Death Comes Silently (17 page)

The Maserati eased to a stop next to the mini car. Max parked and moved quickly across the uneven terrain, skirting a six-foot-long stack of used bricks that likely had been salvaged from a tear down. He knocked on the door and stepped inside. The two-room office was untidy. Cardboard files occupied the seat of a worn sofa near one window. Three gray metal filing cabinets and a drafting table occupied one wall. Brad Milton sat behind an old metal desk. He was Lincoln tall and ungainly. Even seated, he had a disjointed appearance, hatchet-sharp features with a down-turned mouth, one shoulder higher than the other, huge hands splayed on the desktop amid a welter of papers. He seemed to come back from a long way as he looked at his visitor.

Max knew Brad from Rotary meetings and the chamber of commerce. Brad was in his forties, older than Max and Annie. They saw him at chili cook-offs and oyster fries and charitable functions. He was recently divorced. This afternoon he looked as gray and morose as the lowering skies outside.

“Max.” Brad lifted a big hand, gestured toward a straight chair that faced the desk. His demeanor brightened, a touch of animation in his deep voice. “What can I do for you? You and Annie planning on a little remodeling?” His voice lifted with hope.

Max shook his head. “I’ve been asked to investigate Everett Hathaway’s death.”

Brad looked surprised. “What’s there to know? He drowned. Poor bastard.” He gave a slight shudder. “They say hypothermia’s a good way to go. Doesn’t sound good to me. It sounds cold.”

Max watched him carefully. “Someone capsized his kayak and left him to drown.”

Brad’s angular face looked incredulous. “You think he was dumped out of that kayak? On purpose?” He gave a slight head shake.

Max spoke slowly. “We have reason to believe he was lured out onto the bay and someone in a motorboat intercepted him and knocked him out of the kayak.”

Brad placed his big hands on his desktop. “That sounds crazy to me. Are the cops checking this out?”

Max didn’t answer directly. “There hasn’t been a public announcement yet.”

“Oh. Well, I guess you know what you’re talking about, but I can’t believe anybody killed Everett.” His craggy face folded in a frown. “Why come to me?”

Max’s gaze was intent. “You owed him money. He wanted payment.”

Brad’s eyes glinted. “I don’t think I like the implication.” His voice was cold. “I owe a lot of people money and they are all alive and kicking. Besides that, you’re way off on your facts. Everett and I had come to an agreement.”

Max took a chance. Brad and Everett’s confrontation in the parking lot had been angry. “You argued with him.”

“Old news.” Brad leaned back in his chair, his body relaxed. “We had a talk. Everything was okay.”

“Since when?”

“Since I persuaded him to be reasonable.” Brad’s rough-hewn face looked irritated. “Look, my finances are none of your business, but I borrowed some money from the agency—Eddie was a good guy—to cover some cash-flow problems. The damn banks are sitting on capital like it’s glued to their butts. Eddie would have given me an extension without any hassle. Everett had trouble seeing the forest for the trees, but I finally”—he sounded long-suffering—“got it through
his thick skull that giving me more time made it a lot likelier the agency would get paid in full. If I had to go into bankruptcy, there were a bunch of creditors before the agency. Anyway, it’s all been worked out. After Everett died, I explained everything to Trey, and he agreed the new plan made sense.”

“So you’ve already talked to Trey about the loan?”

Brad’s angular face looked pleased. “Trey’s reasonable. I can keep the business going. I’m about to turn the corner. I’ve got some jobs lined up.”

“When did you last see Everett?”

Brad’s eyes widened. “It makes me feel kind of spooky. I talked to him the morning of the day he died. I dropped by the agency about eleven thirty. That’s when we got everything worked out.”

Max was sure that Brad would never have answered except he knew that his visit at the office likely would be remembered by the receptionist.

“Where were you the night Everett died?”

