Don't Go Home (18 page)

Annie again resorted to Billy as her shield. “I told Billy Cameron I'd ask around. Apparently Warren called several people last night.”

Lynn looked puzzled. “I guess I'm confused, honey. I thought from what I heard a little while ago on TV that he called that woman—”

Annie knew she referred to Rae Griffith.

“—and told her he saw her go into the suite. The TV didn't say he called anyone else. Why do you think he called other people, too?” Her soft voice rose in a query.

“We know he called several people.”

Lynn was placid. “He didn't call me.”

Annie stared at the smooth, unlined face. Abruptly, she felt confident Lynn had indeed received a call. But her answer to Annie was consistent with her claim that she and Alex had had a lovely visit about old times.

Annie smiled. “In any event, I can tell Billy I checked with you.” She rose.

Lynn walked with her to the hallway and opened the front door, murmuring, “Well, I'm glad it's all behind us. Dreadful, of course, what happened.” A shudder. “Poor Alex. And a shock about Warren. But we have to be thankful the police have done such a good job.”

As Annie walked toward the car, she carried with her a certainty that Lynn Griffith had indeed received a whispery call from Warren Foster. Lynn's smooth voice was untroubled and her smile bright as she bid Annie good-bye. Who said being somewhat obtuse didn't have advantages? Lynn simply refused to admit she had any reason to fear Alex or, consequently, any reason to fear Warren. Whether she was innocent or guilty, it was a stance that saved her from explaining anything to anyone.

R
ae Griffith sat stiffly in the wooden chair facing Billy's desk. Short dark hair tangled, no makeup, thin face pale and drawn. “I swear to God I didn't have anything to do with Alex being hurt or that man in the woods.”

Billy kept his face expressionless. Like he'd told Mavis, perps lie. He wondered what Rae Griffith wanted, what she hoped to accomplish. Did she think he would be swayed by a pale face, by eyes that were pools of fear? She'd find out that his role was done. Now her future was the responsibility of the circuit solicitor. Billy had one simple aim. Not to mess up the case. “Mrs. Griffith, anything you say may be used in court against you. You have a right—”

She lifted a thin hand. “I know. You told me all that.”

The recorder on the desk whirred. Billy had refused to speak with her unless she agreed to a recording of their conversation.

Billy sat back in his chair, folded his arms, waited.

Rae clasped her hands tightly together. “You said you aren't taking us off the island until Monday.”

Billy nodded. “The seven o'clock ferry. Arraignment's set for ten. As I understand it, your attorney, Brooks Clark, will meet us there. You will have time to confer with her—”

“I know.” Her tone was dismissive. Monday was clearly unimportant to her at this moment. “I want to talk to someone here on the island.”

Billy was puzzled. “You want to see about a lawyer—”

“Not a lawyer. I'll talk to Brooks tomorrow.” At his flicker of surprise, Rae looked almost amused. “We went to school together. She's coming from Atlanta. But a lawyer can't find out who killed Alex. Or that man in the woods. I need somebody who knows people here, somebody who read Alex's book and knows where to look. I was scared after that cop talked to me yesterday. She asked all these questions. Like, what did I drink? Why did she care? But I could tell from her eyes that you people were going to come after me—”

Billy maintained a stolid expression. He didn't feel defensive. Hyla Harrison had coon-dog instincts and she'd treed a mighty nice coon. Besides, he always knew to
cherchez la femme
. Yeah, the dictum was trite but phrases became trite because they were nuggets of truth.
Cherchez la femme.
Round up the usual suspects. Look before you leap. He'd learned a few others in his time. Beware the man who smiles all the time. Scared people do stupid things. If it isn't sex, it's money; if it isn't money, it's sex; if it isn't sex or money, it's fear.

“—and you think all these things.” Just for an instant her green eyes didn't meet his.

Billy watched her dispassionately.
Right, lady, we think these things because your boyfriend checked in next door with a hat, wig, sunglasses, pillow belly, and Hawaiian shirt. And a gun that he later disposed of in the ocean. Just a few hints that maybe all wasn't sunny-side up in your marriage. A man
threatens to inform police you were where you claim you weren't and, surprise, he's dead, and you're on the scene.

“But I didn't hurt Alex.” Now she gazed at him again. “If I could talk to that woman who owns the bookstore—”

Billy felt a quiver of surprise.

“—she said she'd try to help me. Please, will you let me talk to her?”

“You want to talk to Annie Darling?” He frowned.

Rae was animated, nodding her head quickly. “Just for a few minutes. Could you call and ask her to come and see me?”

Billy considered the request. He didn't want to mess up his case. Rae Griffith had been Mirandized. She didn't have to answer anybody's questions. At this point, building the case would depend upon facts and suppositions that they unearthed, not a confession from Rae Griffith. If she spoke to Annie . . .

“Mrs. Griffith, a lawyer would advise you not to speak—”

“Annie Darling promised she'd help me. She knows people on the island. She knows who wanted Alex dead. If she'll tell me, I'll have somewhere to start.”

