White Elephant Dead (24 page)

When Meg pushed through the plastic flap and jumped and slid on the balls, Annie hurried across the grass. She didn’t want to ask Vince her questions in front of Meg.

Vince saw her coming. They’d known each other for a long time, laughed at play rehearsals, worked together on
community promotions. He managed a smile but his eyes were remote. “Hi, Annie.” He clutched the limp blue rabbit, the Barbie carry-all and a carved coconut wearing a Robin Hood cap and sunglasses.

“Hi, Vince.” She looked through the clear plastic sheeting. Meg was rolling and squealing. “She’s having a lot of fun.”

His face softened. “She loves those silly balls. Every time we go to the mainland, we stop at that big McDonald’s with the playland and she spends all her time jumping in the balls.”

Annie curled her hands into tight fists and wished she could whirl away, plunge back inside, range up and down the aisles, hunt for a calico cat or a map of Spanish Texas or a jigsaw puzzle or any damn thing that had nothing to do with heartbreak and hurt. But Henny waited on a boat to be able to go safely home and Ruth huddled in a hospital bed knowing that arrest was coming ever nearer.

Annie’s throat felt thick, but she managed to speak. “Meg looks just like Arlene.”

Was it the sunlight that made Vince’s eyes suddenly shiny? Or grief that would never ebb? He didn’t answer, simply stared through the transparent plastic, his face gaunt and tired. But there was no hint of uneasiness or fear. There was only pain.

Annie wished for a tall glass of water or a fan. But she didn’t think it was the sunlight, soft now in September, that was making her feel so hot. “I guess Arlene and her sister looked a lot alike.”

“Arlene and Amelia.” He took a deep breath. “Arlene adored her.” There was a bitter edge to his voice.

Was he jealous of Arlene’s dead sister? But Amelia was dead, had died the year before Arlene was lost. How could that have anything to do with Vince now? Annie asked abruptly, “What happened to Amelia?”

Vince didn’t change expression, didn’t move. When he spoke, his tone was indifferent. “Amelia? She was killed in
a car wreck.” He stepped away, poked his head inside the tent. In a moment, he and Meg were walking away.

Annie stared after them. Vince didn’t mind talking about Meg. It hurt him to remember Arlene. But he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about Amelia. Why?

P
icnickers sat on blankets, folding chairs, ice chests and even atop an overturned rowboat. Voices rose and fell as rhythmically as the rustle of the wind in the pines.

Annie took a last bite of corn on the cob as Max concluded, “…so it looks like Garrett’s on the right track. How would anyone besides Ruth Yates have access to their croquet set? And I’ll start believing in UFOs if the mallet that killed Kathryn doesn’t match their set.”

“Sure it’ll match. But that set wasn’t stashed in a safe. Anybody who goes to St. Mary’s would know about the Yateses and croquet.” Annie licked her fingers. “Ruth and Brian have had croquet parties every fall for years. They set up croquet at church picnics. And other picnics, too. Rotary. And at fund-raisers for The Haven. And I know for a fact they never lock their garage. I’ve picked stuff up or dropped off books. They don’t even have an electric garage opener. You just grab the handle and pull up the door.”

Max dipped boiled shrimp in cocktail sauce. “Okay, so
it’s not a brain-drainer to get the mallet. The point is, Annie, the only reason the mallet would be a good murder weapon would be to tag Ruth or Brian as suspects. And how would one of Kathryn’s other victims know that Ruth was paying blackmail, too?”

Annie studied her paper plate. Honestly, she loved food booths. How else could you ever come up with a lunch that included Spam and pineapple shish kebab, corn on the cob, Indian taco, spinach feta salad and banana fritters? Of course, everyone to their own taste. Max’s plate was piled high with boiled shrimp, steamed oysters, green beans, corn bread and two slices of watermelon. One for her? She took a bite of Indian taco, wiped grease from her chin. “I could see a way,” she said slowly, “if Ruth had donated the croquet set. I can see Kathryn’s murderer spotting the croquet set and thinking it would be clever to use a weapon that could be traced back to someone else.”

“Then what?” Max broke open an oyster shell. “How did Brian get the croquet set back? Remember, the contents of the van were burned. No, that won’t work. Besides I can’t imagine anyone planned to kill Kathryn without having a weapon in hand when she arrived.”

“And if she arrived at Ruth’s—”

Max picked up the story. “—and Ruth pointed a gun at Kathryn—”

Annie nodded. “—and Kathryn took the gun away and they were right by the garage and Ruth grabbed up a croquet mallet—”

“—and whacked her.” Max added another shrimp tail to his tidy pile. “Maybe we’re chasing after phantoms. Maybe Ruth’s the one.”

“Kathryn planned to stop at four houses.” Annie ticked them off on her fingers. “The Yateses, the Pierces, the Campbells, Vince Ellis.”

“But only one of them killed her.” Max tossed a piece of cornbread to a green lizard perched on the old log they
were using as a table. “And it’s looking more and more likely that Ruth must be guilty.”

