Death of the Party (14 page)

“I'll serve, Lucinda. And clear up.” Britt was conciliatory. “I'll take care of the cabins, too.” She looked uncertainly at Max and Annie. “I didn't hire you to help with staff problems, but I really need to stay here and help Lucinda. Max, would you mind rounding up Harry? It isn't far to his cabin.”

Max looked thoughtful. “I don't mind at all. Is he often late?”

Britt shook her head. “He's always been dependable. Tell him I sent you. He can be gruff sometimes.” She pointed to the back door. “Take the path to the left. It goes behind some pines. You'll see a sign indicating
the path is off limits. Continue on until you see a path branching to the left.”

“Won't take a minute.” Max was casual. He turned toward the door.

Annie looked from Britt to Lucinda. She didn't see anything to indicate either was worried. Annie wondered if she was the only one who felt a sweep of foreboding. In any event, she didn't want Max to go down that path by himself.

“I'll go with you.” She dashed after her husband.

With the door closed behind them, Max stopped, put his hand on Annie's arm. “Maybe you'd better stay here.”

“You're worried, too.” She held his gaze.

“About Harry?” Max frowned. “No, he's probably fine. Punched off the alarm, rolled over, went back to sleep. From what I saw of him yesterday, he's no push-over. He can handle anybody on the island. There's no reason to think anything's happened to him. But I don't like the feel of this place.”

Annie understood. The damp gray morning seemed inimical, the leaden skies dulling the landscape. The thick green forest, dark and primeval, was choked with ferns and shrubs, impenetrable except for the narrow opening of the path.

“All I know for sure”—Max sounded grim—“is that I wish you hadn't come to this damn island.”

Annie loved him for that quick instinct of protectiveness. But she was a big girl. “Not to worry. We'll see it through.” She moved ahead of him toward the pines, determined to appear at ease.

Max caught up. “Stay close.” He walked ahead of her.

The misty cool tunnel beneath the trees had the glowing green quality of an aquarium. There was no wind and the forest seemed unnaturally silent, leaves and branches and undergrowth utterly still. The occasional trill of a bird seemed raucous, as out of place as a whistle at a funeral. Oyster shells crunched underfoot, announcing their progress. Annie fought growing uneasiness. “I don't believe he overslept. What if something's happened to him?”

Max pushed back a huge frond of a Resurrection fern, gave her a quick glance. “Why Harry?” He walked faster. “No, it's more likely he overslept. But I agree with Lucinda. I'd like to know what he finds to do in the middle of the night. From what she said, last night's not the first time he's been out and about late. Okay, here's the turnoff.”

Annie rushed to keep pace. This path was narrower. “Maybe he's the one who was in the garden last night.”

“Britt didn't get a glimpse of anyone?” Max swiped a damp hand on his trousers.

“No. She tried to blow it off, said maybe there hadn't been anyone prowling around. I told her she shouldn't have gone out by herself, not even with a gun. I think she realized she'd made a mistake.” Annie sidestepped a dangling swath of Spanish moss. “She was pretty upset last night. She tried to put a good face on it, but when I asked her who she suspected—and, Max, I'm sure she has someone in mind—she lost her cool. She went on and on about who she wished it was,
like Gerald or Kim or Everett. Well, that's a pretty good indication she doesn't think it's one of them. That narrows the list to Jeremiah's family, the McRaes, or her employees. There's no reason why she should be distressed if either McRae was guilty. I doubt she feels any attachment to the Addisons. That leaves Lucinda or Harry. They've stayed on the island, helped her make a go of it as a resort. She has to feel pretty close to both of them.”

The path opened to the clearing. All three cabins were dark. Max pointed. “The middle one is for the maids when they have them. The nearest is Lucinda's. You ought to see it. Doll heaven.” They walked swiftly to the third cabin. Max moved ahead of Annie to climb the stairs. On the porch, he paused. “The door's ajar.” He knocked. The crisp tattoo startled a flock of crows, who lifted skyward, cawing. “Harry?” Max bellowed. “Max Darling here.”

Birds chittered. A gray squirrel near a live oak held an acorn, peered at them. Gray clouds with the texture of fissured granite layered above the clearing.