“Right here.” Brad was brusque. “Not out drowning somebody. You can take that to the bank. Look, I don’t know that much about Everett. Eddie and I were friends. I used to spend a lot of time over there, drank a lot of good whisky. Everett wasn’t my kind of guy. He drank white wine. But he seems an unlikely candidate for murder. Anyway, I’m not the man to talk to and, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a pile of work to do. For which, believe me, I’m grateful.”

Max rose. “You going to compete in the bass tournament at Lake Keowee?” Brad had an island reputation as a bass angler.

Brad shook his head. “Not this year. I sold my boat in August. I got to earn back a bunch of money before I fish again. Except from a pier. Why?”

Max shrugged. “I know you like to fish.”

Brad looked at Max in disbelief. “Wait a minute, are you thinking I took out a boat and dumped Everett out of that kayak?”

Max met his gaze. “Somebody dumped him out.”

Brad folded his arms. “I’ll believe that when somebody proves it.”

“There’s proof.”

“Good. Then the cops can handle it. I’ll read about it in the
Gazette
.”

H
enny waited until the taillights of the tan Corolla were no longer visible, signaling Maggie’s departure, then slipped from her car in the shadow of pines a half block from the Hathaway house. She turned up the fur-lined collar of her jacket and walked briskly, leaning a bit into the wind. She would hear any cars arriving at the house and, in the gathering dusk, could easily avoid being seen.

She passed the main house and the double garage to the winter-bare rose garden that sloped down to the marsh, her goal the wooden pier and boathouse. On the planks of the pier, her steps echoed, as lonesome a sound in the growing darkness as the cry of a mourning dove. She shivered from the onslaught of the breeze and the icy dampness of the chill mist. Cold as a witch’s heart. How must Jeremiah feel, marooned on that small hump of wooded land? She must do more, faster, try to break through the seemingly impregnable fortress of a murderer’s success.

She peered into a boat house at a cruiser, heard the slap of water against the hull. Here it was. A ticket to the next bay available to anyone from the house. Dimly she heard a car door slam. Quickly she turned and hurried from the pier. In the garden, she paused near a thicket of cane.

A little boy about five in a fleece jacket ran toward the steep
wooden steps to the garage apartment. A woman juggled two bags of groceries, her purse, and a parcel of laundry.

“Can I have some Kool-Aid, Mama?” He raced up halfway.

“On a night like this?”

“Please, please.” His high voice wheedled. He stopped on the landing and looked back at her pleadingly.

“I’ll fix us something special for dessert. I’ll make brownies.” She reached the landing and put down her sacks to use her key. When the door closed behind them and lights flashed on, Henny waited long enough to let the groceries be put away, then hurried up the steps. She used a pocket flash for a quick glimpse of the nameplate on the post box: Hudgins.

At her knock, the door opened to reveal a woman in her thirties with honey-colored hair that needed a trim. A faded blue cotton turtleneck hung loose on her lanky frame and black jersey slacks bagged at the knees. She glanced out and said swiftly, “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I can’t contribute, whatever it is. Ricky’s allotment and my job just barely get us to the end of the month. I wish I could.” Her smile was shy and shamefaced.

As the door started to close, Henny spoke swiftly. “I’m not collecting donations, Mrs. Hudgins. I’m seeking information about the night Mr. Hathaway’s kayak capsized.

“I’m trying to determine more exactly the time of death. It will be a help to the family. And the thought was that you might be able assist.” Henny smiled. “So, if you don’t mind, were you here that evening?”

She looked rueful. “That night and every night.”

“Then I have just a few questions. I won’t take much of your time.”

The young woman nodded. The TV blared behind her. She half turned. “Make it softer, Richard.” But her voice was gentle. She
hesitated, then pushed the door open. “Please come in. We can talk while I fix Richard’s supper.”

In the small kitchen, she moved swiftly, pulling a frozen pizza and mixed vegetables from the freezer. “Richard loves pizza, but he has to eat his veggies, too. Now what about that night?”

“Did you hear the motorboat leave?” Henny gestured toward the marsh.

