Dead By Midnight

Annie walked away.

Elaine’s voice sounded dull. “Annie Darling. I don’t know why she came. What I did this morning doesn’t matter. I didn’t go up to the house. I didn’t see Glen. I don’t know what happened to him. I saw him last night. He was fine.” Her voice broke, ended in a sob.

Annie pushed out the front door and hurried across the grass to find solace in Max’s embrace.

Chapter Eight

Annie looked over the marina, smelled the salty scent of the water, and heard the clang of a buoy. She had stopped believing in pots of gold under four-leaf clovers by the time she was eight, but on this gorgeous, clear, brilliant morning she felt as if everything was going to come up roses. Even if Elaine Jamison had thrown away a gun yesterday in the marsh, she felt confident that Elaine was not a murderess. On the morning that someone shot her brother, maybe she’d thought a gun was nothing to have in her possession. Annie did not believe, could not believe, would not believe that Elaine lifted a gun, held the grip tight in her hands, squeezed the trigger, and ended the life of the brother she adored.

Annie plucked her cell from the pocket of her light and swirly georgette skirt with a bright pattern of tiny clamshells against a silvery background. She’d dressed with special care, her blouse a matching silver, a cool outfit for a warm day. She punched a button, held the phone up.

“Mavis, Annie again. May I please speak to Billy?” A black skimmer passed so near as it dove toward the water that she could see its brilliant black cap and red bill. “Billy? Annie.” She got right to the point. “Did the search of the marsh yield anything?”

“Some information has been released to the media.” His tone was matter-of-fact. What Annie would soon read in the Gazette, he was willing to share. “A search of the marsh was instituted. To date, investigators haven’t found anything connected to the murder of Glen Jamison. Missing from the Jamison house is a semiautomatic 1911 Colt .45 registered to Glen Jamison. The gun was customarily kept in a gun safe in his study. The key was in the gun safe. The gun safe contained two handguns, a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum and a Ruger Mark III semiautomatic .22 pistol. Neither had been fired recently and both were fully loaded. Glen occasionally went into Savannah to a gun club to shoot. About a week before the crime, he told his wife he had mislaid the key to the gun safe. He didn’t mention the missing key again and she assumed he had found it. When and how the Colt .45 was removed from the gun safe and by whom is unknown. Ballistic tests indicate Jamison was killed by a forty-five-caliber bullet.”

The brightness of the day dimmed as she clicked off the call. Billy clearly believed Elaine had thrown Glen’s Colt into the marsh. Even if the gun were never found, Annie’s statement would be damning. Annie walked slowly to Death on Demand and unlocked the front door. Agatha waited with her ears slightly flattened and her tail switching. The black cat’s meow was distinctly annoyed.

“I only stopped at the marina for a minute.” Annie clicked on lights, walked swiftly down the center aisle to the coffee bar.

Agatha nipped at one ankle.

“Okay, maybe five minutes.” In a flash, Annie had opened a fresh can of salmon, filled the bowl, and refreshed Agatha’s water.

Elaine threw away the murder weapon.

Annie brewed a pot of strong Colombian and wished she could will away the conclusion, but the conclusion seemed obvious and clearly Billy had made the connection. When Elaine’s distraught appearance Tuesday morning was added to the possible disposal of the murder weapon, the likelihood of guilt was overwhelming. All Annie could offer in rebuttal was her memory of a sister’s obvious devotion.

Annie poured coffee into one of her favorite mugs, O Is for Omen by Lawrence Treat. What she needed now, in addition to a jolt of super coffee, was a good omen for Elaine. She sat at a table and the first thing her eye saw was a Cat Truth poster. A magnificent Golden Shaded Persian with a malignant expression stared haughtily from pale golden eyes: All we know are the facts, ma’am.

Annie wanted to believe in Elaine’s innocence, but deadly facts were deadly.

The tide was running out, exposing shallow pools with hard-ridged bottoms. The sun hung low in the west, splashing a burst of orange on low-lying dark clouds banked to the south.

Annie leaned back in the short-legged beach chair, sipped a limeade, and shaded her eyes from the still-vivid sunlight. “Not a cloud in the sky.” She felt drained. All day at Death on Demand her thoughts had tumbled as she sought some means of helping Elaine. She’d been tempted to call Billy Cameron, but she had nothing to offer except her personal feeling of Elaine’s innocence. After dinner, she’d agreed to go to the beach even though she felt as if she were letting Elaine down. But what could Annie do?

Max lay on a towel stretched out on the sand. His skin gleamed from coconut-oil sunscreen. Sand had dried to his yellow swim trunks. A soft, pale blue cotton bucket hat shaded his face. “We’ll have some rainy days soon.” This June had been uncommonly dry. “Then you’ll sell a lot of books.” His murmur was drowsy. “Hot today. Like the natives say, why do all these people come here when the sand burns your feet?” He didn’t look, but the wave of his arm encompassed clots of tourists, many of them with peeling noses and sun-angry shoulders. They splashed in gentle surf, jogged, rode bikes, lunged for small black balls as they played Kadima, or lounged in beach chairs. “But it’s a beautiful time to be on the beach.”

“And everything is as it should be on a Wednesday evening in June.” Her voice wobbled. On their beautiful sea island, life went on. Families played, lovers came together, old people lifted their faces to the warmth of the sun to remember when they were young and turned cartwheels on the sand.

Max tipped up the hat. His eyes sought hers. “You had to report what you saw.”

“What if Billy arrests Elaine?” It was hard to force out the words. Speaking the threat aloud made Elaine’s situation seem worse.

Max said quietly, “Billy makes decisions based on evidence. Right now he doesn’t have enough evidence to charge Elaine.”

Annie’s reply was hot. “He needs to look at all the evidence. He brushed me off about Pat Merridew’s murder and the photograph taken in the Jamison gazebo.”