Max was placating. “Give Annie a break. If she told you, you couldn’t use it. Vince is pretty particular about libel.”
“Oooh.” Marian made a note on her pad. “Don’t think I’m going to forget.” She took a step nearer the tape and stared at the lagoon. “What’s up now? Why’s Hyla clutching that piece of brick?”
Billy Cameron’s voice carried well. “Officer, pretend the brick’s a gun. You want to get rid of it pronto. Heave it as hard as you can.”
“I like that. Very cunning.” Marian made quick notes. “For a little while there, I thought maybe our uniformed best planned to play skip-a-rock for a little R and R.”
As they watched, Officer Harrison threw. The chunk of brick splashed into the marsh midway between the bank and the big hammock. The raccoon whirled and disappeared into a thicket of greenery.
Using a cane pole to test the squishy bottom, Lou slogged through marsh water. The tide was running out, exposing the mudflats. Fiddler crabs moved swiftly like small herds of thundering bison. Lou moved on a steady slant toward the big hummock, though his progress through the mushy mud was clearly an effort. Several times he stumbled, possibly hooking the toe of a boot into submerged roots.
Max shook his head. “Finding anything in that glop is as likely as picking a diamond out of broken glass mired in muck. And that would be if you could see what you’re doing. Lou can’t see a thing in the silt-filled water. The pole will strike either mud, reeds, or roots. If he bangs something hard, it could be a gun or a root. I’d say this is an exercise in futility.”
“About there,” Hyla shouted.
Lou poked the pole in delicate jabs, going a few inches at a time as he explored the brown water in front of him.
A car’s motor sounded. Dust boiled up as a yellow Corolla jolted to a stop in the dusty drive near the cottage. The driver’s door was flung open. Elaine Jamison rushed across the uneven ground with its clumps of wire grass amid open patches of sandy soil.
She came to the bank, stared at the uniformed police. “What’s going on here?”
Billy eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you can tell us, Miss Jamison.”
She was abruptly wary, her narrow face intent, questioning. “Who are you?”
“Police Chief Billy Cameron.”
“A little more to the left,” Hyla called.
Elaine looked out at the marsh. She might have been a lovely woman in expensive casual summer wear, a terra-cotta linen blouse, white cropped slacks, rose-red sandals—except for the tautness of her body.
“Like she’s up close and personal with Dracula,” Marian breathed. She lifted her camera, adjusted the lens, clicked several times. The reporter’s inelegant comment was utterly apt.
Elaine lifted a hand to the open throat of her blouse. “Chief Cameron, why are you here?”
“We are investigating a crime.”
She waited, her eyes fixed on his face.
Annie felt as if she was watching a large cat toy with a cornered mouse. “Cruel.” The word, scarcely audible, fell between her and Max.
He slid an arm around her shoulders. “He suspects her. He’s trying to make her come out into the open. That’s fair enough, Annie.”
“Better than
“Tell me what’s going on.” Elaine’s voice rose.
Billy was brusque. “We responded to a 911 call at ten-fifteen this morning. Suspected homicide. The victim has been identified as Glen Jamison.”
“Glen.” Her voice shook. “Where was he found?”
“At the house. By Richard Jamison.”
“They need me. The children . . .” She turned away.
“Hey, Chief.” Lou’s shout was robust. “I found something.” He lifted the pole out of the water, stuck it in the mud a foot to his left. He gripped the landing net and eased the net down into the water. He made a scooping motion, lifted. Water sprayed from the net. Lou held the net aloft. A broken whiskey bottle dangled above the water. With a shake of his head, Lou used the net like a jai alai player and the bottle splashed twenty feet away. He grabbed the pole and resumed his slow exploration.
“Miss Jamison.” Billy’s voice was heavy.
Annie could see Elaine clearly, more clearly than she would have wished.
Elaine’s face was stiff and pale, her eyes empty.
Billy took several steps, stood perhaps a foot from her. He stared down, his gaze intent and measuring. “You were observed this morning. What did you throw in the marsh?”
“I have nothing to say. I am going to the house now.” She spoke wearily, as if she’d run a hard race and all her strength was gone. “I must see about the children. And about Glen.” She took a deep, ragged breath.
Billy’s voice was hard. “I can take you to the station for questioning.”
“I don’t know anything that will help you. Let me see about the children.” Her control crumbled. She choked back a sob. “They’ve lost their father. I’ll be there if you want me.”