The banana fritter was a taste of heaven, light, crisp, and sweet. The only possibly better dessert was bananas foster, which she always garnished with a few splashes of chocolate syrup. Sometimes she thought chocolate syrup would be good on anything, turkey, steak, asparagus. Well, maybe not asparagus. “You have a good point,” she said reluctantly.

In fact, not even Marigold Rembrandt could likely invent a reason why one of the other blackmail victims would know that Ruth was a fellow victim. They sure didn’t have annual victim parties or exchange billets-doux about Kathryn.

So why steal Ruth’s croquet mallet? The answer came fast and clear: Nobody took it. But that would mean—

“Annie, Max!” Pamela Potts flung herself to the ground beside them. Pamela’s large eyes gazed at them piteously. Her lips trembled.

Annie reached out, grabbed a shaking hand. “Pamela, what’s wrong?”

“Do you know what I’ve heard?” Her voice was tight and thin.

Annie could not imagine what dire information had reduced calm and placid Pamela to this state. Had the President admitted to a ménage à trois with an extraterrestrial and an Arab terrorist?

“It’s all over the sale room.” Her tone was hushed. “Kathryn was a blackmailer. And she had four houses on her list Thursday night.” A sniff. “The Yateses and the Pierces and Vince Ellis and the Campbells.”

Annie almost gave a whoop of delight. Emma’s strategy was working, at least to a point.

Pamela gulped; tears spilled down her pale cheeks. “Oh, it’s all my fault.”

Max clapped her on the shoulder. “Nonsense, Pamela. You are simply under a strain.” He had that hearty male voice engendered by irrational female conduct.

Annie shot him a warning glance and squeezed Pamela’s hand tighter. “Tell us what’s wrong, Pamela.”

Pamela gulped. “Emma asked me to find out all about Kathryn’s friends and activities on the island.” A sobbing breath. “Well, I did. And I knew a lot about it because she was active in so many things that I do.” Pamela rattled off a list of at least a dozen charities and volunteer groups. “But the more I looked, the more I realized that Kathryn didn’t really have any friends. So it’s all my fault.” She dissolved in a fresh paroxysm of sobs.

Max pulled out his handkerchief, thrust it toward Pamela. “Now, now. You can’t take things so personally.”

“Shh,” Annie said softly. “Pamela, did you see a lot of Kathryn?”

Tear-flooded eyes gazed solemnly at Annie. “Yes.” It was a choked whisper.

Annie said gently, “Did she ask you about people? Like the Yateses? And the Pierces? And Vince Ellis? And the Campbells?”

Pamela blew noisily into the handkerchief. “Not so much about the Yateses and the Campbells. And I never thought Kathryn meant anything bad. She was just so interested! She said it was so sad, you know, about Arlene Ellis and Lynn Pierce, and she asked me all about the Pierces and Vince Ellis. And it was sad and so odd, really, one sailing out one year and one the next. I thought she was just interested, the way anyone would be. But I guess I should have known there was something wrong with Kathryn. Ruth Yates acted so strange around her. Whenever Kathryn came in a room, Ruth left. And Ruth is the sweetest person in the world. And now they’re saying the police suspect her of killing Kathryn. Oh, I feel terrible. I never meant—”

Annie leaned forward, gripped Pamela’s shoulders, such thin, stiff shoulders. “Hush now, Pamela. You didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone knows how kind you are and how hard you work for the community. You never gossip. I know that. Yes, you were willing to tell a newcomer about people
on the island, but, Pamela, you have to understand that Kathryn was searching for information for her own use. You had no way of knowing what you were dealing with. Nothing that happened is your fault, none of it.”

“Annie, do you really mean that?” Pamela’s eyes were huge with hope.

Annie leaned forward. Gave her a hug. “Yes. I truly mean it. Now you go fix your face and get some lunch. The best thing you can do is circulate on the sale floor, tell everyone that Ruth may have an alibi.”

Pamela scrambled to her feet. Once again earnest and competent, she said briskly, “I’d better get the word to the Pierces and Vince Ellis and the Campbells. Right?”

“As fast as you can.” Annie spoke with utter conviction.

Max looked at her curiously. “Have you been hanging out with Emma too long? That’s sheer fantasy, isn’t it?”

Annie nodded happily. “Sure. But why not? Between Laurel and Emma and Pamela, the murderer should be having a bad day.” Annie gathered up their trash.

Max stood and reached down to swing her to her feet. “Assuming—”

“I know,” Annie interrupted. “Assuming Ruth isn’t guilty. If she is, there’s no problem. If she isn’t, we need to wrap this up as fast as we can. And here’s what I think we should do….”

Max flipped on the lights in his office. He was almost past the artificial putting green when he stopped, looked at the ball waiting invitingly on a small rise twelve feet from the cup. He picked up his putter and addressed the ball. With one swift, short swing, the ball rolled directly to the cup and dropped in. One for luck. And they needed luck.

