Whitney and Charlotte sat on the silver-brocaded Regency sofa. There was no sense of a united front against the world with this couple. They sat as separately as two people could sit. Charlotte cringed at every crash of thunder, her eyes moving restlessly around the room, her fingers pulling and pickingat her rose scarf. Whitney's face was stolid and thoughtful. A fine dark stubble coated his cheeks. He looked like a seedy aristocrat who had gambled the night—and his birthright—. away.
Julia was in the room, but not a part of it. Her frail shoulders hunched, she gripped the sides of her armchair as if only that tight handhold kept her in place. Her smudged, lonely eyes looked into a past where no one could follow.
Milam stood behind Julia, one hand touching the back of her chair, but she didn't seem aware of him. He watched her, pain and worry in his eyes.
Sybil, her lovely face pale and haggard, paced like a lithe and dangerous animal, back and forth, back and forth, in front of the fireplace.
Harris Walker leaned against the mantel, his eyes, angry, hurt, dangerous eyes, probing each face in turn.
Lucy Jane sat in a straight chair near the archway to the hall. Her posture was regal, and her face impassive.
Miss Dora thumped her cane against the heart pine floor. "Our investigation is done."
Chief Wells shifted his weight.
Annie sensed terror abroad in that room. One of those listening was the quarry, feeling now the hot breath of the pursuing hounds, beginning to weary, quivering with desperate lurching fear, hunted with no place to hide.
"Twenty-two years ago Death walked in Tarrant House, setting in motion events brutal enough to sear our souls." Miss Dora's tar-black eyes touched each face. "Tonight, let us find peace."
A long, quiet silence pulsed with feeling.
"Let us," she said softly, "finally lay to rest the ghost that has haunted us since that dreadful day."
Julia's chin sunk on her thin chest. She began to shake.
Miss Dora's gaze focused on Whitney. "Whitney, what did you see from the window of the garage?" All of the impress of her formidable personality was contained in that simple question.
Whitney was not her equal; he had never been her equal.
His eyes shifted away from her. The hand he lifted to his chin trembled. "I didn't"—he paused, took a deep breath—"I didn't see anything. Or anyone."
Oddly, unexpectedly, Annie believed him. There was a ring of truth in Whitney's voice, yet, at the same time, a tone of abject despair.
What kind of sense did that make?
Miss Dora pursed her lips. Her face was as empty of expression as a skull, but Annie knew she had failed. This was Miss Dora's moment. She had wielded her power—and lost.
What now?
"Very well." The arrogant voice was as confident as ever. "I would have welcomed your assistance, Whitney, but I shall prevail. I know what happened. I know who committed murder. Not once, but twice. This chapter must be closed. I know, and tomorrow I shall inform the authorities."to the point. "No sweat, honey. It's the hoariest ploy in the world."
Annie muttered, "Right out of Edgar Wallace."
Max bypassed a peanut butter cookie for a shiny apple. He took a bite and, between crunches, said, "Only an old-time melodrama fan would even try it. There's no danger. Chief Wells isn't my favorite cop, but he's not stupid. The security around Miss Dora at this moment is right on a par with the patrols at Kennebunkport, you can count on it."
Annie picked up two peanut butter cookies and stared moodily at the welter of papers on the golden oak breakfast room table. "Dammit, Max, we ought to know. We ought to know!"
The fruits of two hours' intensive labor lay before them. She took two bites, finishing off the first cookie, and picked up Max's motive sheet.
"Grandstanding!" Annie poured fresh coffee, but even their best Colombian couldn't warm away the chill in her heart.
Thunder crashed, drowning out Max's reply. Lightning exploded, and the lights quivered, dimmed, returned to full strength. Wind-driven rain lashed against the windows.
Max tried again. "Relax, Annie. You can bet the chief has men upstairs and down at her house. He's probably in the old monster's boudoir himself, right this minute." His tone was irritated. Max, too, wasn't pleased with their aged employer's calculated indiscretion.
"Doesn't she have any confidence in us?" Annie demanded, her mood swinging from worry to fury.
Max grinned. "What do you think?"
Unwillingly, Annie grinned, too. "So, okay, she decided to short-circuit her way to a solution. She's going to be damned lucky if she doesn't short-circuit her way into the family plot at the cemetery. See how she'd like that!" Annie demanded obscurely.
Max was accustomed to Annie's thought processes. He keptMOTIVES TO KILL JUDGE TARRANT
WHITNEY TARRANT—If the Judge lived, Whitney was out of luck and out of his cushy job in the family law firm.
CHARLOTTE TARRANT—Tarrant House and the Tarrant
family were her life. And the Judge's death?
MILAM—All he'd ever asked for was his father's love. How angry was he when his father orchestrated a public embarrassment? And what was he willing to do to make certain Julia and Missy weren't sent home to Julia's parents?
JuLIA—She was determined not to take Missy home to her father. Determined enough to kill?
LUCY JANE—She was the soul of rectitude. Everyone admired her. When she didn't answer the questions about Amanda and Julia, that refusal spoke volumes.
ENID FRIENDLEY—Tart-tongued, tough, tenacious. Tough
enough to blackmail? What if the Judge decided to brave the consequences and bring charges?
SYBIL CHASTAIN Giacomo—Tempestuous, wildly in love. Did she already know she was pregnant? She was ready to
run away with Ross. What if she decided that Ross wouldn't have to run—if the Judge died.
Miss DORA BREvARD--Amanda was her beloved niece, as close to her own child as she would ever have. Did Amanda tell her aunt that her husband was forcing her to leave? After all, no one knew whether Miss Dora was standing in the garden with Ross when the shot sounded. She could have been in the Judge's study.
A montage of unguarded moments whirled in Annie's mind: Charlotte's eyes suddenly shifting, Julia's tight grip on the chair arms, Whitney looking out the first window in the garage toward the back piazza, Milam standing behind his wife's chair, the click as Lucy Jane replaced the receiver, Enid's angry eyes, Sybil standing like a Valkyrie at the Chastain gates, Miss Dora gazing down toward the river and saying, oh so conversationally, "That's when they see Amanda, dressed all in white to please Augustus," Enid's tart comment about Courtney Kimball, "She's got a lot to learn."
"It looks bad for Julia." Max's voice was heavy. He pointed at the drawings spread out on the table. Annie was really rather proud of her depictions of Tarrant House and its surroundings.
Annie studied the map. Max had circled the numeral marking Whitney's location.
"It seems obvious." His voice wasn't happy. Max, too, liked Julia. "If Whitney saw the murderer from that first window in the garage—well, it has to be Julia, Lucy Jane—or Miss Dora." He stared morosely at the map. "And Julia's the only likely one."
"What about Sybil?"
Max leaned closer. She smelled the nice scent of fresh soap. She reached up and touched his cheek and liked the prickly feel of stubble.