Dead, White, and Blue Page 6

  The girl looked ready to cry. “I thought it was great to have a chance for a job at the country club and now this happens. I wouldn’t take something that belongs to someone else and I think it’s mean that she’s blaming one of us.”

  “For starters, I’m not a policeman. My name’s Max Darling, my wife and I were at the dance, and I’d like to visit with you about something else entirely. Jerry O’Reilly said you were working that evening. You look smart and bright and I hope you can help me. I’m looking for information about one of the guests.”

  Lindsay’s tense posture slowly relaxed. “One of the guests? I’ll help if I can, but I don’t know anything about those people.”

  He described Shell Hurst’s arrival. “Did you see her?”

  “Everybody did. That was a gorgeous dress.” Her eyes shone. “She’s somebody you don’t forget.”

  “Did you see her after that?”

  “A couple of times. She went to the bar first. She talked to some guy, medium height, sandy hair. He wasn’t pleased to see her. When she walked away, well”—Lindsay gave a little shiver—“I don’t know what was wrong but I wouldn’t want a guy to look after me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Mad. Bad. Mean. He was kind of good-looking if his face had been nice. Then I was busy picking up glasses. I was in and out. I saw her again in a corner across from the band. She was standing under one of those silver spots. The neckline of the dress”—her eyes widened—“went in a V to the waist. I’ve never seen anything quite like that. She was laughing.” Lindsay frowned. “The man standing near her was in the shadow, but something about him, I don’t think he was the first guy.”

  So far, Max thought, Shell’s evening didn’t appear to offer much indication of where she might have gone.

  “Just after the dance broke up for the fireworks, I saw her out in the hall. She had her back to me. I knew who it was because of the dress. That’s the only reason I noticed. I was coming out of the dance room and turning right to go to the kitchen and I just happened to look down the hall. That was the last time I saw her. She was about twenty feet away. I only caught a glimpse of the person she was talking to. Another woman. She wasn’t in evening dress.”

  “Can you describe the other woman?”

  Lindsay shook her head. “The lady in the fancy dress—” She looked at him inquiringly.

  “Shell Hurst.”

  “—blocked my view. She was taller than the other woman. I just got a quick look. I know it was a woman. I could see a portion of her arm.” She looked uneasy. “Maybe they were disagreeing about something. The woman’s hand was all curled up in a tight ball. Like this.” She dropped her right hand to her side, made a taut fist. “She had on a heavy link gold bracelet.”

  • • •

  Annie always enjoyed the luncheon buffet at the country club. She’d already eaten at the diner, but dessert and coffee would be fine. She smiled hellos to several friends and settled at a table near the door to the kitchen. This particular table was partially screened by a potted palm.

  She took small bites of key lime pie, watched the swinging door. She spotted her quarry. Richard Ely was thirtyish, sharp featured, dark haired, always polite, an excellent waiter. He was attentive, courteous, but reserved. Some of the waitstaff she’d come to know as individuals: portly Sam Maguire who raised bloodhounds, cheerful Dana Jenkins who was proud as punch of her bright, smart daughter who was on a Fulbright to China, Jason Hoover who wrote poetry. She didn’t know diddly about Richard Ely.

  He came near the table, carrying a tray with soiled dishes.

  “Richard?” Her call was pleasant.

  He swerved to the table. “Mrs. Darling.” His gaze took in the half-eaten pie, the carafe of coffee. “Would you like fresh coffee?”

  Annie shook her head. “If you have a moment, I have a question. Jerry O’Reilly told me you and a couple of new employees took care of us at the Lady Luck dance after the intermission.”

  “Was there a problem?” His dark hair was cut close to his skull. His face was angular, deep-set eyes, jutting cheekbones, thin lips.

  Annie shook her head. “Not at all. I wanted to know if you saw Shell Hurst?”

  “I might have.” His face was impassive, but his eyes held a definite memory.

  Annie had no doubt he’d noticed the plunging neckline of Shell’s dress. “When did you last see her?”

