Clear and Convincing Proof (22 page)

“Holloway,” Barbara said. “What happened to Annie?”

“She was working in the office. I wasn't there, but one of the girls said she turned as white as snow and looked ready to faint. They got her seated with her
head down, and someone called Greg and me. We brought her home and she locked herself in her room. She said she has to see you, no one else, just you, and she hasn't said another word.”

“Okay. Tell her I'm on the line and want to speak with her.”

“She said in person.”

“Do what I said. Tell her I have a message. Instructions.”

Annie's voice was nearly inaudible when she whispered hello.

“Don't say a word until I'm done,” Barbara said. “You know the detective I work with, Bailey Novell. I'm sending him to pick you up and bring you to where I am. I don't want others to know where that is, so don't say anything to anyone until he shows up, and then say you're following my instructions. Nothing else. Until he gets there, just stay in your room with the door locked. Got that?”

“Yes,” Annie said after a slight hesitation. “I'll wait here.”

“Good. It shouldn't be too long. See you soon.”

“Do you want to speak to Naomi again?”

“No. Hang in there, Annie.”

Martin appeared bearing a tray as she pushed the automatic dial for Frank's direct line at the office. “I insist that you try this pinot gris,” Martin said. “And Binnie said you probably skipped lunch and you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, so she sent these.” He uncovered a plate stacked with steaming savory pastries, each the size and color of a walnut.
He popped one into his mouth and grinned. “Not bad at all.”

She picked up the wine, then heard Frank on the phone. “It's me, Dad,” she said. “Martin's plying me with food and drink, and when we're done with this wanton abandonment, dare I show my face at your office?”

“I pay my share of the rent and slave wages,” he said in a growly voice. “You don't need permission.”

“I want to meet Shelley there, and Bailey's bringing a guest. Annie McIvey. Still okay?”

“Oh, for Pete's sake. Should I send out invitations? Bring an army.”

“See you,” she said, and hung up. Then she tried the wine and ate a pastry and groaned with pleasure.

 

“Why don't you hire a taxi driver and car for the day?” Bailey said in the Dodge on the way to Frank's office. “Or you could rent a car and drive it yourself. Or buy a new car. Or let my guy return yours.”

“Any of the above would be cheaper than your rates,” Barbara said, “but I like to hear you bitch. You should get the windshield wipers fixed, or toss them and start over.” They squeaked and left streaks on the glass.

Her cell phone rang. “Yes?” she said. “I'm here.”

In a nearly breathless voice, Shelley said, “Dorothy Johnson says you caught the demon and you'd better turn it loose, and don't let it know you have its picture.”

“Great. What about that other little task? Gone shopping yet?”

“On my way now.”

“Okay, swing by Dad's office when you're done. The crew will be there waiting.”

As Bailey drew near Frank's office building, in bumper-to-bumper traffic at that time of day, she said, “Just tell Naomi that Annie has an appointment with me, and that I'll give her some dinner and bring her back to the residence afterward.”

“You'll take her back? Not me?”

“I'm not sure who. But I'll need you later on. For a couple of hours.”

“Do I get a dinner out of this?”

“Ah, and it's a hard deal you cut, laddie. We'll see what we can work in.”

He stopped the car; she got out, waved, and entered the building as he drove off again. She was thinking that it would take Bailey about half an hour to go collect Annie, and by then Shelley might put in an appearance. Half an hour: enough time for her to tell Frank what she was up to, and too little time for him to throw a humdinger of a hissy fit.

B
ailey was philosophical about traffic: sometimes you get the breaks, sometimes you don't. To Barbara's relief this was one of the better days and he arrived with Annie before Frank could launch his tirade. She knew it was going to be a tirade when he left the comfortable chair by the round table to seat himself at his desk. It was a handsome desk, lovely old walnut so polished it could have been metal. The entire office was like that, old, established so long ago that it looked lifted out of a history book or the setting for a period movie. Fine bookcases with glass fronts, the seating arrangement by the coffee table, his desk, all rich, cared for, demanding decorum. His desk was practically bare, no papers cluttering it, no jar of pens and pencils, just a tele
phone and double silver-framed studio portraits of Barbara and her mother.

“I'll go get them,” Barbara said when the receptionist called to announce the arrival of Bailey and Annie. “And maybe you and Bailey could leave us alone. Just a hunch that she'll be happier without much of an audience.” She did not wait for his response.

When Barbara returned, Frank was as gracious a host as always, but he did not extend his warmth to Barbara. “Would you like coffee, tea, a little wine perhaps?” he asked Annie, taking her hand, leading her to the coffee table.

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

He helped her off with her coat and, carrying it over his arm, said, “Bailey, there's something I want to go over with you. Excuse us, please.”

