Free Murder Makes Waves by Anne George Page B

to do to take care of Fairchild? I poured a cup of coffee and went back to the balcony.
    “She wants me to take care of Fairchild,” I said.
    “I know. I saw the note.” Haley handed Frances the binoculars. “Look, Frances, right to the left of that bait boat. See the fin? Reckon that could be a shark?”
    “Could be. I swear I haven’t been more than ankle deep in the ocean since I saw Jaws . Frances trained the binoculars in the direction Haley was pointing.
    “I guess I’d better get dressed and go see about him,” I said. “See how he fared last night.”
    “Mary Alice checked before she left. She said he’s doing pretty good. Still wrought up, of course, but who wouldn’t be?” Frances handed the binoculars back to Haley. “It’s a porpoise.”
    “You’re probably right.” Haley put the binoculars on the table. “If he’s real wrought up, Mama, maybe that doctor that lives downstairs needs to check him out again.”
    “I’m still pretty wrought up, myself, from finding the body yesterday,” Frances said. “I sure didn’t sleep much last night.”
    “You could have gone for a walk on the beach with Mary Alice,” I grumbled. I went to get a shower and get dressed. Fairchild was one of my favorite people. I didn’t need a reminder from Sister or a description of him as “real wrought up,” whatever that meant, to go see about him.
    Fifteen minutes later, as I stepped into the corridor, I almost bumped into a beautiful blonde woman who was carrying a covered dish toward Fairchild’s door. A quick dodge and some juggling saved the contents.
    “I’m so sorry!” I said.
    “It’s okay.” She smiled at me. “We almost had breakfast pizza all over us, didn’t we?”
    “I should have been more careful.”
    “No harm done.” She smiled again. “I’m Tammy Berliner. I live down the hall.”
    “It’s nice meeting you, Tammy. I’m Patricia Anne Hollowell, Mary Alice Crane’s sister.”
    “It’s nice meeting you, Mrs. Hollowell. I’ve heard her talk of you.”
    “Don’t believe a word. And call me Patricia Anne, please.” I motioned to the pizza. “You on your way next door?”
    She nodded. “I can’t believe this has happened. Can you?”
    “No,” I said. “I can’t. We’ve known Millicent for twenty years, the nicest person you’d ever meet. Fairchild, too.”
    “I know. Can you knock on the door for me?”
    I did, and Laura Stamps answered. My first thought, as usual when I see Laura, and which I had the decency to feel guilty about, was that it was a shame they hadn’t invented sunscreen years ago. Laura’s tanned, leathery skin looked like a mask this morning. With cracks in it.
    “Come in,” she said, taking the dish from Tammy and nodding toward the living room. “Fairchild’s in there.”
    “How is he?” I asked.
    “More hungover from what that fool doctor gave him last night than anything else.” Laura disappeared into the kitchen.
    “That’s breakfast pizza, Laura,” Tammy called. “It’s for eating right now if anybody wants some.”
    It sounded good to me. I hadn’t had anything but a cup of coffee but didn’t feel comfortable diving into his food without speaking to Fairchild first. So I stepped into his living room where women were perched everywhere, on the arms of the sofa, on the footstool; those young and thin enough were sitting on the floor. Fairchild sat in his recliner, looking dazed. Or panicked.
    “Hey, Fairchild,” I said, stepping over several women tokiss him on the cheek. Mary Alice’s cryptic message had suddenly become clear. “I came to get you. There’s a policeman next door who wants to talk to you.”
    He looked up in surprise. “Now?”
    “He can wait if you can’t come now.” I looked straight at him and saw him catch on.
    “I’ll come.” He came up out of the recliner with an agility that was amazing in a man his age. “Right now.”
    “Good,” I said. Nobody seemed to think it strange that a policeman