Free White Elephant Dead by Carolyn G. Hart Page B

tip from Billy Cameron.
    Annie crouched behind the rain barrel, her cheek pressed against the splintery wood. The smell of dank water mixed with a faint odor of creosote. Why would anyone come here? And why now? The second question was easier to answer. It was late, nearing midnight, a good time to move unnoticed around the island just as they had. As for why, Kathryn’s apartment had to contain something of enormous importance to the intruder. But what could it be? Annie had a sudden vision of a bag of diamonds or a stolen Titian or—
    Rusty hinges rasped.
    Annie’s heart thudded. She peered around the barrel. If only she’d brought her cell phone. But even if she could have called Billy Cameron, he wouldn’t arrive in time.
    The front door opened. A dark figure darted across the porch and moved swiftly down the steps.
    Annie didn’t think. Or actually she did, in a disjointed, unconnected way, sure that this mattered, that she had to know who was there, that Henny’s safety and perhaps her freedom depended upon Annie. Annie pulled out her flashlight, turned it on. She glimpsed a dark coat, a dark cap.
    The figure whirled, face shielded with a handful of folders, and lifted the other arm.
    Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was a childhood memory of High Noon . Maybe it was her recent rereading of an Eve Gill adventure by Selwyn Jepson. Whatever, Annie dived behind the rain barrel, scrabbling like a land crab as the gun cracked.
    Face down on the uneven ground, she smelled the acrid tang of cordite as well as rotting leaves and pine straw. Water gurgled out of the barrel, splashing against her leg,cold as the frozen tundra in Alistair MacLean’s Night Without End . Annie welcomed the icy wetness and the gouge of a root against her cheek. She was alive.
    “Annie!” Max’s shout shattered the night quiet. A beam of light speared into the night from behind the house. His feet thudded on the ground.
    Her shoulders drawn tight, as if that would help against a bullet, Annie crawled on her hands and knees along the side of the house, then pushed to her feet. “Max,” she yelled, and if a bullet came, it came. “Stop, wait. Don’t go in front. Max, don’t!”
    They crashed together. Annie pushed and they fell, sliding on the slick pine needles. “Quiet, Max, quiet. Shh.” She pulled the flashlight out of his hand, turned it off.
    Max tugged at her arm and they crawled over the slippery pine needles until they were hidden behind a thicket of ferns. “Annie.” His whisper held love and fear and a terrible relief.
    She gripped his hand, felt herself begin to shake. His arms came around her.
    “The door opened. Someone came out.” She took a deep breath. “I thought I had to see.” She lifted her head, strained to see through the night. “No one’s there now. But Max”—her voice was stronger—“now we’ve got something to tell Chief Garrett.”
    Max got up on one knee, helped Annie and they both stood, looking toward the shop. “I wish we did.” His voice was grim.
    “But Max, why would anybody shoot at me? Garrett has to listen to that.” She tugged on his arm, eager to get to a phone.
    “How do we explain what we’re doing here?” He resisted her pull, staring through the dark toward the road.
    She got his point. “So what can he do, throw us in jail?” She was trying for defiant, but it came out sounding uncertain.
    “No. But he’ll claim we’re trying to divert attention fromHenny.” Max absently brushed pine needles and leaves from his trousers.
    “The bullet in the barrel!” Quickly, she told Max. “That will prove…” Her voice trailed off. Sure, there was a hole in the barrel. Water was trickling out. But it didn’t prove anyone shot at her. “Damn.” And she couldn’t even say whether the shooter was a man or woman. She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, trying to re-create that fleetingly seen figure. Dark clothes, shielded face, that moving hand. No, she’d seen too