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"Annie, what's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing." She closed the door to their suite behind her and avoided looking at Max. She didn't believe in ghosts—past, present, or future. She glanced in the girandole-topped, gilt-framed wall mirror opposite the chintz-covered couch where Max was awash in a sea of papers. She did look a little pale, and she'd snagged some hibiscus in her hair during her pell-mell dash through the Copley garden. "I took a wrong turn coming back from Miss Copley's." It took a moment to explain Miss Copley. (Annie left out the part about ghosts; what mattered was the quarrel overheard between the Judge and Ross.) "We'll have to talk to her."
Unspoken was her firm decision to make that visit during daylight hours.
Although, of course, she did not believe in ghosts.
"A quarrel between the Judge and Ross! Annie, good going." But Max was still concerned about her. "You look kind of ragged."
The phone rang.
Annie rushed to answer it, glad for the diversion.
Barb chirped in her ear. "Honestly, Annie, you do lead the most interesting life." Max's secretary sounded genuinely impressed. "Sara Paretsky's publisher just called to ask if you would like to have her for a signing in July, and I told her we'd love to. Then Henny's postcard came. She visited the Wood Street Police Station where Inspector Ghote arrived early for the international conference on drugs in Inspector Ghote Hunts the Peacock by H.R.F. Keating. Henny wrote that she's using the Mystery Reader's Guide to London by Alzina Stone Dale and Barbara Sloan Hendershott, and she says it's wonderful. Doesn't that sound like fun? I'd love to always work here—but I do have to tell you that Agatha's been in a nasty humor. I mean, I don't suppose she actually objects to being petted—"
Annie could see trouble coming. Agatha had fierce opinions indeed about human hands and when they were welcome. But Annie didn't want to hurt Barb's feelings.
—and I was just smoothing her coat when she flew to the top of Romantic Suspense and leveled the display—"
Annie pictured the books, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, The Simple Way of Poison by Leslie Ford, The Chinese Chop by Juanita Sheridan, and The House of a Thousand Lanterns by Victoria Holt.
"—Really, Dorothy L.'s much more appreciative."
Annie began to feel far away from the Copley garden. It always made her feel good to think about Dorothy L.'s enchanting purr.
"But anyway, I just called to give you the preliminary report from Louis Porter. He rang up a little while ago to give me some preliminary stuff, and I thought I'd better get it right to you."
Annie covered the receiver. "Barb's got some stuff from the PI for us." She pointed at her sketch pad. Max handed it to her. Flipping to a fresh sheet, she made notes as fast as she could.
". . . and that about wraps it up. Oh, yeah, Annie, Mr. Porter said he'll fax a bunch more stuff tomorrow."
"That's great, Barb. Thank you, and thanks for taking care of the store." Annie wriggled her shoulders to loosen tight muscles.
"No problem. It's fun-except I sure wish I had more time to read. Talk to you tomorrow," and the connection was broken.
Max looked at her in anticipation.
Annie took time to pour a steaming cup of coffee, then began to read from her notes:
PRELIMINARY REPORT FROM LOUIS PORTER:
One. Judge Augustus Tarrant. Died May 9, 1970, at the age of 63. Death certificate indicates cardiac arrest, signed by Dr. Paul Rutledge (died March 3, 1987). Judge Tarrant had an excellent reputation as a fair though stern judge and was considered a legal scholar. His opinions are cited even today for their clarity and reasoning. He was an authorityon maritime law as it affected South Carolina litigants. According to all accounts, he was stern, unemotional, reserved, dignified, disciplined, hardworking, devoted to his family, an excellent shot, an accomplished horseman, an avid golfer.
Two. Ross Tarrant. Died of accidental gunshot wound, May 9, 1970. Well-liked by his contemporaries, a leader in the cadet corps at The Citadel, a superior athlete. Accustomed to handling firearms.
Three. Amanda Brevard Tarrant. Died in a fall from the cliff path behind Tarrant House May 9, 1971. Contemporary newspaper reports imply suicide, hinting at her deep depression over the deaths of her husband and son the previous year on the same date. Her death was officially termed an accident by the medical examiner, Dr. Paul Rutledge.
Four. Harmon Brevard. Died of lung cancer July 18, 1977. Father of Amanda Brevard Tarrant, grandfather of Ross Tarrant, brother of Miss Dora Brevard. A hard-drinking sportsman, owner of several plantations. Ebullient, determined, stubborn, domineering. Once he made up his mind, impossible to sway. Good-humored unless challenged.
Annie paused for an invigorating gulp of coffee. These precise, unemotional reports from Porter put everything back into perspective. These people were all dead and gone, and, despite Chastain's reputation as a haven for ghosts, Annie felt confident she wouldn't have to mingle with them at Miss Dora's gathering tonight. But that didn't hold true for the remainder of the thumbnail sketches, so she'd better concentrate.
Five. Milam Tarrant, the oldest of Augustus and Amanda Tarrant's sons. He is 48. At the time of the Judge's heart attack, Milam was employed as a junior vice-president at the Chastain First National Bank. He resigned that post the week after his father's death and he and his
wife, Julia, and daughter, Melissa, moved out to a Tarrant plantation, Wisteree. Milam is a painter, specializing in still lifes. He has sufficient family income that he hasn't had to depend upon his paintings for income. Local artists consider him a second-rate dilettante. Since the death of their only daughter in a drowning accident, both Milam and Julia have avoided most social occasions. His relationship with his family is strained as he is openly contemptuous of his younger brother, Whitney.
Six. Julia Martin Tarrant. Now 46. Almost a recluse. Reputed to have a drinking problem. Spends most of her time gardening. Have been unable to discover any close friends.
Seven. Whitney Tarrant, 46, senior partner of Tarrant & Tarrant. Primarily a business getter for the firm. Reputed to be lazy, easily bored, petulant. Difficult to deal with. Plays golf several times a week. He and his wife, Charlotte, are among the social leaders of Chastain, entertaining several times a month. One child, Harriet Elaine, reportedly living in Venice, California.
Eight. Charlotte Walker Tarrant, 46. Author of The Tarrant Family History. House proud and family proud. Very active in the Chastain Historical Preservation Society. Masters bridge player. Collects antique plates. Considered an authority on Low Country history. Reputation for snobbishness. Enjoys golf, horseback riding.
Max checked the clock. "We'd better get ready to go." Annie put the notepad on the coffee table. "I wonder what Miss Dora has up her bombazine sleeve?"
As they walked swiftly through the dark streets, the shadows scarcely plumbed by the soft gold radiance of the old-fashioned street lamps, Annie clung tightly to Max's hand. For comfort. Because she kept seeing young Harris Walker's stricken face. Where was he now? Did he still carry hope in his heart? Or was despair numbing his mind?
Max strode forward like a gladiator eager for combat. When he spoke, it sounded like a vow. "I don't know how or when, Annie, and it may not happen tonight, but I'm going to rip this thing open, no matter what it takes."