Annie looked relieved and sat down, and Barbara sat opposite her. As soon as the door closed behind the two men, Barbara said, “Okay, give. What happened today?”

“I was in the office wondering if people were reading the pages from my diary, passing them around, everyone seemed so suspicious, or scared. Then I remembered something that happened a couple of years ago.” She swallowed hard, but her voice was steady, and there was a glint in her eyes that Barbara had not seen before. “It hit me hard,” Annie said. “And I knew why someone cut out some of those diary pages, that one in particular. It's practically a confession, a blueprint for murder. They must
not have given it to the police yet or they would have arrested me by now, but it's out there. Someone has it and is waiting for the right time, something like that. Maybe to sneak it into my room for when the police search again, and they will. They went over Darren's place and they'll be back. They'll find it and that will be the end.” Her words were coming faster and faster, and getting more incoherent. “Someone is planning to frame me with my own words taken from my diary.”

Barbara drew in a breath and said, “Annie, calm down and start earlier. What happened a couple of years ago? Start there.”

“I was visiting David's mother. She had the flu and David really never liked to be around sick people. Ironic, isn't it? A doctor who can't stand illness? It scared him, I think. He liked things he could fix with his scalpel, nothing chronic, nothing mundane.” She shivered, then shook herself. “We watched a movie, Joyce and I, a murder mystery that was pretty dumb. Then she said she could plot a perfect murder and never even be suspected, and so could I, or anyone else with a decent brain. It was a game. A diversion for her. On a Saturday. Then David called and I had to leave, but I told her I'd be back on Sunday, and she said I should have my plot ready and so would she. There were conditions. The victim couldn't be a random stranger, for instance. A few others. I don't remember now what they were.” She stopped and closed her eyes hard.

Dismayed, Barbara understood what was coming.
She didn't press Annie to continue, but let her think through the rest of it.

“I didn't give it another thought until that night,” Annie said, looking down at her hands. “Then I remembered and started to think about it, and I wanted to make a few notes. If I write things down, I remember them better. But I didn't have any paper in my room and David was in the study and I didn't want to go there, so I jotted some things down in the diary.” She looked up at Barbara, her face so white it looked like marble, her eyes wide and luminous, bright with tears. Tears of anger or fear?

“I plotted a murder,” Annie said in a low voice, hardly above a whisper. “It started with something like
Plan ahead.
Then,
Steal a gun.
” She stopped again, then said, “I can't even remember what I wrote, but it was all like that, shorthand, notes. I never gave it another thought. David went with me on Sunday for a short visit, and Joyce didn't mention the game. Neither did I.”

Barbara stood up and went to the bookcase that concealed Frank's bar, which she opened. She poured two glasses of wine without paying any attention to what kind it was. It was something to do, something for Annie to do with her hands. There wouldn't have been an explanation, of course. What for? You don't explain your shorthand notes, and Joyce, the only person besides Annie who had known what they were for, was dead.

She handed one of the glasses to Annie, who sipped it as obediently as a child, then put it down.
“Okay,” Barbara said. “I get the point. What to do about it is the problem now. Not your problem, mine.”

“Mine,” Annie said in a small voice. “There's something else.” She groped in her purse and pulled out an envelope and handed it to Barbara. “I have to know if this is enough, if it's legal.” She looked at her wine as Barbara opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper and started to read.

It was short, reading it took only a minute, but then she read it again, slower, to give herself a moment to think. Finally she looked up and said, “It's valid. Handwritten, dated today, signed, it's legal. Why, Annie?”

Annie continued to gaze at her wine, as if she had glimpsed something swimming, vanishing, appearing. “I thought what if a truck hit my car, killed me, or a giant wave crashed ashore and carried me out to sea. It happens every year. You read about it every year.”

Barbara nodded. “Why now?”

“I want to go home, spend a little time with my parents. Did you know I have two sets of parents? Funny isn't it? But I do. They'd get over a tragic accidental death. People get over it eventually—act of God, nature's little practical joke, whatever. They get over it in time. But if I'm arrested, convicted…you know. That would be harder. And they shouldn't have to hassle with the mess the clinic's in. They don't know anything about it. And Naomi should be a shareholder, not me. Just in case that truck driver loses control, or the big wave…”

Barbara regarded her soberly, but Annie did not look up, and finally Barbara said, “I'll keep it for you. It's perfectly valid.”

Annie had written a will, leaving everything she owned to her parents with the exception of the five shares of the clinic, which were to go to Naomi. She put the paper back in the envelope and it inside her purse, then stood up, thinking hard.

