A woman with a short-cropped pageboy under a large straw hat sat at the table reading a book.
“Miss Baxter?” Joanna asked.
The woman looked up without closing her book.
“That’s right. Amy Baxter,” she said curtly. “I must inform you, Sheriff Brady, that Holly’s attorney has been called out of town again this morning. Since he won’t be able to be in attendance, I’m afraid you won’t be able to see Holly. It simply wouldn’t be responsible of me to let you talk to her under those circumstances.”
“May I sit down?” Joanna asked, letting her hand fall on the back of one of the chairs.
“Certainly. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to seem rude. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you. What circumstances do you mean, Miss Baxter? What exactly did you think I wanted to see Holly Patterson about?”
“The other night, naturally. I read the article in the paper, so I’m well aware of the part you played in averting a terrible tragedy, but still, with the possibility of litigation…”
“I’m not here about the other night,” Joanna interrupted. “I came to talk to Holly about her father. Harold Lamm Patterson has been found.”
Amy Baxter breathed a sigh of relief. “Really? You can’t imagine how happy I am to hear that. Holly’s been in a state of perpetual crisis ever since he turned up missing.”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” Joanna hastened to add. “He’s dead. I’m here to give her the benefit of an official next-of-kin notification.”
Amy Baxter’s face fell. “Oh, my God. That’s terrible. She’ll be devastated. She’s held herself some how responsible for his disappearance; now I’m afraid… What happened? Was it an accident? A heart attack? What?”
“If I could just speak to Holly, please.”
“of course. I’ll go get her right away.” Amy Baxter started toward the house. “Actually, if you don’t mind, it might be better if we went up to her room. She’s somewhat unstable at the moment, and I’m afraid…”
“I don’t mind,” Joanna said.
Amy Baxter stood up. “This way,” she said.
The interior of the house was magnificent. Outside of pictures in home-decorating magazine articles, Joanna had never seen a more beautiful home. polished hardwood floors, covered here and there by deeply luxurious Oriental rugs. The supple leather furniture blended subtly with the Mission-style interior details into a combination that was both elegant and comfortably inviting.
Discreet track lighting on the twelve-foot ceilings accented huge oil canvasses of boldly painted flowers, many of which resembled the plants growing in the pots outside on the patio.
“Pauli’s really very good, isn’t he?” Amy Baxter said, as Joanna admired a particularly vivid piece at the top of the winding staircase.
“Pauli?” Joanna repeated stupidly, thinking that must be the name of some artist or school of artists well known enough that she should have recognized the name on hearing it.
Amy laughed. “Paul Enders, the painter. He’s a costumer really; he only paints for a hobby. We all call him Pauli. This is his house,” she continued. “He’s letting us stay here until this situation gets straightened out. As you’ll soon see, the privacy we’ve enjoyed here has been a real blessing.”
At the top of the stairs, Amy Baxter turned to the right and led the way down a long corridor to the back of the house.
“There are better rooms, and Holly could have had any one of them,” Amy said apologetically “but for some strange reason, this is the one she wanted.” Amy stopped in front of a closed door and knocked. “Holly,” she called. “Are you in there? May we come in?”
Joanna heard no answering response, but Amy went ahead and tentatively twisted the old-brass knob on the door. The knob turned in her hand, and the door shifted open without protest.
The interior of the room was dark and stiflingly hot compared to the rest of the house, with the look and smell of a sickroom. In the far corner, near tall, drapery-shrouded windows, sat a high backed rocking chair, creaking slowly back and forth.
“Holly,” Amy said tentatively. “There’s someone here to see you.
“Tell them to go away,” Holly muttered ‘I don’t want to see anybody. Leave me alone.”
“It’s Sheriff Brady,” Amy explained. “She came to talk to you about your father.”
The rocking ceased abruptly. Suddenly, Holly lurched to her feet. Out of a stark, pale face, two deeply troubled eyes stared at Joanna. “Where is he?” Holly demanded. “Tell me where he is. I have to see him. He was supposed to make arrangements for a settlement. He promised. But then he disappeared. No one knows where he is.”
“I’m afraid your father won’t be able to carry through on any promises,” Joanna said quietly. “He’s dead. He died sometime between Tuesday night and now. They’ll be able to fix the time better once they do the autopsy.”
“My father dead?” Holly Patterson repeated slowly, sinking back into the chair as though her legs no longer had the capability of supporting her. “He’s dead?”
“Yes, you see…”
Holly Patterson doubled over, as with a sudden attack of appendicitis, clutching her abdomen and sobbing. “Nooooooo. He can’t be dead. I won’t let him. I never wanted him dead. Never!”
Amy Baxter moved forward quickly and knelt beside the chair.
“It’s okay, Holly. Hush now. Everyone knows it’s not your fault.”
“Oh, but it is,” Holly groaned. “Don’t you understand? It is my fault. All of it. I didn’t want him dead. I just wanted him to tell me to my face that he was sorry for what he did to me. That’s all. I never should have come back to this terrible place. Never!”
“Please, Holly,” Amy begged, “don’t take it all on yourself. You didn’t do it.”
“How did he die?” Holly was asking, her mouth still muffled by her hand. “Please don’t tell me he committed suicide. I can stand anything but that.”
Joanna could see no sense in pulling punches. Better to let all the bad news out at once and give her a chance to start assimilating it while she had someone like Amy Baxter there to help as needed.
“We’re investigating his death as a possible homicide,” Joanna answered carefully. “I wanted you to hear that from someone in an official capacity.”
“You mean he didn’t kill himself then?” Holly asked, suddenly sitting up straight and pulling her hand away from her face. “You mean someone else did it?”
“That’s the way it looks….
Holly Patterson let out a long sigh. “Thank God. I couldn’t have stood it if he had done it himself. It would have driven me crazy, but if somebody else did it…”
“Good girl,” Amy said, rubbing the back of Holly’s neck as if to remove some of the tension. “Let it go. Don’t hold on to it.”
Holly Patterson closed her eyes and leaned back into the neck rub. “I should go see Mother about this,” she whispered softly. “Mother will know what to do.”
Amy caught Joanna’s eye, shook her head, and held the fingers of one hand to her lips while she continued massaging Holly’s neck with the other. “You can’t go see your mother, Holly. I’ve already explained that to you. Your mother is dead, remember? She died five years ago. We’ve been over to the cemetery and seen her grave.”
“But I saw her. The other day in town, remember?”
“That was your sister, Ivy. She looks just like your mother used to look when you last remembered her.”
“That can’t be my sister. Ivy’s a little girl. She’s a baby.”
“Of course she is,” Amy said soothingly. “A little baby. Why don’t you rest awhile now, Holly? When you wake up later, maybe we can make better sense of this.”