Carolyn G. Hart by Death on Demand/Design for Murder

report. There was a small contusion behind his right ear. Maybe it happened in a fall, but now that two other people are dead, I don’t believe it.”
    Annie watched him with sheer fury in her eyes and in her heart—but the words rang terrifyingly true. Uncle Ambrose knew boats, and he had been well that night, that last night.
    “My God.”
    Saulter’s mouth twisted. “A big surprise to you. Is that how you’re going to play it? Maybe you should have stayed an actress, Miss Laurance. Well, you damn well can’t do that over Doc Kearney. It’s pretty clear why you had to get rid of her.”
    It was like standing in the shadow of an erupting volcano and watching tons of burning debris and roiling mud sweep down toward you.
    “You didn’t play that one too good. You told too many people how swell the doc was, how she didn’t use succinyl-choline to kill your cat. Too damn cruel. Wasn’t it pretty cruel to watch Elliot Morgan suffocate?”
    “A dart killed him,” Annie said stubbornly.
    “Sure thing. A dart with a wad of cotton that’d been dipped in Succostrin. That, little lady, is the trade name for succinyl-choline. And who on this goddamn island ever heard of the stuff until you went around blabbing about it?”
    Annie felt a surge of adrenaline. Her body recognized danger. In a flash, she remembered the boarder in
Mrs. McGinty’s Dead
. If it hadn’t been for Poirot, the boarder would have been hanged for a murder he didn’t commit. Circumstantial evidence could kill you. But she wasn’t like that boarder. Saulter had a fighter on his hands this time.
    “Maybe if you told me all about it, you would feel better. Why don’t we start with your uncle’s murder? Tell me how you did it, Miss Laurance.”
    Anybody with sense would keep her mouth shut. She knew it. But she absolutely throbbed with anger. This big-mouthed galoot wasn’t going to sit there accusing her of murdering her uncle. By God, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms exactly what—
    “My client has nothing further to say.”
    Both she and the chief jerked around. Max stood in the open door of the storeroom.
    Annie’s mouth closed.
    “Your client?” Saulter demanded.
    Max nodded, and his eyes warned Annie to keep on keeping quiet. “She is entitled to the advice of counsel, and my advice is to say nothing more.”
    “She can talk, Mr. Darling, or she can come to the station.”
    Max didn’t yield. “Ms. Laurance isn’t going anywhere. Do you have a warrant for her arrest?”
    Max loved Annie’s eyes. Usually. He could get lost in her eyes, dark gray eyes with golden flecks. Sometimes they were as sensuous as a Rubens painting, and sometimes as laughter-filled as a picnic afternoon. But, right now, they glinted with fury and reminded him of bright flashes from target pistols.
    “Cool it, sweetie. Never lose your temper. That’s always an advantage to your opponent.”
    “I’m too mad to be careful.”
    “Honey, when you are dangling from a hair-thin lifeline over the side of a precipice, it’s time to be careful.” It worried him to see Annie so visibly angry. At all costs, she had to avoid provoking Saulter. He pushed down his own impulse to pound something hard with his fists, preferably the doltish face of a certain police chief. Dear Annie, his stubborn golden girl, with her sun-streaked hair, freckle-spattered cheeks, and prickly, independent, explosive nature.
    “He’s not going to get away with it.” Then she jammed her hand through her hair. “My God, Max, somebody
did
kill Uncle Ambrose.” Her face compressed into a stern frown. “And Saulter’s pitched on me. That means we have to find out what really happened.”
    “Sure. We’ll do it. But, Annie, don’t hassle with Saulter.”
    “That man is not going to bully me.”
    “Of course not, but you keep your lips buttoned, Laurance. Okay?”
    Diverted for a moment from the object of her ire, she said briskly, “Listen, it was great of you to try