Death of the Party (15 page)

When they stepped inside, Lucinda paused in lifting a slotted spoon holding a poached egg. “Well?”

Annie hurried across the room, smiling. “Harry won't be up. Britt is going to explain in a little while. I'll help you with everything as soon as I finish breakfast.”

Lucinda eased the poached egg atop a steaming po
tato pancake. She gave Annie a harried glance. “If you could refill the serving dishes, I'd appreciate it.”

Pushing through the door, Annie carried a plate of sausages and bacon. Max followed with an apple egg casserole. As they moved toward the buffet, conversation in the dining room fell away.

“Look who's back!” Slouching at ease in Jeremiah's chair, Everett looked as replete as a cat with a mouse tail dangling from its chops. His pale eyes gleamed with amusement. And intelligence. “Talk about suspense. Clearly disturbed, our hostess summons the detective-in-chief. He is followed by his lovely wife and helpmeet”—Everett inclined his shining pompadour toward Annie—“and we”—his gesture encompassed the long table—“are left to wonder what further misdeed has been discovered. As if the weekend weren't exciting enough with an announced murder, assorted suspects, and incipient investigation, now we await—with bated breath—elucidation. What the hell is going on? Has Britt misplaced a pet cobra? Found a map to a buried treasure? Another body?”

Max slid into his place, reached for his coffee. “Sorry to disappoint you, Everett.” He drank the remainder of his coffee. “You and the others”—Max looked up and down the table—“can address all questions to Britt. She'll be here shortly with some information. All of you might want to relax with coffee and stay to hear her.”

Annie settled into her place and returned to her breakfast with enthusiasm. Though the food had cooled, it was still delicious, especially the apple egg casserole. The coffee was magnificent. She wondered
at Max's easy assurance that Britt would be with them shortly. That didn't seem likely. Annie thought the sheriff might have a good many questions when apprised out of the blue about a murder unreported for more than a year and a missing yacht. And the sheriff had yet to hear Max's theory about drugs. But if Max's reply staved off Everett's snide queries, so much the better.

As she ate, she darted interested looks at her companions. Sitting opposite her were Millicent McRae, Gerald Gamble, Craig Addison, Kim Kennedy, and Max. Nick McRae was at Annie's left. To her right were Isabel Addison and Dana and Jay Addison. The brilliant light of the chandeliers was unflattering to most. Nick's angry color had subsided, but his thin nose looked pinched. He hunched over his plate, stiff as a man marching through a snowstorm. Gerald ate as if the food were a problem to be solved. Craig made monosyllabic replies to Kim's enthusiastic description of the latest Falcons game. Kim looked young and vivid and eager, and was clearly making every effort to charm the CEO of Addison Media. Millicent twisted in her seat, her glance irritable. “When will we get more coffee?”

Annie smiled and said, “I'll see to it.” She hurried to the kitchen, refilled the coffee carafe.

Lucinda turned from the sink. “Do I need to come?”

Annie shook her head. “Everything's fine. I'll clear the plates when they finish.” In the dining room, Annie moved around the table, offering coffee, filling most of the cups.

Millicent held the steaming cup in both hands, lifted it to her mouth. She no longer had the aura of a successful, powerful woman. She drank, avoiding her husband's gaze.

Isabel had put very little food on her plate and eaten only a bit. Her dark beauty was somber. “Yes, I'd like coffee.” She looked across the table at her husband, sighed, looked away.

Dana bent toward Jay. “You haven't eaten a bite. The pancakes are wonderful. Would you like some, honey?”

Ignoring his wife, Jay frowned at Max. “Where did Britt go? She said she'd show me that note Mom may have written.”

Max buttered a croissant. “Britt should be here soon.” He spread the pastry with marmalade.

Annie returned to her place, refilled her own cup. She finished the rest of her breakfast, drank the excellent coffee, welcomed the ever amazing surge of energy from caffeine.

Lucinda bustled into the dining room, moved toward the buffet. Annie started to rise. Lucinda waved a hand, indicating she would clear the dishes.