Max glanced back at Annie. “I'll take a look.” His tone was calm; his eyes were wary. He pushed the door open, stepped inside. He muttered an exclamation and strode across the room.

Annie, heart thudding, came right behind him. She stopped in the middle of the room and frowned. No one was here. There was an aura of disarray, cushions awry, empty drawers tumbled to one side of the desk.

Max banged around in the bedroom. In a moment, he came to the doorway, spread out his hands. “He's gone. He's taken everything with him—his clothes, all
his stuff. Hey—” He dashed around her, came to a stop near the desk, staring at the emptied drawers. “Yesterday the desk was all locked up. And look—” He pointed at scored wood and a large rectangle bare of dust beneath a front window. “There was a trunk there. Locked with a padlock. And a rifle case. Everything's gone.”

Annie was bewildered. “Where could he have taken everything?”

Max gripped her elbow. “I told you yesterday about the boat. A big cabin cruiser. Harry had urged Britt to hire it out for charter. Come on…”

Max ran ahead of Annie. She loped after him though she doubted there was any reason now for haste. He burst out of the woods, skidded to a stop, stared grimly at the empty cove. “The yacht was anchored out there.” Max pointed to the deeper water. “He's gone. And he's made damn sure no one can follow him. There was a motorboat, too. He must have attached it to the stern with a line, pulled it with him.”

Annie came up beside him. A raft of herring gulls bobbed near the point. There was nothing else to see but a vast, empty expanse of gray water and gray sky. “Why?”

Max slammed a fist into his palm. “If we knew that, we might know everything. Okay”—he paced, head down—“what happened? Last night Everett told everybody Jeremiah was murdered. Harry was standing in the hall. He heard all of it. Harry knew that whatever happened this weekend, Britt promised to take the results of her investigation to the police. Now”—Max tipped his head, looked at Annie—“what do we con
clude when Harry packs up and leaves, stealing a quarter-million-dollar yacht to make his getaway?”

“He killed Jeremiah?” It was a question, not a statement. Annie bent down, scooped up a handful of crushed oyster shells. She threw a big one as hard as she could. It skipped across the murky water, then disappeared. Just like Harry. It looked as though Harry was guilty. Innocent men do not steal a yacht and sail away. But still…“Nobody's said anything, Britt included, to suggest why Harry would murder Jeremiah.”

Max was ahead of her. “If Jeremiah discovered Harry was involved in criminal activity and threatened to inform the police, Harry might have had a very good reason for murder. Dammit, I should have been smarter yesterday.”

Annie looked at him quickly. “Short of reading Harry's mind, I don't see what you could have done.”

“I could have insisted on knowing what he kept in that locked trunk.” Max jammed his hands in his pockets. “Last night I had trouble sleeping. I knew there was something important I needed to remember. I kept trying to think what I'd forgotten, what worried me. It was the trunk. What was the point in locking it? His cabin was in an area off limits to guests. There was no reason for anyone to be in his cabin except by invitation. That wasn't good enough. He had a padlock on the trunk. The only possible reason was to hide something dangerous or illegal. Lucinda said he was in and out of his cabin last night and now we know why. He was hauling everything he owned to the yacht. But he'd come and gone late at night be
fore. That sounds like drugs to me. He probably met another yacht out of sight of the island, transshipped cocaine. Then he delivered it to Savannah at his leisure, maybe even a few bricks at a time. Come on, we've got to tell Britt. She can radio the Coast Guard, get a search under way, although I expect he's already landed in some out-of-the-way place. She can arrange for a charter to come to the island.”

On the way back to the house, he quizzed Annie. “Did Britt say where she saw the light in the garden?”

“Not specifically.” Annie frowned in thought. “Then she dismissed the idea, said she may have seen something glint when the clouds parted and there was a glimmer of moonlight.”

“If it was Harry, there may be some trace of what he did. We'll check to see if there's been any fresh digging. He may have had more stuff hidden.” Max rubbed knuckles against his cheek. “Damn, if only I'd remembered about the trunk last night. It almost came to me when I was drifting off to sleep.” He was irritated with himself.

