Dead By Midnight

Chapter Fifteen

Treads creaked on the stairs.

Annie’s heart thudded. She edged the bedroom door open just enough to peer down the hall. The doorway to the upper verandah was visible from the stair landing. She would be seen if she tried to reach the verandah. But there was no place to hide on the porch anyway. Her throat dry, she eased the door shut. If only she knew who was coming up the stairs. She had no assurance this room was not the destination.

Annie hurried back to the alcove, stepped within, pressed against the wall. She was hidden behind the red velvet hanging unless—oh, dear heaven—someone walked to the vanity.

The bedroom door opened.

Annie watched in the vanity mirror as the panel swung in. She shrank against the wall.

Richard Jamison stepped into the room. He didn’t turn on the light. He stood with his head bent forward, his hands loose at his sides. He was big and formidable, muscular arms, large hands, knees slightly bent, as if he could spring forward, deal with any foe. He had the Jamison look, a narrow bony face, high cheekbones, thin lips. His gaze swung about the room. At one point, he stared directly toward the alcove, revealing his face in full in the vanity mirror. His eyes were intent. His lips pressed together, making a thin, grim line. Muscles bunched in his cheeks.

Finally, he turned away and moved toward the open door. He stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut with a slam.

Annie’s chest ached. Her knees felt weak. She waited, her Saran-wrapped hands in tight balls. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She felt a fury of impatience to escape the house, a terror of what she might face if she ventured into the hall. Finally, one hesitant step after another, she crossed the room, eased open the door.

She heard movement, the opening and closing of drawers, the thump of footsteps.

She had to leave before anyone else returned. Tommy may already have been arrested. If he were taken into custody, the other family members would surely return home. If she didn’t leave soon, discovery was all but certain.

She crept down the hall, tiptoeing near the wall to avoid any creaks.

From an open door on the other side of the hall came the sounds of movement.

Annie crossed the hall, moved nearer the door. Carefully, she peeked into the room.

Richard was folding a polo shirt, adding it to a stack on the bed next to an open suitcase.

Silent as a wraith, Annie slipped past the open doorway, shoulders hunched, expecting a shout, pursuit.

Once past the opening, she moved faster, reached the top of the stairs. She picked her way down the stairs as delicately as a heron stepping into a marsh. She placed each foot carefully flush to the wall and in the center of the tread to avoid squeaks. She reached the hall below and with a feeling of enormous gratitude turned and ran lightly to the back door. She opened the door and the screen and stepped onto the verandah. Richard’s room overlooked the front yard. She felt safe to slip down the steps and into the garden. She ran as if pursued, braced for shouts, a chase. As she plunged into the woods, she heard the sound of a car in the Jamison drive.

She ran on the trail, not pausing until she burst into Pat Merridew’s backyard. She stopped there, one hand tight on the strands of a willow, gasping, trying to pull air into her burning lungs. Finally, feeling weak, she hurried to her car. In the driver’s seat, she peeled the Saran wrap from her sweaty hands, compressed the plastic into tight little balls, dropped them into a drink holder. She turned on the motor.

Her journey was not yet at an end.

As Max nosed into the harbor, his cell phone rang. He expertly came alongside the slip and glanced at the caller ID. He answered without a qualm. Maybe something had broken in the search for Glen’s murderer. “Yo, Billy.”

“Where’s Annie?” Billy Cameron’s voice was crisp.

Max frowned. “At the store.” Even as he spoke, he knew the police chief would have checked there.

“Ingrid says she raced out the back door without saying anything to her. Annie called Mavis on her cell, said she knew who killed Glen Jamison, that she’d be back in touch. Annie isn’t answering her cell. Do you know what she’s up to?”

Max felt like he’d been slammed hard against a wall. “I don’t have any idea. I’ll be right there.”

Billy’s voice was gruff. “She shouldn’t take off on a harebrained scheme on her own. Obviously, she’s up to something she shouldn’t be doing. Damn fool. Look, she made some requests. I’m playing along. For now. Elaine Jamison and Tommy are having lunch in the break room courtesy of the county. The rest of the Jamisons have left. They’re under the impression Elaine and Tommy are in custody and I’ve taken a cruiser over to the mainland to meet with the circuit solicitor. I don’t like playing games, but I don’t want your demented wife dead either.”

