by Carolyn Hart
Max turned off the radio. “That’s another queer thing. How did someone shoot him in the dark?”
Annie filled their coffee mugs. She pictured Jean Hughes standing behind the stage. She knew precisely where the cord was plugged into the battery pack. Could she—or anyone—have pulled that plug, then aimed a gun toward Wagner and shot with any faint hope of the bullet hitting him? What if he’d turned to look toward the darkened light stands? Certainly the gunshot, if it missed Wagner, posed serious danger for the audience.
“Did the lights really go out first?” Annie pictured Meredith’s mother, pearl-handled gun in hand, lifting and aiming.
Max was emphatic. “The lights went out first. But somehow—”
The phone rang.
Max reached for the portable phone, glanced at Caller ID. “Hey, Billy.” He listened for a moment. “Yeah. Give us half an hour. We’ll be right there.”
THE OVERHEAD FAN whirred in the anteroom of the police station. Slender, serious Mavis Cameron, Billy’s wife, who also served as dispatcher and assisted in evidence collection, punched a button to unlock the door to the corridor. She waved them through the swinging gate. “He’s in his office.”
Billy’s office windows overlooked the harbor. Five or six fishermen were spaced along Fish Haul Pier with poles and buckets of bait. Floppy hats shaded their faces from the sun. Sailboats scudded in a brisk breeze. White riffs flecked the green water. The whine of a personal watercraft sounded like angry hornets. The eight o’clock ferry pulled away from the dock with three blasts from its horn.
Billy was clean-shaven and his uniform crisp, but circles beneath his eyes told of little sleep. He waved them to the chairs in front of his yellow desk. “Appreciate your coming. Okay, Annie, are you standing by your story that Ellen Wagner, Booth’s ex-wife, was intoxicated and talked about a gun missing from her purse?”
“That’s what she said.”
“For the record, I’d like to tape what happened. Start with your following Meredith Wagner to Sea Side Inn.”
Billy interjected an occasional question as Annie described the unsettling episode.
“Rufus?” He wasn’t amused.
“She called him her new best friend.”
Billy’s heavy face showed disdain. He clicked off the recorder. “Last night Meredith Wagner refused to talk to me. She said her mother was asleep and couldn’t be awakened. I went to the inn this morning. They had a choice. Talk there or come to the station. Ellen Wagner claims not to remember anything about last night. Meredith Wagner says her mother didn’t have a gun, she was just being silly and her mother didn’t feel well.”
Annie shook her head. “Meredith’s protecting her mother.” Her voice was sad. “Are you looking for the gun?”
“An intensive search in the woods started at daylight and we are poking around in the lake. The muck and weeds are too thick to try and drag a net.”
Max leaned forward. “Speaking of guns, Billy, how did somebody shoot him in the dark?”
Billy’s face was unreadable. “That information is confidential. In regard to Meredith Wagner’s interview, she said everybody knows that you and Max were trying to help Jean Hughes keep her job and that her father intended to get Ms. Hughes fired.”
Max’s brows drew down. “So Annie made up a story about a gun to divert interest from Jean? Is that what you think?”
For an instant, Billy-their-old-friend broke out of his police-captain mold. “Nope. Annie keeps her fiction in her store. She heard what she heard. Sure, Meredith Wagner’s lying her head off. However, her mother may not remember anything if she was as soused as Annie indicated. As for the gun, the problem with drunks is they can see everything from big pink rabbits to little pearl-handled pistols. Maybe Ellen Wagner started off from the inn with a gun in her purse, ready to wave it at her ex-husband. Maybe she wished she had a gun and presto she imagined a gun in her purse, even if there wasn’t. Lou Pirelli’s on the phone, calling people who stayed around long enough last night to be listed as present. He’s trying to find out if anyone saw the ex-wife.” Billy picked up a coffee mug, took a drink. “That’s another frustration. Probably half the people got the hell out before we were able to calm them down. Lou’s asking approximately where people sat and whether they knew anyone in the row. We’ll probably have a couple of dozen more names by the time he finishes. But it’s like trying to catch eels. Anyway, I get the picture about Meredith and her mother last night. It’s easy to see the kid is scared, which means the gun may exist. Still,” and his face reflected a man figuring from a base of knowledge, “it took a good shot. Most drunks have trouble walking, much less shooting.”
