Dare to Die by Carolyn Hart Page A

his arms open. The breeze ruffled his thick blond hair. He was handsome and happy, delighted in the banner, in the moment, in her. “One of these days, we’ll greet our guests on our own front porch. Until then, this”—he gestured at the rippling silk—“is the next best thing.”
    Annie came into his embrace. “Max, the banner’s wonderful.” She smiled at him. “How did you ever think of this?”
    He looked up at their images between the sparkling white Ionic columns. “We couldn’t greet everyone there, so I brought the Franklin house here.”
    Song lyrics boomed over the mike. Voices called out. Steps sounded behind them.
    Annie remembered Iris. “Come meet Iris Tilford. She’s the one who helped Emma when she was hurt. She’s staying at Nightingale Courts and I talked her into coming tonight. She’s from the island.”
    Iris hung back a little. The breeze ruffled her hair, tugged at her blouse and slacks. She looked uncertainly at Max.
    Max reached out to shake her hand. “It’s nice to see you again.” He saw Annie’s surprise. “Iris came by Wednesday morning when I was putting up the banner. I told her it was a surprise for my wife.” He grinned at Iris. “Thanks for keeping my secret. It’s great you could come tonight.”
    There was a flurry of arrivals and Iris edged away. A little later as the smoke billowed from the hickory fire and the sun spread a glory of rose across the water, Annie saw Iris standing alone near the old live oak that island lore traced back to thedays when privateers made Broward’s Rock their base for sorties against the British.
    Annie took a step, then stopped. Marian Kenyon, the Gazette ’s gimlet-eyed chief reporter, a bottle of Bud in hand, sped across the hummocky ground to plant herself in front of Iris. Whippet lean, Marian always moved fast. Her unruly black hair with its frosting of white appeared either unkempt or windblown depending upon the attitude of the viewer. Marian and Iris appeared to be acquainted. Annie was well aware that the island was a small and tight society, especially for natives. Despite her years of visiting when her uncle was alive and the time she’d spent living on Broward’s Rock, Annie was often surprised at the intertwining of family and relationships that weren’t always apparent to an outlander.
    Billy and Mavis Cameron waited until Annie and Max were free before climbing the steps. Billy looked casual and comfortable in a red polo and khaki shorts. Mavis was more animated than usual, her pale cheeks flushed with eagerness. “Kevin’s thrilled that you hired the band for tonight.” She pointed toward the stage where her son thrummed the bass guitar. “Honestly, I hated those Mohawk haircuts at first but they are having so much fun I don’t mind so much now. I just hope he lets his hair grow back one of these days.”
    A harsh twang signaled a guitar string out of tune.
    Billy clapped Max on the arm. “Good thing you don’t expect perfection.” Billy’s smile suddenly faded. He squinted toward the live oak. “There’s Iris Tilford. I’m surprised she’d come to the pavilion.”
    Annie was puzzled, much as she had felt when Iris accepted the invitation to the picnic as if it were a duty. “Why wouldn’t she come here?”
    Billy’s face creased in thought. “She wouldn’t have good memories. But I guess there’s a lot of water under the bridge. Or, actually, the pier. It’s good if she’s past all of that.”
    Mavis tugged on his arm. “Kevin’s waving at us.” Hand in hand, Mavis and Billy hurried toward the platform.
    â€œAnnie, hey. This is fun. I’m so glad we could come.” Liz Montgomery’s conventional smile didn’t reach her wide-spaced blue eyes. She was as always immaculately coiffed, her