Sugarplum Dead by Carolyn Hart

signpost announced: MARGUERITE DUMANEY .
    It was an oft-voiced complaint since his arrival on the island. “A more natural environment,” Annie replied absently. She continued briskly, “Okay. You and Pudge have talked this over.”
    â€œHe said Happy’s upset about tonight, but he can’t get her to tell him why. I told him we’d try to talk to Swanson, see if we can find out what he’s up to. I’ll lead him on, then announce at some point that Laurel’s my mother and see how he reacts.”
    â€œHappy.” Annie shook her head. “That’s even sillier than Pudge.”
    Max shot her a glance as he squeezed the Ferrari between a silver Bentley and Pudge’s blue Ford. “We’re here.”
    â€œJust another party…” Annie murmured.

Six
    A NNIE HAD ALWAYS enjoyed the flair for originality on Broward’s Rock, unlike Hilton Head, where zoning laws determined everything from house color to yard decorations (one plantation prohibited children’s treehouses). As she and Max walked up the wide shallow steps that rose in gradual tiers, she realized zoning laws might have a reasonable basis. This house—or should she call it a mansion or a castle or perhaps an architect’s nightmare?—certainly qualified as individual. It rose at different points to four stories and the building materials included chrome, bronze, quartz, cedar, stucco, New England clapboard, tile and copper. Rooms jutted at odd angles and the whole was topped by a thirty-foot aluminum tower. A red banner wrapped around the tower was no doubt intended to look like a candy cane. It looked more like a spaceship in an alternate universe.
    â€œI’d guess six,” Annie whispered.
    â€œHuh?” Max took her elbow and steered her around a fifteen-foot, barnacle-encrusted, upside down anchor leaning against a pile of rocks. Holly garlands dangled from the flukes.
    â€œSix architects at least.” She stopped, pointed to her right. “Max, look at that!”
    A glistening glass whale spewed varicolored streams of water in the center of an enormous bricked fountain. Just past the fountain, huge boulders arched, creating a cave. Tongues of fire flickered within the cave mouth.Suddenly the fiery plumes billowed and a dragon’s head emerged. A Christmas wreath bright with holly encircled the dragon’s neck.
    â€œCool!” Max marveled. “Do you suppose Hot Breath’s guarding a treasure chest?”
    â€œWith golden doubloons? Maybe.” She moved swiftly ahead. “I guess you can take the girl out of the movie set, but you can’t take the movie set out of the girl. Let’s see what other wonders await us.”
    They walked on a cobbled bridge across a moat to a massive wooden door studded with glass bubbles pulsing with changing colors: orange, purple, rose, aqua, gold. Each bubble was encircled by a miniature Christmas wreath. Max pulled a silver chain and a bell pealed.
    When the door opened—
    Max smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. Darling.”
    â€”Annie was relieved to be welcomed by a slender older woman with a perfectly ordinary appearance. Dark red hair drawn sleekly back emphasized a bony face and intelligent eyes. A Christmas tree brooch was the only spot of color against a high-necked navy silk dress.
    â€œI’m Alice Schiller. Please come this way.” She led them down a two-story flagstone hall. Along the wall marched a row of miniature spruce trees decorated with shiny green bows.
    Annie was a little disappointed at the dusky medieval tapestries. Surely an old set of armor or a moose head or flickering candles would have been more appropriate. Their shoes clicked on the stones and far ahead light spilled through an arch and voices murmured.
    Their guide stepped aside for them to enter a long drawing room where Marie Antoinette might have enjoyed cakes and conversation, the plush furniture decorated with carved