'Certainly never knew bowling could be so much fun. Though, it wasn't actually the bowling. If '—the tone now was arch—'you understand what I mean. And I'm sure you do. You two of all people.'
The tape whirred.
Annie grinned. How flattering to know that Barb saw them as romantic figures. The lock clicked and the room door swung in.
'Annie!' Her very own most romantic companion stood in the doorway, and she loved the unmistakable flicker in his eyes.
Annie held a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the machine.
Max nodded and shut the door softly behind him. 'Anyway'—there was clearly an effort here to return to
everyday practicality—'everything's great here. Except Agatha got my sandwich at lunch. I'd fixed an anchovy sandwich —so I like salt—and anyway, there was a crash at the front of the store and I went racing up there and somehow'—her voice was loaded with suspicion—'the display on academic myster ies had been knocked over. I'd just finished putting it all together, and I was really pleased. Not the most famous ones, but some very good ones, The Better to Eat You by Charlotte Armstrong, The Corpse with the Purple Thighs by George Bagby, Death at Half-Term by Josephine Bell, The Horizontal Man by Helen Eustis, and Was It Murder? by James Hilton. Isn't that marvelous? All knocked to kingdom come. So I put the display up again. It didn't take all that long, but by the time I got back to the coffee bar, there wasn't a single anchovy left in my sandwich. When I scolded Agatha, she looked at me with the most patronizing, amused expression! Annie, that cat's scary! Anyway, had another lovely note from Henny. She went to Fortnum & Mason and bought and bought, and said she kept looking for Nina Crowther' (in Margaret Yorke's Find Me a Villain) 'and Richard Hannay' (in John Buchan's The Three Hostages). 'Gosh, just think, all that food and people you've read about for years! Anyway, you've got phone calls to the max.' A quickly suppressed giggle. 'Miss Dora wants you at her place pronto. Ditto Sybil Giacomo. I'd go to Sybil's house first; she's on a tear. And'—a pause, the sound of move ment, the opening of a door, low murmurs of voices, and, finally, a hurried, almost breathless finale—'Louis just came. I'll fax you some stuff. Bye for now!'
'Barb sounds funny,' Max observed, squeezing in beside Annie on the love seat. 'Has she got a cold?'
Joe Hardy all grown up and sexy as hell but sometimes an innocent abroad.
Annie flashed a wicked grin and murmured, 'Later,' as the machine beeped again.
'Where are you people?' Sybil's deep contralto was sharp-edged and impatient. 'I want to talk to you. Come here as soon as possible.'
In the bedroom, the fax phone rang and the machine began to clatter.
But Max made no move—toward the fax.
Instead, he slipped an arm around Annie's shoulders and pulled her close. 'Hey, we can't work all—'
A hard, impatient rapping reverberated against their door.
11:30 A.M., SATURDAY, MAY 9, 1970
Chapter 15.
The two women stood locked in a tight embrace, the auburn head pressed down against soft dark curls.
Julia trembled. 'I can't go home. I can't. Oh, God, Amanda, I'll die if he touches Missy.'
Miss Dora surged into the living room of their suite, her dark-gray cloak swirling around her, her silver-headed cane thumping against the heart pine floor. She stopped in the center of the artfully decorated room, planted her stick firmly in front of her, and raked them with those bright, malevolent eyes.
'Noon,' she rasped. 'Where have you been? What have you accomplished?'
Miss Dora deigned to accept a hard straight chair, her back erect, her head high. Annie sat primly on the love seat. Alone. Her posture was excellent. Max stood respectfully near Miss Dora.
As they made their reports, the old lady interspersed an occasional comment.
'Lucy Jane's no fool.' The wizened face puckered in thought. 'So she's skittish about Amanda. That's interesting. Don't quite see why, after all these years. Hmm.'
She smiled sardonically as Max concluded. 'So Whitney tossed you out, eh? He's blustering. I'll fix his wagon. But,
first things first. My own investigations, made this morning, indicate the fire was set either by Julia or by Milam.' It was almost a modest announcement. And even Miss Dora was will ing to accept appropriate praise. At their exclamations of in terest, the sallow skin was touched by a faint pink glow. 'It is quite clear that the blaze was fueled by gasoline. I confirmed