Max looked at Annie. “Was she that drunk? Was she drunk at all?”
Annie looked thoughtful. “She appeared to have trouble walking when I saw her before the program started.”
“Maybe she was playing drunk, from start to finish.” Max leaned forward. “How does that fit for size, Billy? Stone-cold sober, Ellen Wagner decides to kill him. She acts like she’s intoxicated when she arrives at the program to scope everything out. Then later, how hard is it to slur her words and hunt for her little gun? Think about the spot she’s in. She probably intended to claim she never left her room at the inn after Meredith brought her back. Then she finds Meredith and Annie in the hall. What’s she going to do? Maybe she’s clever. She decides to convince Annie she’s drunk. She underlines her innocence by prattling about Rufus.”
Billy leaned back. “We’re looking at her. We’re looking hard.”
Max gave a wry grin. “Now I’ll be the devil’s advocate. Ellen Wagner may look suspicious, but I don’t see how she could have any connection to Click Silvester. I think it’s strange that Click dies in a presumed accident Thursday afternoon and Booth Wagner gets shot during a program at the Haven Friday night, especially,” and now Max sounded grim, “after Click told one of his Haven buddies how excited he was about the program. Click said he was going to have a secret part.”
Billy looked surprised. “What are you implying? That Click knew somebody was going to shoot Wagner? Hey, everything we’ve turned up says Click was a straight arrow. The tox tests found him clean as a whistle.”
Max frowned. “Why did he fall down those steps?”
Billy shrugged. “Accidents happen.”
“Click wasn’t an outdoor guy. Why was he at the preserve? Who pulled out the pockets of his jeans?” Max flipped up one finger at a time as he made his points. “Why was he super-excited about the program?”
Billy’s smile was tired but genuine. “Kevin was excited, too. Hey, they may be teenagers and mostly try to act cool, but it’s still a big deal to be in a program. There’s nothing weird about a kid being excited.”
“Why did he say his part was secret? I’ll ask Jean. Maybe she’ll know.”
Billy was abruptly somber. “That may be the easiest question she’ll answer all day. Tell me about the mess at the Haven.”
Max’s blue eyes narrowed. He looked thoughtful.
Billy persisted. “Yesterday at Parotti’s, you and Annie had a set-to with Booth Wagner. Tell me about it.”
Annie felt caught in a bubble of tension. She and Max and Billy went back a long way, through good times and bad. Billy’s honesty and determination to do his duty as he saw fit had saved Max from a murder charge. That same honesty now made him the man on the other side of the desk, determined to gain information from them that they were reluctant to provide.
Annie sat on the edge of the chair. “Billy, you know—” And her eyes reminded him of dreadful August days that had looked so black for Max and Annie. “—Things can be made to look bad for people.”
“I understand what you’re saying. You and Max have tried to help Jean Hughes. Obviously, you like her or you wouldn’t bother. That’s fine. But she’s one of the people I’m looking at. She was upset with Wagner. She was there. In fact, she was in a good position to have fired that shot.” Billy tapped his pen on a legal
pad. “So if you spoke to Wagner about her yesterday, I want to know.” He looked at Max.
Max nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware that Wagner wanted her fired.”
“Frank filled me in.”
“However, I’d lined up the votes for the board meeting next week to keep her as director.” Max’s tone was relaxed. “Booth heard about it. He came to tell me that the question was moot, Jean had agreed to resign.”
Billy waited. He looked like a man expecting an explanation.
Max remained silent. His expression was pleasant but unrevealing.
Billy’s eyes glinted. “What happened then?”
“Annie and I went out to the Haven. We spoke with Jean. She confirmed Booth’s statement.”
