eyes, cheekbones made prominent by tightly compressed lips. The change in her appearance shocked Annie. The elegance was there, a crisp white cotton blouse, turquoise necklace against a tanned throat, beautifully tailored navy linen slacks, basket-weave navy leather loafers, but there was no trace of the confidence and, frankly, arrogance that Annie associated with Glen’s young wife, now widow.
Cleo glanced at Annie’s hands, then, with a flicker of puzzlement, said, “Yes?”
Annie realized Cleo had looked for a dish, the usual response from friends and well-wishers following a death. “Cleo, I’m Annie Darling.” They had met casually several times at the country club. “I’m a friend of Elaine’s and I’d appreciate it if I could visit with you for a few minutes.”
“Is Elaine all right?” There was a ripple of apprehension in Cleo’s husky voice.
Annie was encouraged by her concern. “I’m afraid not. She may be arrested. I’m trying to help her.”
“Elaine arrested?” Cleo looked incredulous. “That’s absurd. I’ll have to call the police. That can’t be true.” She held open the door. “Please come in.”
As Annie stepped into the hall, a young woman in a swim wrapper came down the stairs. A battered straw sun hat was perched atop glossy dark hair. She carried a beach bag and wore cherry-red flip-flops. Oversize sunglasses masked her eyes.
Cleo stiffened, her face bleak. “Surely you aren’t going to the beach today.”
“Surely I am.” The reply was caustic.
“Laura, your father—”
“My father’s dead. He’s not even decently in a mortuary. Where do they take bodies of people who’ve been shot? Have you picked out a casket yet? Maybe Kit and Tommy and I should have something to say, but you’re handling all the arrangements. The merry widow.” She ignored Annie and yanked open the front door. “You kept telling Dad I needed to work harder. Well”—her voice shook—“I’m going to work this afternoon. I’d rather be a lifeguard watching out for sharks than be here. At least I’ll be on the beach. Dad took us to the beach all the time when we were kids. I can remember him there. Without you.” She bolted through the door and onto the porch.
Cleo’s haggard face set in hard lines. She turned to Annie, spoke as if the ugly scene had never occurred. “I’ll be glad to talk to you.” She led the way down the broad central hall. Flower arrangements, large and small, lined either side of the hall and in some places were three deep. The scent of flowers was overpowering, cloying. The kitchen door at the end of the hall was ajar. There was a murmur of voices.
“We can go in here.” Cleo opened the door to a small room at the end of the main hall. As they stepped inside, she murmured vaguely, “I’m trying to contact some of Glen’s friends who live out of town.” A game table was strewn with papers. A cell phone lay next to a mug of coffee. Cleo gestured at a wooden straight chair. “This is a catchall room, but I needed somewhere quiet.”
When they were seated, Annie in a rickety Empire chair that likely was a castoff from an old dining-room table set, Cleo dropped onto a worn love seat with faded brocade upholstery. She gave Annie a searching glance. “Why would the police arrest Elaine?”
“It will be in this afternoon’s
Quick comprehension flashed in Cleo’s eyes. Cleo was a lawyer. Though she was in civil practice, she certainly grasped the import of Elaine being officially revealed as a person of interest in the investigation. Her response was immediate and emphatic. “Elaine wouldn’t hurt Glen. That’s impossible.” She brushed back a tangle of dark hair. “Oh, I know they think she threw the missing gun in the lagoon. The police asked me if she knew how to shoot it. How would I know? Anyway, they haven’t found anything. I don’t believe Elaine shot Glen.”
“I understand she was angry with Glen because of the children.”
Cleo pressed her lips together. She folded her hands, stared down at them, seemed to draw upon some inner reserve. “I’ve always been lucky.” She looked up at Annie with dumb misery in her gaze. “Ask anyone. That’s what they’ll tell you. The lucky lady. That’s me. Beautiful, smart, quick, capable.” It was as if she were describing a stranger from a remote distance. “And lucky.” Her voice shook. “I made my own luck. That’s what I wanted Glen to do. I wanted him to stand up and not let people take advantage of him. I thought they should take responsibility for their own lives. That’s what I did. I worked. I supported myself. I earned scholarships. Nobody ever gave me anything. Glen’s kids were leeches. Laura’s twenty-four. She loses her job and whines because she can’t find another cushy deal that pays her fifty thousand a year. The best she can do is wait tables or lifeguard. Whatever she earns, she should be living on it. Instead, she comes home and lives here for free and bleeds her dad for money. I tried to get Glen to see that Laura needed to stand on her own two feet. As for Kirk Brewster, Glen didn’t owe him a place in the firm when times are tough. Glen said we had to cut back. That’s why he wanted to drop Kirk. He didn’t know Laura was going to go nuts when he gave notice to Kirk. That was a mess. As for Kit, I told Glen he put her through college and graduate school and here she was asking for more so she could go to Africa. Tommy was rude to me, day in and day out. He had his choice, be polite or go away to school. This morning . . . He was hateful. I told him to get out of the house, not come back until he could be civil. He slammed out the back door, barefoot, shirtless. I don’t know where he’s gone. I almost called Elaine but she hasn’t been up to the house since —” Cleo broke off. “At least she’s always treated me decently. Maybe she liked having the cottage. Anyway, it was better for her to have her own place. After all, I was Glen’s wife. The house didn’t need her still trying to run everything.”
Cleo pushed up from the sofa, paced two strides one way, two strides back, making the room seem even smaller. Abruptly, she stopped and stared down at Annie. “I knew they’d be upset, but I never thought . . .”
Her words trailed away.
Annie asked quietly, “Never thought what?”
“That someone”—her voice was a whisper—“would kill Glen. If one of them shot Glen, it’s my fault. My fault.” A sob shook her voice. She stared at Annie, her face stricken with anguish. “The police said he was shot with a forty- five and his gun is missing. I don’t see how a stranger could have the gun. Do you?”
Her eyes sought Annie, pleaded for an explanation.
“The gun may have been hidden in your gazebo.” Annie described Pat Merridew’s late-night jaunts and the photograph in her BlackBerry and Pat’s death. “ . . . one of the crystal mugs had no fingerprints.”
Cleo sank onto the love seat. She leaned back, her expression skeptical. “You think Pat was killed because she saw someone hide Glen’s gun? I don’t believe that’s possible. Why, she died four days before Glen was shot.” Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “When was the photograph taken?”
