A shout and a piercing whistle sounded out on the street.
Wells barked, "Stay here, all of you!" He thudded down the stairs and loped around the end of the house. For a big man, he moved fast.
"Hey, you . . ." a man called hoarsely.
"Hold up there. Stop or we'll shoot!" Annie recognized Wells's deep voice. "All right, buddy. Hands up. Walk this way. Right. Keep right along."
Harris Walker, his arms lifted, his face stubbled with beard, stumbled around the side of the house. He blinked against the light hanging in the live oak. Then he saw Annie and Max. "What's happening here?" he demanded.
Charlotte Tarrant gave a little scream. "Who is he? Is he the one? Dear God, I knew it. We'll all be killed in our beds—"
"Hush." Miss Dora's tone was deadly and not to be ignored.
Charlotte subsided, but her wide, staring eyes never left Walker's haggard face.
Annie spoke first. "That's Courtney's boyfriend—and he's hunting her."
Charlotte took a step back. "Here. Here?"
Walker turned on Wells. "Listen, I got bloodhounds out here today and—"
Wells held up a meaty hand. "I know. There isn't much that goes on in this town that I don't know, Walker. But so what? I understand the young woman came to this house and to Miss Dora's earlier in the week. The hounds don't show us anything."
Walker's arms sagged. He swallowed jerkily. "They stopped dragging the river. Late this afternoon."
Wells didn't tell the young man to lift his arms again. Instead, he simply nodded, his craggy face somber.
"Does that mean . . ." Walker clenched his fists. "Where are you looking for her? Where are you looking now, dam-mit?"
The look on his face made Annie want to cry.
Wells tipped back his cowboy hat. "We have an APB out and—"
"That's nothing," Walker shouted. "There should be people out everywhere. When I got to town, all you talked about was him." He jerked a shoulder at Max. "But you know that's stupid. Something happened to Courtney because of the Tar-rants, because somebody killed her dad. It's all tied up with them. Have you looked in this house? Have you?" He stood there, his young body tense, and he had the air of a soldier on attack despite his unshaven cheeks and dusty, torn clothes.
"There's an officer searching this house right now."
A tiny flicker of hope moved in Walker's sunken eyes.
"That's absurd." Whitney glared at Walker. "What's he saying? That we've done something with the girl?"
Charlotte swept forward, a shaking hand pointing at Walker. "Arrest him! You must arrest him—obviously, he's the one."
Wells rocked back on his feet. "Let's have some answers, Walker. What are you doing here?"
"I was driving by. Any law against that? I just keep driving, driving, driving. I think maybe I'll see her. . . ." He rubbed the back of his fist against his unshaven face. "I keep looking for her. . . ."
"Where's your car?" Wells demanded.
"Out in front."
The back door slammed.
Everyone looked up on the piazza at the patrolman. Walker took a step forward.
Matthews reported to Wells. "The house is empty, sir. No sign of entry or exit elsewhere. Nothing else appears to be disturbed." He took the flashlight back from the chief. Wells didn't bother with a thank-you.
Nice man to work for, Annie thought.
Miss Dora thumped her cane. "Time is wasting." She pointed the cane at Charlotte. "When was the last time you were in the library?"
The chief gave Walker a swift glance. "I'll deal with you later. Just stay right where you are." Wells shoved the light back at the patrolman and pulled out a notebook and a pen.
Walker glanced from the chief to the Tarrants, his eyes hard and suspicious. Annie knew nothing could have driven him out of that shadowy garden.
Charlotte gave Walker another hostile glance, then hurried to answer when Miss Dora waggled the cane at her impatiently. "Why, I suppose not since this morning. I returned several books from the drawing room—you see, we read in the evenings and there are always books about but we leave them until morning. That's when I straighten up. It must have been about ten this morning. I put the books up and closed the door. I didn't go back in until tonight."
"What time?" Max asked.
Charlotte looked at him resentfully, but answered before Miss Dora could intervene. "It must have been just before
nine. Yes." She spoke with more assurance, looking toward Whitney. "It was just before nine, wasn't it?"
Her husband nodded, but he was staring at the piazza, with its scattering of broken glass. "Hell of a thing, to have someone break in. Never happened before. Never."
Wells wrote briefly in his notebook. "So, the brick could have been thrown through the French door anytime between ten this morning and nine tonight." He sounded profoundly unhappy.
Annie didn't blame him. That was a hell of a time span. The chief glanced back inside the library. "Was the drawer locked?"
No one spoke.
Now Wells became impatient. "Mr. Tarrant, was that drawer—the one where the gun was kept—was it generally kept locked?"
"No." Whitney sounded puzzled. "It's just an ordinary desk, Chief. I keep my important papers at the office."
"So you had this gun in a drawer where anyone could get at it?" His disgust with careless householders was apparent. Annie didn't blame him.
Whitney's head jerked up. "I beg your pardon. It isn't as though our library is a public thoroughfare. That weapon has been kept there for years and—"
"How many years?" Wells demanded.
The silence this time was distinctly strained.
Whitney and Charlotte glanced at each other.
Charlotte gasped. "Whitney, I never thought—was that the gun—" She whimpered and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth.