Cleo glanced at Officer Harrison. “Are we required to remain on the terrace?”
Hyla looked bland. “If you have no objection, Chief Cameron would appreciate each of you remaining until the search is completed.”
Cleo shrugged. She looked at Elaine. “There’s no reason for us to stand.” She gestured at several wrought-iron tables and accompanying chairs. “We might as well be comfortable. I’ll make some coffee.” She turned to Richard. “If you’d lend a hand?”
He nodded and followed her into the house.
Kit, Laura, Tommy, and Elaine sat together. Kit watched Cleo and Richard walk into the house. Her face was hard and suspicious.
Annie walked to a path that curved among the azaleas. She had a clear view of the gazebo. Billy Cameron spoke to a cluster of law officers, some on his staff, some from the mainland. He gestured toward the gazebo, up at several trees, and at the cottage, greenhouse, and garages.
Annie stood with her arms folded. She supposed the search was window dressing. The marsh glittered in the morning sunlight, the broad expanse of water an open invitation to a murderer seeking to discard a weapon. Tuesday Elaine Jamison had successfully thrown something into the marsh. A continuing search had yielded nothing of interest. It seemed very likely that Glen Jamison’s Colt was even now submerged in the murky water and was likely to remain there undisturbed.
Annie watched EMSA techs ease Darwyn Jack’s body into a black crime-scene, envelope-style body bag. The techs stood on each side, gripped the vinyl handles, lifted the bag to a gurney, and wheeled toward a waiting ambulance.
Two uniformed officers strode past the cottage and lifted the door to a white frame garage.
Steps sounded on the flagstones behind Annie. She turned.
Lack of makeup accentuated the sharpness of Cleo Jamison’s features. She looked exhausted. “Would you care to join Richard and me for coffee?”
“Thank you.” Annie appreciated Cleo’s invitation. She followed to a table at the far end of the terrace. Annie wondered if the space between Cleo’s table and that of Glen’s family was a deliberate effort to avoid contact.
Annie added two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream.
Cleo stirred sugar into her cup, then looked at Annie. “I know you’ve tried to help Elaine.” She paused, glanced at Richard. “Elaine seems determined to put herself in as deep a hole as possible. It’s awkward. I can’t believe she would shoot Glen or”—she shot a bewildered look into the garden—“kill a yardman, but I have to assume she’s declining to talk to the police because she is afraid whatever she says would incriminate her. That’s very . . . troubling.”
Richard shoved a hand through his thick brown hair. “She should be doing everything possible to help find out who killed Glen.” His voice was angry.
“I think she’s protecting someone.” Annie took a sip of the sweet, creamy drink and found it comforting.
Cleo’s gaze moved to the table at the far end of the terrace where the others sat. “I don’t have any sympathy for her, if that’s the case.” Her voice was cold. “Glen’s dead. And now—” She gestured toward the gazebo. “You talked to Darwyn yesterday afternoon. He was killed last night.” She eyed Annie with a demanding gaze. “What did he know?”
Annie looked toward the gazebo. “I think he saw someone. I think he knew that he had important information and decided to see what he could get out of it.”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say what part of the yard he was in? If we knew where he was working, it would give us an idea of what he could have seen.”
“He was using the leaf blower near the flower beds. He probably had his back—” Annie sat bolt upright. The leaf blower . . .
Suddenly the dark moments of Tuesday morning seemed crystal clear. She came to her feet. “I need to talk to Chief Cameron.”
Richard paused with his coffee cup midway to his mouth. “Why?”
“I think Glen was shot while Darwyn was using the blower. Darwyn said he ran the blower from a quarter after nine to a few minutes after ten o’clock. That’s why no one heard the shots. The noise was covered by the leaf blower. Otherwise someone would have heard the shots and possibly raised an alarm before the killer could get away. Excuse me. I need to tell Billy about the time.” Narrowing the time when the murder had occurred might not matter. But it might be important.
Annie started for the path.
Officer Harrison barred the way. “The search is in progress. Please return to the terrace.”
“Hyla.” Annie saw the quick stiffening. “Officer Harrison, I have information that may be helpful. I’ll go carefully. I won’t get in the way.” She looked toward the cottage. “I’ll stay on the drive.”
Hyla unhooked her cell, clicked. “Chief, Annie Darling wants to speak with you.” She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She gave Annie a quick nod.
Annie walked briskly, glad to leave behind the strained group on the terrace, the family so clearly divided, Glen’s children and sister at one table, his widow and cousin at another.
Billy Cameron stood outside the open door to the garage. He stood with his head jutted forward, his concentration evident. He held a video cam and spoke into it. “ . . . white leather golf bag found three feet inside garage door next to west wall. Deputy Keith McKay removes clubs one at a time.”
In the garage, Mavis Cameron watched intently as a sheriff’s deputy lifted a golf club from the worn leather bag propped against a side wall. The tall, angular detective wore plastic gloves. He bent over, revealing a bald spot on the top of his head, and placed the club, a six iron, on the oil-stained floor of the garage next to a row of clubs. He came upright and turned back to the bag.
Annie stopped beside Billy. He looked serious, imposing, and expectant.
