Engaged to Die (5 page)

Annie punched the phone. It rang twice, then a faint voice answered, “Hello.”

“Mrs. Foster?” Annie spoke fast. “This is Annie Darling, Denise's friend. Tomorrow I'm going to talk to the people in charge there—”

Max cradled Dorothy L. in his arms, listened.

“No.” The cry was so sharp, Annie held the phone
away. She reached down, clicked on the speaker, and the frightened voice spilled into the peaceful room. “Please, Mrs. Darling, don't do that. Tonight after dinner, he demanded to know who you came to see. No one answered. He said that when he found out”—her voice broke—“he'd have a little talk with that person. When anybody does anything he doesn't like, he comes to your room late at night. No one knows he's there and—oh, it's so awful. Don't do that to me. Please.”

Annie held the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt. “Mrs. Foster, that's dreadful. He can't get away with hurting you.”

“You don't understand. He doesn't hurt anyone. But he talks”—there was a shudder in her voice—“and he makes you listen. One night I went to dinner and I forgot my key. I had to ask him to open my door. You see, he has a master key. He can go in any room whenever he wants. I knew what would happen, but I had to ask. I didn't have anywhere to go. When I asked him, he waited and waited, and then he said in this awful voice that he'd open my door, but I had to stop being so careless. He walked with me back to the room and he held onto my arm”—there was a sob in her voice—“and I hated the feel of his hot fingers, tight on my skin. He came into my room and closed the door and he started talking. He said I must apologize. I did, and he said I had to say I was sorry again. And he made me go stand in a corner, and he kept talking in that soft voice, and he said I was nothing but trouble, that I'd been trouble ever since I moved there, and people who caused trouble, sometimes they died in their sleep. And he rattled his chain with the keys, and he said he could come in my room any time. When he left, I couldn't stop shak
ing.” There was a choking sob. “Don't you see, there's nothing to be done. It doesn't sound like anything, but you don't know how he acts or hear his voice. Sometimes I wake up in the night and he's standing there at the foot of my bed. Once, I screamed, and the next morning they told me I'd had a nightmare. There's nothing anyone can do. Please leave me alone. Don't tell anyone what I told you. Especially not Stephanie. She'd ask him about me. And it will be night again….” She hung up.

 

Annie juggled the folder under her arm as she unlocked the front door of Death on Demand. She reached out, flicked on the lights, welcomed the cheery bright colors of book jackets, heard Agatha's irritated yowl.

“Okay, okay. Coming.” She moved down the center aisle, heading for the coffee bar. Where was Chloe? She should have opened the store an hour ago. She certainly couldn't have picked a worse morning to be late. Annie plopped the green folder on the coffee bar. Agatha jumped up, spat out a series of querulous meows.

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry.” Damn Chloe. Annie shook her head. To be fair, she hadn't called the store to report she was running late. Annie filled Agatha's bowl, and the imperious black cat, still meowing, leaped to the floor, hunched over the food, and began to eat in a fury of impatience.

“Chloe?” Annie didn't try to keep the irritation from her voice. There was no answer. Annie grabbed the phone, hesitated, loosened her hold. Max would be glad to take over, but he was busy. For her. She touched the folder. It was amazing how much information
about Snug Harbor, its owners, employees, and residents he'd retrieved on the Internet from government records and articles that had appeared in
The Island Gazette
. If Chloe didn't show up, Annie would simply hang out the Closed sign. She had no intention of being late for her appointment at Snug Harbor.

The phone rang.

Annie snatched up the receiver. Chloe better have a good excuse. “Death on—”

“He was known to have written a novel over the weekend.” Henny sounded as satisfied as if she were sipping a Singapore sling created especially for her by Madeline Bean, Jerrilyn Farmer's sleuth in
Dim Sum Dead,
a catering mystery featuring a Chinese New Year banquet.

Annie's reply was equally smooth. “Oh, sure. Edgar Wallace.”

“Oh. Yes. Right—” Call waiting clicked.

“Talk to you later.” Annie ended Henny's call, took the incoming call. “Death on Demand, the best—”

“Annie.” Chloe's husky voice dragged. “I'm sorry. I'll be there as soon as I can. I overslept.”

Annie frowned. “Can you hurry? I've got an important appointment at eleven.” Annie glanced at her watch. A quarter after ten.

“Yes.” Chloe's voice sounded as if she were at the far end of a cellar. “I'll be right there.” The connection ended.

Annie glared at the phone. Up to now, Chloe had been utterly dependable. Of course, anyone could oversleep….

As Annie brewed her favorite smooth Kona, she opened Max's folder and began to read the information Max had gathered:

Annie highlighted the name of the manager. She scanned the text impatiently. Ahh. Here's what she wanted:

Brown was the big moon-faced jerk. Annie was impressed. Max had certainly found out buckets about the retirement home's bad apple, proving once again that the Internet, assiduously searched, could provide more than most people would want revealed about their lives.

In the margin, Max had written, “Got a call out to the owner of Morgan's Diner, but he's down in Cozumel scuba diving. I'll see what else I can dig up.”

Annie's gaze moved to the paragraph on Stephanie Hammond. In the margin, Max's red pencil had noted, “See photo on next page.” Annie lifted the sheet. Stephanie Hammond beamed from the color photograph, blue eyes bright, lips curved in a cheerful smile. Tawny hair in stylish tangles bushed to a crest. She looked wholesome and forthright, energetic and eager. In a postscript, Max had added, “Got this from their web site. Full color. Fancy. Everybody looked happy.”

Annie sipped her coffee, turned back to the manager's bio.

The dangling bells at the front door jangled.

“Annie, I'm here.” Chloe came down the central aisle, moving as if every muscle ached. Her auburn hair was unevenly brushed. She wore no makeup. Freckles stood out against pale skin. Her eyes were
tired and mournful. A violet turtleneck clashed with orange slacks.