Billy gave a huff of impatience. “Come on, Max. One day she’s fighting to keep her job. The next, she gives up, agrees to resign. There has to be a reason for her about-face.”
Max shook his head. “It would be better if you asked Jean directly.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask her. Right now I’m asking you what caused her change in plans.”
“Her sister is ill. I believe she decided to take time off to be with her.”
Annie knew he had picked his words carefully. As Henny Brawley had once told her, “There are many ways to tell the truth.” Max was telling the truth, but nothing in his manner hinted at the anger and confusion and despair attendant upon that calm statement. They had told Billy the truth but not all of the truth. Only she and Max had heard Jean’s despairing cry in the dim tunnel in the woods, “I’d kill to keep her on that porch.”
Billy was insistent. “Why did you and Annie get mad?”
Max raised an eyebrow.
Billy made an impatient gesture. “One of my officers was eating lunch, told me you looked like you wanted to break a chair over Wagner.”
“I didn’t want to see Jean leave the Haven. She’s done a good job.”
“Why did Booth want her fired?”
Max shrugged. “I wasn’t in Booth Wagner’s confidence.”
“You must have some ideas. You must have seen his actions as unjustified.” Billy’s gaze was intent. “Otherwise, why were you helping her?”
Max smiled. “That’s easy, Billy. I was helping her because I thought keeping her at the Haven was best for the kids. I’d lined up support on the board. I hoped she’d reconsider her decision to resign. That’s the extent of my involvement.”
A tiny smile tugged at Billy’s lips. “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”
The two old friends looked at each other in complete understanding.
Billy glanced down at a file. He no longer smiled. “Jean Hughes was there. In fact, she was very close to where the shooter stood. She had opportunity. She appears to have a motive. I’ll be talking to her.”
SUNBURNED VACATIONERS MILLED around the marina. Annie avoided a couple on a tandem bike and hurried to the boardwalk. The harbor wasn’t quite as full as usual in July, evidence that the economic downturn had affected the rich as well as everyone else. Still there were yachts of prodigious size, sailboats, motors boats, and cruisers moored at slips.
Annie’s practiced eye judged the boardwalk to be nicely filled with tourists and, of course, a goodly number would find their way to Death on Demand. Inside, she paused for her customary spurt of joy, the smell of books, the moth-eaten raven above the beaded entrance to the children’s section, the bright covers on the New table, and Agatha preening on the cash desk before an admiring customer.
Ingrid, thin, brisk, and efficient, was hard at work, giving Annie a swift nod as she led two middle-aged ladies down the center aisle. “All of the Patricia Wentworth Miss Silver mysteries have been reprinted by Hodder & Stoughton in England and we import them.” Ingrid gestured to Annie to take over at the cash desk.
Annie checked out two customers, each with a hefty stack of books. There were the usual suspects, Alexander McCall Smith, Janet Evanovich, John Grisham, Mary Higgins Clark, Robert Crais, C. J. Box, Diane Mott Davidson, James Lee Burke, and Laura Lippman, but there were also fresh names, wonderful writers all, Mary Saums, Dorothy Howell, David Fuller, Charles Finch, Megan Abbott, Christopher Fowler, Patricia Briggs, Deanna Raybourn, and Donis Casey.
Annie bagged the books, handed the customers their receipts. “A good day to read on the beach.”
As they left, she wished she could go to the beach with her new Margaret Maron title, a sun hat, and a cooler with chilled shrimp and cold, very cold, Heineken. Maybe this evening, she and Max would take their sand chairs and set them up in a tidal pool. She loved the little pools left between sand ridges as the tide flowed out. She was ready to immerse herself in a tale where she knew justice would prevail. In the midst of this cheerful daydream, she became aware of the clunk of purposeful steps coming from the coffee bar. She looked up.
Emma Clyde, her pink caftan swirling about her, gestured imperiously. The island’s famous mystery author was always commanding. Today her sapphire-blue eyes held an impatient glint. Lines denoting intelligence seasoned with a touch of belligerence seamed her square face.
