Death Comes Silently (34 page)

“Yes.” Hyla’s tone was just this side of patronizing, implying that a careful investigator would have kept digging and not jumped to hasty conclusions. “I called Leslie and explained that the bike was part of evidence in the murder case and would she please explain her use of it on Tuesday evening. She did not take the bike Tuesday evening. The explanation is simple.” Hyla’s brisk voice held a tiny hint of empathy. “Her boyfriend wasn’t returning her calls and she was
afraid he was interested in someone else. She didn’t want to take her car in case he saw her. She said, ‘I’d rather die than have him think I was spying on him.’ Which, of course, she was. In any event, she didn’t take the bike. She took a canoe from the boat house and lurked in the water near his cabin. He came home alone. She watched for a while, but no one came so she went home.” A pause. “Poor girl. She thought he was guilty and he thought she was, but they’ve worked everything out. He’s taken the GED and saved his money and enrolled in Armstrong State. She said she was going to go to school, too. Possibly she’s grown up a bit.”

“Hyla, thank you for everything. If it hadn’t been for you—”

Hyla was gruff. “Just doing my job.” The call ended.

Henny sat with her walking boot elevated on a small stool. “Another toast. To Hyla.”

They lifted their glasses.

Laurel darted to the blue vase by the fireplace, selected a sunflower stalk, and held it out to Emma. Laurel’s husky voice was soft but clear. “Nothing speaks of loyalty and generosity better than a sunflower and”—she raised her glass—“a toast. To Emma, Queen of Crime and Restorer of Integrity to our island’s police department.”

“Hear, hear.” Henny drank from the flute. Despite the lines of pain and lack of color in her face, her vivid brown eyes sparkled. She looked up at the paintings above the fireplace, then slid her eyes toward Emma, whose square face was abruptly creased with hostility. “In order,
The Jasmine Moon Murder
by Laura Childs,
Death and the Lit Chick
by G. M. Malliet,
The Mamo Murders
by Juanita Sheridan,
The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree
by Susan Wittig Albert, and
The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet
by Michael Pearce.”

Emma’s sapphire eyes narrowed. She glared at the third painting. “It scarcely seems sporting to include a book written in the nineteen
fifties. That, of course, threw me off. Moreover, Juanita Sheridan’s books are important because Lily Wu was the first female Asian detective along with her Anglo friend Janice Cameron. A more representative scene featuring Lily and Janice could have been chosen. However”—she managed an almost gracious smile—“if dear Henny found thoughts of the paintings comforting while she was in the hospital, I am certainly pleased for her.”

Annie felt a surge of sheer delight, the fire flickering in the fireplace, Henny and Emma dueling for mystery superiority, lovely Laurel with her unquenchable spirit, and Max, a grown-up Joe Hardy and sexy as hell. Slightly giddy from the champagne, Annie looked at each in turn—wonderful, handsome Max; elegant, enchanting Laurel; brave, generous Henny; crusty, brilliant Emma—and raised her glass. “Forward Faithful Five, friends forever.”