  “I was out on the terrace during the fireworks. I took a little break. I saw her then.” His gaze was suddenly probing. “I’ve heard some talk. Some people are saying she didn’t go home that night. I heard no one’s seen her since the dance.”

  “Who said that?”

  He was bland. “Some of the women in the health club overheard some ladies talking. I didn’t pay any attention to who told me.” His gaze was faintly defiant. He shifted the tray to one hip. “During the fireworks Mrs. Hurst was near the French doors for a while. Later she crossed the terrace to the path to the overflow lot. I saw her in the light from the torchieres.” There was a flicker in his eyes. Shell’s dress may have been almost sheer in a brief shaft of light.

  Golden-hued lanterns marked the walks around the club and the paths to parking lots, offered dim illumination among the clumps of towering pines and live oaks.

  “Was anyone with her?”

  There was curiosity and quick calculation in his dark eyes. “Not with her. She was the only person on the path then. People were all over the terrace, watching the fireworks.”

  “But you saw some people?” Was he being deliberately vague?

  “You can’t recognize anyone unless they stepped right next to one of the lights.” He shifted his stance and there was a clatter on the tray he held. “Does it matter who was around the path?”

  Annie felt uncomfortable, but if island gossip was already bubbling over Shell’s whereabouts, probably her answer didn’t matter. “Possibly someone who spoke with her that night may know where she’s gone. It would be helpful to know when she left the overflow lot.”

  “Maybe somebody knew where she was going, is that the idea?” Again that flash of calculation. It was as if he picked up cards from the table, studied his hand.

  “Right.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll ask around, Mrs. Darling, see if I can find out anything useful to you.” He spoke in the same tone as if he’d promised to arrange the serving tables for a book club luncheon. He walked to the swinging door, pushed it with an elbow.

  Annie almost called after him. There had been a flicker in the hooded dark eyes beneath the heavy frontal bone just before he turned away. Was it excitement? Interest? Knowledge?

  She made a mental note. She’d check back with Richard tomorrow, see if he had any more information to share.

  • • •

  Max caught up with a small woman pushing a laundry cart on the third floor of the Sea Side Inn. “Mrs. Chase, if you have a moment, I’d like to visit with you about the Lady Luck dance at the country club. I understand—”

  “I didn’t take that woman’s shawl.” Rhonda Chase was thin, wiry, middle-aged, and bristling. She stood quite rigid in her neat gray uniform. “I’ve worked at the inn for fourteen years and nobody’s ever missed a thing on my rounds and I don’t appreciate being chased down about that shawl. I been working some nights at the club for years, too. I can tell you me and that nice girl Lindsay didn’t do anything but clear up. What would either of us do with a fancy shawl like that? I don’t think you’ll find either one of us at a rich folks’ dance. If you people cause me any trouble here at the inn, I’ll get me a lawyer. And how did you know I was up here on the third floor doing my work like I’m supposed to? Did you ask the manager to see me? What’s she going to think?”

  Max wished Eileen Irwin hadn’t treated the shawl’s disappearance as grand theft. Obviously, she’d insisted that Jerry O’Reilly put pressure on staff who had been in the rooms. Max understood Eileen’s assumption that the thief must be a
club employee. The likelihood of a member taking the shawl, unless in error or malice, had to be minuscule and that left employees. Jerry would certainly look with more suspicion on new or occasional employees.

  “I told her I’m looking for a missing woman and that my questions have nothing to do with you personally, simply that you were at an event where the woman was last seen and I’m checking with everyone who was there.”

  Her indignation ebbed. “Missing? Who’s gone missing?”

  “At the dance, a young woman in a dress with a noticeable cleavage—”

  “Mrs. Hurst. She came in at the intermission. Everybody saw that dress. And lots more.” Her tone indicated disdain. Her dark eyes held no warmth, but she was curious. “Is she missing?”

  “As far as we know, she hasn’t been seen since that night. How do you know her?”

  “I’ve worked plenty of parties. I know all those folks.” Her brown face reflected disdain. “Funny thing, they never recognize me, but I know them when I see them, know more than they’d ever guess.” She closed her mouth and pressed her lips together in disapproval.

