So? Annie demanded of herself. That could be said of them all, couldn't it?
No. Not quite.
But why would Julia—and the very thought sickened Annie's heart—murder her own daughter?
There could be no rational reason. But there might be many twisted reasons in the mind of a woman as miserably unhappy as Julia.
She passionately loved her little girl.
The same way she'd loved her sister?
Annie forced herself to pursue the phantasmagoria taking shape in her mind, a vision of a mind and heart engulfed by evil, the kind of evil Poe described with hideous clarity in 'The Black Cat' and 'The Tell-Tale Heart.'
'Did Missy die before Mrs. Amanda fell from the cliff—or after?' Annie demanded. She saw Max's quick, curious glance.
Lucy Jane knew at once. 'About a month before. They say death comes in threes. I thought we were all finished—what with Mr. Ross and the Judge and Missy all gone within a year —but Death wasn't satisfied yet.'
Annie had a ghoulish picture of a dark-cloaked figure with a grinning skull face reaching out greedy fingers of bone.
'No wonder Julia was so stricken,' Annie said softly. 'Mrs. McKay, why didn't you tell us about Julia and Amanda and the fact that the Judge knew about them?'
There was a long silence; then, quietly, firmly, decisively, the receiver clicked in place.
Annie stared at the phone for a moment. She didn't feel good about it, but she had her answer. Julia had denied an affair and denied that the Judge could have known. Amanda wasn't alive to answer, but Lucy Jane McKay was an honest woman. She wouldn't lie—so she wouldn't answer.
Annie looked across the room at Max. 'The Judge knew. About Julia and Amanda.'
Max said quietly, 'Julia would know where the gun was kept.'
The telephone rang. Annie's hand still rested on top of the receiver. She snatched it up, glad to be connected to the here
and now, not part of a shadowy, frightful world of imagined evils.
'Time to go.' There was more than a hint of displeasure that the telephone had been answered. It was clear Miss Dora thought Annie and Max should at that very moment be en route to their rendezvous with her at Tarrant House.
As usual, Annie had to grab her temper and hold on. Now was not the time to tell the old harridan that she was rude, overbearing, and obnoxious.
'We're just getting ready to leave.' It was an achievement to enunciate through clenched lips. Perhaps it was Annie's irritation that gave her the courage to snap a sharp query. 'Miss Dora, did Courtney Kimball contact you the day she disappeared, last Wednesday?'
The sudden silence on the part of Chastain's most voluble and opinionated old lady caught Annie by surprise. And so did the rather odd answer that finally came.
'Wednesday?' It was the only time in their acquaintance that Annie had the feeling that Miss Dora was at a loss. 'Why do you ask?' she demanded brusquely.
'Enid Friendley talked to Courtney on Wednesday. She told her you were the only person connected to Tarrant House that Courtney should trust.'
'I see.' Miss Dora cleared her throat. 'Well, if Enid indeed did say that to Courtney, it's a shame the child didn't call on me. Now, I wish to speak with Max.'
Annie wasn't unhappy to hand over the receiver.
But Annie had the damnedest feeling. Miss Dora had lied. Why?
If Miss Dora had seen Courtney Kimball on Wednesday, why lie about it?
Miss Dora was an old woman.
That didn't mean she wouldn't cling to life, grasp it with fingers tight as talons, and do whatever she must to ward off death. Especially, perhaps, if she would die with murder on her soul.
If Miss Dora had lied about Wednesday, how many other lies might she have told?
