“I feel grim. Pat was murdered.” She described her visit to the police station, her trip to Pat’s house, Henny finding the six-cup percolator, Billy agreeing to check the crystal mugs for fingerprints. “ . . . so it seems obvious. Someone washed that mug and dried it without leaving any trace.”
Max added sugar to his lemonade. “I get your reasoning, but it’s hard to prove anything just because there aren’t fingerprints. Besides, why would anyone kill Pat Merridew? You said Billy checked and Pat didn’t have enemies and nobody here profited from her death.”
“There has to be a reason.” Annie added another huge splash of tartar sauce to her sandwich.
Max professed deep concern. “Careful with that tartar sauce. You might choke.”
Annie finished the bite, smiled sweetly. “The better to slide down my throat.” She recalled one of Laurel’s Cat Truth posters, a European Brown Tabby with elegant markings delicately chewing blades of grass:
Max reached across the table, used his thumb to brush between Annie’s eyebrows. “Ease up, Annie. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Billy will investigate.”
She looked at him soberly. “Of course he will. He’ll check with neighbors, see whether anyone was seen going into Pat’s house that night. I don’t think a clever murderer would take a chance of being seen. Besides, sometimes people don’t want to talk to police.”
Max started to speak, stopped, then said mildly, “Honey, if Billy can’t find anything, I don’t think anyone else will either.”
She understood. Gently, kindly, he meant that if Billy couldn’t find a lead, neither could she. “Maybe not. But I can try.”
His gaze was curious and a little puzzled. “Why?”
Annie almost felt as if she were having a Madame Arcati moment. Everything seemed crystal clear. “When Billy called, he said the investigation would continue and then he asked Henny and me to let him know if we found out anything. Don’t you see? He knows that whatever led to Pat’s death is hidden in pieces of her life that a police investigation will never uncover. I’m sure he wants us to help. He was saying the truth won’t come out unless we find out what Pat had done that made someone want her dead.”
Max scooped coleslaw. “There aren’t that many reasons for murder. Anger. Jealousy. Fear. Greed. Revenge.”
Annie glanced at the bowl containing tartar sauce, decided to honor Max’s sensibilities. Instead, she added a dollop of cocktail sauce. “Her estate goes to a sister in California. That knocks out greed. You don’t invite someone for coffee if you are furious with each other. As for jealousy, why would anyone be jealous of Pat? She wasn’t young, beautiful, or, so far as we know, involved in an affair. Revenge implies some kind of estrangement, so again an invitation for coffee is out. That leaves fear.”
Max forked a piece of flounder. “If she wouldn’t invite someone for coffee because she was angry with them, she certainly wouldn’t invite someone she feared.”
Annie put down her fork. “Max, that’s brilliant.”
“Really?” A blond eyebrow quirked.
“Don’t you see; Pat wasn’t afraid. She invited someone over for coffee. She wouldn’t ask someone if she felt she was in any danger.” Annie’s voice was hushed. “The other person was afraid.”
Max didn’t appear overwhelmed with her sagacity. “Why did someone fear Pat?”
“She must have posed a threat.” Annie frowned, thinking out loud. “Maybe she knew something someone was determined to keep secret. Maybe Pat knew about something illegal or embarrassing or compromising in some way. Maybe Pat called the person, suggested they visit over a cup of coffee, maybe she dropped enough of a hint that it was clear what she was talking about.”
Max forked coleslaw. “What was her point?”
Annie recalled another mystery discussion with Pat and her admiration for Christie’s Virginia Revel, who looked for new experiences. “Maybe she wanted to see how the person would react. Or maybe Pat thought she could profit if she kept silent.”
Max lifted his tea glass. “In less polite circles, that’s called blackmail.” He looked more interested. “She could have picked up some damaging information at the law firm. Maybe that’s why she was fired.”
Annie pressed fingertips against her temples. Possibly channeling Madame Arcati was habit-forming. “That doesn’t work. If she threatened someone at the law firm, she wouldn’t have been fired.”
Max objected. “Wait a minute. What’s the best way to get fired? Pose a threat to someone you work with.”
Annie was thoughtful. “She lost her job a couple of weeks ago. Henny says she was furious. If she’d known anything, she would already have caused trouble. I think something happened after she lost her job. We have to find out everything we can about the last two weeks. What Pat did, who she saw, where she went.”
Max took a moment in his stroll toward his desk to select a putter from a green ceramic vase shaped like an elephant’s huge foot and a ball from a soft purple velvet bag hanging from a bronze hook next to the vase. An indoor putting green of synthetic bent grass graced one corner of the room. Today the hole was placed in a far corner beyond a challenging contour.
Max placed the ball at the edge of the green, assumed a putting stance. He drew the club back, making sure the putter face was square to the line. He stroked, smooth as butter. The ball rolled true, quivered for an instant, plopped into the cup. Max hoisted the club in triumph, then returned it to the vase.
He was smiling as he settled in the red leather chair behind the gleaming Renaissance refectory table that served as a desk. The surface was bare except for a matching red leather desk pad and the ornate silver frame that held his favorite photograph of Annie. He stared into her steady gray eyes. Flyaway sandy hair framed her open eager face. “Okay, babe. You want info on people around Pat Merridew. Maybe losing her job at the law firm doesn’t have anything to do with her murder, if it was murder, but that’s the place to start. For sure, they knew her well.”
He turned to his computer, went online, Googled Jamison, Jamison, and Brewster + Broward’s Rock. The Web
