“—and picked up a bunch of brochures. If Billy’s still thinking Pat committed suicide, Kathy can certainly say that Pat was excited about planning her trip.”
“Let’s call Billy and tell him,” Annie suggested. She swiveled to retrieve the portable phone. She clicked speaker and handed the receiver to Henny. “You do the honors. You talked to Kathy, plus he may be a little tired of hearing from me.”
Henny called and Mavis Cameron answered. Henny asked for the chief.
“Just a moment.”
“Chief Cameron.” His deep voice was pleasant.
“Henny Brawley. Billy, I have more evidence that Pat Merridew wasn’t suicidal.”
He listened as Henny reported Pat’s interest in an Alaska cruise. “Yeah. It could indicate she was upbeat, looking forward to travel. It could also suggest she was trying to find something to dispel depression. We’ll never know.”
Henny was emphatic. “Pat didn’t have the money to make that kind of trip. The fact that she planned the trip means money was available from some source. She told Kathy she’d be in this week to make the reservations. Where did she plan to get the money? If she was murdered, as I firmly believe, there had to be a compelling motive. We haven’t found anyone here who profited from her death. We haven’t found any apparent enemies. What does that leave? Maybe Pat made a big mistake. Maybe she knew something that threatened someone and she attempted blackmail.”
Billy said calmly, “Maybe she was dreaming. People can plan trips and know they’ll never take them. Maybe picking up those brochures and knowing she couldn’t afford to go tipped her over to suicide. That seems more likely than the idea she blackmailed somebody. We have to have proof. We haven’t found anything to support the idea that Pat Merridew was murdered.” He was matter-of-fact, not defensive.
Annie leaned toward the speakerphone. “Did you find the Alaska brochures in her house?”
“Hey, Annie.” Papers rustled. “No reason for the brochures to have been noted. I’ll have Officer Harrison check. But if we find them, what does that prove?”
“If you don’t find them, that will be odd, won’t it?” Annie looked across the coffee area at a Cat Truth poster. A muscular Louisiana Creole Cat with a thick long coat, gold shading to brown on the face and back, white shoulders and paws, stood upright on his back feet, front paws pressed against a windowpane, and stared with unblinking intensity at a bullfinch:
“As in?”
“If we’re right about the crystal mug, Pat served Irish coffee to a guest. Let’s say she’d already made it clear she knew something. She handed the brochures to her guest and said how nice it would be to go on the trip. Maybe there was talk of how much it might cost for the cruise package. Maybe the guest asked for another dash of whiskey for the coffee, and while Pat was in the kitchen, ground-up OxyContin pills were dropped in her cup and stirred to dissolve. When Pat came back, she drank the coffee and pretty soon she slipped into unconsciousness. The murderer had to take the brochures away because they held fingerprints. Maybe—”
“Maybe,” Billy interrupted, “you can explain how this visitor got hold of leftover pills Pat Merridew probably kept in her medicine cabinet.”
Annie blinked, but she didn’t see the acquisition of the pills as a big problem. “People who knew Pat—like the Jamisons—were aware she broke her wrist. OxyContin’s a commonly prescribed pain pill. Pat could have mentioned what she was taking. Or maybe the visitor had an old leftover prescription at home. Anyway, I think this murderer is smart enough to know about the drug and get into Pat’s house when she wasn’t at home and take the pills. I’ll bet Pat left her back door unlocked. Lots of people do. Or maybe—”
“Maybe,” Billy interrupted again, “you have a future writing one of those tell-all books that don’t cite any sources.”
Annie felt hot. “It could have happened that way.”
“Could have.” He was pleasant. “But I’d like a source, even a deep one. Anyway, we’ll check out the brochures.” The call ended.
Henny handed the receiver to Annie. “If those brochures are missing, I think you hit the bull’s-eye. She tried to blackmail the wrong person.” Her animation ebbed. “But who and why?”
Annie well knew that scarcely anything of interest, much less scandal or confrontation, escaped the attention of island residents. The grapevine flourished. Moreover, no one had greater access to that kind of information than Henny, who was plugged into the social scene, charitable endeavors, and the church milieu. Whatever knowledge or act had led to Pat’s death, it had escaped public notice.
Annie tapped her mug:
Chapter Five
Max lined up his putt. He bent his knees, steadied the club. The phone rang. He glanced at the clock. A quarter to four. He would not be a happy man if actual work raised its hairy head when he was ready to call the day done, retrieve Annie, and maybe go to the beach.
His secretary poked her head inside his office. Today Barb’s bouffant hairdo was a brilliant red, shades of Reba McEntire. Was it a coincidence that she’d been belting out “I Keep On Lovin’ You” while whipping up a chocolate cherry cake in the small back kitchen that doubled as a storeroom? “Annie on the line.”
Max tapped the ball too quickly and it wobbled off the synthetic green and sped across the wood floor. On the way to his desk, he scooped it up with his putter. He bounced the ball in his hand as he sat on the edge of his desk and picked up the receiver. He’d put off calling Annie because he knew she would be disappointed. He settled behind his desk and listened. He pulled a green folder close, flipped it open. “I have a file on the firm, but, Annie, there’s nothing there. Pat didn’t have access to anything confidential. I talked to Glen’s secretary. I don’t think
