Hit and Run Read online

  AnnaLise was studying Patrick Hoag, not knowing whether to thank him or not. While misery might love company, a little clarity wouldn’t hurt either. ‘Given the woman’s overnight bag and Debbie Dobyns—’

  ‘Debbie Dobyns?’ It was Hoag’s turn to ask a question.

  ‘The chef,’ Joy explained.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Patrick said with a smile on his face. ‘The Monroe-esque platinum blonde.’

  Joy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did Dickens’ smarmy soul move on to you at his passing?’

  ‘Me?’ Patrick said. ‘No, but I am male.’

  AnnaLise sighed. ‘Anyway, the “Monroe-esque platinum blonde” has disappeared. Why are we even talking about other suspects until she turns up?’

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Charity said, holding up the phone. ‘Guess who’s just turned up?’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Debbie Dobyns is … dead?’

  Charity Pitchford’s brow wrinkled at Joy Tamarack’s question. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You told us just now that she’s turned up. I thought maybe that was a euphemism, like she turned up her toes or,’ Joy slid a glance AnnaLise’s way, ‘washed up on shore.’

  ‘Noooo,’ Charity said slowly, catching the interplay. ‘Ms Dobyns just landed at McCarran International.’

  ‘Has Las Vegas Metro picked her up?’ Coy asked.

  ‘They have.’

  ‘Where’s she been all this time?’ AnnaLise asked. ‘According to Sheree, Debbie left the inn early yesterday morning.’

  ‘Apparently, instead of returning her rental car to Charlotte, she drove all the way to Atlanta and flew from there.’

  ‘Makes sense, actually,’ Patrick Hoag said. ‘Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson is the busiest passenger airport in the world. There’d be plenty of nonstop flights to Vegas, versus only connections from Charlotte. Especially given her change in itinerary.’

  AnnaLise asked, ‘Did Debbie have the brightly colored overnight bag with her?’

  Charity shook her head. ‘Metro said she had a purple carry-on. A roller-bag.’ The officer slid the phone back into her breast pocket and gestured for Coy to follow her inside, signaling the end of conversation on both fronts. The lawyer followed them into the house.

  Joy turned to AnnaLise. ‘The smaller overnight bag is probably inside the wheelie, like you said. Besides, if she’s willing to pull a purple bag through an airport, a flowered tote for overnight would seem right up her alley.’

  AnnaLise mounted the last couple of steps and took a seat on the black, wrought-iron bench right of the door. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Hey, cheer up,’ Joy said, settling down next to her. ‘Even if it’s not in her luggage, she could have disposed of it on the way to the airport in Atlanta.’

  ‘I guess so.’ AnnaLise shifted. ‘This bench looks nice, but it sure is uncomfortable.’

  ‘Hart chose his furniture the way he chose his women.’

  The reporter didn’t feel a need to respond. After all, as one of those women, Joy was the expert. ‘The thing is that Debbie has no way of knowing that I saw the bag in Dickens’ room.’

  ‘You’re sure she didn’t hear you?’

  ‘I can’t see how. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running.’

  ‘Well, if she isn’t worried that somebody saw the bag and could therefore use it to connect her to Hart’s death, there’s no reason that she’d get rid of it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Good.’ Joy patted AnnaLise’s knee. ‘Then the police should find it in her suitcase. You can have only one carry-on in addition to your purse, you know.’

  ‘OK, I’ll hang on to that thought.’ AnnaLise stood up and drew in a familiar aroma. ‘Must be lunchtime.’

  ‘Can’t even be eleven yet.’

  ‘I didn’t have breakfast. If there’s food in the kitchen, I’m eating it.’

  ‘Good to know you’re not letting a murder rap hurt your appetite.’

  ‘Homicide rap,’ AnnaLise emphasized, swinging open the front door. ‘Let’s not convict me of something before I’m even charged.’

  ‘Who’s been charged?’ Phyllis Balisteri’s face was anxious as she came out of the dining room.

  ‘Nobody,’ AnnaLise said. And then, because she knew her surrogate mother wouldn’t be satisfied with that: ‘But they have found Chef Debbie, so that’s good news.’

  Only Phyllis looked less than pleased. ‘Damnation. Did she wash up across from the restaurant?’

  ‘She was found—’

  ‘I knew I should have kept the place open this weekend,’ Phyllis lamented.

