hands loose at his sides. He was big and formidable, muscular arms, large hands, knees slightly bent, as if he could spring forward, deal with any foe. He had the Jamison look, a narrow bony face, high cheekbones, thin lips. His gaze swung about the room. At one point, he stared directly toward the alcove, revealing his face in full in the vanity mirror. His eyes were intent. His lips pressed together, making a thin, grim line. Muscles bunched in his cheeks.
Finally, he turned away and moved toward the open door. He stepped into the hall, pulling the door shut with a slam.
Annie’s chest ached. Her knees felt weak. She waited, her Saran-wrapped hands in tight balls. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She felt a fury of impatience to escape the house, a terror of what she might face if she ventured into the hall. Finally, one hesitant step after another, she crossed the room, eased open the door.
She heard movement, the opening and closing of drawers, the thump of footsteps.
She had to leave before anyone else returned. Tommy may already have been arrested. If he were taken into custody, the other family members would surely return home. If she didn’t leave soon, discovery was all but certain.
She crept down the hall, tiptoeing near the wall to avoid any creaks.
From an open door on the other side of the hall came the sounds of movement.
Annie crossed the hall, moved nearer the door. Carefully, she peeked into the room.
Richard was folding a polo shirt, adding it to a stack on the bed next to an open suitcase.
Silent as a wraith, Annie slipped past the open doorway, shoulders hunched, expecting a shout, pursuit.
Once past the opening, she moved faster, reached the top of the stairs. She picked her way down the stairs as delicately as a heron stepping into a marsh. She placed each foot carefully flush to the wall and in the center of the tread to avoid squeaks. She reached the hall below and with a feeling of enormous gratitude turned and ran lightly to the back door. She opened the door and the screen and stepped onto the verandah. Richard’s room overlooked the front yard. She felt safe to slip down the steps and into the garden. She ran as if pursued, braced for shouts, a chase. As she plunged into the woods, she heard the sound of a car in the Jamison drive.
She ran on the trail, not pausing until she burst into Pat Merridew’s backyard. She stopped there, one hand tight on the strands of a willow, gasping, trying to pull air into her burning lungs. Finally, feeling weak, she hurried to her car. In the driver’s seat, she peeled the Saran wrap from her sweaty hands, compressed the plastic into tight little balls, dropped them into a drink holder. She turned on the motor.
Her journey was not yet at an end.
As Max nosed into the harbor, his cell phone rang. He expertly came alongside the slip and glanced at the caller ID. He answered without a qualm. Maybe something had broken in the search for Glen’s murderer. “Yo, Billy.”
“Where’s Annie?” Billy Cameron’s voice was crisp.
Max frowned. “At the store.” Even as he spoke, he knew the police chief would have checked there.
“Ingrid says she raced out the back door without saying anything to her. Annie called Mavis on her cell, said she knew who killed Glen Jamison, that she’d be back in touch. Annie isn’t answering her cell. Do you know what she’s up to?”
Max felt like he’d been slammed hard against a wall. “I don’t have any idea. I’ll be right there.”
Billy’s voice was gruff. “She shouldn’t take off on a harebrained scheme on her own. Obviously, she’s up to something she shouldn’t be doing. Damn fool. Look, she made some requests. I’m playing along. For now. Elaine Jamison and Tommy are having lunch in the break room courtesy of the county. The rest of the Jamisons have left. They’re under the impression Elaine and Tommy are in custody and I’ve taken a cruiser over to the mainland to meet with the circuit solicitor. I don’t like playing games, but I don’t want your demented wife dead either.”
Max’s gut twisted.
“Long story short, part of Annie’s deal is for me officially to be off-island. So I’m not here. Come in the back way.”
The living room of Cabin Nine was dim, airless, stuffy, and hot. Jasmine Gardens didn’t run the air-conditioning in vacant units. Annie pulled the small plastic bag from her pocket. She gazed around the room at the comfortable rattan furniture, then shook her head.
In three swift steps, she was in the bedroom. Again she studied the furnishings. Finally, she knelt near the desk. She held up the plastic bag, opened it. A tube of lipstick fell onto the carpet. The lipstick came to rest against the back leg of the desk, scarcely discernible.
She nodded in satisfaction. Everything was in place. She glanced at her watch. The next ferry to the mainland left in thirty-nine minutes.
She welcomed the fresh air as she walked to her car. She gave a decided nod after she slid into the driver’s seat. She thought furiously as she drove, oblivious to sparkling sunshine and verdant greenery. It was a short drive from Jasmine Gardens to the harbor. Annie parked alongside the boardwalk. She stepped out of the car and a pleasant breeze stirred her hair. She walked to the railing, gazed out at the choppy water, then looked back at the park that sloped gradually upward.
The police station sat to the north on a slight rise. She gazed all around, saw no familiar cars or faces. It was unlikely any of the Jamisons would be strolling the boardwalk. If Billy had done as she had requested, the Jamisons thought Elaine and Tommy were being held for further questioning and the police chief had left for the mainland to consult with the circuit solicitor. Probably the remainder of the family—Cleo, Kit, and Laura—were now at the Jamison house, along with Richard, who was packing to leave.
It was essential that no Jamison see Annie approach the police station. She made one more careful survey, then pulled out her cell.
Mavis Cameron was always calm and collected. “Will do. He wants to see you.” Her crisp tone left no doubt
