Jeff cocked his head and slanted a glance at the man beside him. “There was no—”
“He had a key.” Sandy looked defiant, like a child caught with a shattered piggybank. “I’ve already told them. We’d been having an affair. We met at the cabin sometimes. That’s why Deenie—” his voice choked off and he put a hand to his forehead.
Hal snorted. “You mean poor Deenie was so shocked she tried to kill herself?” he scoffed. “Amazing — since she told Sharon two years ago that she knew all about your so-called affairs. You’d be surprised what women tell each other. What was so different about this one with Sid? Or was Deenie just a bit nervous about how the kid died?”
“You’re wasting our time, professor,” Jeff interrupted. “We’ve been over all this—”
Hal ignored him. “How did Sid die, Sandy?” he demanded, voice thickening. “You wouldn’t dirty your own hands. Must have been the same punks you sent after me, right? Same bizarre sense of humor. I’ll bet it was a shock when you found out he died in your own cabin. But you still needed them to eliminate me, didn’t you, so your meal ticket would be safe? So you could have the house in the Berkshires and the cottage out here and diamonds to keep Deenie quiet — and the job you thought you deserved.”
Hal’s gun remained trained on me. Only a couple of feet separated us; I waited for it to waver by a millimeter.
“I think you should take a closer look at my old pal here,” Hal addressed Jeff again. “For instance, how’s he been financing the good life?”
Hal was so intent on convincing Jeff that, for a crucial instant, his grip on the gun slackened. I tensed my muscles for a leap and was glancing around for a place to dive when the look on Sandy’s face stopped me. In that instant, when he thought no one but Hal was looking, he was smirking, pale eyes alight with unholy glee. He looked — triumphant.
By the time Jeff turned toward him, Sandy’s freckled face showed only puzzlement and a sort of pity. “Investments,” Jeff was replying in a Sahara-tinged voice. “You’ve been away a long time, professor. It’s all been checked and doublechecked.”
Our friend Sandy turned his gaze to where I stood rooted, staring at him. He shook his head slightly, inviting me to share his distress at a fine mind gone round the bend. Abruptly my world righted itself and I wasn’t cold any more.
Mutt tiptoed around the corner of the house, approaching Jeff and Sandy from behind. Hal ignored him, and Jeff, who must have seen his colleague’s sneaking approach out of the corner of his eye, did the same. “Professor, give us one fact,” he said softly, “to choose between the pair of you.”
Carly’s Checker lurched down the sandy track and staggered to a halt at the end of Hal’s drive. She emerged with a waterfall of curious cats and strode toward us.
“I stopped by Deenie’s, but there was no one—” She noticed Deenie’s husband then. “Hi, Sandy,” she nodded casually at him while she stopped to remove a half-grown Abyssinian from her pants leg. “Boy, was I ever relieved to see you with Deenie this afternoon. She’s been driving me crazy with her whining. Is she here?”
The silence that greeted her was deafening. One of the older cats was exploring Sandy’s ankle and mewling to itself. He shoved it away impatiently. “I’ve been in the boathouse ever since I got here,” he said irritably.
At the club, I suddenly remembered, Carly had said Deenie might have stayed home with—
“Where did you see them?” I demanded, deciding to take a hand in this game. The men were making a mess of it.
“On the beach behind their house.” Carly, cuddling the angular feline under her chin, seemed to become aware of the tension for the first time. She stared at me, but my body blocked her view of Hal. “I was fishing off the point. What’s—”
“Must have been someone else,” Sandy insisted, kicking at the long-legged tom, who had developed a passion for his ankle.
“Oh, come on, Sandy.” Carly looked disgusted. “How many tall, red-headed men could be cuddling Deenie on her own beach? Just because my hair’s gray doesn’t mean I’ve gone blind.”
I turned to Jeff. “Was Sandy with you earlier this afternoon?”
Jeff shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve been tailing the professor. After the other morning—”
Red patches showed on Hal’s cheekbones and the gun really and truly shook now. “You’re slime, do you know that, Sandy?” He almost choked on the words. “This won’t be murder; it’ll be an execution.” He raised the gun in two hands, elbows braced to aim at his former friend.
Mutt and Jeff were playing statue, letting the two men have it out. Carly was too far away to intervene. I hesitated — remembering Hal lying bound on that shed floor and Deenie’s limp form in the ambulance — and folded my arms.
Sandy’s calm fled as he stared wild-eyed at Hal, then at the unmoving Jeff. “You can’t!” he squeaked. “They’ll kill you for it!”
“What do I have left to live for?” Hal demanded coldly. “Besides, I can plead insanity, can’t I? Thanks to you.”
“I didn’t mean to kill the kids,” Sandy babbled, freckles standing stark against his paling cheeks. “Deenie didn’t tell me Sharon was going to drive your car. I never meant to hurt them!”
Mutt broke his pose and took a step forward, but Sandy, sensing the movement, dodged sideways before Jeff could react. Hal swung the gun to follow his target and bashed me in the collarbone, sending me reeling against the lemon bug. Cursing, Hal tried to correct his aim, but by then Mutt and Jeff were only steps behind the fleeing man as he sprinted down the driveway toward Carly and the open door of her sedan.
Carly sidestepped to avoid Sandy’s rush, the limp Abyssinian raised high above her head out of harm’s way — and dropped the startled cat on Sandy’s back as he dashed by. Screaming like a banshee, the terrified animal scrambled for purchase on the running man’s bare neck and shoulders. Exposed skin around his tank top was shredded by needlelike claws as Sandy doubled over, yelling and swiping at his attacker. The cat, naturally, bit him, which brought an additional howl of rage. As Jeff drew level and grabbed Sandy’s arm, the young feline, ears flattened, dug his claws into Sandy’s back muscles, launched himself to the safety of the ground, and scampered off to join his companions, tail stiff with outrage.
Jeff jerked both Sandy’s arms up behind him while Mutt puffed to a halt and produced handcuffs. Sandy, still squirming, shot Hal a murderous look.
“I should have known. You wouldn’t have had the nerve to shoot,” he spat.
“I almost did.” Hal sounded infinitely tired. “You’re a destroyer, Sandy. My family, Sid — even your own wife, just to save your own skin.” He dropped the gun in the sand of the driveway and stared at his betrayer. “You’re only breathing now because I want to know you’re alive a long, long time — staring at four walls.”
“I think we can guarantee that now,” Mutt agreed. “Come on, buster.” They frog-marched Sandy toward the boathouse, probably to call for backup. They certainly needed all they could get.
Hal, Carly, the cats, and I retired to Hal’s dining room. The cats had cream. While we drank something stronger, I told Carly, in choppy sentences, the events that led up to Sandy’s downfall. When pressed, Hal admitted that the scene we’d witnessed was staged by the terrible twosome at Hal’s insistence. Sandy’s “investments” had turned out to be some dry oil wells that paid a surprisingly healthy return, but security wanted hard evidence that would place him squarely at the heart of at least one of the murders. The three conspirators were caught off guard and forced to improvise pretty briskly, he added, once Carly and I poked our noses in.