Max turned on the flashlight.
Annie followed the sweeping beam of light across the single room: a rough-hewn fireplace with an open hearth, scattered chairs, a pinewood table, a sink, cupboards on one wall, and dust. Dust on the floor, dust on every surface, cobwebs on the walls.
A mournful, dreary, deserted room, musty and dank. How long had it been since human voices had sounded here?
Max moved away, checking the windows and the back door.
Annie stood near the chair next to the rock fireplace. For the first time, painful as an unexpected blow, she felt the reality of Ross Tarrant's death. She stood very still, staring at the darkish upholstery. That irregular, barely visible, long-dried stain
What would he feel now, if he knew about his daughter and the desperate search for her?
A man who lived and died that passionately would move heaven and earth to find his missing daughter.
"Max," Annie said abruptly, urgently, "let's hurry."
Enid Friendley studied them thoughtfully. Close-cropped, graying hair framed intelligent, wary eyes and a resolute mouth. She had an air of brisk confidence tinged with impatience. After a moment, she glanced at her plain gold watch. "I can give you twenty minutes."
In the immaculate living room, she gestured for them to take the couch, upholstered in plain blue linen. Enid sat in a straight chair, her posture excellent. The modern light-oak furniture was as angular and spare as its owner. No curtains. Pale-lemon blinds were the only window covering. No knickknacks broke the smooth expanse of the ocean-green, glass coffee table. The room was as cool and unrevealing as their hostess and her quietly tasteful but unremarkable black skirt and white, high-necked cotton blouse.
Perceptive dark eyes watched Annie. "I've seen enough old furniture to last me a lifetime." Her tone was dry. "Where I grew up, we were lucky to have one real chair. Of course, the covering was ragged and the springs poked through. Cast off. Somebody hired my father to haul it away." Again, pointedly, she glanced at her watch.
Annie didn't need to look at hers. It was almost ten. Time raced ahead. The hours had piled up since Courtney Kimball was last seen, three days ago. Annie leaned forward impatiently as Max quickly described their mission.
Enid's face remained impassive. Even when Max mentionedthe bloody shirt she had brought to Lucy Jane so many years ago.
". . . so we're hoping you can help us, Mrs. Friendley. We need to know what you saw that day and what you know about the Tarrants. But to begin, did you—"
Enid lifted a hand. She wore no rings, and her fingernails were trimmed short and unpainted. "Just a minute, Mr. Darling. I'll talk about that day and the Tarrants. I don't have anything to say about anything that happened later." She paused.
Annie looked at her, puzzled.
But Max nodded in instant comprehension. "Certainly, although I'm confident at this point that no one would accuse you of acting as an accomplice after the fact. After all, you were merely an employee following the directives of your superior. You had no reason to suspect that a crime had been committed."
The small, dark woman considered it, her suspicious eyes probing his face.
Annie had the feeling it could go either way. Enid Friendley would have no compunction about showing them the door. But perhaps she liked what she saw, or perhaps she, too, wanted to know the truth of that deadly Saturday. Whatever the reason, she finally nodded, grudgingly.
"All right. What do you want to know?"
"Have you seen or talked to Courtney Kimball?" Max didn't try to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Annie ached for him. He still felt responsible because he hadn't reached his young client in time.
"Wednesday afternoon," Enid said briskly.
Annie tried not to get excited, but this was as close as they'd come to Courtney Kimball in three days of searching. Wednesday afternoon!
"I was at work—we had two hundred chicken potpies due at the County Horticultural Building—that's out at the fairgrounds—by five o'clock. She insisted she had to talk to me. I told her straight out I was too busy. She didn't want to take no for an answer. You can tell she's always had her way." The
resentment of a lifetime crackled in the words. "So I'm not surprised when you say she was Sybil and Ross's girl. It's in her blood." A meager smile curved her lips in reluctant tribute to the kind of personality that sweeps the world before it. "I couldn't help but kind of like her, bright, smart, brash—and pretty, very pretty. Yes, I can see Ross Tarrant in her face, now that I know. He was always the handsomest one. The best of the bunch. He saw me as a real person—talked to me about going to college and what a difference it could make in my life. I couldn't believe it when he killed himself. The only thing I could figure was that Sybil had thrown him over, and he took it too hard. Sybil's the kind of woman—and that was as true twenty years ago as today—who lives from her heart. That will hurt you pretty bad. She broke down at the funeral. I thought it was a guilty conscience. Anyway, that girl Courtney's got Sybil's wild streak, I can tell you that. I saw it in her eyes. Not afraid of the devil himself." She pursed her lips. "Maybe she'd have been better off if she'd had the sense to be afraid."
"What happened?" Annie urged.
"I don't put up with sass. Not from anybody. White or black."
Annie didn't doubt her for a moment.
"When she saw I meant what I said—I wasn't going to fool with her right then—she kind of laughed, and gave a shrug, and said, 'So you're upfront about things. Then answer one question for me and I'll leave. Of all the people who were at Tarrant House when Judge Tarrant and his son died, who can I trust?' " There was grudging admiration in Enid's dark eyes. "Not many people ever get around me. She did. I didn't have an extra minute to spare. Eliza Jones had called in sick. Probably her son'd beat her up again. My best driver had the mumps. Thirty-four-year-old man with the mumps! I was busy six ways from Sunday. But I took the time. I told her, 'Not a single one of them." I told her if she wanted help from someone in the family, old Miss Dora was the only one I'd put any stock in. Then I shooed her out the door and went back to my chicken pies."
Had Courtney tried to contact Miss Dora on Wednesday? Obviously, she hadn't succeeded. Otherwise, Miss Dora would have told them, Annie was certain. But she made a mental note to check with their employer when they met her at Tarrant House in the afternoon.
"What time was this?" Max asked.
"Just after two. I was keeping a close eye on the time, I can tell you. I deliver on time. And I did on Wednesday."
Was that pride of ownership? Or was Enid Friendley trying to show she was too busy to have been involved in Courtney's disappearance?
Annie attempted to sound casual. "So you made your delivery around five. What time did you leave the fairgrounds?"
Enid took just an instant too long to answer. When she did, her words were clipped. "I finished the cleanup, still two short in my crew, about nine o'clock."
Max gave her his most charming smile.
There wasn't a quiver of response on Enid's face. Annie wondered if Max felt a bit as though he'd smashed headfirst into a brick wall.
Undaunted, Max continued good-humoredly, "I suppose that like every business in the world, there's always some crisis —major or minor—in completing a job. Did you have to get back to your kitchen for anything?"
Once again, her response was just a beat too slow. "One dessert carrier was left behind. I went back for it, but returned directly to the fairgrounds."
Annie was pleased that Max let it drop. It was obvious that Enid read the newspapers and knew when Courtney had last been heard from and equally obvious that Enid had been away from the fairgrounds at about that time.
"You didn't see Courtney again?" Annie asked.
Enid bristled. "No. Why should I? I didn't have anything to do with her disappearance. You can look to the Tarrants for that."