Settled behind his computer, he got on the Web, called up the archives of the
Island Gazette
. Thirty-eight entries about Vince Ellis; Max scrolled, found the obituary for Arlene Ellis. He read the column, noting on his legal pad: parents John and Toni Simms, Jasper, Florida.

A moment more and he had the obituary in the Jasper newspaper for Amelia Simms Lassiter and Richard James Lassiter of Long Beach, California, who died on July 7. No cause of death given, survived by their daughter Margaret, his parents, her parents and her sister. No surprises there. Nothing to indicate Margaret wasn’t their daughter. And no reason why they shouldn’t have been buried in Jasper, although the obituary listed their home as Long Beach, California. Max shrugged and accessed the Long Beach daily newspaper for the five days preceding the funeral.

Max didn’t find an obituary for the Lassiters or any record of a car wreck involving them. But he printed out the story he did find.

Annie hurried up the steps. She held up her stamped hand to prove she’d already paid the entrance fee and stepped into the main room. The sale was in its early afternoon lull. At four, prices would be halved and the room would again be jammed. For now, the noise had subsided to a dull roar and it was possible to move with moderate speed among the lanes between tables. Annie was searching for either Marian Kenyon, who surely was on hand because she was nuts about any kind of flea market and always covered them for the
Island Gazette
, or for Adelaide Prescott, who supported every island cause. Annie spotted Marian in the farthest aisle, chin in hand, studying a collection of macramé. Adelaide was manning a booth in the twenty-dollar section. Women of all ages clustered in the aisle. Adelaide held up a triple-strand necklace of coral for Janet Pierce’s inspection. Was the attraction jewelry? Or the presence of the island’s social arbiter? Or the presence of the very beautiful wife of one of the island’s wealthiest and most powerful residents?

When Annie arrived on the fringe of the group, Janet was paying for the necklace. “Definitely a bargain.” She draped the strands over her head. “This reminds me of our honeymoon on St. Thomas.” Her eyes were soft, her lips
curved in a gentle smile. Annie realized that, trick of physiology or reflection of manner, Janet’s slender face had a tendency to appear haughty in repose and this unguarded moment revealed a more appealing woman. “I’ll have to show Dave.” She scanned the crowd. “There he is. Thank you, Adelaide. I’ll come and take over in a moment.” She hurried up the aisle toward the stage where Dave was holding a box and talking with Emma.

In a moment, the onlookers had melted away. Adelaide looked after them. “Tails to a comet. I’ve had more than my share of attention through the years, but I’ve always been grateful for old friends because you know if they’ve been coming to your house since they were four, they come because they like you.” A merry smile. “Or if they don’t like you, they come because you’re part of their lives. I doubt if Janet knows who her real friends are.”

If she has any. But the thought didn’t have to be voiced. Annie and Adelaide exchanged glances.

Annie went straight to the point. “Adelaide, you’re on the Little Theater board, aren’t you?”

Adelaide arranged a half dozen brooches in an arc. Her plump fingers patted the last one, a double row of blue rhinestones. “I heard the Campbells’ house was on Kathryn’s route.”

Annie looked at her with respect. “Yes. So there’s something to that old story about Marie and Roderick.”

“I never believed those rumors.” Adelaide’s tone was thoughtful. “Although Gary Campbell isn’t my idea of a dream husband, Marie always seemed to adore him. And still does. Actually, I thought Roderick Ransome made a fool of himself chasing after Marie. You know, it must have come as a shock to Roddy when she didn’t respond. He was used to women clamoring for him.”

Annie picked up a heavy bronze necklace. Perfect if you wanted to have a green neck. She weighed it in her hand. “Jessica Greer had it the other way around.”

Adelaide’s smile was amused. “She would. She adored Roddy and he paid no attention to her.”

“So Gary and Marie abruptly leaving the Little Theater had nothing to do with Roderick Ransome?” Although in today’s world, would anyone care about Kate Campbell’s paternity? Well, yes, Gary Campbell might care intensely. And it would fully explain Loretta Campbell’s hostility toward Marie and Kate. But no matter how blond Kate Campbell might be, Adelaide Prescott was nobody’s fool and she didn’t believe there had been an affair between Marie and Roderick.

“Neither Gary nor Marie ever came back to the theater after she quit
No, No, Nanette
.” Adelaide upended a small box of costume jewelry, began to pick through the pieces. She looked up at Annie, her round face creased with concern. “Annie, I like Marie. I think she and Gary”—Adelaide paused, searched for the right words—“have gone through difficult times.” Her eyes were dark with sadness. “Are you sure Kathryn was coming to their house?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Annie described the list in Kathryn Girard’s handwriting that Henny had carried in the pocket of her slacks.

“That seems to be beyond question.” She added softly, “I am so sorry. And surprised.”

Max looked at the printout:

COUPLE FOUND DEAD AT HOME;
DAUGHTER SAFE WITH SITTER