She looked at her watch. Five after five already. Maria, she thought then, and went to Frank's desk to call her own office. Maria answered on the first ring. As expected, she had delayed leaving, hoping to hear from Barbara before the day ended. “Hang on a minute,” Barbara said. She put the phone down and returned to the coffee table. “Annie, I'm sending you home with my secretary, Maria Velazques. You met her at the office. She and her mother and her two daughters will be delighted to have you as a guest for dinner. Mama might try to adopt you, in fact. And she'll certainly try to fatten you up. Be on guard. Okay?”

“Why?”

“Well, I sent word to Naomi that I'd give you dinner before you returned, and I have too many things to do to make good on that. Mama's cooking is wonderful. You'll love it, and her and the two kids.”

“I don't want to eat.”

“I know. But there's another reason to get you out of the snake pit for a few hours. To remind you of other kinds of life. I'll tell Maria to swing by and pick you up.”

Annie seemed to have no more resistance, and simply shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Barbara went back to the phone and asked Maria if Mama was up for a dinner guest. She knew the answer, and looking at Annie across the room, she could imagine what kind of fuss Maria's family would make over her, their own live Barbie doll for the evening.

“Come on,” she said to Annie after hanging up. “It won't take Maria more than five minutes to get here. I'll walk down with you, make sure you get in the right car.”

In the conference room on the way out, she stopped to greet Shelley and retrieve Annie's coat. Shelley's sky-blue raincoat and Annie's dark-red coat were both on a chair. She picked up the blue one, saying to Frank, “Annie's going home with Maria for dinner. I'll wait with her. You want to make that call? Make sure it's on for seven-thirty?”

He scowled at her, the face that sent the junior attorneys into a panic. She smiled sweetly and said, “I'll be up as soon as Maria gets here.”

In the lobby she handed the coat to Annie, who looked at it and shook her head. “That isn't mine.”

“Oh? I must have picked up Shelley's coat by mistake. She'll probably be the one to collect you later, you can switch then. Okay?”

Annie shrugged and put on the coat. They waited near the outside door where they could see the traffic. “For the next few hours, try to relax,” Barbara said. “If Mama thinks you haven't eaten enough,
she'll try to sneak tidbits into your pockets or purse for you to snack on later.”

“Greg agrees that I should go home, over to the coast for a few days. Will they let me do that?”

“I'll see what I can work out,” Barbara said. “Are you comfortable in your parents' home? Some adults are, some aren't.”

“I am,” Annie said. “I love it over there, and you make Mama sound a lot like my mother.”

“Ah, there's Maria now. No parking or stopping either is allowed there. Let's go before someone starts honking a horn.”

 

When she returned to Frank's office, Shelley asked, “What's happening? What's going on?”

“In a minute,” Barbara said. “Did you get the wig?” She went to Frank's desk, sat down and pulled the phone around. She was already dialing when Shelley brought the wig out of a shopping bag. “Perfect,” Barbara said, listening to the ringing phone. The wig was a near match to Shelley's own hair, and it was perfect. Then Naomi was on the line.

“Kelso-McIvey Rehabilitation Clinic.”

“Mrs. Boardman, this is Barbara Holloway. I have to speak with Darren. Is he still there?”

“Yes. I think he's just getting ready to leave. Just a second…”

Barbara listened to her voice calling Darren, a pause, then her voice again. “It's Barbara Holloway. She said she has to speak with you.” To Barbara, she said, “He's coming.”

“Thanks. And after I talk with him a minute, I have to speak with you. Don't leave. Okay?”

“Of course. Where's Annie? Is she all right?”

“She's a nervous wreck, as you know. I'll tell you after I talk to Darren.”

When he came on, he sounded amused. “Are you still dodging the cops?”

“You'd better believe it. Look, I have to talk to you in private, not at the clinic, not at a restaurant. Your place. Are you going to be home tonight?”

“Sure. I was just on my way.”

“Wait for me. I can't get there before six-thirty or even a few minutes later. Just wait for me, will you?”

“I'll be there,” he said, no longer sounding lazy and amused.

“Good. Put Naomi back on.”

She didn't give Naomi time to speak. “I have to call a meeting of the board of directors and you for tonight,” she said. “It's important. I'm sorry about the short notice, but it has to be done. Seven-thirty in the directors' room. Will you see to it? Maybe you could ask your cook to provide coffee. The meeting might take a while. And tell Dr. Kelso. We'll go ahead without him if he can't make it, but if it's possible I want him there, too. I'll fill you in at the meeting.”

When Naomi started to say something, Barbara interrupted her. “I can't talk right now. I have to go. Seven-thirty.” She disconnected.

From across the room Frank's scowl was enough to curl her hair as he muttered, “Christ on a mountain.”

“Did you make your call?” she asked him.

“Yes.” It was not quite a snarl, but close enough.

“The snowball is starting down the hill,” she said. “No stopping it now.”