disappeared?
She pulled a pad close, began to write. When she finished, she nodded. Her conclusion was true. Everything fit. The design was clever, cruel, remorseless. Fingerprints? Slowly, Annie shook her head. There had been plenty of time to pull on plastic gloves, use a cloth damp with Windex to polish doorknobs, faucet handles, any and every spot likely to have been touched in the cabin at Jasmine Gardens. The execution would have been thorough, careful, patient. This murderer was never careless.
Fingerprints . . .
There might be a way . . . Billy must never know . . . So many things would have to play out the right way . . . Could she do it? Was she brave enough? She thought of Max. He had a lawyer’s view of the law and her plan flouted the law big-time. If she succeeded in setting a trap, if everything broke her way, then she would call Max.
But not until then.
Annie pulled out her cell phone, punched the number. The phone rang six times, seven.
“Hello.” There was neither warmth nor rejection in the voice, there was only deep weariness.
Annie spoke briefly, listened, felt a flood of gladness. “Thank you. I’ll come right now.” Eyes narrowed in thought, she scrabbled in a catchall drawer, found a chisel. She slid the tool in a pocket. Frowning, almost stymied, she surveyed the storeroom, a table for packing and unpacking books, her computer, desk, a sink . . . She hurried across the room, picked up the long, narrow box of Saran wrap. She plucked a plastic sandwich bag from another box and dropped it into another pocket.
When she pulled up in front of Bella Mae Jack’s well-kept frame house, Annie knew it wasn’t too late to turn back. It took all of her determination to walk across the yard.
Bella Mae waited on the porch. She rose from the rocking chair, her face weary. “Here it is.” She looked curiously at the key before she handed it to Annie. “Do you know what it’s for?”
Annie didn’t meet her eyes. “Yes.”
There was a silence.
Bella Mae sighed. “I was always afraid . . .” She turned away. Her front door closed. The sharp click might have been the sound of a heart breaking.
Annie stared at the white panel, then whirled, ran down the steps and to the car. As she drove away, she thought about Tommy, scared, puzzled, accused, facing arrest.
Annie drove faster. She pulled into Pat Merridew’s driveway, parked the car out of sight behind the house. She took plastic wrap and wound a thick strip around each hand. She tossed her purse into the trunk, dropped the car keys into her pocket. They clanked against the key given to her by Bella Mae Jack. She hurried to the opening into the woods.
On the trail, she stumbled once, her foot snagged by a vine. She was sweating profusely by the time she reached the end of the trail and the Jamison backyard. A crow cawed and flapped sturdy wings. Insects whirred, surrounding her in a cloud. She waved away no-see-’ums. Two cars were parked in the drive, a faded red Dodge and a black Mercedes. She would guess the Dodge belonged to Laura. The sleek Mercedes very likely was Glen’s car. Kit’s VW wasn’t there or Elaine’s Corolla. Annie felt certain Cleo would have taken her own car to the police station. Had Richard gone with her? But there should be another car if he had left his.
Annie stared at the house. There was no hint of occupancy, but a half-dozen people could be inside and she wouldn’t know. She had to know. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, punched numbers, the effort made awkward by the Saran wrap. This time the call was answered immediately.
“Broward’s Rock Police.”
Annie was relieved that Mavis had answered. Mavis was serious, solid, dependable. Would she step outside her comfort zone?
“Mavis, Annie Darling. Don’t mention my name aloud. Please look as if you are taking an everyday kind of call. I know who killed Glen Jamison. I will tell Billy as soon as I obtain one more piece of information.” This was not true, but if she succeeded in her plan, no one would ever know or care. “However, before I can make progress”—her stomach tightened at what lay ahead—“I have to know about the Jamisons. The last I heard, they were at the station. If they’re sitting on the bench, don’t look toward them. Don’t give any indication that you are aware of them. When I mention a name, if that person is currently at the police station, don’t say anything.”
“All deliveries must be brought to the back door.” Mavis sounded bored. “But I need to know more about the invoice. I need a clear description of the goods.”
Annie smiled. Mavis wanted the lowdown on what Annie knew.
“I’ll get to that.” But not in this call, though this wasn’t the moment to tell Mavis. “First, let me know about the Jamisons. Remember, no answer if the person named is there. Elaine Jamison?” Silence. “Tommy Jamison.” Silence. “Kit Jamison?” Silence. “Laura Jamison?” Silence. “Cleo Jamison?” Silence. “Richard Jamison?”
“No.”
Annie felt a quiver of uneasiness. “Richard Jamison is not at the station?” She’d counted on all the Jamisons being present at the station.
“That’s correct.” Mavis continued to sound as if she might be discussing a shipment.
“All right.” Possibly Annie was stymied before she began. But she would worry about that eventuality if it occurred.
“Please list the contents of the invoice.” Now there was an edge to Mavis’s voice.
“I can’t go into detail right now. Tell Billy I know what happened and I will get back in touch as soon as I’ve set up a chance for an arrest. Until then, it is critically important that both Tommy Jamison and Elaine Jamison be kept at the station and the other Jamisons be told that Billy has just left for the mainland to speak with the circuit solicitor. That’s essential. Do that for me. I’ll call back as soon I can.”
“Wait a min—”
