Death On Demand Part 23

"It's a free country. Or so I thought."

"You have no call to go around interviewing people. Mrs. Morgan resents it."

"The ex-Mrs. Morgan knew all about the Sunday night session-and she was pretty annoyed that Elliot wasn't forking over her alimony on schedule," Annie said furiously.

A voice broke in. "Hey, you people better leave Carmen alone." She pictured a meaty face with beady brown eyes.

"b.u.t.t out, Bud."

So that was Inspector Slack's name.

"Ms. Laurance, I'm calling to give you another chance. You keep your face out of my investigation. I've got enough trouble on this island without you and your boyfriend playing detective. Bud was just giving you some friendly advice."

"I have some friendly advice for Bud," she retorted. "His pal, Carmen, is a real pistol, and she wanted money-"

"Hey, lady, you watch your mouth about Carmen. What d'you mean, she's a pistol?"

"And, furthermore, Chief, have you found out who inherits Elliot's money?"

"Of course."

"Who?"

"That's no business of yours."

"If you're going to slap me in chains tomorrow, you can bet my lawyer will make it his business."

Finally, Saulter spoke, and there was just a hint of consideration in his voice. "He hadn't changed his will."

"So Carmen inherits?"

"Yes."

Bud was still fuming. "Hey, wait a minute. n.o.body's going to hang a rap on Carmen. Me and her were on the beach Sunday night."

Not Inspector Slack, Annie decided. Mike Hammer on a vacation.

"Bud, get off the line." After an instant, there was a click. "Okay, Ms.

Laurance, you and your boyfriend have your fun-but I'll be over to talk to you in the morning. And you better have some good answers." He hung up-She replaced the receiver. "The tumbril's going to roll first thing in the morning." Her voice was light, but she glanced up at the clock. "Oh Lord, we've got to get cracking. It's ten after five. Come on, Max, let's split up the work. You summarize what we learned from everybody, and I'll call around and see if I can find out where everybody was when Harriet was killed."

Max spread out his notes from the day on the table nearest the coffee bar. He draped himself comfortably in a chair, took off his brown cordovan loafers, wiggled his toes, and drank some more beer.

She called Emma first.

"Yes?" The mistress of mysteries was not cordial.

"Emma, where were you between five and six P.M. Monday?"

There was a chilly pause. "I understand Harriet died about then," she said finally. "Is that what prompts this call?" She laughed softly. "You are indefatigable, aren't you? I was here, my dear. In my office.

Working."

"I thought you wrote in the mornings."

"That's right. And in the evenings, too, when I'm close to the finish."

"How about 9:45 Sunday morning?"

"Now that's something new." Her tone was a.s.sured and amused. "Is there a corpse no one's told me about?"

"No. That's when the murderer hid the dart in Death On Demand."

"Oh my, you and Mr. Darling do seem to be clever at discovering things.

I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. I was working. The next time I get involved in a murder, I'll be sure to order my time better."

Emma sounded quite good-humored now. She certainly didn't feel threatened by their investigation so far.

Annie took a flyer. "How about ten-thirty P.M. Wednesday, July seventeenth?"

"Is there any semblance of reason behind that question?"

"Somebody pushed Uncle Ambrose off his boat."

"Interesting that you know the exact time."

Annie would have given a hot reply, but Emma swept on.

"Sorry, dear, I don't keep a diary-and I wasn't skulking around the harbor that night." The line went dead.

It didn't take long to ring up her list.

Hal Douglas didn't seem affronted by her question. "Yeah, I was jogging about the time Harriet was killed, but I took a path through the bird refuge. I didn't see a soul," he said cheerfully. "As for Sunday morning, I was asleep. And I don't have any idea about last July." His voice dropped. "Do you really think somebody murdered your uncle?"

Annie was relieved when Janis Farley answered rather than Jeff. She replied to the questions in a low, uneasy voice. She and Jeff, she insisted, were at breakfast together Sunday morning and were playing Scrabble Monday evening. Annie could imagine her looking over her shoulder as she spoke.

Fritz Hemphill listened, then said distinctly, "Go to h.e.l.l."

Before he could hang up, she threw out, "Do you still have the rifle you used to shoot Mike Gonzalez?"

"Funny thing, Annie. Dead men don't talk." His voice continued, cold and uninflected. "Neither do dead women. Sure, I got that gun. I still hunt with it."

Capt. Mac was encouraging. "Have you found out anything?"

"A lot. Some of it, you wouldn't believe."

"I'd believe it. I was a cop for a long time."

It wasn't hard to ask him. "Where were you when Harriet died?"