Max’s gut twisted.

“Long story short, part of Annie’s deal is for me officially to be off-island. So I’m not here. Come in the back way.”

The living room of Cabin Nine was dim, airless, stuffy, and hot. Jasmine Gardens didn’t run the air-conditioning in vacant units. Annie pulled the small plastic bag from her pocket. She gazed around the room at the comfortable rattan furniture, then shook her head.

In three swift steps, she was in the bedroom. Again she studied the furnishings. Finally, she knelt near the desk. She held up the plastic bag, opened it. A tube of lipstick fell onto the carpet. The lipstick came to rest against the back leg of the desk, scarcely discernible.

She nodded in satisfaction. Everything was in place. She glanced at her watch. The next ferry to the mainland left in thirty-nine minutes.

She welcomed the fresh air as she walked to her car. She gave a decided nod after she slid into the driver’s seat. She thought furiously as she drove, oblivious to sparkling sunshine and verdant greenery. It was a short drive from Jasmine Gardens to the harbor. Annie parked alongside the boardwalk. She stepped out of the car and a pleasant breeze stirred her hair. She walked to the railing, gazed out at the choppy water, then looked back at the park that sloped gradually upward.

The police station sat to the north on a slight rise. She gazed all around, saw no familiar cars or faces. It was unlikely any of the Jamisons would be strolling the boardwalk. If Billy had done as she had requested, the Jamisons thought Elaine and Tommy were being held for further questioning and the police chief had left for the mainland to consult with the circuit solicitor. Probably the remainder of the family—Cleo, Kit, and Laura—were now at the Jamison house, along with Richard, who was packing to leave.

It was essential that no Jamison see Annie approach the police station. She made one more careful survey, then pulled out her cell. Blip blips informed her there were messages. She didn’t doubt that Billy had been trying to get in touch. She punched the number of the police station. “Mavis, this is Annie Darling. I’m on the harbor boardwalk. I don’t want to be seen arriving at the station. Please let me in the back door. I don’t want anyone to know I’m at the police station. Tell Billy I need to talk to him without anyone knowing. Can you do that?”

Mavis Cameron was always calm and collected. “Will do. He wants to see you.” Her crisp tone left no doubt that Billy Cameron definitely wanted to talk to Annie. The connection ended.

As Annie stepped into the corridor at the back of the station, where two holding cells were used for prisoners, she was startled when Max strode toward her, pulled her into his arms.

She clung to him, but only for a moment. “I’m fine.” Time was speeding past. The ferry would leave on schedule.

But he held her tight, looked down with a face that mirrored incredible relief and enormous exasperation. “Why did you turn off your cell? I’ve been going nuts. Billy called and said you’d figured out who killed Glen, then you disappeared. You’ve been out of contact for almost an hour.”

“Just for a while.” She didn’t want to discuss that period of time. Some of it involved actions she hoped Billy would never learn about. She looked past Max.

Billy Cameron stood with folded arms in the corridor. “What have you been doing?” He was brusque.

Annie stepped away from Max and faced Billy. She talked as fast as she ever had in all her life. The incredulity in Billy’s face faded as he listened.

Max watched with a growing frown. He knew her so well. He was anticipating what she might have in mind and the taut set of his features indicated a man determined to circumvent her.

She concluded, “ . . . and that’s why Glen was shot on Tuesday morning.”

Billy’s blue eyes were thoughtful. “How come it took you almost an hour to get here from Death on Demand?”

She didn’t meet Billy’s eyes, hoped he was not into reading body language, but she couldn’t meet that demanding gaze. “I got the key to Cabin Nine at Jasmine Gardens from Darwyn’s grandmother. I didn’t want to take a chance the manager wasn’t there. That’s how I was able to find the lipstick.”

Billy’s heavy face was grim. “We searched.”

“The lipstick was hard to see. It had rolled beneath a desk.”

He made an indeterminate sound deep in his throat. “Yeah.” He didn’t say her claim was a crock, but there was no mistaking his disbelief. “I get the picture. But even if there’s a tube of lipstick, even if we can prove the owner, that’s not evidence of a murder.”

