Abruptly, Miss Dora pointed her cane at Max. "Proceed."
The silence was abrupt. All of the family members stared at Max and Annie. She realized that in the heat of their quarrels, they'd almost forgotten their presence. And now, not only did they remember there were strangers within the gate, they were shocked and enraged to have Miss Dora invite Max to take part. The Tarrants looked at Max with varying degrees of hostility and outrage.
Milam glared at Max, then turned to his great-aunt. "What business is it of his?"
"My business, dear Milam," Miss Dora said briskly. "I have commissioned Mr. Darling to assist me in my inquiry."
Annie kept her face blank, but she was irritated at not being mentioned. The sexist old hag.
Max didn't waste time. "Mr. Whitney Tarrant, when did you hear the shot?"
Whitney threw back his head like an irritated horse. "Enough is—"
"Whitney, you will cooperate with Mr. Darling. And"—a grudging addition—"Mrs. Darling." Miss Dora lifted her cane, pointing it at each Tarrant in turn. Her black eyes snapped angrily.
Milam said brusquely, "Oh, Christ, Whitney, go along. Or we'll be here all night." He walked to the sideboard, poured himself a tumbler of whisky, and picked up a fresh glass for Julia and filled it. She took it greedily and withdrew to the brocade-covered chair by the fern.
"I was in the garage. I told you that," Whitney said sullenly. "It was just a minute or two after four when I heard the shot."
Max turned to Charlotte. "Mrs. Tarrant?"
Charlotte glanced at Miss Dora. "I was . . . I think I was arranging flowers. Roses, white roses. The ones planted by Great-great-grandmother Tarrant. We were to have a dinner party that night. I remember I'd bought a new frock for it, and, later, I never could bear to wear that frock. I was in the garden shed."
"The time?" Max prodded.
"It was just after four." She spoke precisely, carefully. "You're sure?"
"Why, yes. I looked at my watch." There was growing assurance in her well-bred voice.
"Why?" Annie asked.
Charlotte's chin jerked up. Annie could see outrage in her eyes. Obviously, the chatelaine of Tarrant House wasn't pleased at having to submit to Max's questions, but just who the hell did Annie think she was?
"Why?" Miss Dora repeated sharply.
Charlotte lost her composure. "This is simply unendurable. I will not continue this idiotic charade—"
Miss Dora fastened her steely, implacable gaze on Charlotte.
It was a battle of wills.
The outcome surprised no one.
Charlotte licked her lips. "I don't know why I looked at my watch. But I did. And I can swear it was just after four o'clock."
"Actually, Charlotte's right, for what it's worth." Milam sounded bored. "I heard it, too. A couple of minutes after four."
"Where were you?" Max inquired.
"Upstairs." Milam once again reached out for Julia's empty glass. He returned to the sideboard, generously refilled it, and took it back to his wife. Julia grabbed it and tipped it to her mouth. Her husband's eyes watched her sadly.
"And you, Mrs. Tarrant?" Max asked gently.
Julia Tarrant blinked, then looked toward Max. "That day—" She drank again and there was only a little left in the glass. "I'd been upstairs." Tears spilled down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away. She sat there and wept, silently.
Max looked helplessly at Annie.
"Julia," Annie said tentatively.
Slowly, the older woman turned her head. "You have a soft voice. Like Amanda."
Annie hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Did Amanda hear the shot?"
A cunning smile lifted Julia's lips, yet the tears still slipped down her cheeks. She emptied the glass, looked at it regretfully, and put it on the Queen Anne table. "Trying to trick me!" She waved a finger waggishly. "Can't trick me. I'd just heard the grandfather clock. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. So it was just after four o'clock. So loud. I put my hands over my ears." Waveringly, she lifted her hands and clapped them to her ears. Then she slid them over her face and hid her ravaged eyes. A shudder shook her frail frame. "Awful. Awful. Awful."
"Julia!" Miss Dora's cane thumped the rich old carpet. Julia's hands fell away, her head snapped up, and she stared, eyes wide and vacant, at Miss Dora.
"You heard the shot?" Miss Dora's stare demanded an answer.
Annie found it hard to believe the words meant anything to Julia, so glazed and blank was her face, but, slowly, unhappily, she nodded.
"It's a dead horse—" Milam began angrily.
Miss Dora held up a hand, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. "You all agree then, that the shot occurred at shortly past four that afternoon. Whitney? Charlotte? Milam? Julia?"
Each nodded acquiescence, reluctantly. Whitney massaged his temple as though his head ached. Charlotte clasped her hands together so tightly her rings must have bruised herfingers. Milam stood stiffly by the fireplace. Julia stared morosely into her empty glass.
Miss Dora used her cane as a pointer. "How many shots, Whitney?"
"Why, one. Just one." He looked surprised.
"Charlotte?"
"One, of course." Her tone was pettish.
Miss Dora eyed her thoughtfully. "You would have heard had there been more than one?"
"Certainly." Charlotte obviously felt on safe ground here. "I must have been among those nearest to the study—and I think the study window was open. Why, of course. That's why it was so loud. I was so startled, I dropped the vase. And it broke. I was so upset—and that's why it took me a minute or two to come into the house—not, of course, that I had any idea at the time that something dreadful had happened. As I came into the house, Julia ran past me, her face as white as a sheet." She shot a tiny, vindictive glance toward her sister-in-law.
"One shot, Aunt Dora," Milam interposed gruffly. "Sorry, it wasn't the Wild West that day."