Death Comes Silently (23 page)

Annie pulled up a blanket from the foot of the bed, tucked it around Henny, careful not to disarrange the IV in her left hand.

Henny’s eyes flickered open. She looked fuzzily at Annie, then her dark eyes focused. “Jeremiah?”

Swiftly, Annie told her. “He’s safely home.”

Henny’s dark eyes were somber. “Jeremiah’s safe, but Maggie’s dead. Do you know what happened?”

Annie spoke quietly. “Hyla found her dead in her living room. She’d been shot several times.”

Henny looked stricken. “I should have called Billy and told him. She must have contacted the murderer.”

Annie was firm. “You warned her. She made a bad choice. Billy will find out what happened. And now he knows Jeremiah is innocent.”

Henny gingerly touched the bandage over her ear. “I told Billy how Jeremiah shouted. He yelled right after the shots, said he was coming, but I knew he had no way to get to shore. I ran toward the trees and there were more shots. I reached the woods but I was crashing through underbrush and I knew the shooter would find me. Then I fell and couldn’t get up.” She took a deep breath, her dark eyes wide with remembered terror. “I laid still. I was afraid to call out. I kept thinking in a moment I’d be shot. Jeremiah was shouting and shouting.” She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was less distinct. “By the time I caught my breath, I realized no one was in the woods with me. Then I heard sirens. There was a huge commotion, sirens, men shouting. There was so much noise I couldn’t attract anyone’s attention. Finally there were flashlights and I knew there was a search. I called out when some lights came close.” A faint grimace of pain. “My ankle hurts.” She sounded drowsy.

Annie straightened Henny’s cover. “Try to relax and sleep.” The pain pills were likely taking effect. “Everything will be better tomorrow.”

Henny’s eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes closed.

Annie stood by the bed for a moment, then walked to the window. The room was on the second floor and would be accessible only by a ladder. Satisfied, Annie turned and walked softly across the room. She opened the door. As she stepped into the hallway, she heard a murmur of voices.

Pamela Potts held out a sheet of paper to Billy Cameron. Pamela always came when people were in need, blond hair perfectly coiffed in an old-fashioned pageboy, blue eyes magnified by horn-rimmed glasses, neatly but unfashionably attired. Her earnest face kind and encouraging, she brought food for the sick, comfort to the grieving, encouragement for the fearful. Pamela was serious, intense, dependable, bewildered by repartee, but willing to join in merriment even if she didn’t have a clue. Annie counted her as a cherished friend. Pamela had quickly joined Henny, Emma, and Laurel in supporting Annie and Max during those dreadful August days when Max was in peril.

“…authorized volunteers are listed for two-hour periods. Each team is composed by members who know each other. Moreover, I have a duplicate sheet for the officer in the hall and the officer will require identification before permitting ingress.”

Billy stood with his arms folded. The sharp lights of the hallway emphasized glints of silver in his thick blond hair, dark shadows beneath his eyes, and deep lines of fatigue at the corners of his mouth. “Excellent organization, Pamela.” There might have been a tiny hint of amusement in blue eyes, but there was respect as well.

“Thank you.” Pamela handed one sheet to Billy and a second to Officer Powell. “I will be joined by Rosemarie Woody. We will be on duty until two
A.M
.” Pamela reached into the deep pocket of a baggy wool sweater. “Here is my driver’s license.”

Officer Powell looked a little surprised since Pamela obviously was known to Chief Cameron. She glanced at him.

He gave a slight nod.

Officer Powell, her face carefully blank, duly checked the license, returned it to Pamela.

Only then did Pamela push through the door and enter Henny’s room.

Billy’s broad mouth curved in a smile as the door closed behind Pamela.

Annie suspected it was the first time he’d smiled that day.

When he turned to Annie, the moment’s respite was over. His face was somber, his gaze sharp. He gestured toward the end of the hall. “I need to talk to you.” For a big man, well over six feet and two hundred pounds plus, Billy moved fast.

Annie hurried to keep up.

Steps sounded behind them.

