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Authors: Death on Demand/Design for Murder
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policeman crouched beside the wicker wastebasket by the far end of the coffee bar. “This answers some questions, all right.”
Everyone surged toward him, but Saulter barred the way. “Stand back.” Then he hurried to McElroy.
Once again, they all bent forward to listen.
“I don’t see—” Saulter began.
“Smell it, man.”
Saulter, too, hunkered down beside the wastebasket.
Capt. Mac pulled a couple of quarters from his trouser pocket and used them as pincers to lift out a sodden ball of white cotton.
Saulter sniffed. “Fingernail polish remover.” He stared blankly at Capt. Mac.
“I’ve only run across it once before,” the former policeman explained, “but I’ll bet my pension on it. The murderer covered the tips of his fingers with clear fingernail polish to keep from putting prints on the dart. I can see it now.” He pointed toward the coffee area and the tables. “The lights go out, the murderer has the dart hidden nearby. Probably on the floor by the wall. The murderer grabs the dart and throws it. While Annie’s going to see about the lights, there’s time to use the cotton drenched in polish remover to wipe off the polish, then drop the cottoninto the wastebasket. Saulter, there won’t be a damn print on that dart. By God, that’s clever.”
The two men stared at each other, then slowly rose to face the watching suspects.
“Fingernail polish remover,” Saulter repeated. He looked at the women in the room one by one, then his gaze locked on Annie.
Perhaps she should have kept quiet, but she was getting tired of his not so subtle suspicion.
“We all paint our fingernails, Chief.”
“But nobody knows this room as well as you do,” he retorted.
“We’ve all spent a lot of time here,” Capt. Mac said quickly. He cleared his throat. “Chief, I’d be glad to lend a hand with your investigation.”
“Thanks. We can take care of
our
job. For now, you’re all free to leave. We’ll be in touch with everyone tomorrow.”
Everyone started up the central aisle toward the front, but McElroy hung back. “I’d hate to see anybody get off on the wrong foot,” the retired policeman said. “Why, Annie couldn’t possibly have killed anybody.”
Harriet Edelman stopped and slapped her hands on her hips, and her bracelets clanged gratingly. “So you think little Miss Pretty Face shouldn’t be considered a suspect? I happen to know she and Morgan had a hell of a spat this morning.”
Saulter wanted to hear all about that, of course.
“I was going by on my bicycle when she slammed the door on him. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Annie hadn’t seen Harriet, which wasn’t too surprising. At that point, she had been so furious with Elliot she wouldn’t have noticed an audience of dancing tarantulas.
Saulter gestured impatiently for them to keep moving toward the door. “Don’t worry. I don’t give a damn about pretty faces, and I’ll be interviewing everybody tomorrow, including Miss Laurance, about their relationships with the deceased.”
“That’s reassuring.” Emma looked sardonic.
“Or pots of money, either.”
Agatha chose that moment to leap up on the Christie section and hiss.
Janis clutched at her husband.
Fritz Hemphill laughed.
“She wants out.” Annie opened the front door, and Agatha shot out into the night. Annie was right behind her. When she looked back, she met Saulter’s eyes. Now she knew how a fox felt when sighted by the hounds.
For once Max drove at a reasonable speed.
“I don’t understand why he sent us all home,” Annie mused.
“What else is he going to do?” Max peered through the night. “The Black Hole of Calcutta can’t hold a candle to a country lane on Broward’s Rock. No pun intended.”
“No street lights,” she replied absently. The tourists always complained, too.
“No lights of any kind. Not even moonlight.” The beams from the headlights scarcely pierced the gloom beneath the spreading live oak trees whose
Everyone surged toward him, but Saulter barred the way. “Stand back.” Then he hurried to McElroy.
Once again, they all bent forward to listen.
“I don’t see—” Saulter began.
“Smell it, man.”
Saulter, too, hunkered down beside the wastebasket.
Capt. Mac pulled a couple of quarters from his trouser pocket and used them as pincers to lift out a sodden ball of white cotton.
Saulter sniffed. “Fingernail polish remover.” He stared blankly at Capt. Mac.
“I’ve only run across it once before,” the former policeman explained, “but I’ll bet my pension on it. The murderer covered the tips of his fingers with clear fingernail polish to keep from putting prints on the dart. I can see it now.” He pointed toward the coffee area and the tables. “The lights go out, the murderer has the dart hidden nearby. Probably on the floor by the wall. The murderer grabs the dart and throws it. While Annie’s going to see about the lights, there’s time to use the cotton drenched in polish remover to wipe off the polish, then drop the cottoninto the wastebasket. Saulter, there won’t be a damn print on that dart. By God, that’s clever.”
The two men stared at each other, then slowly rose to face the watching suspects.
“Fingernail polish remover,” Saulter repeated. He looked at the women in the room one by one, then his gaze locked on Annie.
Perhaps she should have kept quiet, but she was getting tired of his not so subtle suspicion.
“We all paint our fingernails, Chief.”
“But nobody knows this room as well as you do,” he retorted.
“We’ve all spent a lot of time here,” Capt. Mac said quickly. He cleared his throat. “Chief, I’d be glad to lend a hand with your investigation.”
“Thanks. We can take care of
our
job. For now, you’re all free to leave. We’ll be in touch with everyone tomorrow.”
Everyone started up the central aisle toward the front, but McElroy hung back. “I’d hate to see anybody get off on the wrong foot,” the retired policeman said. “Why, Annie couldn’t possibly have killed anybody.”
Harriet Edelman stopped and slapped her hands on her hips, and her bracelets clanged gratingly. “So you think little Miss Pretty Face shouldn’t be considered a suspect? I happen to know she and Morgan had a hell of a spat this morning.”
Saulter wanted to hear all about that, of course.
“I was going by on my bicycle when she slammed the door on him. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Annie hadn’t seen Harriet, which wasn’t too surprising. At that point, she had been so furious with Elliot she wouldn’t have noticed an audience of dancing tarantulas.
Saulter gestured impatiently for them to keep moving toward the door. “Don’t worry. I don’t give a damn about pretty faces, and I’ll be interviewing everybody tomorrow, including Miss Laurance, about their relationships with the deceased.”
“That’s reassuring.” Emma looked sardonic.
“Or pots of money, either.”
Agatha chose that moment to leap up on the Christie section and hiss.
Janis clutched at her husband.
Fritz Hemphill laughed.
“She wants out.” Annie opened the front door, and Agatha shot out into the night. Annie was right behind her. When she looked back, she met Saulter’s eyes. Now she knew how a fox felt when sighted by the hounds.
For once Max drove at a reasonable speed.
“I don’t understand why he sent us all home,” Annie mused.
“What else is he going to do?” Max peered through the night. “The Black Hole of Calcutta can’t hold a candle to a country lane on Broward’s Rock. No pun intended.”
“No street lights,” she replied absently. The tourists always complained, too.
“No lights of any kind. Not even moonlight.” The beams from the headlights scarcely pierced the gloom beneath the spreading live oak trees whose
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