“I have a plan.”

Max took a step toward her. “You’ve done enough. Now Billy knows who to look for.”

Annie looked straight at Billy. “There’s no proof.”

Billy took a deep breath, lines grooved in his face. Finally, reluctantly, he acceded. “There’s no proof.” His voice was heavy.

Annie glanced at her watch. “I can flush out the killer.” Again she talked fast. “The ferry leaves in twenty-six minutes. Billy, let me try.”

Max shook his head. “That’s crazy. What if the killer has a gun?”

Annie flung out a hand in appeal. “You’ll be there. The ferry can be full of police. Please, we don’t have long. Let me call.” She looked deep into Max’s eyes. “If we don’t try, Tommy Jamison will be arrested. The circuit solicitor will insist.”

Max looked at Billy.

Billy’s face furrowed. “She can have a tiny camcorder and we’ll be close enough to protect her. The ferry’s crowded on a summer Saturday. I’ll have people everywhere. We’ll have to move fast, but we can manage.”

Annie touched Max’s tense arm. “Tommy’s just a kid, Max.”

Max looked unhappy. “I don’t suppose you’ll be in danger if we’re all around you.” His face was grim. “All right. Make the call.”

Annie pulled out her cell phone, punched a number. “This is Annie Darling. I’m so glad I caught you. So much has happened. You know they’re going to arrest Tommy and maybe Elaine, too, but I’ve found a link to Darwyn Jack’s girlfriend.”

The voice was sharp. “Darwyn’s girlfriend?”

“Yes. Apparently he was meeting her in a secluded cabin, someone I know saw him there. I’m sure Darwyn couldn’t keep quiet about something as big as murder and what he saw Tuesday morning. It’s too long a story for now, but I found her lipstick in the cabin. It looks expensive and I’ll bet the police can trace it. Anyway, I don’t have time to talk. I’m on my way to the ferry. It leaves in about fifteen minutes. The chief’s gone to Chastain. I’ve tried to call him to tell him, but I can’t get through. I’m going over on the ferry and I’ll track him down and insist on speaking to him in person. I’ll let you know what happens.” Annie clicked off the phone.

Annie felt queasy as she slid behind the wheel of her car. She may have set up a dandy trap, but the intelligence that had successfully warded off intervention by Pat Merridew and engineered Glen Jamison’s death and coolly dispatched Darwyn Jack was formidable. Annie hoped she’d been convincing, dithery and excited enough to persuade her listener that she indeed was a threat but had no inkling of the grand design.

Annie glanced at her watch. In about ten minutes, she would turn the car and head for the line waiting to board the ferry. She watched in the rearview mirror, saw a battered station wagon she recognized as Mavis’s pull into the line. Some vacationers in ball caps and shorts waited to buy tickets, with backpacks carelessly slung over a shoulder. Casual clothes would have been easy to come by, stashed in the officers’ lockers. She wished she didn’t feel a tiny frisson of terror. Surely everything would go as they’d planned. Her protectors would be armed and quick and fast. None of the cars in line was the one she sought. It was no more than a five-minute drive from the Jamison house to downtown. Surely she would soon see the car she expected.

Her cell phone rang.

Annie pulled the phone from her pocket, raised an eyebrow at the caller ID. “Hello.”

A high, shrill, terrified voice cried, “You’ve got to come. Or I’ll die. Don’t hang up.” Laura Jamison pleaded, her voice shaking, “If you hang up, I’m dead. Right now you have to start driving and you can’t hang up. If you hang up and call for help, I’ll be dead by the time you find me. Please, drive to Jasmine Gardens.”

Sheer terror thinned Laura’s voice. The words knocked against one another, uneven, desperate, unmistakably true. “Will you come? Please don’t let me die.”

“I’m coming.” Annie started the car. Could she drive by the ferry line, honk, try to raise an alarm? “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” One hand on the wheel, the other holding the cell . . . Could she hold the cell between her cheek and shoulder? Annie tried and the phone slid away, bounced to the floor. She swiped frantically with her right hand, brought it up again. It was too small to hold in that fashion.

