Annie stepped cautiously on slick pine straw. When she reached the base of the garden, a charming one-story gray wood cottage was in full view. Annie stared. She hadn’t recognized the house from the backyard, but she immediately knew the cottage. Annie had been there last week for a committee meeting for the League of Women Voters. Elaine Jamison was the committee chair. Annie liked working with Elaine, who was crisp, kind, clever, and insightful. But much more important to Annie was the fact that the softly green tabby house was the home of Glen and Cleo Jamison.
Annie turned toward the cottage. Elaine’s car was not in the drive. Annie walked back into the woods, thinking hard. She returned on the path to Pat Merridew’s backyard. As soon as she reached her car, she retrieved her purse from the trunk and lifted out her cell phone. She called the police station, recognized the voice of the dispatcher— Billy’s wife, Mavis. “Mavis, this is Annie Darling. May I speak to Billy?”
In a moment, Billy answered.
Annie plunged into her recital, stopping only when Billy interrupted. Finally, she concluded, “ . . . and I think Pat went late at night to the Jamison house.”
Billy was sharp. “Wait a minute. You don’t have any basis for that conclusion.”
Annie was fervent. “Why else would she go on that path?”
“There’s no proof she turned left. Maybe she went toward the lagoon.”
“Pat told Mrs. Croft she couldn’t sleep after she lost her job. She was furious with Glen Jamison. I think she went on that path to the Jamison house.”
“Why?” Billy sounded bewildered. “What possible reason would she have to go there late at night after everyone was asleep?”
“Because she was upset.” It seemed eminently reasonable to Annie.
Billy drew a deep breath. “There’s no point to it.”
She had a quick memory of a Cat Truth poster: a small Brown Tabby, clearly a female, stalked a mesmerized rabbit while a Golden Shaded Persian male lolled back against a cushion, one leg raised for grooming.
Annie wasn’t sure she could breach the divide between Venus and Mars. “Women take things personally.”
“You got that right.” Billy’s agreement was fervent and obviously the product of experience.
Encouraged, she continued. “Pat was upset. I think she wanted to go and look at the house and think how much she hated them. Like sticking pins in a voodoo doll. Anyway, she went somewhere on that path late at night and not just once but several times. She wouldn’t go to the child care or the vet’s. They’re closed in the middle of the night. The lagoon was a dead end. The only other place is the Jamison house. I don’t believe in coincidence, and since it was the Jamison house, that had to be why she went.” Annie realized her reasoning sounded a trifle inchoate, but she was sure of her conclusion. “I mean, think about it.” Was she starting to sound like an eighties Valley Girl?
Billy was patient. “I see what you’re getting at. Let’s say you’re right.” He sounded dubious. “Let’s say Pat Merridew went sneaking up that path to go think evil thoughts about the Jamisons. Annie, she’s the one who’s dead, not Glen or Cleo Jamison.”
“That’s the point. Pat’s dead. She went up that path and she saw or heard something at the Jamison house that led her to try blackmail.”
“Come on, Annie.” He was clearly incredulous. “That’s a leap too far.”
Annie strove to be calm and reasonable. “Mrs. Croft didn’t see anyone visit Pat’s house Friday night. But someone came and washed up that crystal mug and didn’t leave any fingerprints. Where did the murderer come from? Why not the path from the Jamison house? If the murderer came from the Jamison house, that proves Pat’s death is linked to the Jamisons.”
“A leap way, way, way too far.” His tone was cautionary. “If we’re going to create scenarios out of nothing, including the idea of murder, how about some enemy knew Mrs. Croft watched the neighborhood, so this person parked at either the vet’s or the child care and took the path. Or maybe Mrs. Croft went in her house Friday night for a few minutes and that’s when the visitor came. Or maybe Mrs. Croft and Pat were crossways and that’s who came to visit. But, we have no proof”—he emphasized the noun—“that a visitor came or that the mug without fingerprints has anything to do with the night Merridew died. Or that she was murdered.”
Annie thought that battle had been won. She spoke sharply, “Nothing else makes any sense.”
“I’m talking about proof. As for linking the people in the Jamison house to the Merridew death, that’s what I call imaginative reconstruction, like they do in political books these days. Of course, those writers claim to have deep background, they just don’t ever cite a source. You don’t have a source, deep or not.” He took a deep breath. “But thanks, Annie, I’ll add this information to the file.”
Henny Brawley traced the red letters on her coffee mug:
“Fear.” Annie was emphatic. “Pat knew something or threatened to do something that endangered the murderer. The murderer came to Pat’s house prepared to kill. That means a threat was made in advance.”
“So”—Henny’s smile was wry—“maybe the motive is money, after all. I had lunch with Pat after she was fired and she was worried about having enough income to keep going. She didn’t want to touch her savings. She said that would be the last resort. That’s why I helped her get in touch with you. So I know she was concerned about money. Yet I discovered she was planning a cruise to Alaska. Kathy Kilgore—”
Annie knew the travel agent. Travel More with Kilgore had planned several trips for Annie and Max.
“—said Pat came in on Friday—”
Annie’s eyes widened. Pat went to the travel agency the day she died.
