Death of the Party (29 page)

Britt was subdued. “He warned me. Actually, he turned me down, wouldn't take the job. When I made it clear I intended to go ahead, that's when he agreed to come.”

The grandfather clock in the hallway, only a few feet from Annie, began to chime seven o'clock. Time was running out. Annie heard steps on the stairs. Max was on his way down. And she hadn't spoken yet to Loomis. She knocked.

The door swung in. Loomis and Britt stood only a foot or so apart, but there was the sense of a wide gulf. Loomis's face was long and somber. He looked as if he was thinking hard and the thoughts were unpleasant. Britt clasped her hands tightly together. Her face looked sharp and pinched. There was an angry spark in her eyes.

Annie wondered briefly if Britt would ever be able to assuage Loomis's feeling of exclusion. Perhaps nothing tests love as much as what a lover doesn't share. Complete love, complete honesty? Perhaps Britt would someday persuade him that love seeks always to protect its object. Maybe she would succeed. Maybe not. But now…“Loomis, Max would appreciate help in keeping watch over the evidence. He wants to take the tackle box and some other things down to the dock.”

Loomis seemed to welcome her arrival. He moved past her. “Sure. I'll be glad to help.”

Max reached the hallway and saw them. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, holding the tackle box, a filled
pillowcase resting on top, papers in a folder beneath his arm. “Thanks, Loomis. If you'll take the pillowcase and folder, I'd appreciate it. I want to have everything on the dock when they get here.”

Annie loved Max's voice, its resonance and tone. He was always easy to hear. In fact, he was loud. His words boomed in the hallway and carried into the dining room and drawing room.

Millicent looked up eagerly. “Has the boat arrived?” She came to her feet and Nick rose too.

Max was upbeat. “It's due any time now.”

Nick moved stiffly to the coat tree, pulled down two coats. He turned back toward Millicent. She came forward, slipped into her coat.

Kim was across the dining room in a flash, shrugging into a quilted jacket. She carried a camera in one hand, a flashlight in the other. The swinging door banged from the kitchen and Lucinda called out, “Wait up, everybody. I'm coming too. I'll get my coat,” and the door swung shut.

The piano stopped. Gerald strolled forward. “Are we all going down to be a welcoming committee?” He picked up a leather coat from a mahogany bench.

Dana tugged on Jay's hand. “Let's go too. Maybe they'll take us back to the mainland now.”

Craig took Isabel's arm. “I should be there. Come on, I don't want you to stay here by yourself.”

In the midst of the flurry, Loomis reached Max. Loomis took the pillowcase and folder. Carrying the tackle box under his arm, Max strode to the front door. “Come one, come all.”

Annie started forward, then stopped as the misty
cool air swept inside. She heard the rattle of magnolia leaves. The wind was up. It would be even colder now than it had been earlier on the pier. Annie turned, headed for the back door.

Britt was standing in the doorway to the library. “Where are you going?”

“I need to get my jacket.” Annie pointed toward the door. “The carts are out there, aren't they?” That's where Britt had parked when she and Annie hurried up before lunch to tell Max about the splash when Dana threw something into the lagoon. “I left my jacket in the cart. It won't take a minute to get it.”

Britt stepped into the hall. “There are extra coats in the hall closet. Wait, I'll get one for you.”

Annie was already at the door. She said, “No, really, that's okay,” then opened the door, started down the steps. They were moist and slick in the damp air. Light spilled from the open doorway and from the windows of the kitchen. Two carts were parked side by side perhaps twenty feet from the back steps. Annie hurried across the uneven ground. It was cold enough that she shivered. But in just a moment, she'd be warm. She stopped behind the carts, uncertain which one she'd used earlier that day.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She glanced back. “Oh, you didn't have to come. I'll catch up with everyone.” She took two quick steps to the farther cart. Her jacket was bunched up in the back beneath a laundry bag. She leaned forward, grabbed the jacket, pulled. The duffel shifted but the jacket was still held fast by something heavy. She used both hands, tugged again. A dark shape moved, tilted, and fell out of the cart,
landing with a dull smack on the ground. “I'm sorry. I hope I haven't broken anything.” She pulled on her jacket, then bent and picked up the object. She lifted it into the light from the kitchen window. Was it a radio? Oh, a portable radio…There was a whirring sound. She must have pushed some button when she touched it. She stared at the bottom row of buttons, remembered a portable radio she'd once had, a radio and tape player and tape recorder…

Abruptly, the machine was yanked out of her hands. There was swift movement, a click, the sound stopped.

