Free April Fool Dead by Carolyn Hart Page B

hard they looked, no one was going to come up with evidence to change the ruling of accidental death. So why include Emma?
    Annie concentrated. There was something here, something important…. But she wasn’t sure what. She shook her head, read the final heading:
    Crime 5
    Poor little rich girl, that was sure true about Laura Neville Fleming. Inherited millions, but she was plain as a bowl of oatmeal and had about as much zip. Oh, she wore designer clothes and did everything expected of her, all the charity dos, that kind of thing. Husband quite handsome. Keith Fleming was a poor boy who had worked his way up in Papa Neville’s fancy furniture store in Atlanta—all the best from High Point—and married the boss’s daughter. Happy ending? Not really. No kids. Lots of social events. The only passion in her life was the family yacht, Leisure Moment. They say she sometimes drank a bit too much and that’s what happened the night she fell off the yacht and drowned.

    Annie rubbed her nose. Two drownings? Was this a coincidence, or was this simply an easy way to expand the list of possible crimes for the flyers? Annie sat very still because that glimmer in her mind was brighter. Expand the list…Somebody could always be pushed from a boat. Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. Was this the truth she needed to ferret out? What if the flyersreally were meant to expose one particular crime and the others were included to keep the spotlight away from those who would care, and care passionately, about one particular event? That would explain Emma’s name on the list. She was camouflage, a smoke screen….
    Annie reached for her cell phone, punched a private number that she knew by heart. When the answering machine message sounded, Annie came on strong. “Come on, Emma. I know you’re there. I’ll keep calling. Automatic, every fifteen seconds. You went home to think. Listen, I’ve got to talk to—”
    â€œAnnie.” The cool gravelly voice was remote.
    â€œEmma, you went away muttering about a smoke screen, a smoking gun. What did you mean?” Annie glanced at Barb’s report. Five crimes. Was there only one that mattered?
    There was a whisper of what might have been laughter if it hadn’t been a snort of disdain. “Even Detective Inspector Hector Houlihan would have tumbled before now.”
    Annie wanted to snap that Emma better be damn glad at this particular moment she wasn’t standing at the stern of Marigold’s Pleasure with Annie behind her or there might be another drowning. Annie blurted, “Of course you can probably swim,” and knew she was in trouble. When, oh when, would she ever learn to control her quick temper? She could hear Max’s oft-repeated suggestion: Breathe deeply, Annie. That’s right. One breath, two…
    But Emma was never predictable. Following a thoughtful silence, there was an unmistakable deepchuckle. “I swim quite well, my dear. Is that why you called?”
    Annie refused to be diverted. “Smoke screen, Emma. Come on, what did you mean?”
    â€œAs Marigold often reminds Houlihan, ‘Gnats distract. Get the big picture.’” With a sharp click, the connection ended.
    â€œEmma…” But there was no one to hear Annie’s outraged bleat. Gnats distract…Oh, damn. Did Emma think she was Charlie Chan? As far as pithy statements went, Emma’s had far to go. And Annie wasn’t getting anywhere. But she still had the glimmer, a deep rich glow in her mind. What if the whole point of the fake flyers was to stir up investigation into one particular crime and the others were mentioned simply to keep anyone from wondering who might care enough to set these events in motion?
    Annie turned out of the alley. The Volvo picked up speed. As Charlie Chan might have said, had it occurred to him: To start, you must begin. And she, by damn, was going to begin.

Six
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