Start? Somewhere to start? Billy studied the thin, frightened face. “Look, if you talk to her, you understand that it won't be a privileged communication?” At Rae's blank look, he continued, “If you talk to her, I will interview her and she has to tell me what you said.”

To his surprise, Rae Griffith brightened. “That's all right. She can tell anyone she wants to tell.”

•   •   •

A
nnie slid her cell out of her purse as she hurried on the boardwalk. She wished she were a tourist with nothing to worry about except getting too much sun or twinging her back from staying too
long on the driving range or trying to decide between key lime pie and apple cobbler for dessert.

She unmuted the phone, saw she had a text. She stopped short, drew in a deep breath. Max. The message began:
Back early. Got voice mail. See you shortly.
Annie clicked off the phone. Oh. And oh. No “Luv U,” “Can't wait 2 C U,” no hearts. Nothing but three crisp sentences. Should she reply? And say what?
Talking to possible murderers, no harm intended?

She pushed through the door and saw a double line of restive customers stretching all the way back to the coffee bar. For once, she was glad to see people impatiently waiting in line. She was grateful for anything that kept her thoughts at bay, the decision she had to make about said possible murderers, and the impending arrival of a husband with an angry glint in his eyes. Annie plunged around the cash desk, opened up the second register.

As she started to ring up a stack of titles, she skimmed them, agreed with the purchaser's choices: Cara Black, Bill Crider, Sue Dunlap, Miranda James, JoAnna Carl, Mary Jane Clark, Naomi Hirahara, winners all. And much nicer to think about than an irate husband who might arrive at any moment.

Ingrid took a breath between customers. “Marian's in your office waiting for you. She looks like hell.”

•   •   •

C
arrying a folder in one hand, Hyla Harrison knocked on the door to Billy Cameron's office. She turned the knob and stood in the doorway. The chief was always open to seeing anyone at any time, no need to call and ask.

He was standing at the window looking out at the bay. The view was always the same, always different: the boardwalk, the shops that
fronted on the water, the pier for the
Miss Jolene
, empty now, the marina filled with tethered boats, and, beyond, the richly green water, brimming with nutrients and sea life, gulls circling overhead, a V of pelicans skimming the whitecaps, shrimp boats trawling, sailboats, a distant catamaran, a windsurfer out a bit too far for Hyla's liking.

“Chief, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He turned and the flood of sunlight behind him made his hair shine like ripe wheat. His broad face was furrowed in thought, but his nod was immediate and he walked to his desk and settled into his chair.

Hyla sat down, wondering what had happened to worry him. That morning at the press conference he'd been relaxed, the department's job done, crimes solved, the machinery of justice in motion. She didn't want to add to his concerns, but the little burr of unease wouldn't go away until she spoke out.

“I've been thinking.”

Billy waited, his expression grave.

The slight twitch of the chief's lips didn't escape her. Lou Pirelli's nickname for her was Serious Sal. But she'd seen what she'd seen. “I got to thinking about Widow's Haunt. I made a copy of Mavis's sketches and took them with me.” She opened the folder, stood to spread the sheets on Billy's desk. She tapped the sketch showing the body propped against the uneven sill of the long-ago window. “You'll see that his head is hanging back on his left shoulder. The body stayed upright because the forearm rested against the sill. Since we figure the murderer stood behind Foster, there are two possibilities. Foster and his killer were standing together on the clearing side of the partial wall. The killer induced Foster to turn away, looped the wire over his head, yanked, choked him. At this point, for the body to settle where it did, the murderer had to pull him almost up against the wall,
then let the body sag to the left and slump into the position where it was found. Could have been done, but why? Or Foster was standing with his back to the ruin. The killer was hidden on the other side of the wall. Foster stopped with his back to the open window. The killer leaned forward, dropped the wire, pulled. The body would naturally collapse into the position where it was found. On balance, it seems likelier the murderer was behind the wall, Foster was facing the clearing, and the body ended up where it did because he was yanked from behind.”

Billy's eyes narrowed. “Your point?”

“I think”—the words came slowly—“the killer had to know the ruins. So far as we know, Mrs. Griffith had never been to the site.”

“So far as we know.”

“You have to be familiar with the ruins to get to the back side of that wall. There's a path on the far side of the porch. There's a stand of bayberry on the other side. You have to go a good ten feet back then climb over a broken sundial to get into the patch of ground on the far side of the opening. Last night, Kenyon and Darling stated they heard a scream and that's why Kenyon called 911. We were on the terrace so we got there in maybe two minutes. When we arrived, Mrs. Griffith was standing on the near side of the wall and Kelly was on his hands and knees, throwing up. If she screamed right after Foster was killed, there wasn't time to come around to the front side of the wall before we got there. Now, I guess they—she—could have swung over the ledge but that would likely have moved the body.”

Billy leaned back in his chair, face furrowed, fingertips pressed together. “We don't know how long Griffith and Kelly were there before she screamed. Foster may have been dead for several minutes and there was plenty of time to come around the wall.”

