” Her voice shook a little. “Knew and didn't care.”

Emma's gaze was intent. “Does Billy Cameron agree?”

Annie looked at her in surprise. “What else could he think?” The connection between the
Gazette
story with Lucy's claim that Paul had been murdered and the torching of the house was obvious cause and effect. “There's a press conference at ten. We went by the
Gazette
after we left the hospital.”

Henny looked relieved. “The press conference will set everything straight. In fact, Billy may be arranging for Tom Edmonds's release right this minute. Billy will scour the island now that it's clear he's dealing with two murders. Still, we may be able to offer some help. Sometimes people won't talk to the police.”

Emma's strong square face folded in a ferocious frown. “The guest list for David Corley's birthday is key.” She brushed back a straggly spike of magenta-hued hair that matched her caftan.

Laurel was emphatic. “Absolutely.”

Annie tried not to look surprised at Laurel's immediate grasp of the salient point. That wasn't fair to her mother-in-law. Laurel might be ditzy. She wasn't dim. This morning she looked—no surprise to Annie—her customary gorgeous self. Smooth hair golden as sunlit honey framed a patrician face with Mediterranean blue eyes. Stylish as always, her striped sweater was a mélange of fall colors above boot-cut gray twill slacks.

“Given the circumstances”—Laurel nodded toward Henny—“the guests will be careful in what they say. But I always know where to find out what really happened at a party. I asked Virginia—” She looked around inquiringly.

Annie nodded as did Emma and Henny. Virginia Taylor was Laurel's housekeeper and she had a large extended family.

“—and her cousin Tina works for the Corleys. I talked to Tina last night.” Laurel opened a multipatterned tote bag and pulled out a sheet of paper and a brocade glasses case. She perched Ben Franklin glasses on her nose, which made her look, to Annie's exasperation, on the sunny side of twenty. “Tina said she was too busy serving and clearing up to pay much attention to the guests. She said Mr. Corley had way too much to drink and was loud and boisterous. Tina's very active in her church. Missionary Baptist. She said the party had an odd edge to it. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she said, ‘Folks supposed to be having a good time sure had frowny faces when they didn't think anybody was looking.' Tina thought the problem might be with the hostess. ‘Miz Corley hasn't been herself for a week or so, wandering around holding Millie. I think she was making the dog nuts, too.'”

Annie spoke slowly. “I wonder about Madeleine. According to Tom Edmonds, Madeleine and Jane were having some kind of heavy talk in the garden the week before she died. When he saw them, he turned around and went back to his studio. Kate Murray said Madeleine looked awful at the birthday party. A woman at the beauty shop claimed Madeleine wasn't home the afternoon Jane was killed. Madeleine told everyone she hadn't left the house, but the gardener told Bridget Olson that Madeleine left the garden on a path.”

Emma reached down for her capacious knit bag, which had been known to contain everything from a tin of smoked oysters to a pirate treasure map to a compilation of Yogi Berra quotes. Emma's favorite and often-repeated Yogi quote: “If you don't know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else.”

Emma drew out a small pad, flipped it open, marked a numeral one. Her stubby fingers gripped a Montblanc pen with a Year of the Dragon design. “Billy will obviously interview everyone at David's birthday party. However, that's official and not guaranteed to get straight answers. We can make unofficial inquiries.” She drew four columns, one for each of them. Her gimlet-sharp gaze flicked to Annie. “I'll put Madeleine on your list.”

Annie spoke quickly. “Sherry Gillette tried to call me a couple of times. I'll find out why. Put David Corley down for Max.”

Henny was decisive. “I'll talk to Irene Hubbard and Kate Murray. Irene tried out for a role recently in
Pajama Game
.” Henny was an accomplished actress and among her island successes were appearances in
Little Women
,
Blithe Spirit
(Elvira, of course), and
The Mousetrap
. “Irene's flamboyant. But nobody's fool. As for Kate, she's brusque, intimidating, but we've worked on rummage sales together. I think she'll talk to me.”

“Excellent.” Emma was pleased at the responses. “That leaves Toby Wyler and Kevin Hubbard. I'll deal with them.” Her expression was wolfish. “That takes care of the guests.” She glanced toward Laurel, who had an expectant expression, then at Annie. “I wonder who else should be contacted.”

Annie pressed fingers against her temples. She had a dull headache from lack of sleep, but she knew Emma was depending upon her. Definitely Laurel must be included. “The gardener at the Corley house.”

Laurel waved pink-tipped fingers. “I enjoy men who are earthy. I'll speak to the gardener.”

There was an instant's pause. Henny lifted a hand and placed her fingers across her lips. Emma's gaze was speculative. Annie gazed determinedly at the second of the watercolors above the mantel.

Laurel's smile was dreamy. Then, with a little head shake, she continued briskly. “And that sweet child Frankie Ford.”

Annie hesitated. She, too, thought Frankie was appealing, but . . . “Frankie was evasive about where she was Monday afternoon.”

Laurel's blue eyes were knowing. “One lover is drawn to another as surely as the sea seeks the shore.”

Emma cleared her throat. “Right. Laurel takes the gardener and the girl.” Her brusque tone returned the moment to the matter-of-fact. “Anybody else?”

Annie nodded. “A week or so before Jane died, Marian was out at the Palmetto Players. She saw David Corley being escorted in to see the owner. Nobody looked happy.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “If David owes Jason Brown money, he'd better pay up.”

Henny raised both eyebrows. “Emma, what are you keeping from us? How do you know the name of the guy behind the Palmetto Players?”

