Laughed 'Til He Died

by Carolyn Hart

  Max walked swiftly to his Jeep. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, studying an island map. A single road, twisting and unpaved, led to the nature preserve where Click died.

  Max drove to Barred Owl Lane. He passed a shack that had tumbled in on itself, the broken roof slats bleached by the sun. Along the way, he visited several houses and had no luck. Either no one was home or the resident hadn’t seen Click. A half mile from the preserve he stopped at a neat gray bungalow. Despite the heat, a woman sat in a white wooden rocker on the front porch, shelling green beans in a bowl.

  She looked up with a smile. “Can I help you?” Her island accent was as Southern as the faraway bay of hounds.

  Max smiled in return. “Yes, ma’am. I hope so. I’m trying to find out more about the teenage boy who died in the nature preserve Thursday. It would be a help to investigators to know what time he arrived at the preserve. Did you happen to see a black teenager who was about my height, but chunkier? He was wearing a Braves T-shirt and cutoff jeans and was riding a bicycle.”

  Her face reflected quick distress. “I read all about that boy and I saw his picture in the paper. I didn’t see him Thursday. Of course,” and she hitched the bowl a little closer, “you just happened to catch me when I’m resting a spell. We get up early and by mid-morning I’m starting to tire a little. But I’ll only sit ’til I get these beans done, then I’ll be back in the kitchen. There’s a lot of canning to do this time of year. I don’t want my tomatoes to go to waste. I’m mighty sorry I can’t help. I sit out here morning and afternoon and the only person I saw on the road was in the afternoon around two o’clock.”

  Max was ready to turn and go, but he asked without much hope: “Did you know that person?” Perhaps someone she knew had passed by and might have seen Click in the preserve.

  She lifted her eyebrows in mock horror. “I should say not. The people I know don’t dress like that. ’Course I just caught a glimpse. I was coming out my front door and there went a bicycle. I couldn’t tell whether the rider was a man or woman, though I guess it was a woman. Can you believe someone in a witch’s robe and cone-shaped hat and straggly gray hair on a day as hot as Thursday? I declare, I don’t know why anybody’d be in a getup like that when it’s hot enough to fry an egg on top of my car. Some kind of joke I guess.”

  ANNIE STOPPED IN the women’s locker room to freshen up, but Van Shelton had to be accustomed to talking to sweaty golfers. Maybe he’d think she’d been on the driving range, though she would have worn Bermuda shorts, not linen slacks. She strolled toward the putting green. Van was helping a teenage girl. He was, as always, encouraging and soft-spoken. His hair was sun-bleached, his rounded face ruddy from too many years under a Southern summer sky. Annie waited patiently until the lesson ended.

  As he walked off the green, she smiled and called out, “Van, I’m looking for a little help.”

  His smile was automatic, pleasant, but never too personal. “I’m booked solid this morning.”

  “I’m helping Neva hunt for Tim. He’s still missing.”

  His reserve fell away. “I could shake that kid. I hope he comes home pretty soon. Neva’s real upset. I told her he’s okay. That was a dumb stunt to take his twenty-two to the program. No wonder he got scared when the police came to the house.”

  Annie pretended to share his exasperation. “Kids can do crazy things. Neva and I were talking about Friday night after the lights came back on.” Neva had claimed she was with Van when the gun was fired. If that was true, surely Van wouldn’t have left her in the dark. “She didn’t see Tim. Did you see him?”

  Van shook his head. “I was almost to the parking lot when I heard the shot.”

  Annie managed not to change expression. Neva had lied. She had been alone when the gun was fired. And so had been the man who was furiously angry because she had elected to stay with her overbearing husband.

  Van looked grim. “I knew there was trouble. I turned around and headed back to the field. I waited in the back until the lights came on. Somebody told me Booth had been shot, so I started looking for Neva. I didn’t see Tim until I got to the stage.” His frown was dark. “He wasn’t any help to his mother.” His expression softened. “Of course, he’s just a kid. I guess he was scared, but he should have stayed with her.”

  Annie thought of the twenty-two with Tim’s initials, found in the magnolia behind the stage. Obviously, Tim had climbed the tree. Had he waited for his stepfather to speak? Had he lifted the rifle? She shook her head in confusion. No matter. It wasn’t a twenty-two bullet that killed Booth Wagner.

