cabin was built about five feet above the ground, always a wise precaution on a sea island. Annie admired its blue shutters and white siding. The style reminded her a little of Bermuda. Ben Parotti had evidently been feeling romantic when he approved the design.
A skinny redhead, her hair pulled back beneath a yellow do-rag, gave Annie a bright smile. “We have a vacancy,” as if Annie were a lucky winner of a sweepstakes. “Each of our cabins is built behind a private screen of bamboo and bayberry. Each cabin has its own parking space on one side. The cabins are fully furnished, once- weekly maid service—”
“Maid service.” Annie felt a surge of panic. “Has Cabin Nine been cleaned?”
“Oh.” The manager sighed. “You must be Annie Darling. I thought you looked kind of familiar. I took my mom to your bookstore once. I’m Marva Kay. Ben called and said you’d be by to see that cabin. He said not to touch it. I told Linda Lee to skip nine this week.” She turned and reached inside the door. “Here’s the key.”
“How long had Darwyn been renting the cabin?”
She squinted at Annie. “He signed the register David Harley. He paid cash, plus a two-hundred-dollar deposit, so I didn’t ask for an ID.” She frowned. “I wonder who’ll get the deposit back.”
“I’d hold on to it. What’s most important, please don’t have the cabin cleaned until Ben gives the go- ahead.”
“Sure enough.” Marva Kay looked rueful. “I got plenty of others to rent.”
“Did you see much of Darwyn?”
She gave a little laugh. “I don’t see much of anybody. See, every cabin is completely private. It’s like they’re supposed to be love nests. Or something like that. We used to get a lot of couples from Savannah but not so many now.”
“Did you ever see anyone with Darwyn?”
She looked wise. “His girlfriend? Nope. But one afternoon I got a call from the lady in ten and she was panicked. Seems like a raccoon was trying to get in the back door. I told her just to leave him alone and he’d go away but she insisted I come and do something. I got Buster, my hound. I knew that raccoon would scoot faster than a floozy who sees a patrol car. We took the path, and like I said, it’s plenty private behind the bamboo, but I heard, well, you can take it from me, they weren’t playing tiddledywinks in nine. I walked a little faster. No business of mine. Then I heard the sliding door shut and I figured that was good. I like the heavy breathing to be inside. Some kids might be wandering around. So, I never saw anybody but him. For sure, he didn’t rent the cabin to work on his abs. Not that they needed any work.”
Back in the car, Annie drove cautiously on the narrow, twisting lane. As Marva Kay had said, each cabin was its own world. She pulled into the parking slot next to nine. She walked to the front steps. The old-fashioned metal key was distinctive, a shiny silver color with a heart-shaped bow.
The door swung in. Dust motes danced in the splash of sunlight. The air was still and hot. The air-conditioning was off. The living room’s island decor was cheerful, wicker chairs with red-and-yellow cushions, a ceiling fan, a rattan sofa, tiled floor. One wall featured a mural with a great blue heron standing in a marsh.
There was no evidence of recent occupation. No newspapers. No magazines. No glasses. Annie glanced into the small kitchen. It, too, appeared unused. She didn’t touch the refrigerator or cabinets.
In the single bedroom, she felt as though she were chasing phantoms. The double bed was made, the spread tightly tucked beneath the pillows. The bolsters common to hotel rooms were absent. Unless she was very much mistaken, the room had been cleaned since it last served as a rendezvous for lovers. There was no hint as to the identity of the woman who had met Darwyn here, nothing in the closet or in the drawers of a wicker chest, no scrap of papers in the wastebaskets, nothing that had rolled beneath the bed or the sofa.
She locked the cabin behind her, returned the key, and walked to her car. She’d had great hopes of finding some clue about Darwyn’s girlfriend. Of course, there was no guarantee she knew anything at all about what he had seen in the Jamison backyard Tuesday morning.
Still, it would be nice to have the opportunity to ask her.
Barb poked her head into Max’s office. “Richard Jamison is here.” Her expressive face registered a warning.
Max rose from behind the refectory table that served as his desk and walked toward the door.
Richard Jamison stopped a few feet inside, folded his arms. His gaze was cold. “You called me out of the blue, started asking questions. I don’t know you. I don’t have to talk to you.” He was island casual in a loose orange polo and baggy shorts and huaraches, but his face was brooding and unpleasant.
Max looked at him coolly. “But you came.”
Richard’s face hardened. “Because of Cleo. I’m warning you. If you spread rumors about Cleo and me, I’ll sue you for defamation of character.”
Max was forceful, though he kept his voice even. “I don’t spread rumors. I’m asking about you and your cousin’s widow because his daughter Kit told my wife that she thought you were having an affair with her stepmother.”
“No.” Richard’s answer was violent. “There’s no truth to that. You want the truth? I’ll tell you the truth even though you don’t have any right to ask me a damn thing. I loved my cousin. I looked up to him. Glen was great to me when I was a little kid. And yeah, Cleo’s an amazing woman. Sure, I’m attracted to her. But I don’t screw a man’s wife when I’m living in his house. I’d decided to leave. I was going next week and then somebody shot Glen. It wasn’t me. I’ll talk to Kit.” He turned to go.
Max’s tone was sharp. “Are you still leaving town?”
Slowly Richard faced him. “I’m staying for a while.”
“I suppose you’ll help Cleo sort out her financial future.”
“Her finances are none of my business.”
“She’ll be able to help you swing the loans for those condos in Costa Rica.”
Some of the tension eased out of Richard’s body. “You got that wrong, just like you got it wrong about me and