The young mother lifted a box of brownie mix from a cupboard and looked at her in surprise. “I haven’t heard the boat in a month or more. The boat certainly didn’t go out that night.”

Henny felt a shock of disappointment. She’d been so confident. “Were you here all evening?”

The woman’s smile was lopsided. “I’m home at nights. My husband, Ricky, is on his second tour in Afghanistan. I can’t afford a sitter, but my mom lives in Bluffton. Sometimes Richard and I go over and see her for the weekends. No, ma’am, that boat didn’t go out. I remember that Friday in particular. It was the night before they found Mr. Hathaway.” She looked solemn. “I think I heard him leave. I was out on the balcony, maybe it was about a quarter to ten.” Her eyes dropped. “I promised Ricky I’d stop smoking, but it’s hard. I worry about him. But I never smoke inside. It wouldn’t be good for Richard. Anyway, Richard was asleep and I slipped out on the porch. It was so cold. I heard footsteps on the pier and I saw somebody moving. I think maybe he was getting the kayak. I didn’t tell anybody about it later because all I saw was this dark figure walking out there. It did seem kind of funny that someone was on the pier on such a cold night. Then I went back inside. But I’m sure nobody went out in the motorboat. The engine makes a lot of noise.” She emptied the mix in a bowl. “I guess you came to ask me since nobody was home that night.”

“No one?”

Francie nodded. “They all left, one, two, three just before I stepped out on the porch. The girl’s car squeals. She gets out fast. Mr. Hathaway’s nephew slams his car door like he’s in a big hurry. Mrs. Hathaway’s car is the quietest but it makes little beeps when she unlocks it.”

When a kayak slipped soundlessly across water, no one was at home at the Hathaway house.

A
nnie moved slowly across the stone terrace behind the Mediterranean home. Red bamboo shades masked the arched windows that faced the marsh. However, light gleamed between slats, marked the edges of the windows. Earlier the house had been totally dark. Annie walked through the gloom toward an oversized oak door.

At the door, she lifted her hand to knock, then saw a massive iron key in the lock. She had a quick memory of Max holding just such a key at a mid-nineteenth-century Mexican hacienda in Cuernavaca that had been transformed into a luxury hotel. A key to delight for them.

She touched the cold metal, turned, and cautiously pushed. The door slid open, silent as a snowflake. An old door such as this surely depended upon metal hinges, but doors in luxury homes never squeaked.

“…are you out of your frigging mind?” The man’s voice was rough and furious.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” The woman spoke unevenly, quick breaths between her cry. “Doug, what’s happened to us? I thought you loved me.” There was heartbreak and despair in her broken words.

Annie eased the panel forward, just a little bit, until she could see a slice of the room. She gripped the iron handle tightly. The short peach coat had been flung across a red leather sofa. Nicole Hathaway, her face raddled, blue eyes brimming with tears, reached out a shaking hand to Doug Walker.

Annie felt sad as she looked at her friend Janet’s husband. Doug was always a charmer, curly blond hair, stocky sexy build, fun-loving guy. And an unfaithful husband.

“Oh my God. You call me and make threats and insist I meet you and then you act like you think I murdered Everett. I don’t know a damn thing about Everett and that fool kayak. If somebody tipped him over, it wasn’t me. I was home Friday night.”

“I’d called you, asked you to meet me here. I knew Janet was out of town. Why didn’t you come?”

“Like I told you last week, we’re history. You got to listen to me.”

“I think Everett knew about us.” Her voice shook. “The way he looked at me that last night was dreadful. Did he call you? Did you work out a way to keep him quiet?”

He stared at her, his eyes glittering. “You honest to God think I’d kill him? Why the hell should I?”

“What if he called you, said he was going to divorce me for adultery? What if he said he’d tell your precious Janet?” Her tone was corrosive.

“Keep Janet out of this.” He took a step toward her, his fists clenched.

“You should have thought about that before you came after me.”

“Any dog will follow a bitch in heat.”