Everett rubbed his nose. “What well-bred guests, patiently awaiting their hostess.” His disdain was evident. “Come on, people. Show a little life. Being well bred is a sure ticket to boredom. Let's get a pool going. After all, Britt's known as a gambler. She'll be pleased. This is a well-heeled crowd. Everybody throws in fifty bucks. I'll round up paper and pencils. Make a guess as to what new disaster has occurred and whoever's guess comes closest wins the pot. If all the guests play,
the total will be four hundred and fifty bucks. If our sleuths join us, the pot goes up to five fifty. If nobody wins, we'll draw straws. At the very least, we can read the entries aloud and avoid keeling over from ennui as we wait for Britt's return.” He pushed back his chair. “I'll nose around, find some pencils and paper.”

“Take your time.” Gerald's tone was sardonic.

Craig's blue eyes followed Everett. His gaze was not admiring.

Annie studied Craig. He had the look of a bulldog ready to snap. He was not a man to trifle with and he had ultimate power over Everett's future at Addison Media. Annie was puzzled. Everett might be obnoxious but he certainly wasn't stupid. Why was he willing to aggravate the boss?

As Everett strolled into the hall, Millicent hissed, “He's disgusting.” Despite delicately applied makeup, her face was splotchy. Harsh lines flared from her mouth.

Isabel smoothed back a lock of raven black hair. Her dark eyes worried, she turned to her sister-in-law. “Do you think something has happened?”

Dana's round, gentle face squeezed in uncertainty. “It can't be anything major.” She glanced up and down the table. “Everyone's here.”

Lucinda returned from the kitchen, moved toward the buffet.

Quick footsteps thudded in the hall. Everett stopped in the doorway, his face alert and suspicious. “I've been gone from the dining room a minute and a half. You can all swear to it. You haven't heard any crashes and bangs, right?”

Craig slammed down his cup. Coffee splashed on
his hand. “Crenshaw, I'm getting damn sick of your performance. I suggest you—”

Everett was gruff. “Not a performance.” His voice had lost its mocking undertone. “Simple self-preservation. I don't intend to get the blame for smashing into Britt's desk.”

Annie came to her feet. “Are you talking about the desk in the library?” She didn't wait for an answer. She ran across the room, passing an openmouthed Everett. She skidded into the hall, her shoes slapping on the heart-pine floor. Max called out her name. There was the sound of voices and clatter of movement behind her.

She dashed into the library, skirted a chair near the desk, jolted to a stop with a clear view of the bottom drawer, which dangled from the gouged and chipped right side. The front of the drawer had been prized loose. The drawer was empty.

Max came up beside her. “Annie, what's…” He saw the vandalized desk.

She pointed and somehow managed to keep her hand steady. “Britt put the gun there last night. She locked the drawer.”

Behind her a murmur rose…
gun
…
gun
…
gun
…

Annie glanced at the doorway. Anxious faces peered at her. Dana held tight to Jay's arm. Nick and Millicent moved uneasily, restless as thoroughbred horses scenting a snake. Isabel pressed her hand to her lips. Eyes bright and eager, Kim called out, “What gun? Who does it belong to? Is it loaded?” Gerald, cadaverous face even longer than usual, muttered, “Did somebody get Jeremiah's gun? Why?” Craig bulled his
way through the throng. Lucinda, holding a casserole, peered worriedly into the library.

Everett tried to push past Annie to reach the desk, but Max held out an arm to bar him. “Keep back. We don't want to mess up evidence.”

The others edged into the room, straining to see.

“All right, everybody. Quiet.” Craig stood in the middle of the library, both hands held up. He gave a short, peremptory nod at Annie. “You said Britt put a gun in that drawer last night. Why did she have a gun? What was going on?”

Dana murmured, “I don't understand. Why would anybody break into the desk and take the gun?” Her round face was frightened.

Her husband tugged nervously at a thick tangle of untidy hair. “I don't know. I don't like it.”

Craig shot his brother an irritated glance. “Shut up and let's find out what's happened.”

Jay's face flushed. He glared at Craig. “I'll talk to my wife if and when I want to. If there was any way to get her off this damned island, I'd take her out of here right now.”

From the hallway, Britt cried out, her voice sharp and tense, “What's going on here?”

The onlookers in the doorway made way for her. Britt looked as harried as she had earlier in the kitchen, her eyes shadowed, her slender face drawn into a tight frown. She moved swiftly into the library, looking from face to face.

