Free Honeymoon With Murder by Carolyn G. Hart

Mrs. Latham. The hand gave another squeeze. Annie gracefully slipped free and stepped a little closer to Max, who still looked like Agatha eyeing a field rat. Damn, married life was complicated. She would have to explain to Max that Alan couldn’t help it. She’d seen him at work at Betsy’s shop, and he was one of those kind of men who automatically come on to any women between thirteen and seventy. And he did have an undeniable charm. But this was no time for Max to get bogged down in hostility.
    “Our job is to find out everything we can about Jesse,” she said firmly, to recapture Max’s attention. “Max, whydon’t you get started rounding up information on Jesse and everyone living around here. And I’ll sniff around here.” She glanced at the stuccoed cabins, glistening pinkly in the morning sunlight. They looked as serene as pop art. She wondered how Miss Seeton might have sketched them.
    “Sniff around here?” Alan repeated.
    Annie smiled encouragingly. After all, Alan didn’t have their background.
    “Sure,” she said confidently. “This is just the case for a P.I.”
    Alan still looked lost.
    “A private investigator,” she explained kindly. “You know. Like V.I. Warshawski.” (If she wasn’t ignoring the snow on her morning five-mile run to Belmont Harbor and back.) “Or Mark Savage.” (If he would take the time from his amorous pursuits.) “Or J. D. Mulroy.” (She could always be counted upon to know what string to pull for helpful information.)
    Their number was legend, and anything they could do, Annie could do better.
    Maybe.

EIGHT
    Sunday morning
    The onshore breeze didn’t make a dent in Madeleine’s tightly coiffed iron-grey hair. She saw off the last of the searchers, some armed with poles to prod the five-foot stalks of cordgrass near the shore, then swung smartly about and marched toward Annie and her companions. Madeleine wore a brown T-shirt that sported a golden halo over an upraised but obviously feminine fist. The legend read: SURE, GOD LOVES MEN. SHE CAVE THEM WOMEN .
    “Ho there,” she greeted them.
    Annie smiled a welcome and noted looks of bland recalcitrance on the faces of Max and Alan.
Chauvinist pigs, without doubt. Maxwell Darling would hear about this
.
    “Bully turnout,” Madeleine bellowed happily. “Cracking good outfit.” She pointed with pride at the command table, covered with ordnance maps and a full aerial view of the island. Three khaki-clad women talked intently over field telephones. Occasionally, they turned to give information to two workers standing before a blackboard, marking the location of search parties.
    “Henny reorganized the Search and Rescue Squad when she took charge. This the first opportunity for all-out call to volunteers. She
is
pleased. Well, now, let’s see.” Madeleine rummaged in the front pockets of her baggy camouflage pants and triumphantly pulled out a list in crabbed printing, spiked with abbreviations. “Know you’re on here. Oh, yes. Det. info.” She jammed a hand into a hip pocket,pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper and handed it to Annie.
    Annie recognized the handwriting at once. What was Henny up to?
    “Good hunting,” Madeleine bellowed. “Keep in contact with command center. Henny will send all messages through us.” Giving a brisk salute, she swung away.
    Annie opened the note and read aloud:
    “On
the trail. Jesse’s boat (battered metal rowboat) missing!!! Fisherman (Jed Gates) noticed it in place at sundown Saturday. Know this will add to Posey’s harebrained conviction Ingrid fled. Nonsense, but will refute when all is known. Continuing to seek out Jesse’s whereabouts Saturday. If I only had a bloodhound, who knows what I might discover! But fear not, we three sleuths shall triumph. H
.
    P.S. More later.”
    Alan’s blue eyes were bewildered. “What good would a bloodhound do with a boat?”
    Annie wondered how to explain to Alan that Henny was, in her usual fashion, drawing upon a