Part 23 (1/2)
”It's a free country. Or so I thought.”
”You have no call to go around interviewing people. Mrs. Morgan resents it.”
”The ex-Mrs. Morgan knew all about the Sunday night session-and she was pretty annoyed that Elliot wasn't forking over her alimony on schedule,” Annie said furiously.
A voice broke in. ”Hey, you people better leave Carmen alone.” She pictured a meaty face with beady brown eyes.
”b.u.t.t out, Bud.”
So that was Inspector Slack's name.
”Ms. Laurance, I'm calling to give you another chance. You keep your face out of my investigation. I've got enough trouble on this island without you and your boyfriend playing detective. Bud was just giving you some friendly advice.”
”I have some friendly advice for Bud,” she retorted. ”His pal, Carmen, is a real pistol, and she wanted money-”
”Hey, lady, you watch your mouth about Carmen. What d'you mean, she's a pistol?”
”And, furthermore, Chief, have you found out who inherits Elliot's money?”
”Of course.”
”Who?”
”That's no business of yours.”
”If you're going to slap me in chains tomorrow, you can bet my lawyer will make it his business.”
Finally, Saulter spoke, and there was just a hint of consideration in his voice. ”He hadn't changed his will.”
”So Carmen inherits?”
”Yes.”
Bud was still fuming. ”Hey, wait a minute. n.o.body's going to hang a rap on Carmen. Me and her were on the beach Sunday night.”
Not Inspector Slack, Annie decided. Mike Hammer on a vacation.
”Bud, get off the line.” After an instant, there was a click. ”Okay, Ms.
Laurance, you and your boyfriend have your fun-but I'll be over to talk to you in the morning. And you better have some good answers.” He hung up-She replaced the receiver. ”The tumbril's going to roll first thing in the morning.” Her voice was light, but she glanced up at the clock. ”Oh Lord, we've got to get cracking. It's ten after five. Come on, Max, let's split up the work. You summarize what we learned from everybody, and I'll call around and see if I can find out where everybody was when Harriet was killed.”
Max spread out his notes from the day on the table nearest the coffee bar. He draped himself comfortably in a chair, took off his brown cordovan loafers, wiggled his toes, and drank some more beer.
She called Emma first.
”Yes?” The mistress of mysteries was not cordial.
”Emma, where were you between five and six P.M. Monday?”
There was a chilly pause. ”I understand Harriet died about then,” she said finally. ”Is that what prompts this call?” She laughed softly. ”You are indefatigable, aren't you? I was here, my dear. In my office.
Working.”
”I thought you wrote in the mornings.”
”That's right. And in the evenings, too, when I'm close to the finish.”
”How about 9:45 Sunday morning?”
”Now that's something new.” Her tone was a.s.sured and amused. ”Is there a corpse no one's told me about?”
”No. That's when the murderer hid the dart in Death On Demand.”
”Oh my, you and Mr. Darling do seem to be clever at discovering things.
I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. I was working. The next time I get involved in a murder, I'll be sure to order my time better.”
Emma sounded quite good-humored now. She certainly didn't feel threatened by their investigation so far.
Annie took a flyer. ”How about ten-thirty P.M. Wednesday, July seventeenth?”
”Is there any semblance of reason behind that question?”
”Somebody pushed Uncle Ambrose off his boat.”
”Interesting that you know the exact time.”
Annie would have given a hot reply, but Emma swept on.
”Sorry, dear, I don't keep a diary-and I wasn't skulking around the harbor that night.” The line went dead.
It didn't take long to ring up her list.
Hal Douglas didn't seem affronted by her question. ”Yeah, I was jogging about the time Harriet was killed, but I took a path through the bird refuge. I didn't see a soul,” he said cheerfully. ”As for Sunday morning, I was asleep. And I don't have any idea about last July.” His voice dropped. ”Do you really think somebody murdered your uncle?”
Annie was relieved when Janis Farley answered rather than Jeff. She replied to the questions in a low, uneasy voice. She and Jeff, she insisted, were at breakfast together Sunday morning and were playing Scrabble Monday evening. Annie could imagine her looking over her shoulder as she spoke.
Fritz Hemphill listened, then said distinctly, ”Go to h.e.l.l.”
Before he could hang up, she threw out, ”Do you still have the rifle you used to shoot Mike Gonzalez?”
”Funny thing, Annie. Dead men don't talk.” His voice continued, cold and uninflected. ”Neither do dead women. Sure, I got that gun. I still hunt with it.”
Capt. Mac was encouraging. ”Have you found out anything?”
”A lot. Some of it, you wouldn't believe.”