"In and out. No alibi, unfortunately. I'm transplanting some c.r.a.pe myrtle, so I was around the patio most of the time. You know, the privacy on Broward's Rock is great, but sometimes I wish I had a nosy neighbor."

"There's Carmen Morgan," she offered.

He chuckled. "The lady doesn't spend a lot of time in her garden."

The bedroom was her more likely habitat, but neither of them said it.

"Have you'talked to Saulter about Harriet?" she asked.

"Yeah, but there isn't much to report. Place was wiped clean of fingerprints. Saulter thought that was interesting. I did, too. It might indicate the killer was caught by surprise. Otherwise, you'd think he would be wearing gloves."

Capt. Mac said he was probably in the shower Sunday morning. He remembered that he'd spent the evening working on his car the night Ambrose drowned.

Annie rang Carmen Morgan.

"Monday afternoon? Geez, I don't know. I don't keep track of my time like a shop girl."

"That was just yesterday," Annie reminded her in a long-suffering tone which caused Max to look up and grin.

"Sure. Yeah. Well, probably I was watching a game show. That's what I was doing."

Sure.

"What're you going to do with the money Elliot left you?"

"Money? What money?"

"You know. He never changed his will. You'll inherit. Just like a widow."

"Gee, I didn't know that! Gee, that's great." Her effort to sound surprised was as fake as her spiky eyelashes. Annie was glad she didn't have to act for a living. She claimed to be asleep Sunday morning and probably was playing-bingo on a Wednesday night in July.

Kelly Rizzoli sounded dreamy. "Around six? I don't know, really. I sometimes walk down by the rock garden. It's peaceful as dusk comes."

Just Kelly and the earthworms, Annie thought.

Max was exhibiting, for him, great industry, shuffling papers and occasionally writing in spurts, so Annie, despite her meager results, stubbornly drew up a chart.

She carried her work to his table and plopped the chart on top of his papers. "Can you believe this?'

He studied it.

ANNIE S ALIBI CHART.

9:45 Sunday 6 p.m. Monday 10:30 pm Wednesday July

17.

Emma Clyde working working ?.

Capt. Mac showering transplanting car repair c.r.a.pe myrtle Parleys breakfast playing Scrabble don't remember Fritz Hemphill - - - Kelly Rizzoli ?.

walking in the'

garden Hal Douglas asleep jogging don't remember Carmen Morgan asleep game show bingo?

She ran her hands distractedly through her snarled hair. "These jerks would never make it in a Freeman Wills Croft book." She thumped the table in disgust. "Look at that. Not a single one has an alibi. How can that many people be invisible every time a murder takes place?"

"Everybody says writers are loners. Maybe it's so."

"Not only loners, weirdos," she muttered. "Every time I talk to Kelly Rizzoli, I feel like I'm in a deserted cemetery at midnight, consorting with a vampire."

"You can't expect charts to solve anything," Max continued with irritating placidity. "Life doesn't imitate art. Old mysteries can't help us solve this."

"Sure they can. Why, I'll bet I figure it out before you do. I know a lot more about murders than you ever thought about."

He gave her a smile that could only qualify as patronizing in the extreme, pushed her chart aside to pick up his top paper, and waggled his paper, filled with his dark, sloping scrawl. "Here's what we have to find out."

She ignored the proffered sheet. He quirked an eyebrow, still looking superior and amused, then swung his feet to the floor and stood.

He held his papers high as he moved up the central aisle. "When I get the answers to these questions, we'll know everything that matters." He picked up the phone at the cash desk.

Annie paced back and forth in the coffee area, pausing occasionally to look up at the watercolors. Of course she knew more about murders than Max! He had the usual male conceit, so certain he knew more than she did. By golly, she would show him. The little gray cells, that was the ticket. In all of this mishmash of information, there had to be a key to the villain. No alibi. That indicated a great deal of confidence on the murderer's part, didn't it? Confidence- Okay, she had confidence, too.

But she did p.r.i.c.k up her ears to hear his half of the conversation. Fair was fair. After all, she'd let him see her alibi chart.

He was as slick as the hide of a greased pig.

"... calling from Beaufort County, South Carolina. We have a homicide here, actually a triple homicide, and we need some information on a Miss Kelly Rizzoli. You've got her down for a couple of misdemeanors, around '78, '79. If you can pull it up on your computer, we'd appreciate the help. Sure, I'd be glad to hold."

"So if you get some stuff on Kelly, then we'll know about everybody,"

Annie kibitzed.

He covered the receiver. "Except for Harriet. And that's moot."

"I know that one. Elliot accused her of lifting a plot from somebody."

Max gave a small shrug. "We know she wasn't the killer. But that would hardly be reason enough."