when Glen was alive and came back after”—Billy emphasized the word—“the kid got blood on his shirt. Laura didn’t see Elaine in the backyard during the critical period. That leaves Laura herself, her sister Kit, or Tommy. Kit and Laura had no reason to go outside, so Darwyn didn’t see them. That brings us back to Tommy, but the idea rubs me wrong.” He looked weary. “The circuit solicitor wants somebody’s hide nailed to the wall. The only good thing is Posey won’t harass me tomorrow because he doesn’t work on Saturdays. Monday morning he’ll summon me. He’ll say it’s time I moved, made the arrest, slapped Tommy Jamison in jail. The hell of it is, we’ve got enough evidence. Do you think Posey cares if I know in my gut that somewhere something’s wrong?”
Cricket frogs cheek-cheeked, bull frogs whorummed, barking frogs yapped, and Southern toads shrieked. Cicadas whirred and crickets clicked. Annie stood on her and Max’s back verandah, looking through the dusk toward the darkness of the pond, but she found no peace in the summer serenade. “I was smart, wasn’t I? I figured out about the shirt and now Tommy Jamison’s going to be arrested.”
Max slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes”—his voice was gentle—“what we see is what is there.”
Annie felt as if her thoughts had raced around and around ever since she talked with Billy. No matter how she figured, there didn’t seem to be any way to save Tommy.
“Kids kill.” Max was somber.
Annie knew he was right and yet Billy thought the equation was wrong. So did she. She turned to Max, lifted her chin. “We can’t give up. Tomorrow, let’s try one more time. Darwyn was one sexy guy. We know he had a girlfriend.” She pictured the cabin at Jasmine Gardens. “He would have talked to her about the morning he was working at a house and a man was killed. I mean, that was too exciting to ignore. Maybe I can find her.”
Max gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll tilt at a windmill, too. Richard Jamison claims he wasn’t having an affair with Cleo. If he was, what are the odds he’d know about the key man insurance? It’s a small island. If they were meeting on the sly, there should be some trace.”
Dimly Annie heard the ring of the telephone in the kitchen. She almost ignored the sound, then turned and hurried inside. She raised an eyebrow at the caller ID, answered in a neutral voice.
“Annie Darling?” Cleo Jamison’s voice was low and hurried, but Annie had no difficulty recognizing the rich contralto.
“Yes.”
“I hope you don’t mind my calling you at home.” Cleo sounded uncertain. “I want to know what’s going on. I have a right to know what’s happening. Glen was my husband.” There was a hint of anger in the pronoun. “The police have been here. The chief wanted to talk to Tommy about his shirt. I advised him to decline to answer questions until he was represented by counsel. I understand he and Elaine will be interviewed tomorrow. Chief Cameron left and now the family’s shut me out. You’d think they would appreciate my effort to help. Maybe I shouldn’t help them. If one of them killed Glen, I want them arrested. But I have trouble believing Elaine or Tommy would shoot Glen. Since Laura was sitting there, I didn’t want to say anything, but it looks to me like Kirk is the one the police should be investigating. Cameron said the information about Tommy’s shirt came from you. What exactly did you tell him?”
Annie hesitated. Obviously, Billy had given only the bare minimum of information. Was it his intent to let the family worry and wonder until the interview tomorrow?
Cleo attacked. “I have a right to know. Glen was my husband.”
Annie pictured Cleo clutching her cell phone, perhaps secreted in the small study, keeping her voice low in a house where she was the outsider.
She did have a right to know.
Annie spoke soberly. “ . . . and so it turned out that Laura saw Tommy.”
“Oh my God.” Cleo’s voice was faint. “Poor Glen. Oh, poor Glen.” There was a long pause. Finally, shakily, she said, “I only wanted Tommy to be nice to me. I’ll never forgive myself if Glen died because I made Tommy mad. But we’ll see what happens tomorrow. I’ll be there. I hope the police chief is wrong.” A long pause. “But he may be right.” The last words were scarcely audible. “If you learn anything else, call me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bella Mae Jack was composed. “If I knew something to help the police, I would have told them.” A frown furrowed her pale face. “I always worried that Darwyn would get himself in trouble. The police think he wanted money to keep quiet about what he saw the morning Mr. Jamison was killed. I wish I could say that Darwyn wouldn’t do such a thing. I was always afraid Darwyn could turn bad.” Her voice was weary, tired with heartache and loss and disappointment. “Darwyn wanted more than he had any right to have and there was a hard spot in his heart. He loved me. I loved him. I wish that had been enough.”
Annie felt the hot burn of tears. Her hand trembled as she lifted the coffee mug. Darwyn’s grandmother had insisted that they sit at the old-fashioned white table in the kitchen and have a piece of sherry cake and a cup of coffee. The old woman, her shoulders stiff beneath her crisp dress, was a gallant figure, accepting that life was full of trouble and woe.
Bella Mae Jack reached across the table and patted Annie’s hand. “You are a good girl. And nice to come for Darwyn.”
Annie put down the coffee mug. “Mrs. Jack, did Darwyn have some close friends I could speak to, maybe a girlfriend? Perhaps he might have told someone what he saw that morning.”
Bella Mae’s long face was somber. “Darwyn kept to himself. He never had anyone over. As for girls”—she averted her gaze—“I’m afraid he didn’t treat girls the way he should. He’d be with one for a while and then another, but he never cared about them. The last one kept calling but he wouldn’t talk to her. I heard she moved to the mainland last May.” She looked faintly surprised. “I don’t know that he was seeing anyone the last month or so. He was home most nights.”
Annie scrambled for some hint, some reflection of Darwyn’s last days. “I don’t suppose”—she hated asking, forced herself—“that there was anything in his pockets”—the police would have cataloged and returned his personal effects to her—“that might lead to someone he saw recently?”
Bella Mae took a breath. “I don’t think so. But you’re welcome to see.” She pushed up from the table, led the
