Part 12 (2/2)
She called after him, ”Capt. Mac doesn't know whether Uncle Ambrose was onto a lead here, but, dammit, I know it in my bones-it all goes back to him. I'll bet the store he found out something, and somebody pushed him off his boat to keep him from making his research trip.”
Max was moving from table to table, then turning to sight where Elliot had stood. Annie looked at each table in turn, mentally placing the Sunday Night Regulars on the fateful evening. Elliot had been standing just there. Surely, it should be possible to figure where the dart had come from its angle of entry. Dr. Thornd.y.k.e would have been able to do it. But not, apparently, Chief Saulter. Annie wasn't geometrically talented, but she gave it a try. She and Max and Ingrid were at the table nearest the storeroom, and the Parleys at the table opposite theirs. Capt. Mac and Fritz Hemphill had the table nearest to the watercolors on the west wall. Emma Clyde and Harriet sat next to the central corridor, and Kelly Rizzoli and Hal Douglas nearest to Elliot and the coffee bar. Of course, Elliot could have turned just the moment the dart was thrown. She gave up, and turned back to Uncle Ambrose. Had any of these people ever been involved in a case of accident or suicide that could have been murder? Annie recalled Max's typewritten notes, and Emma Clyde's name flashed in her mind like a six-foot neon sign.
She whooped and told Max.
”Yeah, that's a real possibility. Of course, there's the question of Hal Douglas's wife. Where is she? It's really too bad you didn't have a chance to read Elliot's disk.”
”The killer's too smart for us. He must have destroyed my uncle's ma.n.u.script months ago, slick as a whistle. Now he's wiped out Elliot's disk. How the heck did he know I was at Elliot's house?”
”I don't know. If we knew that... Think back, Annie. Did you hear anything? Was there a noise or a smell, anything that might give some hint to the murderer's ident.i.ty?”
”Nothing. I was sitting there, reading...”
Max looked at her sharply. ”You actually started reading the disk? Did you find out anything?”
”I certainly did. Max, why didn't you ever tell me you had a law degree?”
For an instant, he looked absolutely blank, then he began to shake with laughter.
”Annie Laurance, for shame. There you are, inches from discovering a murderer's ident.i.ty, and do you call up one of the suspect's files? No, you call up Annie Laurance's file.”
She tried to brazen it out. ”I thought it would take only a minute.”
”It merely proves you are human, my love, succ.u.mbing to that feminine weakness for gossip before duty.”
”I may be weak, but you are deceitful. And chauvinistic.”
”Did I ever tell you I didn't have a law degree?”
”Max, be serious. Why didn't you say you did?”
”Oh, that was filed under miscellaneous information. You already know all the important things about me: I'm wondrously handsome and charming, sinfully rich, exquisitely perceptive, staunchly devoted to the intellect. I have three sisters and an enormous summer house on Long Island. I'm-”
”You are evading the issue. You are perfectly well qualified to practice law. You can have a serious career.”
”I'll tell you what, Annie. After we find the maniacal killer who is rampaging across wee Broward's Rock, I will give every consideration to pursuing what you term a serious career.”
”Do you mean it?”
”Of course. Now look, you called up the index, and decided to check out your own file. You didn't perchance look at anyone else's?”
”No. And when I came to, the disk had been erased.”
”Rats.” He scowled darkly. ”You are looking at the screen, somebody comes up from behind and biffs you.” Max paused. ”Why did he-or she-just biff you?”
”That was the only Epson on the island, and anybody looking at the index would know I had only looked at my own file.”
”How?”
”Every time a file is stored, the machine records the date.”
A green expression flitted across his face. ”Thank G.o.d for your curiosity.”
Annie pondered it for a moment, then felt a little sick, too. ”If I'd looked at the wrong file, read the killer's, then... It would have been like Harriet.”
”Harriet must have walked in on the killer.”
Thank G.o.d, indeed, for her curiosity. Then, as her head twinged, she felt a flash of her old temper. ”By G.o.d, I don't like being slammed. Okay, so I didn't get to read the files. We'll still figure it out.”
”You bet we will.” Max pulled the typewritten bios out of his pocket.
”Come on, let's get to work.”
”What are we going to do?”
”Prep you.”
”Prep me to do what?”
Max bent forward to tell her.
Eleven.
Annie felt the arm on her shoulder, shaking, shaking. She blinked and struggled to turn her face away from the piercing light.
”Come on, Annie. Open your eyes. I have to check your pupils. My G.o.d, I think you do have a concussion. This is like trying to wake a South American tree sloth.”
”Go away,” she mumbled, thras.h.i.+ng out blindly. ”You've checked every b.l.o.o.d.y hour on the hour all night long. Go away.”
”One eye open. Just one.”
Finally, miserably, she opened one eye, glared, closed it, and sank back on her pillow.
Annie breathed in deeply of the hot, swirling air in her shower.
”Need any help?” Max caroled just outside the shower door.
”I'll call if I do,” she sang back sweetly.
”Always ready to help out my fellow man.”
When she'd dried off with the thick, fluffy blue towel Max had thoughtfully draped over the wicker clothes hamper, Annie slipped into a yellow-and-blue patterned skirt and a soft yellow cotton pullover. She brushed her hair very carefully to avoid the swelling behind her right ear, wiped the steamed mirror and peered at her head. Well, she looked normal. No visible b.u.mps or bruises. She probed the skin behind her ear and winced. It still smarted, but she couldn't help smiling as she listened to Max bustling cheerfully around the kitchen. When she came in, he waved her to a seat. .
”Chef Darling at work. Observe and enjoy, Madame.”
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