  “What do you know?”

  She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Maybe they all deserve each other. That’s all I got to say.”

  Max recognized a boundary. Rhonda Chase was a smart woman who had no intention of risking trouble from people who had money and power. “That’s fine. I’m really trying to find out more about Mrs. Hurst at the dance. She hasn’t been in touch with anyone since the dance. In fact, she doesn’t appear to be on the island. A friend is trying to find her. I’m hoping to talk to people who chatted with her and perhaps someone will know where she is. If you saw her in conversation with anyone, please tell me.”

  The maid’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no law against people talking to people.”

  Max smiled. “Right. Perfectly respectable and if you can give me some help there, no one could complain about that.”

  She studied his face, slowly nodded. “I don’t suppose anyone could. I kind of eyed her close. She looked like a cat with whiskers in the cream, pleased with herself. I figured that meant trouble for somebody. She came up to her husband at the bar. Didn’t stay long. Next time I looked she was dancing with Mr. Irwin. He looked scared to pieces.” There was a little note of surprise in her voice. She gave a puzzled head shake. “I saw him a few minutes later. His face was kind of gray. Mrs. Irwin came up and took him by the arm and they walked away. Later Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Peterson were dancing. About halfway through a dance, he stopped. Another couple bumped into them. That retired navy man and his wife. He started to apologize but Mr. Peterson turned away and headed toward the terrace. He looked like he was fixing to smack somebody. Mrs. Hurst was left standing there on the floor. She was casual as could be, just smiling and gazing around. She must have seen somebody she wanted to talk to because she started across the floor in the other direction. That’s the last time I saw her.”

  • • •

  The July-hot air sagged with humidity. Dark clouds bunched on the southern horizon where earlier the sky had been a cloudless blue. The weather forecast called for late-afternoon and early-evening thunderstorms with likelihood of intermittent showers for the next two days, but what else was new in July. Annie started to perspire though she stood in the shade of an awning. Oyster-shell paths led in several directions. Annie knew the club grounds well. If she turned to her left, she would reach the pool. The path to her right led to the golf course clubhouse. Instead, she went straight, passing between the apron of the pool and a picnic area where a grandstand had been set up to view the fireworks. The path curved through live oaks and tall loblolly pines. In the windless air, Spanish moss hung still and straight from branches of the live oaks. Annie loved the silvery moss, which, to her, added an exotic touch so different from the windswept plains of Amarillo. Beyond the live oaks, underbrush had been cleared from among sixty-foot-tall pines to provide parking spaces. The sandy ground showed the impress of tire tracks. It was catch as catch can for those who used the overflow lot, but perhaps thirty or forty cars could squeeze between trunks.

  At night the pines loomed as dark sentinels with occasional lights affording enough illumination to park and walk to the path. Now the empty lot was gloomy in the shade of the trees. On the night of the Fourth, the lot was likely full. The center drive curved to the north to the exit and the blacktop that bounded the back of the club. Anyone walking in the darkness would be dimly seen. Even if she found someone who had been in the lot when Shell came for her car, it was unlikely she would have been recognized. Moreover, Annie doubted many left in the middle of the fireworks.

  What prompted Shell to leave then?

  Annie shook her head. Who knew? Shell was bored. Shell was going somewhere. Shell planned a private moment with someone.

  Private… It seemed very private here, very quiet. On the night of the Fourth, exploding fireworks would have been audible, though muted. If everyone was watching fireworks, the lot might have been empty. Except for Shell.

  Annie heard a distant rumble of thunder.

  It didn’t take a girl from Amarillo long to get away from tall trees when a thunderstorm was coming.

  • • •

  Annie clapped her hands together. “Poof! She’s there and then she’s gone.”

  Lightning flashed. The lights in the house wavered. Thunder boomed. Rain sheeted down, obscuring the garden. From the safety of the back verandah, Annie enjoyed the heavy wet smell, the gurgle in the drainpipes, the drumrolls in the heavens. Light spilled cheerfully—when the electricity didn’t falter—onto the porch. Max was a comfortable presence beside her in their cushioned porch swing, his arm resting across her shoulders. The July heat was tempered by the rain. Usually they were accompanied on the swing by Dorothy L, a plump, affable white cat. Not tonight. Annie was sure Dorothy L was upstairs, burrowed beneath their spread. Dorothy L loathed thunder, dogs, and turtles.