Emma stopped in front of the cash desk, clapped her stubby hands on the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Emma turned and marched toward the coffee bar, obviously assuming Annie would follow.
Of course, she did.
Rebuffing Emma was a pleasure to be enjoyed only in her dreams. However, she was somewhat surprised to find her mother-in-law and Henny comfortably settled at a large table.
Annie couldn’t help inquiring: “What are you doing?”
Emma pontificated, “As Marigold observes, ‘Even with the best will in the world, the authorities lack intuitive gifts.’”
Annie restrained herself from noting aloud that Marigold Rembrandt wasn’t real. She was the figment of her author’s imagination. Quoting her, therefore, was not persuasive.
Emma gave a benign smile. “I am between books.”
Annie translated: focusing on Booth Wagner’s murder was much easier than plotting a new book.
Annie looked at Henny. Her old friend and the island’s greatest mystery enthusiast also prided herself on her deductive powers but she was thoroughly grounded in reality.
Henny exuded determination. “We may be able to discover information that will be helpful. Sometimes people won’t talk to the police. I want to be sure the kids are safe at the Haven. I asked Billy if an officer could keep an eye on things. He said Officer Harrison will be on duty during the hours the Haven is open.”
Laurel’s husky voice was firm. “Giselle Hughes should be able to die in peace.”
Annie blew a kiss to her mother-in-law.
Laurel’s blue eyes glowed with affection and appreciation.
Emma, never one for sentiment, cleared her throat. “Enough of this lollygagging around. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 7
Only a few cars were parked in the Haven lot. Two police cruisers claimed shady spots near some pines. Max edged the Jeep into the dimness below a towering live oak. He punched down the windows before he turned off the ignition, leaving the keys in place. He didn’t worry about his car being stolen. Since the Jeep didn’t come with water wings, a thief’s only escape from the island was via the ferry. The Jeep would be hot when Max returned, but minus the furnace effect of closed windows. A gentle breeze rattled palmetto fronds. Moist July heat enveloped him. Cicadas thrummed. Crows cawed.
He wanted to know more about Click Silvester and his excitement over last night’s program. Why would his part be secret? Of course, Billy had a point. Many of the kids who came to the Haven had little chance to publicly shine. Maybe Click’s eagerness for the program was that innocent. Still, Max had a gut conviction that Click Silvester had been murdered. Everyone knew Booth Wagner had been murdered. Sure, coincidences occurred. Once Max had run into one of Laurel’s ex-husbands (a Brazilian) in the British Museum. But two deaths in two days with a common link
to the Haven rubbed him wrong.
He swung out of the Jeep and moved fast. Jean Hughes could have the information he needed. As he came around a sweet-smelling pittosporum hedge, he saw her across the open ground, standing near the stage. She could be looking at the stage or at the lake, the murky green water shimmering in the sunlight. Or she could be watching the searchers wading in the muck near shore. Standing beside Jean was Marian Kenyon from the Gazette. A few feet away, Darren Dubois watched every move of the officers.
Max strode toward the lake and the onlookers. If Billy discovered Booth’s threat to dispossess Jean and her dying sister of the cottage, Jean Hughes would surely become the chief suspect. And reasonably so.
Why then did Max feel strongly that she was innocent?
Because the murder had been well planned: a weapon brought, sudden darkness without warning, the unexpected shot.
He felt a tiny spurt of wry amusement. Jean’s main failing as a director was her slapdash approach to records and lack of administrative skills. Nobody doubted her empathy for kids and ability to encourage them.
His amusement was succeeded by cool reasoning. Booth Wagner’s murder at the Haven made the recreation center the focus of the investigation. Jean Hughes might be disorganized, but she was nobody’s fool. If she had planned to murder Wagner, she would have taken great care to commit the crime somewhere other than the Haven.
In response, Billy could point out that she didn’t know until Friday that Booth had the power to force her and her sister out of the cottage with only a week’s notice. If she didn’t announce her resignation at the program, Wagner would evict them. That left very little time to plan a murder.