“It takes four minutes . . . to get to the cabin . . . from the harbor.” Laura was obviously repeating the words of her captor. “The gun’s pressed against my temple. Please, please . . .” She choked back a sob. Faintly, Annie heard her cry, “She’s on the line. I swear she is. Oh God, here, listen.”

The phone must have been held near the captor’s ear.

Annie spoke sharply. “What’s going on?” She turned the car, drove away from the harbor, saw the ferry in her rearview mirror until the road turned. “I’m coming. Don’t hurt her.” She didn’t dare honk. That would be heard on the phone. If she drove erratically, someone might notice, but if a siren sounded, the next thing she heard might be the crack of a gun. Useless in her pocket was the small video cam in the shape of a package of gum.

A cool voice instructed. “Keep talking, Annie. You’re very clever. I found the lipstick. I have it now. But I never dropped it and that means you brought it here. Clever. But stupid of you. Keep on driving. Speak up now!” The command was sharp, dangerous.

“I’m driving.”

“Continue to talk or Laura dies. Tell me how you knew.”

Annie talked. Richard Jamison’s decision to leave the island. Kirk Brewster in his next to last week as a partner. The gun-safe key taken by a member of the household. Pat Merridew’s fatal curiosity. Knowledge about Pat and pain pills. Sexy Darwyn Jack and luxurious Jasmine Gardens. The function of the leaf blower. What Darwyn saw. “How lucky for you that everyone focused on what Darwyn saw.” The deliberate use of Elaine’s five iron. “Tommy Jamison came home and found Glen and got blood on his shirt. That was another lucky break for you.”

“I’m always lucky.” The observation was almost amused.

Then, too soon—yes, the drive took only four minutes from the harbor—she was there. Annie turned onto the road that twisted around the secluded cabins of Jasmine Gardens. What could she do?

“When you get to the cabin, pull in behind Laura’s car.”

Annie curved around bamboo, the cell phone still clutched in her hand. There was the pittosporum hedge that screened the lanai of the cabin from view. A faded red Dodge was parked in the space. The car was empty. Laura, gun to her head, must be inside the cabin.

“Don’t even think about it.” The voice was steely. “I will count to five. If you are not inside by then, I’ll pull the trigger. Keep talking.”

A lawn-service truck rattled past. Annie heard the crunch of tires on oyster shells in the drive to the next cabin. If she screamed—

“One.” A pause. “Two.”

“I’m coming.” Annie opened the car door, hurried around a trellis to the front steps. She grabbed the innocent-appearing gum package from her pocket, held the cell phone in her other hand.

“Three.”

“I’m at the steps. I’m coming inside.”

Annie never doubted that a finger was firm on the trigger. The gun would sound at five. But in the living room of the small cabin, there would be two against one. A gun could not be aimed at both of them at the same time. The scene had to be set for Annie to be shot and suicide staged for Laura. That would take maneuvering, afford her and Laura time. Surely somehow, between the two of them, they could disarm the murderer.

Annie clicked on the video cam, held the little device in her left hand, dropped her cell phone in her pocket, and used her right hand to open the cabin’s front door.

Next door a leaf blower began its high scream. For an instant, her step checked. What bitter irony. A leaf blower would once again mask the sound of shots unless Annie and Laura managed to outwit a ruthless adversary.

Annie stepped inside.

Laura Jamison sagged, her tear-streaked face blanched, on the small sofa.

Cleo Jamison stood with her back to the bedroom door.

Annie turned her left hand slightly to afford the video cam a view of Cleo.

She held a black pistol in one hand. Her eyes burned as she stared at Annie. “What tipped you off?”

Annie felt cold and empty, knew that Death waited only a few feet away. “The gun in the gazebo. The police figured Elaine had taken the Colt and hidden it in the gazebo since she didn’t live in the house. Instead, you put the gun out there for Darwyn.”

“Darwyn?” Laura turned a shocked face toward Annie.

Annie glanced around the elegantly appointed living room, the beach-style furniture new and shining, the watercolors on the walls depicting a sailboat against a blazing sunset, pelicans flying in a V above gentle waves, a little girl digging in the sand.

