Meredith, who had ordered Hysell to arrest Coombs. Harvey 's wife said a night in jail might do him some good and refused to bail him out until tomorrow, leaving the drunken old coot to sit weeping in a cell like a lost child.
Now it was three o'clock, Hysell's head pounded, his stomach rumbled, and he felt half bad for Harvey even though the guy was a pain in the ass. What a terrific day so far.
The phone rang again and he picked up the receiver. After hearing his name, the woman caller nearly burst into tears. 'Oh, Ted, I'm so glad it's you. I don't know what… This kind of thing has never happened before… Max doesn't know yet…'
Hysell would recognize the tentative voice and unfinished sentences anywhere. 'Mrs. Bishop, why don't you take a couple of deep breaths and tell me what's wrong?'
'It's Charlotte of course!' She sounded as if she thought Hysell was being dense. 'She didn't come home last night!'
Wow, Charlotte Bishop had a one-night stand, Ted thought. Alert the media. 'Mrs. Bishop, when did you last see her?'
'About ten-thirty last night. At dinner she was wearing her gray slacks with that cute little silk tunic I gave her last Christmas. Then I looked out the window and saw her in the driveway. Saw her clear as day… all those lights, you know. She had on tight white pants and a filmy blouse un buttoned far too low. I rapped sharply on the window. She ignored me. She got in that sports car of hers… Oh, something happened first. She was approached by a man.'
'Not someone you know?'
'No.'
'Someone she knew?'
'Well, I'm not sure. Charlotte has many friends. She's always been so popular…'
Oh, sure, Hysell thought sourly. Port Ariel's Miss Congeniality. 'What did this guy look like?'
'Youngish. About your age. Dark blond hair a bit long for my taste. Dungarees. I don't understand why people wear those things. Paul Fiori wore them. It always seemed to me that if he wanted to get movie parts he should look like a movie star. Rock Hudson didn't wear dungarees. Of course, he was funny, if you know what I mean… Died a terrible death. Max said he got what he deserved, but I felt sorry for him, so handsome and all-'
'Mrs. Bishop,' Hysell said firmly to one of the few people in town who could out-talk him, 'this guy had dark blond hair and wore jeans. Can you remember anything else about him?'
'No. Except that he was tall and slender like my Billy used to be. You remember Billy. Such a wonderful boy…'
'Did the guy last night act like he was threatening Charlotte?'
'Well, not exactly. But I could tell she didn't want to talk to him. She kept shaking her head… She looked cross. Charlotte can be quite irritable sometimes. She gets that from her daddy. After she left, the man in dungarees went out to the street and got into a white car. I don't know car models. It was ordinary, not sporty or luxurious… just, well, you know… ordinary.' Her voice rose. 'Ted, I'm afraid he followed Charlotte and maybe hurt her!'
'Don't worry, Mrs. Bishop. We'll locate her. I promise.'
Muriel Bishop sounded teary. 'Thank you, Ted. You've always been a sweet boy. Please call when you know something. I haven't told Max yet,' she repeated. 'He gets so upset because he's helpless. But if he finds out and I didn't tell him, he'll be furious with me. I don't know what I should do. Life is so confusing…'
She hung up.
Charlotte hadn't been gone for even twenty-four hours. Officially there was nothing Hysell could do. Unofficially there was nothing he wanted to do. Charlotte was probably shacked up with someone. With Warren Hunt? Now that would be pushing it, even for Charlotte. The guy's wife had just been murdered. He was under suspicion, although Hysell wasn't sure Hunt quite realized the seriousness of his situation. He seemed to think he was far too classy to ever be considered capable of murder.
Meredith strode from his office. 'Hysell, the Jenkins kid lives across the street from Warren Hunt. He says Hunt left around midnight last night and never came back.'
Hysell tensed. 'I just got a call from Muriel Bishop, Charlotte 's mother. She says Charlotte left about ten-thirty and she hasn't come home, either.'
'Well-, well, what a coincidence.'
'Do you think they ran off together?'
Meredith shook his head. 'They can't be that stupid. No, something's wrong. Did Mrs. Bishop have any idea where Charlotte went last night?'
'I don't think so. She left in some sort of outfit Mrs. Bishop didn't like. Something about a filmy blouse unbuttoned too low. And there was a guy outside the house. Tall, slim, dark blond hair, maybe early thirties. Mrs. Bishop said they seemed to be arguing. Then Charlotte drove off and the guy left in his own car.'
'What kind of car?'
'Don't know. White. Ordinary, Mrs. Bishop said.'
'Call her back. Ask where Charlotte went at night for fun. Also ask if Charlotte has ever stayed out all night before. Don't sound like you're implying any misconduct on Charlotte 's part. That might make Mrs. Bishop clam up.'
'It sure would. I know how to handle it.'
'Make it quick. I have a feeling time is important.'
Half an hour later they were headed toward the marina. Muriel Bishop said sometimes her daughter spent the night aboard the yacht, but she was always home by noon. She couldn't still be there, Muriel insisted. Besides, she'd called the yacht and there was no answer. Hysell had assured her they weren't alarmed-only curious. 'If you want to know the truth, I think Sheriff Meredith just wants an excuse to look at the Charlotte,'' he'd laughed. 'She's really something.'
'I suppose,' Muriel had answered unenthusiastically. 'Max and Charlotte certainly think so. I haven't been aboard many times…'
Meredith let out a low whistle as they neared the Charlotte. 'Now that's what I call a nice toy.'
Hysell cleared his throat and offered uncertainly, 'Uh… people around here take boating pretty seriously, Sheriff.'
'So I shouldn't refer to a boat as a toy?'
'Well, maybe not,' Hysell said, certain he'd offended Meredith.
Miraculously, the sheriff grinned. 'Thanks for the tip. I don't want to make enemies without even knowing what I've done. Or said.'
Was Mr. Hot Shot New York City listening to him? Hysell wondered. Hard to believe. But Meredith had seemed to treat him differently after they were at Hunt's yesterday. Maybe there was hope yet.
'No sign of activity.' Meredith looked up at the yacht. 'Let's see what's inside.'
As soon as they stepped on deck, a cloud of flies rose from a circle of dried blood at least two feet in diameter. A trail of black blood led down the steps to the saloon. Warren Hunt sat propped on a beige couch, his eyes wide and glazed above a gaping slash in his throat. His head lolled to one side and flies crawled all over his face, gorging. For an awful instant, Ted thought he might vomit. In the master stateroom, Charlotte Bishop lay in a tangle of blood-soaked satin sheets, her lovely head nearly severed from her naked body. Flies hovered everywhere, even around the words written on the wall in blood, open tomb.
Ted ran from the bedroom, through the saloon and up to fresh air before heaving his stomach contents over the side of the magnificent Charlotte.
10
Nick Meredith felt a hundred years old-shocked, disgusted, hopeless, emotionally and physically drained. He'd come to Port Ariel because he wanted to rear his daughter in a safe, wholesome environment. Safe? Someone