Annie looked over her shoulder, pointed at Billy’s receding back.

Max nodded and walked swiftly to catch up. He came up beside her and looked down, his face creased in a worried frown. “Is Henny okay?”

“She’s resting. Billy came to make sure she was safe.”

Billy stood in the archway to a family waiting area.

As they stepped into the alcove, he reached for his cell phone, checked a text message, then turned to them.

Max drew several folded sheets from his jacket. “We rounded up information about Everett Hathaway.”

Billy reached out, took the sheets. “Henny’s copy was lying on the front seat of her car.” He gestured toward faux leather chairs. As they sat, he dropped onto a sofa opposite them. His voice was heavy. “I know what happened. You three stirred up a murderer.”

The words hung in the quiet alcove.

Annie lifted her chin. “We were trying to save Jeremiah.”

Billy’s heavy face wasn’t hostile. “Got that. I’m not blaming you or Max or Henny. In fact, everything could have been handled and two murders solved except”—and now there was cool judgment in his voice—“for one woman’s fatal mistake. Maggie Knight may have been greedy. She definitely was foolish. Henny thought Maggie knew
who took the note. She warned her. Maggie should have listened. Instead she must have contacted the murderer. There’s nothing on her cell that’s helpful, but everybody knows cell phone records are kept. That’s another indication she intended to fly under the radar. Maybe she went to the Gas ’N’ Go and used a pay phone. Maybe she dropped by the killer’s house. Maybe she left a note where the murderer would be sure to find it. We can’t prove she contacted anyone. But that’s what must have happened. The attack on Henny proves that Maggie’s murder is connected to the message from Gretchen.”

“Maggie knew what happened to Gretchen.” Annie wasn’t convinced. “Why would she take the terrible risk of meeting with the murderer?”

“Oh”—he sounded weary—“she thought she was clever. All it took was a quick phone call, something like, ‘I saw you take the message from the hallway.’ She didn’t have to be more explicit. Maybe she said, ‘Henny Brawley’s asking a lot of questions. If you don’t want me to talk to her, tell her more, I’ll be quiet. For a price.’ She may have asked for a small payment, maybe a thousand dollars and asked that it be brought over at eight or nine o’clock. The murderer would have known there would be future demands.”

Max folded his arms. “Why did she think she could deal with a murderer who answered one threat with an axe?”

Billy rubbed knuckles against a bristly cheek. “I suspect she used Henny for insurance, told the murderer that if anything happened to her, Henny Brawley would receive information about who took the message. Oh, yeah, she must have thought she had her bases covered. Instead”—his voice was grim—“she signed two death warrants, hers and Henny’s. She was found in her living room shot approximately five times, blood everywhere. The place was ransacked. Her purse was gone. From the color and consistency of the bloodstains, the time
of death is estimated at about nine o’clock. We’ll know more after the autopsy. Henny arrived home a few minutes after ten. If she’d been home around nine thirty, I imagine her doorbell would have rung and she would have been gunned down without warning. Instead, the murderer had time to break in and make a search. The place is a mess. Of course, the search didn’t yield anything. By this time the murderer’s in a fury. The killer waited outside to ambush Henny and probably planned to search her car and take her purse as well. For the first time, the breaks went against the killer. The first shot missed and Jeremiah started yelling. Henny reacted fast and disappeared into the darkness and Jeremiah kept on yelling. I got the buzz on the nine-one-one. Any breaking crime is immediately routed to me in a dual call. I flipped on the speaker phone and the yells damn near blew my ears off.”

“Jeremiah thought fast.” Max was admiring. “The murderer must have thought the cavalry had arrived.”

“From out of nowhere.” Annie imagined the night silence broken by the crack of a gun. Glass splintered and a man’s shouts came out of nowhere. “There was nothing but Henny’s cabin, no neighbors, nothing to worry about, and all of sudden a guy’s yelling like crazy.”

For an instant, satisfaction gleamed in Billy’s eyes. “I like thinking about that instant and how the killer felt gut-whacked. All hell breaking loose and nothing to do but get out. I imagine”—his eyes narrowed—“that it’s been a long night. Somewhere on the island, a killer’s holding a reloaded gun, waiting.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “Waiting?”

