Carolyn G. Hart - Honeymoon with Murder

THEIR FIRST NIGHT TOGETHER

Ingrid?

Maxs call was soft. The cabin was so quiet. So still. Annie tried to batter down the horrid images that kept rising in her minds eye. Ingrid would have rushed to them, if she were there. If she were able.

The screen door was closed, but beyond it, Ingrids front door was ajar.

Annie would never forget the scene that flashed into view: Max leaning forward in a crouch, his fists balled, ready to attack; the familiar shabby gentility of Ingrids living room, petit point cushions on the cheerful chintz sofa, linen drapes in cobalt blue with a design of white shasta daisies, and, in the center of the room, staring sightlessly up at the stippled plaster ceiling, the body spread-eagled on the blue-and-grey hooked rug.

Bantam Books by Carolyn Hart

THE CHRISTIE CAPER
DEATH ON DEMAND
DESIGN FOR MURDER
SOMETHING WICKED
HONEYMOON WITH MURDER
A LITTLE CLASS ON MURDER
DEADLY VALENTINE
SOUTHERN GHOST
DEAD MANS ISLAND
SCANDAL IN FAIR HAVEN
MINT JULEP MURDER

To Kate,
Editor Par Excellence

Just before dawn
Wednesday, September 16

Jesse Penrick didnt miss much on his solitary nocturnal rambles. Lights at an odd hour. A visitor never before seen. An unfamiliar car.

It was the car that attracted him in the ghostly hour just before dawn. The car and the window lighted at such an unusually for this cabin, early hour. Jesse sidled between the oleander and the exterior wall to peer through the smudged window. He liked looking in from the darkness, unseen, unfelt. He liked to slip inside unlatched doors, too, when occupants were absent. He liked finding out about people.

Knowing funny little facts could pay off Sometimes the payoff was slipping in the needle, the muttered comment that brought a flash of fear or fury to an unwary face.

Jesse Penrick liked finding out about people. But he didnt like people.

His watery, nearsighted eyes strained to see as much as possible. The wooden shutters were closed, but a broken slat afforded him a narrow field of vision, the portion of the living room that held a couple of wicker chairs and a wooden chest. As he watched, the occupant of the room came into view, carrying an awkward, lumpy bundle. The bearer dumped the load on the floor beside the wooden chest, then lifted the lid.

But Jesses gaze was riveted on the floor and the red-and-blue quiltjust like one his grandmothered madethat gaped open to reveal its contents.

Jesse could have called the police.

It would have been exciting. Lights flashing. Sirens. Maybe even yellow tape like he saw sometimes in TV crime scenes. And Jesse could be a hero, interviewed on Channel 10. Hot stuff.

Instead, he waited, his gnarled hands gripping the window frame. In only a few minutes, the room was empty and dark, the bundle stuffed into the chest, the lights turned off, the car departed in a swirl of dust.

Jesse looked once over his shoulder, then trotted to the back of the cabin and the kitchen door he had learned to shake until the bolt slipped. He tiptoed inside. He had a little pocket flash which he aimed down at the opened chest. He tugged on the quilt. His impersonal blue eyes surveyed the interior thoughtfully, then he gave a satisfied nod. Without a qualm, he reached down and pulled. In a moment, he stared at the soft gleam of gold against his palm. That would prove hed been here, all right.

He tucked the covering in place, closed the lid, then slid out of the house as silently as hed come. Be interesting to see what happened next. And it would happen pretty quick, as hot as it was. He didnt have to be in any hurry. But, when the time was right, hed make a little phone call. Be a hell of a shock. His thin mouth stretched in a wolfish grin.

Thursday evening,
September 17

Lucinda Burrows darted through the crowd, her brown alligator heels clicking excitedly against the concrete.

Shed done just as instructed, and the whole operation had gone without a hitch.

She was good at this.

Soon there would be more to do. Her green eyes glowed with excitement. She caught a glimpse of herself in plate glass and was pleased. She still looked youngand tonight she felt so young. To think this fabulous week had begun with a chance conversation at her favorite bookstore. After all the years of reading about adventure, adventure had come to her. Shed never thought it could happen!

She paused once, a little daunted now, because the crowds had thinned, and she was at the far end of the long drive that led to the highway. Then lights blinked twice in the darkness beneath a line of loblolly pines.

She took a tighter grip on her overnight bag and broke into an eager trot, stumbling a little in her eagerness, careening like a moth toward extinction.

Thursday night,
September 17

The perfect crime.

Who said it couldnt be done?

The solitary drinker raised the champagne glass in silent toast.

To crime.

It was thenand did some dark gods in a shadowy corner of the universe clasp their sides and shake with mirth?that the phone began to ring.

Early Saturday morning,
September 19

Ingrid Jones had no idea she was being observed, she and the whole expanse of Nightingale Courts. She was oblivious to her surroundings this morning, although she was one of the islands most fervent boosters. In the mornings, she often took time to stroll out on one of the long narrow piers to watch a passing sailboat or frolicking dolphins. At low tide, shed stand very still and enjoy the antics of solemn-faced raccoons, the grace of small white-tailed deer, and the industry of scavenging blue crabs. But today she marched in the opposite direction, toward the row of silvery mailboxes next to the honeysuckle-laden arbor at the entrance to Nightingale Courts, her mind teeming with last minute chores for the wedding. Thank heaven the blistering heat had broken. Thursday and Friday had sizzled, even for September in the semi-tropics. Todays breeze held a hint of freshening. Not cool, certainly, but not steamy. It would make the un-air-conditioned church bearable. She needed to be sure the bridesmaids dresses were at the church in plenty of time. Max certainly did have pretty sisters, all three of them. Though that one, Deidre, was probably a real handful. Of course, anybody with a mother like Laurel

Thrusting her hand into Box No. 3, she pulled out yesterdays mail. She hadnt had a minute to look Friday, what with the tennis tournament for the bridesmaids and the golfing scramble for the groomsmen. And last night had certainly been spectacularthe rehearsal dinner aboard an island tour boat, complete with mariachis on one level, an Irish balladeer on the second, and a Mozart quartet on the third. And the food. You had to hand it to Laurel, she was really into round-the-world in eighty tastes. Ingrid herself considered American cooking plenty good enough and Low Country cuisine best of all, but the exotic foreign dishes certainly added spice. She just hoped Annie didnt have indigestion today, after that Indonesian curry and reindeer stew. Seemed a shame to kill a reindeer; but, as Laurel said, what was an ecological sacrifice if it was made in the name of love?