Part 24 (1/2)
She remembered Harriet's contorted face that day at Death On Demand. Max was wrong. That day, Harriet was mad enough to kill.
Annie spread her hands out. ”How can we guess what's reason enough?
Remember what happened to Gideon in Kelly's short story?”
Max waggled his hand for her to be quiet. ”That's right,” he said into the receiver. ”That's the one. What've you got-well, I'll be d.a.m.ned. Sure.
Listen, we appreciate your help. If we can ever give you a hand-”
He hung up, then turned to Annie, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. ”He remembers, all right, and he thinks Kelly is just as nutty as her sister. In fact, he believes Kelly did every bit of it herself.”
He scrunched his face in distaste. ”She forgot to mention the chicken house. Apparently, she-or Pamela-set fire to the chicken house behind the place where they boarded.”
”Ugh.”
”Yeah. So maybe Kelly had more to lose than some embarra.s.sing talk about her crazy sister.”
”Maybe Pamela's not crazy. Maybe she's a prisoner-a variation on Flowers in the Attic.”
He didn't laugh. ”Actually, nothing about Kelly would surprise me.” He ran a hand through his thick blond hair. ”Maybe Carmen summed up the party pretty well. Annie, did you have any idea what your Sunday Night Regulars were like?”
She tried to remember back before Sunday. Sunday seemed a thousand years ago.
”I always thought Emma Clyde was a lot smarter than she acted. You know, she looks like the average housewife shopping in the housewares section at Winn-Dixie.”
”That's on a par with calling a cobra a house pet.”
”I really liked Hal Douglas. He has such an all-American face.”
”Just your average neighborhood wife-killer,” Max sang.
”And Kelly seemed so vulnerable, like a coed at a bad hangout.”
”Very bad, but she's the den mother.”
He lightly touched her elbow, and they started back down the central aisle.
”I never did like the Parleys. They give me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s.”
”Another all-American pair.” Max walked behind the coffee bar, honing in, on the refrigerator.
As he lifted out another beer, she mused, ”n.o.body much liked Fritz.
He's such a cold fish.”
Max carefully fitted the church key to the bottle cap. ”Then there's Capt.
Wonderful,” and he shot a sly look at Annie.
She leaned against the coffee bar. ”Why do you hate him so much? He's the only normal one of the bunch.”
The cap snapped off, and foam rose over the lip of the bottle. ”No cop is normal.”
”That's not fair. Besides, he has a piddly motive.”
Handing her the first bottle, he uncapped the second. ”Keeping a paternity suit quiet doesn't seem worth a poison-tipped dart. But a man who'll cheat on his wife will cheat anybody. I intend to nose around him a little more.”
Annie took a delicate sip of beer. She'd better ease up on her quaffing.
She needed a clear head, especially if she were going to show Max up.
He thought he was so smart. Of course, if the murderer's picture were on Harriet's film, neither- She popped straight up. The beer jostled and overflowed as she gestured wildly at the wall clock.
”My G.o.d, Max, it's almost six!”
Eighteen.
The Porsche leapt forward. Annie clung to the red leather rim of the dash. The clock flashed 5:52.
”Don't worry, this girl can fly. We'll make it. Besides, Parotti probably doesn't leave on time.”
”Yes, he does,” she yelled back over the whip of the wind through the open sunroof. The live oaks pa.s.sed in a blur. ”He's a little martinet.
You'd think that d.a.m.ned ferry was the Queen Elizabeth the way he acts about her schedule.”
In answer, Max pressed harder on the accelerator.
Annie thumped back against her spine. They had to make it. They had to.
The Porsche zoomed around the last curve and roared toward the checkpoint. He braked hard, received a pa.s.s-through wave from a startled Jimmy Moon, then floorboarded it, and the sports car burst forward like a two-year-old headed for the winner's circle.
Success was theirs! The car screeched onto the dock just as Parotti gave the preliminary toots announcing imminent departure. The ferry horn mingled with the high, abrasive whine of a siren.
Annie twisted in her seat and saw the motorcycle turning off the blacktop.
”Hurry, drive onto the ferry!”
Max twisted to look, too. The Porsche didn't move. ”A work farm is not my idea of a pleasant way to spend the rest of October.”
As the motorcycle drew alongside, she glared at Max in bitter disappointment.
Once again, the ma.s.sive young policeman loomed beside the car. A waft of spicy cologne tickled Annie's nose. ”Eighty-six miles per hour. You people think this island is a G.o.dd.a.m.ned racetrack?”
Annie jounced in the seat. They had to hurry! The ferry always left on time. The clock flashed 5:59. She could see Parotti peering at them from the ferry cabin.
”Officer, I apologize,” Max began smoothly, ”but we have important business on the mainland.”