Part 13 (1/2)
Potatoes and onions sizzled invitingly in the skillet, and Max whipped the eggs to a froth.
”One exquisite frittata coming up.”
They carried their plates to the wooden-planked table on the balcony outside the kitchen.
As Max poured the coflFee, he stooped to kiss the top of her head. ”Just a preview of one of the myriad pleasures of connubial life.”
”Oh, Max, why aren't you willing to invest this kind of effort and energy into a job?”
His coffee cup paused midway to his mouth. His eyes widened. ”What an obscene thought.”
”I'll have you know I'm serious.”
”I know. That is both your great charm and your great failing, my sweet.
You are very serious.” He sighed. ”Annie, don't you believe in fairy G.o.dmothers?”
”Not really. I believe in hard work and devotion to duty.”
He sighed lugubriously and tried again. ”Annie, what if I-or your fairy G.o.dmother-slipped a freighter ticket to Singapore under that four-leaf **'over? Couldn't you take it and run away with me?”
”No.”
”Why not?”
”I wouldn't have earned it.”
”Look. Think about it this way. You know the guy who won thirty million dollars in the New York raffle?”
”What about him?”
”Is it immoral for him to accept his winnings from a raffle?”
”Well, no, I guess not.”
”Annie, look on me as a great, big, loving raffle ticket!”
She was fas.h.i.+oning a withering retort when the police car pulled up in front of the tree house. She slowly put down her coffee cup.
”Remember, we were here all night,” Max said calmly.
Chief Saulter walked heavily up the steps. He looked tired, and Annie wondered if he had been up most of the night. She rose to meet him.
The police chief looked at her intently, then past her at Max.
”We're having breakfast,” she offered.
”I want an account of your movements last night.”
”My client has nothing to say, Chief Saulter.”
”Innocent people don't need that kind of advice.”
”Innocent people need the protection of angels, Chief Saulter.”
Annie and the chief both looked at Max in amazement.
He smiled fatuously. ”Did I understand you to ask for Miss Laurance's movements last night?”
”That is correct.”
”Then I can tell you very simply. She was here. I was here. We were here all evening.” He couldn't have been more insouciant ice skating at Rockefeller Plaza.
”All night?”
”Most of it. We went to the bookstore for a few minutes about eight.
Why?”
”Any phone calls? Anybody come by to visit?”
”One phone call. We didn't answer it. n.o.body came by. Why the questions about last night, Chief?”
The chief's chilly eyes turned to Annie, who was pretending to nibble on her toast. ”You know Harriet Edelman well?”
”Moderately,” Annie answered pleasantly. She repressed an image of the bloodied mess she'd last seen in Elliot's living room. ”I had an autograph party for her a couple of weeks ago.”
”She was murdered last night,”
”Oh my G.o.d. . .”
”Where? What happened? Do you know who did it?”
”She was found in the living room.”
Annie saw the trap, and skirted it. ”She lived alone. Who found her?”
”It didn't happen at her house.” The chief spoke grudgingly, his suspicious eyes intent on Annie's face.
”Where?” Max asked dutifully.
”At Elliot Morgan's house.”
”Good grief,” Annie exclaimed, ”what in the world was she doing there?”
The Porsche jolted up a sandy track. ”At least he didn't arrest me. Max, did you get rid of that towel?”
”That towel is well-wrapped around a heavy rock and resting at the bottom of a lagoon on the opposite side of the island. Even if it floated up, there's nothing to connect it to you.”
”Right. But I wonder if my bike tires left a track under the bridge.”