Annie gestured toward the desk. “The gun's gone. Somebody broke into the drawer. Everett found the desk this way just a few minutes ago.”

Britt reached Annie, looked past her at the smashed drawer. “Oh my God…”

Annie was crisp and to the point. “I told them you locked the gun in there last night. The gun's been stolen.”

Craig strode toward Britt. “What gun? Why did you have a gun out last night?” His tone was demanding, his stare imperious. He may have been head of a media empire for only a year, but clearly he was a man now accustomed to deference and obedience.

A nerve pulsed in Britt's throat. She reached up, touched it with a shaking hand. “I was downstairs late. I saw a light in the garden. I took the gun with me when I went out to see.” Her stare at him was defiant. “After everything that's happened, I was frightened. But I didn't find anything out of the way. When I came back, I put the gun away. Annie was here. And now ”—she looked in disbelief at the shattered desk—“it's gone.” Britt's murmur was low and shaken. “I thought it was perfectly safe there.” She looked around the library, a peaceful room with the deep rich walls of cypress, bookshelves filled with many old leather-bound volumes, heart-pine floor, an ornate Chippendale clock hanging above the Adam mantel, a faded Aubusson rug. The room's elegance and grace were in sharp contrast to its uneasy occupants. “I suppose it's all part and parcel—”

Everett was strident. He might have been confronting a guest on his news show. “Part and parcel of what? What the hell is going on here? First you summon the supersleuths to the kitchen. Anybody would
figure something's happened. They were gone at least twenty minutes. When they got back, Darling”—he jerked his head at Max—“said you'd explain everything on your return. Where did you go? Now it looks like somebody's busted into your desk, filched a gun. Why?”

Kim chimed in. “Something's upset you, Britt. Usually you're cool and collected. Tell us what's happened.” Her tone was encouraging, almost kindly.

Annie had a feeling Kim ached to have a microphone in her hand. She saw Craig's quick glance at the ex–TV reporter. There was a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

Britt swiped the back of one hand across her eyes. “I'm sorry. Yes, I'm upset. I've discovered that Harry Lyle has disappeared. First, I want to explain that I wasn't frank yesterday. I told you there was no way to leave the island until the charter arrives tomorrow at five. Actually, Golden Silk has a yacht—”

“Dad's yacht.
The Yellow Kid
.” Jay looked excited. “Sure, we should have thought of that. It was part of Cissy's inheritance. I assumed you'd sold it. Oh, hey”—his sigh of relief was huge—“that's great. We can leave now.”

“I wish that were so.” Britt's words were clipped as though she was trying to maintain her composure. “The boat's gone. Harry Lyle took the yacht and the motorboat as well. This morning when he didn't show up, I asked Max and Annie to go get him.” She described their discoveries. “He took all his possessions.”

Max nodded in confirmation. “That includes a locked trunk I saw in his place yesterday. Lucinda told us he was up and around late last night. Now we know he was clearing out his belongings. Apparently he often was up and around late at night. Here's my take on it…” Max sketched out his theory that Harry was a conduit for drugs coming from Latin America. “There had to be something illegal in that trunk. Why else would he run?”

Kim clapped her hands together. “Drugs! That explains everything. Jeremiah must have figured out Harry was involved in smuggling, so Harry rigged that wire. Last night Harry heard Britt promise to report everything to the police. That meant a thorough investigation of everyone who was on the island when Jeremiah died. If there was a shipment of cocaine in that trunk, Harry had to get away.”

Gerald, his expression judicious, cleared his throat. “Or there might be some reason we don't know about that will come to light when the police investigate. Since there's no doubt the yacht was taken by Harry Lyle, it follows that he must have broken into the desk, absconded with Jeremiah's pistol.”

Britt fingered the collar of her blouse, a blue silk with white banding. She looked doubtfully at the splintered wood. “I suppose so.”

Dana was puzzled. “Don't you think that's what happened?”

“Yes.” There was an uncertain note in Britt's voice. “But I would have thought he'd have a key. Or use some tool and open it more neatly. It seems so messy for Harry. He was—oh, it sounds silly—but he was
always so neat and careful. There's something savage about the way that drawer was pried out.”