The smell of lemon polish enfolded us as we glanced into the living room. Sunlight poured through the open front curtains. A naval clock chimed the quarter hour.
“Those curtains were closed before,” I told Hal.
He hurried down the hallway, calling Deenie’s name. The house echoed as though it were deserted. I took a deep gulp of air and headed straight back through the house to the least likely place — the kitchen.
Deenie’s tousled head had fallen forward on the breakfast table. An empty bottle of gin teetered on the table’s edge. I felt under her delicate jaw for a pulse. It was so faint it took me a few panicky seconds to find it.
“Hal!” I called, easing Deenie back in the chair. Her face was talc-white and slack. “In the kitchen!”
He skidded around the doorway and hurried to my side. Gently raising one of the unconscious woman’s eyelids, he held her wrist and counted a full minute. “That’s not just booze,” he said grimly, reaching for the wall phone.
Deenie was so cold it frightened me. While Hal called the paramedics, I fetched a sweater from the hall closet. Hurrying into the kitchen with it, I discovered Mutt and Jeff entering the back door. Fast work — Hal must have signaled them somehow. I shot them a glare that should have brought on multiple coronaries and wrapped the sweater around Deenie. With all the subtle charm I was beginning to know and love, the two men barely gave her a glance before they began to nose around. Mutt lifted the gin bottle, using his shirttail, and sniffed before carefully replacing it on the table edge. Jeff retreated, and I heard the boards creak in the bedroom next door. Hal gave me a flat stare, then fetched an afghan for Deenie’s legs.
The charming twosome had plip-plopped away on their scooters by the time the medics arrived. They asked some quick questions, put the bottle into a bag for analysis, attached an I.V. to their patient’s arm, and trundled Deenie out the front door.
“She’ll have to be ’coptered to Boston,” the older of the two told me as they slid her into the ambulance. “Looks like a botched suicide — barbiturates. Zeke will be calling you.” They took off in a spurt of gravel.
“Suicide, my eye,” I said bitterly as Hal joined me. “Deenie Durham never had a suicidal thought in her selfish little life.”
He glanced down at me, startled.
“People like Deenie don’t kill themselves,” I said impatiently, turning back to his lemon. “If you were convinced you were the center of the universe, would you leave voluntarily?”
“I thought you were her friend,” Hal said, following me.
“I love Deenie like a sister,” I told him in surprise. “That doesn’t mean I don’t see her faults. And let her know about them, sometimes.” I slid onto the hot seat of the bug. “Personally, I’ve never felt like I was at the center of anything — except an occasional slanging match between Mama and Joe.”
“You were the center of your grandmother’s life. I’ve been meaning to—”
“We should call Sandy,” I changed the subject abruptly.
“Leave that to the medics.” Hal turned the ignition key. “I gave them his work number — for what it’s worth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
Hal’s face was grim as he swung onto the road toward home. He flicked me a glance, but his set jaw gave forth no reply.
“Look, Hal,” I began, temper rising, “I’m getting pretty sick of wandering around inside your private funhouse without a script. I almost got shot the other morning, if you remember. Today one of my best friends may be dying. Isn’t it about time you let me in on the secret?”
“Can’t,” he stated. Discussion ended.
“Then I’ll have to call Zeke Beebe and tell him what’s been going on,” I replied.
“I’ll break your pretty neck,” Hal said, casual as how d’you do.
I could hear my teeth grinding. “I should have flicked that light switch,” I muttered.
His glance was amused. “It’s almost over, Tess.” He tried to pat my knee, but I jerked it away.
When we pulled into his driveway and the engine died, Hal turned to me. “Tess,” he said gently, resting one elbow on the wheel, “I promise no one else will get hurt.”
I started to tremble and could feel my throat tightening — with anger, I told myself “That’ll do Deenie a lot of good,” I gulped.
Hal came around to open my door. He pulled me up out of the car and held me close.
“How touching,” a dry voice said. I twisted out of Hal’s arms to find Jeff watching, arms akimbo. Behind him stood a gangly redheaded man in jeans and a tank top.
“Sandy!” I stared at Deenie’s husband, who should be in his Boston laboratory. “Where did you come from? Did they—”
“Zeke just called, Tess,” he said grimly, his eyes on Hal. “I was supposed to be trying to reach my dying wife, wasn’t I, Hal?”
A frown developed between Hal’s brows. “What are you talking about?”
“You gave the medics my lab number,” Sandy bit off the words, pale blue eyes flashing, “but security switched it to my cellular phone last week. I’ve been staying in your boathouse since yesterday afternoon.”
“We thought Mr. Durham might need to be... uh... mobile,” Jeff grinned, but his eyes stayed cold.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Sandy,” Hal said, running a hand through his hair. “The paramedics—”
“—think Deenie will make it,” Sandy interrupted. “You didn’t wait long enough for the drugs to work.”
“Did a better job on his own wife,” Jeff suggested.
The breeze off the harbor was cool, but not enough to give me that sudden sensation of freezing. “Hal couldn’t—” I croaked, then swallowed painfully. “His kids were killed! Sandy!”
“Sharon was supposed to leave the kids with the sitter, wasn’t she, Hal?” Sandy asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “You didn’t know she was leaving for good and taking them along.”
I turned slowly to look up at Hal. He was watching Sandy intently.
“Mrs. Benson called our office,” Jeff added, “before she left home. Said her husband might be hawking the lab’s programs. Sour grapes from a neglected wife, we thought. If you’d left her alone, we might never have given it a second thought. Pretty nasty people you were dealing with, professor. Why did they try to fry you the other day? Cutting their losses?”
Hal took a step backward, moving into the angle between the open passenger door and the car. His face still looked as though he were striving to understand a foreign language. I turned to speak to Sandy, to question, to demand, but a flash of movement brought me swinging toward Hal. A small gun had sprouted in his hand — and was aimed point-blank at my midriff. His eyes, however, were fixed on Jeff, who had gone rigid.
“You’re finally going to listen to me,” he spoke quietly. Let us reason together. “Who do you suppose planted those stupid suspicions in my wife’s mind? The same man who tampered with my car’s steering column, maybe? Killing Sharon wasn’t his plan, but it worked — it got me out of the lab. And once I was gone, he finally had access to all the data, not just the crumbs.”
Hal’s knuckles were white, and the gun was developing a decided tremble. I found I couldn’t swallow any more.
“You saying Mr. Durham went to all that trouble just to get you out of the way?” Jeff drawled, looking skeptical.
“You’d better go back to the shrinks,” Sandy blurted. “You’re paranoid. What would I have to—”
“Whose wife has been drinking like a fish and might let something damaging slip?” Hal was unrelenting. “Deenie’s had a long time to mull over Sharon’s accident. Did Sid’s death start her thinking some nasty things about you, Sandy? For instance, how did Sid get into your cabin?”