White Elephant Dead by Carolyn G. Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

pink and orange, the ring in his left nostril and the gap between uneven front teeth. But he was smiling. No rock star ever had, for that initial instant, a keener audience. “Mrs. Carson?”
    The thin black woman’s face was so eager, so hopeful that Annie blinked away a sudden tear.
    Mrs. Carson started toward the orderly, an answering smile growing, her golden hoop earrings jangling like Christmas bells.
    As the door closed behind them, the room had a deflated feel, silent as a deserted dance floor.
    Annie paced. How long had it been? It seemed like a long, long time. She checked her watch and for a moment blinked in disbelief. Only ten o’clock? It seemed more like midnight. And where was Emma? Surely she would come. But no one, certainly including Annie, ever had the temerity to tell Emma Clyde what to do. Annie wasn’t certain she especially liked Emma, but she wanted that incisive, coldly analytical mind engaged in the effort to make sense of this night. Had Max been able to find Emma among those milling along the road after the search ended? And where was a police guard for Henny—unconscious, defenseless Henny? Surely the new police chief understood the danger. Henny must have walked toward the van and a waiting murderer.
    Annie scrabbled in her shoulder bag for her cell phone. She stepped outside but stood where she could see that very important door. As she punched in the number of Max’s cell phone, she sent ESP messages: Max, turn on your cell phone. Max, turn on your cell—
    “Hello,” his easy, familiar, cherished voice answered.
    “Max, you’re wonderful! You have your ringer on!”
    He laughed. “I thought I had other qualities more deserving of admiration. And I have to confess, I’m waiting for a call from Billy. Hey, what’s the word on Henny?”
    “No word yet. They made me go out to the waitingroom. She was still unconscious when I left her.” A light breeze rustled the fronds of a clump of palms near the emergency room door. The rain had ended for the moment, but the air had a sultry, steamy, more-to-come heaviness. The plaintive cry of a mourning dove made the moonless night seem darker and sadder. “Max, did you find Emma and ask her to come over here?”
    “Sure. She was sitting in her golf cart, staring at the van.”
    Annie frowned. That had to have been an hour ago. “Did she say okay?”
    “Yes. Isn’t she there yet?” Max sounded surprised.
    “No.” Surely Emma wasn’t missing now. No. Annie would as soon imagine Sherlock Holmes deferring to Watson. “Maybe she changed her mind. I’ll call her.” Annie tossed it off as if a casual act, praying that she could within minutes acquire the smart-ass assurance of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum and the tough confidence of Dana Stabenow’s Kate Shugak. They wouldn’t mind calling Emma. Okay, okay. Annie would do it. But not right this minute. “Max, where are you?”
    “I just got home. I’ve been ferrying volunteer chauffeurs. Ingrid drove Henny’s car and Laurel drove yours.” There was an odd silence. “When I dropped Mother off, she rummaged around in her purse and found a drawing of a chamomile plant. It looked like a bunch of peculiar daisies and it smelled funny. She murmured something about scented and how odd that the soothing drink should be a product of a plant that signals energy in adversity. Then she handed me the drawing, kissed me on both cheeks like De Gaulle presenting a medal and wafted out into the night.”
    Annie might not be a whiz at tea leaves but she was getting the hang of flower messages. “Don’t worry. She’s giving us a psychic push to help save Henny. I’ll call her tomorrow. She might have some good ideas.” Annie heard her own words with surprise, since normally she equated Laurel’s brain waves with unexplained vibrations from outer space.
    For an instant, Max was speechless. Then he said firmly, “You must be hungry. I’ll bring you some dinner….”
    Annie was past