  MAX HAD BEEN hot on Barred Owl Lane. It seemed hotter in Billy Cameron’s office. Thunks and thuds in the attic indicated work on the air-conditioning. “…Hope you’ll send someone out to get her statement.”

  Billy took a deep gulp of iced tea, wiped sweat from his face. “So a woman sees somebody in an odd costume on the road to the nature preserve. So what? Have you ever counted how many people there are on the island in July in weird clothes? My favorite was the woman in a homemade octopus dress who was protesting aquariums. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Her hair was divided into a bunch of separate braids dyed red, orange, yellow, black, and brown because octopuses can change color in an instant. Who knew?”

  Max wasn’t to be diverted. “Click died in the preserve. Here was somebody spotted at ten minutes after two in what could easily be a disguise. Billy, this may be a link to the killer.”

  Billy’s good humor at the memory of the octopus protester evaporated. He looked obdurate. “I got my link, Max. The forty-five that shot Darren Dubois and very likely killed Booth Wagner.”

  Outside the police station, Max made a sudden decision. It would be good to figure out what time Click arrived at the preserve, but Max thought he had the timing of the murder. Billy could dismiss the bike rider dressed as a witch, but Max remembered the highwayman costume wadded up and thrown in the lake at the Haven. Max was convinced the murderer wore the witch costume Thursday afternoon and dressed as a highwayman Friday evening.

  He started down the steps, paused, figuring days and times. The broken hasp of the costume shed had been noticed Friday morning. The oddly dressed rider was seen on Barred Owl Lane Thursday afternoon. Either the witch costume didn’t come from the shed or the murderer had access to the shed before the break-in. However, more than likely, the shed wasn’t locked during the hours the Haven was open. He almost turned to go back inside, then shook his head. Billy would see the discrepancy as another indication of Jean’s guilt. She had access to the shed, locked or unlocked, at any time. In Billy’s mind, the broken hasp had been another ploy, like the gun and cell phone thrown under the cottage.

  The important thing was to find out where the suspects were at shortly after two o’clock Thursday afternoon. There was another matter Max was determined to explore. Larry Gilbert had insisted all was well between him and Booth and that Booth had repaid Larry the five hundred thousand for the fake stamp. They only had Larry’s word that the exchange had occurred.

  Max wanted proof.

  ANNIE CARRIED A pink limeade from the golf course grill and sipped thirstily as she walked to her car. Should she confront Neva? Maybe the better choice would be to report to Billy.

  She’d left the car windows down, but the interior was oven-hot. Using the edge of her T-shirt, she opened the driver’s door. Reaching over the seat, she snagged a beach towel and draped it to cover the leather. Once behind the wheel, she plucked Kleenex to shield her hands from the hot plastic wheel. She put the air-conditioning on full blast.

  As she drove toward town, she realized Billy wouldn’t be interested. He had his murderer. Lies by Neva didn’t matter now.

  Ellen Wagner had no reason to protect Booth’s second wife. Ellen appeared to be drunk Friday night and claimed she lost the gun from her purse. The gun was found in the lake behind the stage.

  Annie felt a flicker of hope. The gun had been dredged from the bottom of the lake. It had to have been
thrown there. If Ellen threw the thirty-two, she had been sober enough to decide to get rid of the gun and to toss it. Maybe she saw something that would help vindicate Jean. And maybe Meredith would have some idea of places where Tim might be hidden.

  With a decisive nod, Annie headed for Sea Side Inn.

  LARRY GILBERT WAS straightforward. “Look, you know I want to help.” He glanced at his watch. “But I’m scheduled to take some papers over to Mrs. Willoughby’s to sign.”

  It was a reminder to Max that everyday life with all of its demands and commitments claimed the attention of most island residents, despite three murders or, as Billy emphasized, two murders and a suspicious death. “Right. I’ll be quick.”

  Larry gestured toward a comfortable chair in his spacious office. He looked stressed, his bony features taut, though his surroundings spoke of languorous ease: wallpaper with palms against a cream background, a banana tree plant that glistened in the sunlight through unshuttered windows, and a rattan floor mat. Bright cushions in several wicker chairs completed the tropical motif. As Max dropped into a comfortable chair, he thought all he lacked was a rum and coke with a swizzle stick and “Sweet Leilani” playing in the background.