  “It only seems that way.” Max’s voice was untroubled. “Obviously Shell went somewhere. She drove the Porsche to the club. The Porsche is not at the club. When we discover where she went, there will be nothing sinister about the overflow lot.”

  Annie realized he’d picked up on her feeling of unease about the lot. Even now she didn’t like to remember the stillness and the quiet. “I don’t see how we can find out where she went.”

  Max said abruptly, “Maybe we’re being stupid.”

  Annie twisted to look at him.

  “We’ve gone here and there, asking about Shell, hoping someone has some idea where she’s gone. According to Hayley, Wesley said he expected she’d come back when she was good and ready. Maybe she’s been in touch with him since Hayley came to see me. I’ll go in and get Wesley’s phone number.” He returned in a moment to the porch swing and made the call. “Hey, Wesley. How are you?… May I speak to Shell?”

  In the light from the kitchen window, Max’s face was… interesting.

  “… actually someone wants to get in touch with her and I—” Max frowned. “If you hear from her, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask her to give me a ring… That’s confidential infor—” He returned the cell to his pocket. “He doesn’t know where she is. He doesn’t give a damn where she is. Who’s trying to find her? When I declined to tell him, he clicked off. He sounded okay until I asked for Shell. From then on, he was combative, surly, and maybe a little worried.”

  “Worried about Shell?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Another flash, another boom.

  Annie reached up, gripped Max’s hand. “I know she went somewhere but why can’t we find her?”

  “Hey, Annie.” His tone was warm, reassuring. “Let’s build on what we’ve got. The overflow lot spooked you this afternoon. That’s because a storm was building. Atmospheric pressure and all that. But we know for sure that the Porsche left the lot.” He banked on that fact. Yes, Shell was gone but so was her car. “Anyway, we learned a lot today. We conne
cted Shell to Wesley, Edward Irwin, Dave Peterson, an unidentified man, and a woman who wasn’t in evening dress. We know after Dave deserted Shell on the floor, she looked at someone across the room and set out in that direction. Tomorrow we’ll find out more. If we don’t find anything, maybe we can ask Billy Cameron to make a few inquiries.”

  Maybe it was time to call on the island chief of police. Billy was a good friend and he could make some quiet inquiries.

  As for the Porsche, Annie wanted to know where the car was. Yes, the Porsche had been driven out of the overflow lot, but Broward’s Rock had large swaths of heavy forest where a car could be left undiscovered for years. Perhaps forever. Shell could have left in someone else’s car, but in that event where was her car? They’d keep looking.

  • • •

  Deep in the night an explosive peal of thunder startled Annie into wakefulness. She opened her eyes. A moment later wavering brilliance bathed the bedroom in an unearthly glow, followed immediately by another huge clap of thunder. An odd remembrance slid through her sleep-drenched mind, swift as an eel. She sank back into slumber.

  5

  Annie paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Rain pattered steadily against the windowpanes, but the kitchen was welcoming, the walls a warm yellow, the calico curtains fresh and bright, the overhead light turned on full force. There was a delectable scent of baking. She sniffed.

  Max turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “Bacon, scrambled eggs, and oat scones with raisins and dried cranberries.” He gestured at a basket with a red-and-white-checked napkin on the breakfast table. “You’re just in time to get out the whipped cream flavored with vanilla.” His eyes told her he very much liked her shorty pajamas. Or perhaps it wasn’t the pajamas…

  Annie sent an admiring gaze his way as well. Blond hair rumpled, unshaven and barefoot, Max in a tee and boxer shorts made it hard for her to remember what she’d hurried downstairs to tell him.

  She placed the chilled bowl of whipped cream on the table, added a container of unsalted butter, poured herself a mug of coffee. “Max, last night the thunder woke me up—”