  AnnaLise turned to Joy. ‘Contrary to what one might think, corpses seem to be good for business.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ came from the fitness trainer.

  ‘Chef Debbie isn’t dead,’ AnnaLise told Phyllis.

  ‘Then I suppose she’ll want her kitchen back.’ Mama was already untying her apron.

  ‘Afraid not,’ AnnaLise said. ‘She’s in Las Vegas.’

  Joy nodded. ‘Though with any luck, she’ll be back here soon.’ A pause. ‘But not necessarily to cook.’

  ‘Speaking of cooking, something smells wonderful,’ AnnaLise said.

  ‘Chicken spaghetti.’ Mama still looked grumpy. ‘Though I made it with turkey, given those out-of-towners barely touched theirs yesterday.’

  ‘More for us,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Is this the one with cream of chicken soup in it?’

  ‘And mushroom, since we had an extra can from the green bean casserole. And it’s all just coming out of the oven. If you want to go in the dining room I’ll have Nicole bring plates to you.’

  ‘Not for me, I just ate breakfast,’ Joy said as Phyllis bustled off.

  ‘Come and sit with me anyway,’ AnnaLise said. ‘I don’t want to subject myself to more of Mama’s questions and it’ll be lonely in that big dining room.’

  ‘Better get used to it,’ Joy said, following her, ‘unless you end up sharing it with your two evil stepbrothers.’

  ‘I don’t think either of them is evil,’ AnnaLise said, pulling a high-backed chair away from the table. ‘No matter what Daisy says about Eddie’s eyes.’

  ‘Eddie’s eyes?’ Joy was rounding the table to sit on the other side.

  ‘Tiny pupils, remember? You brought it up and Daisy suggested Eddie might be abusing some drug like Percocet.’

  ‘Speaking of our sunny little drug czar, where is your mother this morning?’

  ‘I’m afraid to ask.’ AnnaLise leaned forward and whispered, ‘Apparently she spent the night with Boozer Bacchus.’

  ‘Good for her.’ Joy shook out a napkin. ‘’Bout time she got some. Boozer, too, for that matter.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t hungry.’

  The swinging door from the kitchen bumped open. ‘Two cheesy turkey spaghettis,’ Nicole said brightly. ‘Coming up.’

  ‘Thanks,’ AnnaLise said as the girl placed one in front of her. ‘Smells like home. Or Mama Philomena’s family booth at the restaurant.’

  ‘I’ve learned so much from Mama and Daisy.’ Nicole was circling the long table to serve Joy. ‘I had no idea that cooking was this easy.’

  ‘A package of this, a can of that,’ Joy contributed.

  ‘It’s like a miracle,’ Nicole agreed. ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’

  AnnaLise and Joy looked at each other across the table.

  ‘I think a white, no?’ said the fitness trainer.

  ‘Joy, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Nicole, do you know how to make mimosas?’

  ‘I do, but I’m afraid we’re out of champagne.’

  Joy glanced at AnnaLise. ‘Between the celebrating and interim homicide, I’m not surprised.’

  ‘It is odd, though, isn’t it?’ Nicole said. ‘Nobody seems sad that poor Mr Hart is gone.’

  ‘To know him was to hate him,’ Joy
offered.

  ‘That’s not nice,’ AnnaLise scolded. ‘The man did what he could.’

  ‘The man did everything he could,’ Joy corrected. ‘Or everybody, assuming it had a—’

  ‘Joy!’ from AnnaLise.

  But Nicole giggled, then put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, AnnaLise.’

  ‘Don’t be, Nicole. In fact, sit down. I’d like to ask you something.’

  ‘Sure.’ She pulled out a chair as Joy shot a puzzled expression toward AnnaLise. ‘What can I tell you?’

  AnnaLise had been thinking about this. ‘Wednesday night—’

  ‘The night Mr Hart died?’

  ‘Yes. I saw both you and Chef Debbie about … what, ten-thirty?’

  ‘Maybe just after, because I remember Mr Hart saying that it was only ten-thirty and he was going to watch some of the movie before turning in himself.’

  ‘Right, right.’ AnnaLise was chewing her lip. ‘Which is when I said I’d deliver the wine to his room for you. But immediately after that, we ran into Chef Debbie.’