Annie was quick to reassure him. “It wouldn't have mattered. You were convinced Everett needed protection. You wouldn't have left him alone. You'd have thought there would be plenty of time to check out the trunk this morning.”

They came out of the pines into the backyard. Britt was waiting on the kitchen steps. As they hurried toward her, she looked past them with a frown. She didn't give them a chance to speak. Her voice sharp, she demanded, “Where's Harry?”

Max was blunt. “Harry's cleared out. He took everything he owned. And the yacht. And the motorboat. He made sure no one could follow him or get to the mainland before the charter comes tomorrow.”

“Harry's gone? The yacht's gone? And the motorboat?” Fury hardened her face, made her look older. A lifetime of combativeness was reflected in the jut of her chin. “He's marooned us here? He'll pay for this.” Abruptly she stiffened, looked warily at Max. “How did you know about the boats?”

Max's level stare challenged her. “I don't like being kept in the dark when I take on a job. I took a look around while you were greeting your guests. I went up the off-limits path and found the employee cabins. I talked to Harry, told him I was working for you. He was delighted to give me a tour—the inlet with the yacht in deep water, the pier with the motorboat tied to a piling, the office with the ham radio.”

“You didn't mention that to me.” The distance between them seemed to grow.

Max was unruffled. “I'd say that makes us even. Maybe now we can work together. You can use that radio to get some help for us, start a search for Harry, have him picked up for questioning.”

“Questioning? If he took the yacht, he's a thief. I'll have him arrested.” She plunged her fingers through her hair. “I can't believe it. Maybe there's some explanation. Perhaps he left a note. Did you check the office?”

Max shook his head. “There's no mistake. His cabin's empty. He took everything he owned—clothes, shoes, pipes, everything in his desk, as well as a locked trunk and a rifle case. There's nothing left but
old magazines and trash. Harry is gone. He probably has”—Max glanced at his watch—“five or six hours' head start. The sooner you get in touch with the sheriff, the better.”

“Yes. I'll do that.” She bit off the words. She started to turn away.

Max called after her. “Tell the sheriff Harry's armed and dangerous.”

Britt stopped, faced Max. “Dangerous?”

Max's face was grim. “I said he took everything with him. That includes a rifle case. A man doesn't steal a quarter-million-dollar yacht on a whim. Last night Harry was in the hallway when Everett dug up the bones. You made it clear there would be an investigation into Jeremiah's murder and whatever we learned would be presented to the authorities. Harry didn't wait around. You need to lay it out for the sheriff from start to finish. That will give him enough to put out an APB for a murder suspect.”

For an instant, Annie thought Britt was going to refuse. Or, at the least, disagree. Her expressions changed with the rapidity of cards flipped by a dealer, but Annie was certain she saw surprise, assessment, calculation, and decision.

Then she nodded. “I'll do that.” Still she made no move to go, an air of abstraction still evident.

Annie was afraid Britt had dealt with one crisis too many. Perhaps she'd always taken great comfort in the knowledge that she had a boat at her command and was never marooned. Annie understood island fever. Even though she and Max lived on an island, Annie's sense of security was based on the knowledge that Ben
Parotti's ferry was always available as well as Max's motorboat. Moreover, Broward's Rock was not Hawaii or Bermuda. On visiting those far-distant outposts, Annie had never been able to shed the persistent uneasiness engendered by the knowledge that hundreds of miles of ocean separated her from the mainland. And here was Britt looking as if she'd taken a step and found the floor missing.

Annie said quickly, “Do you want us to come with you?”

Britt gave her a grateful look but shook her head. “There isn't anything you can do. I'll take care of everything. Why don't you and Max finish breakfast?” She frowned. “Don't say anything to the others. I'll explain when I get back.” She gave a short laugh. “Explain! That won't be easy since I don't understand myself. Harry gone. And”—she glanced toward Max—“you think he killed Jeremiah. I don't know. I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else.” She swung away, moving fast toward the pines.

At the back door, Annie hesitated. “What do we tell Lucinda?”

Max shrugged. “Whatever we tell her, she's going to be mad.”

Annie reached for the door. “Let me handle it.”