Annie took a last gulp of coffee, closed the file. She was on her feet, heading for the door, car keys in hand. It wouldn't hurt to get to Snug Harbor a little before her appointment. “Chloe, I'm not sure when I'll be back. I doubt we'll have many customers today unless there's a business conference at the Buccaneer.” The resort hotel offered guests a map of the island that included a thumbnail description of the businesses on the boardwalk by the marina.

She was almost to the door when Chloe called out. “Annie…”

Annie wanted to dash out the door, but she couldn't ignore the appeal in Chloe's voice. Annie paused, looked back.

Chloe's mournful face drooped like an iris beaten down by heavy rain. “I can't work the whole day.” Chloe squeezed her hands into fists, pressed them against her cheeks. Her lips quivered.

Annie moved toward her. “What's wrong?” There was no doubt that Chloe was upset. But of all mornings…

“I stayed on the pier all night.” She choked back a sob. “He didn't come.” Her hands dropped. Her fists opened.

Annie's first instinct was to ask what Chloe had expected. After all, if the guy wouldn't even give his name…The pain in Chloe's face stilled the words. Annie remembered her so clearly as a bouncy happy teenager talking about Harrison Ford and how someday she'd find a man like him. Maybe Chloe's hunger for romance had begun so long ago, was so deep that nothing Annie said would help. “I'm sorry, honey.
Maybe…” Car trouble? Not on an island. No matter where he lived, it wouldn't take long to walk to the pier. Sick? Oh, sure. Struck down by a mysterious pox known as cold feet. The fact was that Chloe's mystery romance had ended in a whimper, not a bang. Annie looked at the grandfather clock near the fireplace. Fifteen to eleven. Okay, she could be at Snug Harbor in five minutes. But she wanted time to look around during visiting hours.

Chloe burst into frantic speech. “Annie, I didn't tell you before. He said he loved me, that he knew we would always be together, that we were perfect for each other. We made love there on the pier”—her gaze was defiant—“and it wasn't just any old one-night stand. I know it wasn't. It didn't matter that it was cold and damp. Nothing mattered but being together. I have to find him.” Her breathing was quick and shallow. “I've been thinking. He has to work somewhere. It can't be here on the boardwalk or I would have seen him. I'm going to make a list of all the businesses on the island and go to each one. Annie, will you help me?”

Annie gripped her car keys. “Chloe, give it up. If he wants to find you—”

“He doesn't know my name.” It was a stricken wail.

“Annie, I have to find him. I've never met anyone like him. Never. If you'd ever seen him, you'd remember him. His face is kind of uneven. High cheekbones and a long jaw and sharp chin. He looks like one of those courtiers you see in fifteenth-century French paintings. I told him he should wear a ruffled shirt and brandish a sword and he laughed. But he was pleased. Annie, he was different.” His voice quivered with eagerness.

“I've got to find him.”

A sword? Annie wasn't impressed. “Chloe, I've got to go.” She dashed toward the front door, paused only long enough to call, “I'll keep on the lookout.”

Chloe touched the top of her dark red head. “He always wears a cap, one of those round tweedy kind that are soft. Like golfers wear. And an argyle sweater.”

The door closed and Annie broke into a run. How could Chloe be such a passionate idiot? Annie had a sudden cold thought of how she would have felt if Max had walked out of her life without a word. Funny, when she thought about it. She'd tried to run away from Max, but Max had come to the island, looking for her. That was different. He darn sure knew her name and she his. Well, she didn't have time to worry about Chloe. She had to do something about Denise's grandmother.

 

Max Darling flicked off his computer. Amazing what could be found when a name was typed into a search engine on the Internet: charitable donations, bank accounts, work records, real estate transactions, and on and on. Max tilted his red leather chair, punching on the heater and massage unit. Annie had been pleased at the effort he'd made to gather information about the retirement center. Dear Annie, his serious, intense, hardworking, and, bless her, genuinely kind wife. He gazed at the silver-framed photograph on the corner of his desk, flyaway blond hair, steady gray eyes, kissable lips curved in an irresistible smile. He smiled in return. “Go get 'em,” he murmured. Annie would set everything right for Mrs. Foster.

Max poked the chair upright, got to his feet. The appointment at Snug Harbor shouldn't take long. He'd call Annie in a little while, see if she wanted to have
lunch at Parotti's. In winter, Annie loved the mungy old restaurant's homemade chili topped with grated cheese, steamed corn kernels, and sliced Vidalia onions. After lunch, they might take a long walk on the winter beach, maybe catch a flight of cormorants, check out the flotsam that had washed in from the nor'easter just before Christmas. Tonight the Boston Mackey exhibition opened at the Neville Gallery. Max grinned. A fun day. Most fun of all, there would surely be time enough this afternoon for him and Annie to go home. Ah, a winter afternoon and the woman he loved. Omar could keep the wine and verse. First things first.

 

Stephanie Hammond bounced toward the door, hand outstretched. A candy cane appliqué sparkled against the thick red fuzz of her pullover sweater. “Mrs. Darling, I'm delighted to welcome you to Snug Harbor.” She waved Annie toward a chintz-upholstered overstuffed chair. Instead of taking her place behind the walnut desk, the manager took an armchair opposite Annie and leaned forward, her gaze eager. “What can I do for you?” She appeared genuinely delighted to greet her visitor. “Do you have an elderly family member who might be interested in living with us? I'd love to show you everything.” She gestured toward the community area. “Perhaps you can join us for lunch. We have our larger meal at noon and sandwiches and soup in the evening. I think I can say that no one on the island has better food than we do. Today we're having meat loaf and mashed potatoes and green beans and lemon meringue pie.”