White Elephant Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

jammed on her brakes, Max’s crimson Maserati roared to a stop behind her. Annie was grateful for her yellow slicker and billed hat and rubber boots. She was already slogging toward the old black Dodge—why had Henny left on the lights?—when Max caught up with her.
    “Henny!” Annie shouted. The call sounded as forlorn as the cry of a mourning dove.
    They reached the car. Max pointed an oversize flashlightinside. Henny’s cell phone lay in the passenger seat. A crammed-full book bag rested on the floor. Henny never took a step without plenty of books to read.
    Max swung the beam to the back. Empty.
    Annie bent close to him. “Where can she be? There aren’t any houses on this road. It just leads to a little park supported by the Women’s Club. There’s a big lagoon and some picnic tables. The golf course is on the other side of the lagoon.” Not a destination of choice on a rain-drenched night. “Why in the world…” She didn’t complete the sentence. There didn’t seem to be a rational reason why Henny would turn onto this road. Except…
    Annie turned, moved quickly to the front of the car. The headlight beams shone straight ahead. “Look, Max, look!” Annie broke into a run, or the nearest approximation, her boots squishing and sliding on the muddy road. If she hadn’t looked hard, she’d never have seen the dark blue van. Henny had driven into the storm in search of the Women’s Club van.
    Annie swung her flashlight, and yes, there was the insignia on the door: WOMEN’S CLUB, BROWARD’S ROCK, SOUTH CAROLINA . But Annie couldn’t imagine what had led Henny here, to this remote and unfrequented lane. Oh well, of course she could imagine, as could any sophisticated mystery reader: a sighting on the main road, a determined chase, the cornering of the quarry on this deserted road.
    But what then?
    Despite the warm embrace of her slicker and only a vagrant splash of rain on her face, Annie suddenly felt as cold as Roderick Usher approaching Madeline’s tomb. She took a deep breath, tried to stave off a clammy sense of horror. Maybe deep familiarity with detective fiction had its drawbacks. This was no dreary House of Usher, it was simply the club van. And yes, Henny’s car was abandoned, but there were no indications of violence or injury. Annie had a sudden mental picture of the sailing ship, the Mary Celeste , found adrift off the Azores on December 3, 1872, breakfastpartially prepared in the galley, and not a soul aboard and never a hint to the fate of the crew and the captain, his wife and daughter.
    Max pulled open the front door of the van. His light danced across the seats, revealing the disarray of an upended purse on the passenger seat and the gaping car pocket with tangled papers. Tape cassettes and CD cases spangled the floorboard.
    Annie whirled and ran to the back of the van. She reached up, grabbed the handle and pulled.
    The door swung open. The beam of her flashlight skimmed across bulging piles of clothes thrown helter-skelter. A broken wooden chair leaned against the mound of clothing. Wadded brown grocery sacks were stuffed in a corner. A worn wool blanket covered a lumpy form. The flashlight in Annie’s hand wavered as she stared at the exposed sole of a woman’s shoe and at a pale white ankle.

Chapter 2
    “M ax!” Annie’s voice was thin and terrible, piercing the sodden night. She knew there was a body beneath that blanket, an utterly still shell without life.
    Max’s strong arm came around her shoulders. “Hold on.” He swung his flashlight into the van. The beam illuminated the uneven bunching of the thin olive-green blanket, the mud clinging to the black leather shoe, the bare ankle.
    “Annie.” He spoke quietly. “Go to your car. I’ll call—”
    But she was already moving, shrugging free of Max’s touch, thrusting her flashlight at him, clambering into the van, reaching for the blanket. Yes, she knew the protocol for crime scenes, how the evidence would be