A tape recorder. That was odd. Earlier Britt had told Craig there was a tape recorder in the library when Craig wanted to record a message to help in their search for Jay. Gerald had gone to get it, but the tape recorder wasn't to be found. Britt had gone and looked, too, and she hadn't found it either. Instead Craig had carried the mounted ship's bell with him, ringing it over and over again. Now Annie had found the tape recorder in one of the cleaning carts.

Annie turned. The words she'd started to say died in her throat.

A scant foot away, Britt stared at Annie, her face implacable, a pale oval of concentrated hatred and fury. Tucked under one arm was the tape recorder, silent now. Britt held a shiny silver gun—Max's missing gun—in her right hand. She held it steady, the barrel pointed at Annie's heart. She moved closer to the cart and slipped the tape recorder beneath the laundry bag without taking her eyes away from Annie.

Annie felt as if a giant's fist had fastened on her
heart. It was utterly quiet in the backyard. There was no one near. No one at all. She saw death in Britt's cold stare. One squeeze of Britt's finger and a shot would explode. Annie would fall as Everett had fallen, flesh and blood spewing, life wrenched away.

Britt's arm began to straighten. Any instant now…

Annie forced the words from a throat tightened by terror. “They'll hear the shot.” Her voice was thin but sharp. She said it again. And again. Dear God, how much time had passed? It seemed an eon ago that she'd clattered down the steps of the back stairs, intent upon warmth. Actually only a minute or two had passed. The others would be just a little way down the front walk en route to the dock. They would hear a shot, oh yes, my God, they would hear! “They'll hear the shot!” Her voice was loud, taking strength from the only fact that could save her. “Everyone's together.” Now the words stampeded, loud, harsh, certain, rushing over each other, pelting Britt, David's stones against Goliath. “You'll be the only one who could have done it. They'll know you're the one.”

The pointed gun remained steady. Burning eyes watched Annie. Lips moved soundlessly.

“They'll know it's you.” Annie wagered her life on a flickering hope of delay. “You can't shoot me.”

There was a squeak as the back door opened. Lucinda stood on the porch, bulky in a red quilted jacket. “I thought I saw you two come out here. That's a good idea to take a cart. I'll do that too. It's too dark to be walking anywhere and besides I'm tired and ready to ride.”

Britt moved fast. She came around the back of the second cart, stood next to Annie, pressed the gun to her back. Her voice was low. “Not a word from you. If you make any sound, I'll kill you both. Get into the cart. The passenger side.”

Annie walked slowly and stiffly, slid into the right side of the cart. Her throat ached. She wanted to cry out, but Britt meant every word. She was a killer. Did it matter to her that there was scarcely a chance now for her to escape? Would she kill in anger at her failure? Annie had no doubt that she would kill again without qualm or hesitation if provoked.

Lucinda, talking a mile a minute, reached the other cart. She plopped into the seat. The cart hummed into motion. “…sure going to be glad to see the Coast Guard. I don't know when I've spent a worse time than this. Look into a face and all you see is a smile but one face is a lie….”

Britt eased into the cart. She used her left hand with the key and the wheel. The right hand with the gun was turned toward Annie. “Put your hands in your pockets. Keep them there.” The first cart chugged out of the backyard. Lucinda was perhaps ten feet ahead of them. “I've only got one chance. There aren't enough bullets to kill everyone. And Loomis…” Just for an instant there was pain in her voice, a deep and abiding agony. Then once again, clipped quick words. “I've got to get away. I'll take Loomis's boat. Don't try any heroics. If you do anything to warn them, I'll shoot Max first. That's a promise. I keep promises.”