  Larry’s face tightened in aggravation. “If Sybil weren’t such a good client, I’d insist on seeing her tomorrow. But Sybil never met a tomorrow she wasn’t determined to have now. She’s changed her mind a half-dozen times, but she’s finally set on an annuity, and I want her signature on the dotted line before she waffles again. Sorry. You aren’t interested in my problems. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to get a better handle on times Friday. It may turn out to be very important when you saw Meredith Wagner with the money from her dad’s desk.” Max hoped Larry Gilbert was too distracted by his upcoming appointment with Sybil Willoughby to question Max’s logic.

  In fact, Larry scarcely seemed interested in Max’s confident assertion. His focus was clearly elsewhere. “Friday morning.” He spoke as if the time were far in the past. “Oh, I don’t know exactly. Maybe ten o’clock. Maybe a quarter past.”

  Max looked chagrined. “Isn’t there some way we can narrow it down?” He stopped, blinked, hoped he wasn’t overdoing the posture of a man suddenly struck out of nowhere with a thought. “You said Booth arranged for a transfer of funds, taking care of the money you’d paid him for that fake stamp. How about you check your accounts, see what time the transfer was made, then we can work back ten minutes and we’ll know when Meredith was there.” It had been a few years since he’d had a Cary Grant role at the Little Theater. Had he played his part convincingly?

  Larry swiveled his desk chair to his computer. “Yeah.” He sounded interested. “We can do that.”

  Trying to appear eager to learn the time, Max got up and leaned on the desk, the better to see.

  In a few clicks, Larry had the bank statement on his screen. He moved the mouse, and the cursor touched the time of deposit, but Max was looking at the amount. The entry confirmed Larry’s story of what had unfolded in his meeting with Booth Wagner. Deposited in his account at 10:09 A.M. Friday was the sum of five hundred thousand dollars. Though there was no proof the deposit came from Wagner, it was for the precise amount Larry had paid for the counterfeit Inverted Jenny. It was reasonable to assume Larry had told the truth about his rapprochement with Booth and Booth had reimbursed him in exchange for Larry’s vote on the board to terminate Jean.

  Max made a show of working out when Larry saw Meredith.

  Larry nodded. “I’d think it was right around ten. I got there a few minutes early and Booth came about five minutes after ten. As always, he was running behind. Typical Booth.”

  Max was enthusiastic. “Larry, that’s a great help.” He felt a sharp disappointment. Jean was in jail and there she would stay unless they came up with a solid suspect, backed by evidence.

  He frowned as he clattered down the steps of the small brick building on Main Street that housed Larry Gilbert’s insurance agency. Max moved fast but he had nowhere to go, no more ideas.

  He was on the sidewalk when his cell phone rang. He glanced at Caller ID. “Hey, Ma.”

  “Sweetie, you are discouraged.” Her husky voice resonated with care.

  Max grinned. How did mothers always know? Of course, he never underestimated his mother’s intuitive insight. He and his four sisters knew that Bergdorf Goodman would sell plastic ukuleles before he and his sisters would put one over on their mother. “Hot, tired, disgruntled, and discouraged. Make it better, Ma.”

  “Oh my dear, of course I will.” The sweet, throaty response took him back to the years when a kiss on a scraped knee instantly took away the sting, a butterfly-light touch on his cheek said I love you, and flashing blue eyes presaged a tigress mother springing to his defense. If only miracles still…

  “…And we went door-to-door. I met some of the loveliest people. One woman stays home to care for her husband with Alzheimer’s, and she raises hamsters. Don’t you think Annie would like a dear little calico hamster? I told her I’d be back to pick one up. The third time is the charm—you know, the third door, the third floor—Henny and Emma are so proud of me.” A pause. “At least Henny is pleased, though Emma does like to be the one who strikes gold. The lady’s name is Gold, Herwanna Gold in 310. She immediately noticed someone dressed like a witch on a sweltering July day.”

  Max felt a surge of triumph. Laurel had gotten the goods. Billy would be forced to pay attention now. A witch had been seen en route to the nature preserve on Thursday and now a witch had been seen near the apartment house on the other side of the woods from Fish Haul Pier shortly after Darren had been shot on Sunday.

  Emma’s imperious voice sounded in the background. “I’m not waiting. Come along if you wish.”

  Laurel spoke hurriedly. “Emma does take charge.” A trill of laughter. “I’d better go help. We think the costume was probably hidden almost immediately. And I’m feeling lucky today!”