Emma's square face was thoughtful. “Had a second officer on
Marigold's Pleasure
. He played a little too loose with Caribbean stud, ended up owing the house about forty K. He welched. Pretty soon he had a broken leg. Last I heard he was working on a yacht out of Miami.”

Laurel pushed the half-glasses higher. “That explains Madeleine's distress.”

Annie pictured an office where a burly man kept a skull on his desk. “Max can try, but the guy probably won't say anything.”

Emma was brisk. “Still, he may learn something.”

Annie could be brisk, too. “There are other questions that need to be answered.” As Emma glanced at her watch, Annie quickly set out what seemed pertinent to her. “Frankie was hugely relieved when she heard Lucy's story. What did Frankie see that made her suspect Tom? Kate Murray gave no hint that she and Jane had quarreled. Why? Was David Corley in a panic to get money because of gambling? Sherry Gillette shouted at Jane a few days before she died. Why? Madeleine seemed nervous and apprehensive at the birthday party and a friend didn't find her home the afternoon Jane died. Where was Madeleine? Kate Murray remembered Paul looking somber as he walked toward the end of the pool. True or false? Would Jane's death give Toby Wyler control of Tom's paintings again? Ben Parotti dumped on Kevin Hubbard, thought he was dishonest, and Ben saw Jane heading into Kevin's office and she didn't look pleasant. Why?”

There might have been a gleam of approval in Emma's gaze, in addition to a flicker of surprise. “Well put.” Then she glanced again at her diamond-encrusted watch. “It's a quarter to ten.”

There was a quick flurry, purses retrieved, chairs pushed back. Annie had no doubt that the four of them would be in the front row at the news conference.

•   •   •

M
ax gestured toward a chrome-and-web chair in front of his desk. “Coffee?” Barb set the coffeemaker to turn on automatically and there was a heady scent of Colombian.

David Corley swiped a hand across his bristly cheek. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Max poured two mugs, brought one to David, then settled behind his desk. He kept his expression unaffected but he was startled by the change in David's demeanor from unflappable cool guy to a harried, distraught man. “What can I do for you?”

David hunched forward, holding the mug in both hands, ignoring the coffee. “I got the
Gazette
yesterday.” He stared at Max, his gaze troubled. “The story about Doc Martin blew my mind. Then I heard on TV this morning about his house. I didn't even take time to eat breakfast. I went right to the police station and tried to talk to the guy in charge. I guess I didn't handle it right. They asked if I had information and I should have said, yeah I did. Instead, I said I wanted to know what the hell was going on. My brother-in-law's in jail and if all this stuff in the paper was right, Tom didn't have anything to do with hurting Jane. I said I wanted the lowdown. If somebody else killed Jane, they had to get busy, find out what happened. They took me off to a little room and this woman wrote everything down and said they'd get back to me. And there I was out on the street in front of the police station and I didn't know anything more than when I got there. Then I remembered in the
Gazette
it said somebody hired you to find out who killed Jane.” He reached out, put the mug on the desk and some coffee slopped over. “Who are you working for and what do you know?”

Max leaned back in his chair, kept his tone casual. “My clients are confidential, but I can share some information. Tom Edmonds is innocent because he was not on the island the night—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get that. I want to know if the
Gazette
had it right that Doc Martin talked to somebody at my birthday party and that's why he got killed. My God, is that true?” He cracked the knuckles of his right hand.

“According to Lucy, that's exactly what happened. It started at the open house—”

David made a chopping motion with his hand. “I read all about it. I didn't notice a damn thing.” David spoke the words like they hurt. “A couple of days after that, I talked to Jane.” His jaw quivered. He took a breath. “She asked me if I picked up on something peculiar at the open house, that she'd felt worried ever since, kept looking over her shoulder. Hell, I joked around. See, I think art's a bunch of baloney. I said, yeah the whole thing gave me the willies, too. I stepped into the wrong gallery and it was all this disjointed stuff and a couple of canvasses with grinning skulls. At least Tom doesn't paint that kind of crap. Anyway”—now his eyes looked at Max but they were filled with misery—“I blew her off. She tried to tell me that something was wrong, that she didn't feel right, and I made a joke out of it. God, she tried to tell me.”

Max saw a man struggling to contain emotion. He kept his voice gentle. “Did she mention anybody?”

David jammed his fingers together, stared down at them. “I don't know. I needed to talk to her about something and I guess she saw I was uptight. That was like Jane, you know.” He lifted his face. “She could be a bitch and then she'd turn around and do anything she could for you. I guess she knew I was in a tight—”

“The money you owe Jason Brown?”

David looked shocked. “How'd you know?”

Max shrugged. “Lots of people go to Palmetto Players. Somebody noticed you. What was Brown threatening to do?”

For an instant, there was a hot flicker in David's eyes before his gaze once again dropped to his tightly clasped fingers. “He said he'd ruin my credit.” It was a mumble.

Max studied him. In a slant of light from a high window, there was a hint of weakness in his bristly jaw. Ruined credit? Rich kids like David didn't worry about ruined credit. Max expected the threat was much more direct and forceful.

David's head jerked up. Now his face reformed. He almost managed a tremulous smile. “Anyway, that's the point. Jane came through. She was going to take care of everything.” He blew out a whoosh of air. “I'll have to admit she surprised me. I had to promise no more blackjack, no more roulette. Hell, that wasn't a problem. I sure didn't want to go back there.”