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

swimming pool. When had they ever dropped by the station to visit? Now McElroy was acting like he was the only cop in the room. Saulter’s ulcer burned like melting tar in August. It hadn’t helped when he got the call on that vet, though the way she drove her car, he’d always expected to find her dead someday anyway. But not with her head bashed in. By God, he could handle it. And he didn’t appreciate any off-island cops—or former cops—telling him how to run things.
    Saulter pursed his mouth into a miserly line. “It’s pretty clear what happened.”
    They’d all been standing on one foot then another for almost an hour. This pronouncement got everyone’s attention.
    “One of you people killed him.”
    Emma Clyde drew herself up and managed to lookimposing, despite her five-foot-three stature and the flowing, outrageously colored caftan.
    “My dear man, that is an unwarranted assumption.”
    “You people were sitting in this room. Eleven of you. The lights go out, and somebody tosses a dart. So who else could have done it?”
    Annie stepped forward. “When I went to check the circuit box, the back door was open.” All eyes scrutinized her, some avidly, others skeptically. “Someone must have come in that way because no one left the tables, so none of us could have turned off the lights.”
    “How do you know nobody left the tables?” Saulter demanded. “You left—and nobody saw you, did they?”
    “I went to see about the breakers.”
    “So
you
moved,” Saulter said icily.
    Max stepped closer. “Somebody else could have moved, too.”
    Saulter took one look at Max and decided to ignore him. He concentrated on Annie. “You went to put the lights on. How did you know you could do it by flipping the breakers?”
    “I didn’t know it,” Annie said reasonably.
    Saulter’s eyes were accusing.
    She straightened and met his gaze directly. “I knew that was the first thing to try. I figured there’d been a power failure, so I was going to get the flashlight. But it was gone.”
    “Where did you keep the flashlight?”
    “On a nail in the storeroom.”
    “So when the lights went out, you were the only person here who knew where the circuit box was and where to find a flashlight. Right?”
    “I suppose so—”
    Capt. Mac interjected, “I found the flashlight, Chief. It was on the floor by the storeroom table.”
    The back of Saulter’s neck reddened. “Did you touch it?” he snapped.
    “Of course not.”
    Saulter didn’t pursue it. Instead, he swung again at Annie. “Pretty convenient that the flashlight was in the wrong place. It had to be if you were to have some extra time—”
    Max interrupted sharply, “That’s an unwarranted assumption, Chief. If the murderer rigged the lights to go out, he could easily have moved the flashlight, and anybodyhere could have gone back to the storeroom earlier in the evening when everyone was talking and milling around here.”
    “But what made the lights go off?” Saulter’s narrowed eyes were still on Annie.
    For Pete’s sake, did he think she had a device rigged to cause the blackout?
    “Let’s go look …” Max began, but Saulter and Capt. Mac waved him back and moved toward the circuit box.
    Everyone waited tensely, leaning toward the storeroom in order to unabashedly eavesdrop.
    “Look, Chief, there’s thread tied to the breakers,” they heard Capt. Mac say.
    “Don’t touch it,” Saulter growled.
    “Wouldn’t matter. You can’t lift prints from a surface that narrow. At least you can print the box. Somebody tied that thread to the breakers.”
    “I don’t need you to tell me what to fingerprint.” Saulter’s voice bristled.
    The two men moved back into the coffee area, eyes scanning the floor. “Probably ran the thread in here somewhere and left it on the floor,” Capt. Mac theorized. “To cut the lights, the murderer gave a yank. That pulled the breakers, and it was absolutely dark.”
    Saulter looked skeptical.