  Max was quick. “Don’t do anything until I get there. I’m—”

  The connection ended.

  Chapter 16

  Annie knocked. She waited a moment, knocked again.

  Slowly, the door opened. Ellen Wagner looked small and shaky and sick. She held to the edge of the door for support. “I don’t think I want to talk to you.”

  Annie spoke gently. “I was hoping to catch Meredith. Her stepbrother ran away last night and he’s still missing.”

  “Actually, Meredith’s gone to help hunt for him. Neva called and of course I wanted Meredith to help.” She started to shut the door.

  “Mrs. Wagner, you’ve had tough times. I think you are very kind. Will you let me tell you about Jean Hughes?”

  “The director of the Haven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meredith likes her very much even though her dad…” She trailed off.

  “I won’t stay long, but please let me tell you what’s happened.”

  Without a word, stumbling a little, Ellen turned and Annie followed. They sat at the small circular table. The blinds were drawn. The room still smelled of whiskey, but today Ellen Wagner, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly together, was sober, painfully, miserably, shakily sober.

  She sat quite still for a moment after Annie finished speaking. Ellen sighed. “Life is funny. When you’re a little kid, at least I guess if you’re a lucky little kid, most days are happy and you never think bad things will happen to you. When you grow up, there are bad things everywhere you look.” She took a deep breath. “Meredith says Jean Hughes is really nice. I’m sorry about her sister.” Her gaze was troubled. “I don’t know who killed Booth. I want justice. For Meredith. For Booth. Maybe,” she looked a little surprised, “maybe even for me. I loved him once. He was the sweetest daddy when Meredith was little. I’ve loved him. And hated him. But I didn’t want him to die like that. If she shot him, she should be in jail.”

  Annie marshaled the same arguments they’d made, to no avail, to
Billy. “…And most of all, she wouldn’t have done anything that would take her away from Giselle. Please help us if you can.” Annie looked at her steadily, not in accusation but with quiet confidence. “You were at the Haven Friday night. Were you sober?”

  Ellen picked up a Coke can, drank thirstily. Her hand shook. Her brown eyes looked haunted. “Kind of sober. Kind of not. Today’s the first day I’ve been really sober in a long time.” Her voice was weary. “I had to talk to Booth. I wouldn’t have shot him. I really wouldn’t have. I don’t know what got into me. I bought the gun in a pawnshop. They’ve probably traced it by now. But that’s all right. Sometimes at night, I’d get the gun out and hold it in my lap and I’d think that all I had to do was lift it up and I wouldn’t be unhappy anymore. I’d be finished. Because I was finished. I lost everything that mattered to me. Do you know how much I missed Meredith?” Her voice was anguished. “Seeing her in the morning, kissing her good night. Instead there was just me and a dirty apartment and not enough food sometimes. I’d get a job, then I’d lose it. Finally I decided to come here. I couldn’t stand being away from her.”

  She raised a trembling hand to press against her temple. “I feel awful. My head hurts. My stomach hurts. I haven’t had a drink since last night. I didn’t have much to drink Friday. I had to be able to talk to Booth.” A sudden look of cunning made her pale face sharp. “I knew things that could get him in trouble with his taxes. I was going to tell him I’d keep quiet if he’d let me have Meredith back.”

  “Why did you take the gun with you Friday night?”

  Her brown eyes flickered. “I don’t know.” Suddenly she gripped the chair arms. “Oh, I’m tired of lying. Maybe I was going to shoot him. I don’t know. I took the gun with me. Just in case. I tried to keep in the shadows. I didn’t want Meredith to see me and make me go back to the inn. When I saw him walk toward the stage, I edged toward the back, that area between the stage and the lake. I stood and watched him. When the lights went out, I thought something was just broken. Then there was the sound of a shot. Even though it was dark, I heard Booth cry out. I knew it was him even before a man came with a flashlight. My hand was in my purse, and I was gripping the gun. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do. I pulled out the gun and threw it into the lake. When the lights came on, I saw Meredith coming toward the stage. I started to go to her and then I realized I didn’t dare. I turned and ran back toward the inn. Somehow I got off the path and I heard people coming, so I hid behind a bush. When I got back to the path, I was turned around. By the time I got to the inn and upstairs, you and Meredith were there. I pretended to be really drunk. I thought I’d better act like I’d lost the gun. Maybe that was dumb.”