Annie pressed against the side of the cart. She'd
known fear. Now horror flooded her. Max. Oh God, could she keep him safe? She'd be quiet. Of course she would. Whatever it took, that was what she'd do. Blood thrummed in her ears. Britt meant every word. She spoke in the low voice that Annie had once thought attractive, a husky, memorable voice. The words were at such a hideous variance from the cultivated tone. Annie knew the only way to keep Max and the others safe was to placate Britt. Could she possibly get past the overweening ego of a killer and convince Britt that her situation was hopeless? “They'll know it's you.” They would know that Britt was the murderer. Everett had seen her remove the wire that killed her sister's husband. He'd assumed she was the murderer. He was right. Britt had said she'd heard Jeremiah fall. And when she had come to the stairs, she had looked down to see if he was dead. But if he'd survived the fall, she would have hurried down the steps to finish her task. As it was, the hard marble had killed him. She'd waited. When no one had come, she had removed all traces of murder.

“Everett saw you. You set the trap. You killed Jeremiah.” And Britt's dying sister outlived Jeremiah to provide Britt with a magnificent inheritance and the money to pay debts that had to be paid. “We thought Everett was shot when you were with us. He was already dead, wasn't he?”

“Damn you.” Britt's voice quivered with rage. “Everything worked perfectly. Until you went to the cart tonight.”

The wind whipped the live oak branches that arched overhead. The dark tunnel to the dock was cold and
black. Annie couldn't see the gun, but she knew it was aimed at her. Every second took them nearer to the others. And to Max.

Annie's jacket had snagged on the tape recorder, the telltale tape recorder. “You rigged that shot.” Annie remembered the single loud report as they trundled along the path to Everett's cabin, how shocked they'd been and frightened, their instinctive duck for cover. She and Max were both participants and audience for a performance carefully crafted by Britt. “That's why Lucinda heard gunshots when no one was on the island. You were practicing, taping each shot, then running the recorder, seeing how to get the loudest sound. That means you were going to kill Everett right from the start. You planned everything before you invited anyone back to the island. You intended to kill Everett before you ever came to see Max.”

“Oh, yes.” There was arrogant pride in Britt's answer. “It was easy. I persuaded Everett I was innocent and I was going to let him in on a great murder hunt, a surefire boost to his ratings. Everything was planned. I asked him to accuse me after dinner. I told him he'd make the real murderer nervous and we'd get some action going. We did, didn't we?” The cart was nearing the end of the live oak avenue. “Everything went like clockwork. I made a great tape of the gunshot. Last night—that's when you saw me in the garden—I put the player in a tree near the cabin and left it with the volume turned up. I timed it to turn on at ten-thirty this morning. I got us there at just the right moment. That's why I stopped the cart in the path and talked. I figured everything perfectly. I got Craig to ask everyone to
write a report on Jeremiah. That gave me a reason to go to each cabin with a legal pad. That's when I shot Everett. I used a silencer, so no one heard that shot. It would have worked except for
you,
” she concluded bitterly.

Annie knew that the woman beside her wanted to shoot, wanted it with every warped fiber of her being. Somehow Annie forced out words though her throat was tight and her chest ached and she felt the cold, dank breath of death. “A silencer. That was clever. Is that why you took the gun away after you shot him? Because it had the silencer on it?”

“Of course. Besides, I wanted to put the gun where it would do me the most good. I took the silencer off and ran to Jay and Dana's cabin and left the gun. I knew they were waiting for me at the lagoon. Don't you see? Everything worked together. I dropped the silencer in the fountain pool on my way to the lagoon. There was nothing to connect me to Everett's death except the tape recorder. I picked it up when Max sent me around to get the reports. I didn't have a chance to get rid of it after that. I was going to do it tonight. There shouldn't have been any hurry. Why would anyone look in the back of the cleaning cart?” A pause, then the gritted, angry curse: “Damn you.”

The tape recorder with its damning echo of a gunshot destroyed her alibi. She could not afford to have it found. At her leisure, she would have been able to erase the tape. But Britt had never been alone after she and Annie met at Jay and Dana's cabin.

Annie saw how everything had happened. She didn't
understand why. “Why did you shoot him? If you'd persuaded him you were innocent, he wasn't a threat.”

Britt's laughter was quick. And cold. “He wasn't a threat. I could handle him without any trouble. But the sheriff might not have been so gullible. He might have been very interested in the wire and my removal of it. My only hope was to help catch the ‘murderer' or somehow prove I couldn't be guilty.” Her ripple of laughter was pleased and satisfied. “That's what I did. If Everett died and everyone was convinced he died because he knew the identity of the murderer, and if I had an alibi for the moment of his death, I was safe. And I would have been. Except for you.”