“Why did she scream?”

Billy looked more comfortable. “She's smart. She heard someone coming, knew they were going to be seen, screamed to make it look like she'd just found the body.”

Hyla frowned. “I guess that's possible.” She hesitated, then continued. “There's one more point. I looked behind the wall today. I know it's exactly how Mavis pictured it. There's this hump of leaves, really smooth, up against the base of the opening as you face the clearing. I think somebody moved leaves out of the way so there wouldn't be any crackles, waited for Foster, killed him when he came, then smoothed those leaves up against the bricks. Now, it could be that Griffith and Kelly got there before Foster. Griffith waited behind the wall. Kelly stayed back in the woods on the other side of the clearing. She killed Foster, prettied up the leaves, came around the wall. They were going to leave and then she heard someone coming and screamed.”

Billy's face gave no hint to this thoughts. An eyebrow quirked up. “Doesn't explain Pretty Boy throwing up, does it?”

Hyla was judicious. “Maybe he hadn't seen the body until just before Kenyon and Darling arrived. What worries me more is how she knew to find her way behind the wall if she'd never been to Widow's Haunt before. Plus, we didn't find a flashlight on either Griffith or Kelly. The two routes to get behind the wall would be heavily shadowed despite the moonlight.” She reached for the folder, gathered up the sheets, rose. “When I got to Widow's Haunt, Marian Kenyon was looking around. I'd say she's wondering, too.”

She was at the door when Billy spoke. “Officer.” She turned, a little apprehensive. Had she taken too much on herself? Was she out of line?

“Good work. Again.” His face creased. “You picked up on Kelly's phony registration, saw him throw the gun away. We built a solid case from there. Do you think he and the widow are innocent?”

“I think”—she spoke deliberately, making a judgment—“the wife and the lover planned on killing Alex Griffith. I'll never doubt that. But maybe somebody beat them to it.”

•   •   •

A
nnie took one look at Marian's face, wan, strained, somehow defeated, and bit back the words she'd been rehearsing, the words that would link the phone call Marian had received from Warren to the other calls he'd made, implicitly suggesting that Marian had lied to her. Instead, she said crisply, “Did you have breakfast?”

“Coffee.” Marian's voice was dull, exhausted.

“No lunch?” In fact, it was almost one and Annie hadn't eaten either. “Stay right there. I'll get us some food.” At the coffee bar, she quickly made two ham and cheese sandwiches on croissants, added a mound of potato salad, mustard based, not the overmayoed style that was too rich. A couple of dill pickles. Sour cream and onion potato chips, Annie's secret vice at the store. Max preferred crisp thin white corn chips that were admittedly delicious; but sometimes a girl wanted her sour cream and onion fix. Two tall glasses of plain iced tea, unsweetened. She carried the tray carefully, working around oblivious customers.

She brought the tray in, pushing the storeroom door shut behind her. As she placed a plate in front of Marian and the glass of tea, she said, “Not a word until we've eaten.”

Marian started to speak. “We have to—”

Annie shook her head. “Eat.”

Marian slowly picked up half of the sandwich, took a bite, and then, with a faint look of surprise, ate fast, almost gulping the food.

Annie was puzzled. The night before, when she and Marian parted, Marian had been hugely relieved. The crimes were solved.
No one would have any reason to pursue Marian's past. But ever since Joan's visit, Annie had been afraid. And now, looking at Marian, she knew there was more to come.

Marian finished first. She took a last gulp of tea, faced Annie. “Last night I thought I was sitting pretty, Rae Griffith and her boyfriend in jail. It got even better at Billy's presser this morning. Kelly's her lover. He registered under a false name. She and Kelly were found near Foster's body. But Billy kept on talking. You know how Warren was killed? Green plastic-coated garden wire.” She stared at Annie. “I asked if they found garden wire in her room, in her car, in Kelly's car? Nada. Where'd she get garden wire? You carry garden wire around in your purse? In your car? I don't think so. I'll bet if we check, she's never done a day of gardening in her life. If she didn't have garden wire, she didn't kill Foster. Foster's murder was last-minute. No time to go out and buy garden wire. And then I started thinking about Widow's Haunt. I went back out there today. Unless I'm nuts, the killer got Warren through the empty window. The killer was standing on the other side of the wall.” Slowly, emphatically, Marian shook her head. “Nobody from off island could know the ruins well enough to plan an ambush there. And”—a heavy sigh—“she screamed. Sure, maybe she heard us coming and screamed to seem innocent as a lamb. That could be. But I lay awake most of the night. What if Rae's telling the truth? What if she had nothing to do with Alex's murder? Maybe she and Kelly just had the hots and didn't want to be apart. If they are innocent, then Rae didn't kill Alex and go out to the terrace and Kelly didn't slip into the suite and call room service to make it sound like Alex was alive. Instead, it was Alex Griffith who called room service. I went out to the inn and now I'm damn sure they're innocent.”