Her eyes moved back to Cleo, who was no longer beautiful, despite her glossy dark hair and chiseled features. Her cheekbones jutted, full lips with bright red lipstick were drawn back in a grimace. She was a figure of fury, scarcely contained.

Annie picked her words carefully. “I suppose you started the affair with Darwyn for sheer pleasure. Your husband was old. Darwyn was young and sexy.”

Behind Cleo, the bedroom door eased open perhaps a half inch.

Annie felt her eyes flare wide. She immediately tried to contain her expression, keep her face unchanging. She spoke more loudly. “You met Darwyn here. I imagine you planned trysts for the afternoons. You could slip away from the office, ostensibly to run an errand, and no one would be the wiser. How long had you been sleeping with him? A few months? Long enough, I suppose, to pick up on the coldness inside him. But Glen might still be alive if Richard Jamison hadn’t come.”

Behind Cleo the door continued to move, slowly, slowly.

Laura sat frozen on the sofa. She, too, watched, but her gaze appeared to be focused on Cleo.

Annie kept her eyes locked with Cleo’s. “You wanted Richard, but Richard wasn’t willing to have an affair with his cousin’s wife. I’m sure you pretended to be stricken with nobility as well. But when Richard told you he was leaving the island, you made your plans. I don’t know what you promised Darwyn, but he agreed and so the process began. You placed the gun in the gazebo. Pat Merridew had no liking for any of you by that time. She’d been fired. She must have enjoyed finding out something she could hold over your head. She saw you hide the towel and then checked and discovered the contents. She invited you for coffee to have a visit, but you went to her house earlier in the day, took her leftover pain pills.”

Cleo’s eyes burned. “She was a fool. Her back door was unlocked. I found the pills in a kitchen cabinet. She’d told us over and over about the pain in her wrist.”

Annie spoke quietly. “You got the pills and ground them up and had them in a plastic bag in your purse. That evening at her house, did you ask for more honey for your Irish coffee? Something like that happened, I’m sure. When she went to the kitchen, you dropped the ground-up pills in her cup. When she began to get drowsy, you picked up the travel brochures, washed your own crystal mug, replaced it without fingerprints in the cabinet, discarded the prescription bottle in the trash, and left her to die. Now everything was on track for Glen’s murder.”

Annie was careful not to look beyond Cleo at the figure standing in the bedroom doorway.

“Glen had to die this week. You knew the information about the key man insurance would come out. That’s why you arranged to be in Savannah for a deposition. No suspicion would attach to you. You weren’t on the island. Moreover, Kirk was still a partner and he made a nice suspect for the police. And Glen had to die on Tuesday when Darwyn came to the house to work. Darwyn propped the leaf blower near the terrace. He left it running. He wore gardening gloves and he had the Colt. He opened the French door to the study and stepped inside.

“Glen must have stood up and walked toward him. Darwyn was a good shot. He had to be a good shot. Most shooters aim for the chest. There’s less chance of missing. But arrogant, confident Darwyn shot Glen twice in the throat. I imagine he liked blood. Glen fell to the floor. Darwyn dropped the gun, slipped back outside, picked up the leaf blower, went back to work. Who did Darwyn see? Only Tommy. When I talked to Darwyn, he hinted at what he might have seen. He knew Elaine was a suspect and he made that threatening visit to her cottage. I don’t know that he intended to ask for money. I think he was a bully and wanted to make her uncomfortable. Maybe he intended simply to widen the possibilities for the police, but it worked out very well for you. Everyone assumed Darwyn was killed because of what he had seen in the backyard. You asked him to meet you in the gazebo. You had already taken Elaine’s five iron and hidden the club there.”

A pulse throbbed in Cleo’s throat. She lifted the gun.

Annie flung herself to one side as the man in the bedroom doorway plunged forward, strong and determined. He grabbed Cleo’s wrist, twisted her arm.

The gun went off. The sound was huge in the small room.

Cleo sagged to her left. The gun clattered from her hand onto the floor.

Richard Jamison kicked the gun away.

Cleo moaned and rolled to one side, clutching at a welling flood of blood pumping from her upper leg. “Richard . . .” Her face worked. “Richard, I did it all for you.”