voice shaking, “If you hang up, I’m dead. Right now you have to start driving and you can’t hang up. If you hang up and call for help, I’ll be dead by the time you find me. Please, drive to Jasmine Gardens.”
Sheer terror thinned Laura’s voice. The words knocked against one another, uneven, desperate, unmistakably true. “Will you come? Please don’t let me die.”
“I’m coming.” Annie started the car. Could she drive by the ferry line, honk, try to raise an alarm? “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” One hand on the wheel, the other holding the cell . . . Could she hold the cell between her cheek and shoulder? Annie tried and the phone slid away, bounced to the floor. She swiped frantically with her right hand, brought it up again. It was too small to hold in that fashion.
“It takes four minutes . . . to get to the cabin . . . from the harbor.” Laura was obviously repeating the words of her captor. “The gun’s pressed against my temple. Please, please . . .” She choked back a sob. Faintly, Annie heard her cry, “She’s on the line. I swear she is. Oh God, here, listen.”
The phone must have been held near the captor’s ear.
Annie spoke sharply. “What’s going on?” She turned the car, drove away from the harbor, saw the ferry in her rearview mirror until the road turned. “I’m coming. Don’t hurt her.” She didn’t dare honk. That would be heard on the phone. If she drove erratically, someone might notice, but if a siren sounded, the next thing she heard might be the crack of a gun. Useless in her pocket was the small video cam in the shape of a package of gum.
A cool voice instructed. “Keep talking, Annie. You’re very clever. I found the lipstick. I have it now. But I never dropped it and that means you brought it here. Clever. But stupid of you. Keep on driving. Speak up now!” The command was sharp, dangerous.
“I’m driving.”
“Continue to talk or Laura dies. Tell me how you knew.”
Annie talked. Richard Jamison’s decision to leave the island. Kirk Brewster in his next to last week as a partner. The gun-safe key taken by a member of the household. Pat Merridew’s fatal curiosity. Knowledge about Pat and pain pills. Sexy Darwyn Jack and luxurious Jasmine Gardens. The function of the leaf blower. What Darwyn saw. “How lucky for you that everyone focused on what Darwyn saw.” The deliberate use of Elaine’s five iron. “Tommy Jamison came home and found Glen and got blood on his shirt. That was another lucky break for you.”
“I’m always lucky.” The observation was almost amused.
Then, too soon—yes, the drive took only four minutes from the harbor—she was there. Annie turned onto the road that twisted around the secluded cabins of Jasmine Gardens. What could she do?
“When you get to the cabin, pull in behind Laura’s car.”
Annie curved around bamboo, the cell phone still clutched in her hand. There was the pittosporum hedge that screened the lanai of the cabin from view. A faded red Dodge was parked in the space. The car was empty. Laura, gun to her head, must be inside the cabin.
“Don’t even think about it.” The voice was steely. “I will count to five. If you are not inside by then, I’ll pull the trigger. Keep talking.”
A lawn-service truck rattled past. Annie heard the crunch of tires on oyster shells in the drive to the next cabin. If she screamed—
“One.” A pause. “Two.”
“I’m coming.” Annie opened the car door, hurried around a trellis to the front steps. She grabbed the innocent- appearing gum package from her pocket, held the cell phone in her other hand.
“Three.”
“I’m at the steps. I’m coming inside.”
Annie never doubted that a finger was firm on the trigger. The gun would sound at five. But in the living room of the small cabin, there would be two against one. A gun could not be aimed at both of them at the same time. The scene had to be set for Annie to be shot and suicide staged for Laura. That would take maneuvering, afford her and Laura time. Surely somehow, between the two of them, they could disarm the murderer.
Annie clicked on the video cam, held the little device in her left hand, dropped her cell phone in her pocket, and used her right hand to open the cabin’s front door.
Next door a leaf blower began its high scream. For an instant, her step checked. What bitter irony. A leaf blower would once again mask the sound of shots unless Annie and Laura managed to outwit a ruthless adversary.
Annie stepped inside.
Laura Jamison sagged, her tear-streaked face blanched, on the small sofa.
Cleo Jamison stood with her back to the bedroom door.
Annie turned her left hand slightly to afford the video cam a view of Cleo.
She held a black pistol in one hand. Her eyes burned as she stared at Annie. “What tipped you off?”
Annie felt cold and empty, knew that Death waited only a few feet away. “The gun in the gazebo. The police figured Elaine had taken the Colt and hidden it in the gazebo since she didn’t live in the house. Instead, you put the gun out there for Darwyn.”
“Darwyn?” Laura turned a shocked face toward Annie.
Annie glanced around the elegantly appointed living room, the beach-style furniture new and shining, the watercolors on the walls depicting a sailboat against a blazing sunset, pelicans flying in a V above gentle waves, a little girl digging in the sand.
Her eyes moved back to Cleo, who was no longer beautiful, despite her glossy dark hair and chiseled features. Her cheekbones jutted, full lips with bright red lipstick were drawn back in a grimace. She was a figure of fury, scarcely contained.
Annie picked her words carefully. “I suppose you started the affair with Darwyn for sheer pleasure. Your