  ‘And you broke the bad news that the grocery stores wouldn’t be open on Thanksgiving morning.’

  AnnaLise turned to Joy. ‘Apparently there were some things she needed.’

  ‘So we know Debbie was making plans for Thanksgiving dinner?’

  ‘And, seemingly,’ AnnaLise said, ‘not staying at Hart’s Head that night.’

  ‘No,’ Nicole said. ‘Mr Hart had reserved a room for her at the inn.’

  It made sense that Nicole would know that. What didn’t was that AnnaLise hadn’t thought to ask her.

  ‘That jibes with what Sheree told us,’ AnnaLise said to Joy. ‘Though it’s not consistent with the theory that Debbie is the one who was in Hart’s room.’

  ‘Sure it is,’ Joy said. ‘Hart would have booked the room at the inn for cover. You know, so everybody wouldn’t know he was hooking up with our family-holiday chef.’

  ‘Why would he care?’ AnnaLise asked. ‘He “hooked up” with pretty much every other female who’s here this weekend.’ She paused. ‘With the relieved exception of those of us who are or might be the product of said hooking up.’

  ‘Exactly my point,’ Joy said. ‘He wouldn’t want to sully the weekend by rubbing the noses of past conquests in his current …’

  ‘Inamorata?’ Nicole suggested.

  ‘Oh, good one,’ Joy said. ‘Much better than—’

  ‘Back to Wednesday night,’ AnnaLise interrupted wisely. ‘What time did your granddad pick you up, Nicole?’

  ‘Earlier than I expected,’ the girl said. ‘The movie ended at about eleven-fifteen. When I realized I’d have the media room cleaned up by quarter to twelve, I texted him and he snuck out during a band break to pick me up.’

  The ‘band’ at Sal’s was Sal and his iPod. ‘So he arrived here at around midnight?’ That would tally with the car AnnaLise saw leaving.

  ‘Yes, and good thing, too. The taproom was open past one, what with it being Black Wednesday.’

  Apparently everybody but AnnaLise was familiar with the term. ‘Was Debbie still here when you left?’

  ‘Uh-unh.’ Nicole was shaking her head. ‘She was out of here maybe ten minutes after you and I talked to her.’

  ‘Did you see her leave?’

  ‘Actually walk out the front door?’ Nicole closed her eyes for a second. ‘No, I can’t say that I did for sure. But when I returned to the kitchen after putting away the wine, she was pulling on her coat. We went over the menu quickly and then I ran to the cellar to get the merlot that Mr Hart suggested I open for the other guests.’

  ‘Any sense of whether she went out the back door or the front?’

  ‘Front, I think. She used the kitchen door to the hallway and foyer.’

  ‘Which leads to the front door, but also the media room or master bedroom.’ AnnaLise turned to Joy. ‘It had to have been Debbie I heard entering Dickens’ suite while I was there.’

  ‘Timing sounds right,’ Joy said. ‘Though I suppose it still could have been Hart himself.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Nicole said. ‘He was at the corridor door to the media room, looking for the wine when I rushed back with it. Mr Hart took the bottle, thanked me and went in to the movie.’

  ‘And about time, as I recall,’ said Joy. ‘The natives were getting restless without their refreshments.’

  AnnaLise wrinkled her nose. ‘I didn’t know you watched the film, Joy.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. You left me cooling my heels out on the patio when Hart and I started mixing it up.’

  ‘Ahh, that’s right. You’d just called him a pig.’

  ‘If the cloven hoof fits.’ Joy twirled some spaghetti onto a fork with a tablespoon.

  AnnaLise nodded. ‘And I, on the other hand, decided to make a graceful exit. That’s when I very nearly ran into Nicole with the wine. Eddie told me that Dickens retired when the movie ended, and the rest of the party had broken up soon after. Is that the way you both remember it?’

  Nicole was nodding herself now. ‘I saw Mr Hart go to his room. In fact, he said good night to me.’

  ‘What about the rest of the group?’

  Joy had one eye closed, thinking. ‘I poured myself one more glass of merlot for the road. By the time I turned around, everybody was already out of the media room.’

  ‘And up the stairs?’

  Nicole took this one. ‘Yes. Well, except for Ms Boccaccio, of course. She took the elevator.’

  ‘Neither of you saw anybody head the opposite direction toward Dickens’ bedroom?’ AnnaLise asked.