Billy’s face was grim. “Waiting for the police to come. The murderer doesn’t know what happened to Henny or whether she has the information from Maggie. The killer has to worry that we’ve talked to Henny. I set the guard here just in case, but we’ll get word out that
she’d been interviewed and has no idea of the identity of her assailant. Right now, the killer’s unsure. But”—he sounded regretful—“with every minute that passes, the murderer’s breathing easier. If Henny knew anything, we’d have been there immediately. By morning, the murderer’s going to decide there’s no danger, either Maggie was bluffing or Henny never received the message.”

Annie gestured down the hall. “But you’re keeping an officer at Henny’s door for now?”

“For at least twenty-four hours, though I think the danger’s past now. You and the volunteers can keep her company just to be on the safe side.” He pushed up from the sofa, gave them a stern look. “Leave the rest to me.”

D
orothy L jumped over Annie, jumped back.

Annie drew the cover over her head, mumbled, “Get your cat.”

Dorothy L patted the sheet near Annie’s cheek.

“Go away.” The order was a triumph of hope over experience. Cats never did as they were told. It must be rule number one in the cat manual. Drowsily, Annie formulated the top ten rules:

1. Ignore commands. To acquiesce would encourage foolish independence among staff, i.e., two-legged creatures.
   
2. Pat a cheek with claws sheathed unless provoked.
   
3. Claws permitted to forestall removal from chosen site, such as lap, kitchen counter, computer keyboard, top of gerbil cage, sweater, coat, jacket, pillow, mantel with antique clock.
   
4. If bored, stare piercingly over staff’s shoulder, prompting a frenzied check of locks on windows and doors. Always amusing.
   
5. If hungry, nip gently at an ankle, not piercing the skin, move purposefully toward food bowl.
   
6. To show fondness, bring in a dead mouse or trapped bird through cat door. Staff will obligingly react with emotional intensity.
   
7. When staff is deep in slumber, drape over head on pillow or undulate beneath covers and settle behind bent knees. Warm bodies are intended for your comfort.
   
8. Take no guff from dogs. Bite the dog’s butt if instructions unheeded.
   
9. Pens, pencils, lipsticks, earrings, any small object can be utilized in kill-the-mouse game.
   
10. Indicate friendliness with an erect tail. Whipping tail reserved for high dungeon and should duly alert staff to the inadvisability of proceeding on unacceptable course.
    

This time Dorothy L’s touch was closer to a swat than a pat, and there was the tiniest hint of claws. Graceful as a ballerina, Dorothy L again jumped back and forth over Annie’s recumbent form.

Annie pushed the covers away, rolled over on an elbow, reluctantly opened one eye. A distant clang indicated Max busy downstairs in the kitchen. She stared into china blue eyes. “Why aren’t you down there with your bosom buddy?”

Dorothy L’s tail switched. Not a good sign.

“Okay, I’m up.” Annie shivered, slipped into her slippers, and reached for a Chinese red silk robe emblazoned with a dragon, a gift from Laurel one Christmas. Max had muttered, perhaps not too tactfully, that he was sure his mother had a truly positive view of the Dragon Lady and there probably wasn’t a
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
robe. Annie traced the dragon’s flickering tongue with a finger as she gave her hair a quick comb. Actually, she was rather flattered by Laurel’s choice. She’d always been convinced she could be a sultry seductress given the right circumstances.

Dorothy L pattered down the stairs ahead of her, tail cheerfully upright in approval that recalcitrant staff was finally getting a move on. In the kitchen, sunlight spread like gold through the broad windows, yesterday’s clouds and mist a memory.

Annie looked toward Dorothy L’s eating bowls. “You forgot her dry food, though why she had to get me up, I don’t know. After all, you’re down here.”

Max looked harried, a smear of mustard on one hand. “New recipe. Potato and bacon pancakes. Need to get these eggs poached. And it’s time to add the butter to the hollandaise sauce.”