Don't Go Home by Carolyn Hart Page B

Light steps, a woman.”
    Rae shook her head. “I don’t know.”
    Marian was at the edge of the patio, leaning forward. In the light from the lantern at the end of the dividing wall, she looked tense. “What do you have that someone wants? Or what did your husband have?”
    Annie noticed that Marian did not call the dead man by his first name.
    Rae looked past Hyla, apparently seeing Marian for the first time. Rae’s face twisted in uncertainty. “I don’t know.”
    Hyla shot Marian a squelching look, said to Rae, “How do you think the intruder gained entry?”
    Rae gestured toward the patio door.
    Instead of industrial tape masking a crack, the pane was now shattered. Shards of glass littered the patio floor. A gaping hole by the handle easily provided enough space for a gloved hand to reach inside, loosen the lock, delve down carefully past jagged edges to toss aside the security bar. The intruder’s entry had been made easier by the previous damage. The thick crisscross of tape muffled the sound of further cracking.
    Rae’s eyes narrowed. She took a step toward Marian. “How come you’re here? Alex said he used to know you.”
    Hyla looked from one to the other, absorbing every nuance, every breath, every flicker of expression.
    Marian returned Rae’s stare. “I heard the alert on the scanner. I cover the news. I don’t know anything about your husband’s activities.”
    Rae took another step forward. “You used to know a lot about him. He said he knew you in the old days, before I met him. What did that mean? Are you the one who threw the hurricane lamp at him?”
    Annie wondered if Rae, in her shocked state, was attuned to fear and desperation. She had somehow connected the violence that morning with Marian.
    Marian managed a strained laugh. “If someone threw a hurricane lamp at him, I’d think there are a lot of people who might have wanted to smash things around him. As for me, I can’t explain why the lamp was thrown.”
    Annie wished she could turn and leave. Marian, her friend Marian, Marian, who was light and funny and clever and eager, was picking words as delicately as a scam artist. Marian said she couldn’texplain why the lamp was thrown. If she explained, she would have to admit she’d thrown the lamp at Alex in a rage.
    â€œThe lamp doesn’t matter.” Marian talked fast. “What matters is why someone came here tonight. Did your husband have something somebody wanted?”
    Rae rubbed knuckles against one cheek, like a tired child. “The policeman asked me if Alex had papers that might be connected to his murder. Alex brought his briefcase when we came to the island. He was carrying it yesterday, but he left it in the car when he got back to the inn. I went out to Alex’s car and got it.”
    Hyla’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the briefcase now?”
    Rae pointed inside. “I put it on the counter.” She turned, walked wearily into the suite.
    Hyla followed.
    Marian stepped to the open doorway, rose on tiptoe to watch. Annie joined her. The hotel clerk scurried to be near them.
    â€œWhat was in the briefcase?” Marian’s voice was taut.
    Rae looked back at her. “Things about people on the island. And a letter, something to do with his brother. He was talking about the letter after he got back today but I didn’t pay much attention. The letter and some old friend.”
    Hyla stood next to the counter by the wet bar. The empty counter.
    Rae stared. “The briefcase is gone. That’s where I put it.”
    Every light burned. A green tarp covered the sofa and a portion of the floor. Had the police covered the sofa to hide the bloodstains when Rae insisted on remaining in the suite? The crime scene survey had been completed or Billy would not have permitted Rae to stay. But traces of the crime would be evident from dark splotches of