  ‘Like I said, everybody was out of the media room and going up the steps when I came out into the hallway,’ Joy said. ‘I suppose somebody could have slipped in before that.’

  But Nicole looked dubious. ‘Not after Mr Hart went into his room, unless it was after I left for the night. I stood outside his door as everybody filed out and then went into the media room to tidy up.’

  ‘So somebody could have snuck into the master suite when you were cleaning?’

  ‘AnnaLise, I don’t think so,’ said Nicole. ‘Once the group was upstairs, the ground floor was very quiet. I think I would have heard footsteps on its marble tile.’

  ‘What did you do after you finished in the media room?’

  ‘Took the glasses into the kitchen to wash and called Granddad.’

  Joy looked at AnnaLise. ‘Somebody for sure could have snuck in then.’

  ‘Uh-unh,’ Nicole said. ‘Sorry, but I used the second sink where all the wine glasses hang, facing the hallway. I didn’t close the door because it was spooky down here all alone.’

  ‘So you could see the full length of the hallway to the master suite doors from there?’

  Nicole nodded. ‘I rinsed the glasses and slid them into the rack above to dry. Then I went to the foyer and waited for Granddad to pick me up.’

  AnnaLise was arranging it all in her head. ‘So that leaves us with Debbie – who could have said she was going to the inn, but snuck in while you were in the wine cellar – or pretty much anybody else, assuming they waited until you were gone.’

  ‘Correct,’ Nicole said. ‘What happened after I left, like I told Charity, I can’t say.’

  ‘Charity knows all this?’ AnnaLise asked. ‘The timeline, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She seemed very interested.’ Nicole lowered her voice. ‘You know what she asked me?’

  Joy and AnnaLise shook their heads.

  ‘If Chef Debbie ever mentioned roofies.’

  The sediment in the glass. Charity had said that preliminary testing showed no nonprescription drugs in Dickens’ system. Also, nothing in the full wine glass, nor the bottle. Neither she nor her husband, though, had said anything about the empty glass.

  And AnnaLise, now kicking herself, hadn’t asked that specific question. ‘Did Debbie mention—’

  ‘Are you kidding? Not the kind of thing that comes up when you’re peeling potatoes and all.’

&n
bsp; ‘Suppose not,’ Joy said. ‘But you do know what they are?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nicole said. ‘You’re asking for trouble if you’re my age and don’t. When I go out with my friends, we guard each other’s glasses when one of us dances or goes to the restroom.’

  That was sad, AnnaLise thought. Things hadn’t been quite that hazardous when she was Nicole’s age. ‘Did Charity say why she was asking?’

  ‘Just that some had shown up in “preliminary test results.”’

  Joy looked at AnnaLise. ‘Maybe you were right. Hart tried to drug Debbie and she hit him in self-defense.’

  But AnnaLise had just had a thought, one that could confirm that Debbie had stayed over. Or, conversely, prove just the opposite. ‘Nicole, do you remember if Debbie’s car was still here when Sal picked you up at midnight?’

  The girl scrunched up her face as she thought about it. ‘No. But then I wouldn’t have, anyway. Granddad pulled into the circle drive and picked me up square in front of the door. The cars were all parked around the side, next to the garage.’

  ‘True.’ AnnaLise was wondering whether she should be glad Nicole’s reply had been inconclusive or not, when the kitchen door swung open.

  ‘AnnieLeez!’ Phyllis Balisteri thundered. ‘You planning on eating that turkey spaghetti or just talking it to death?’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Despite her scolding, Phyllis Balisteri had insisted on reheating the turkey spaghetti, resulting in AnnaLise and Joy still being at the table when the assemblage trouped in for their noon meal.

  Since the Thanksgiving feast, the group had fallen into taking the same chairs at each communal meal. Outsiders on the south end and locals on the north, much like their sleeping arrangements on the floor above. Or warring factions in a middle-school lunchroom.

  Unfortunately, AnnaLise and Joy had planted themselves square in enemy territory. ‘Do you think we should shift?’ AnnaLise hissed across the table.

  ‘Hell, no,’ Joy said. ‘It’s your house – at least for now – and besides, don’t you want to find out what they’re saying up here?’

  AnnaLise did, of course. But the fact was nobody on the south end was saying anything. Or eating anything.