Laughed ’Til He Died (17 page)

Annie kept busy. She made calls, set up a buffet on an elegant Louis XV lacquered commode, and later arranged for Pudge to pick up Rachel and take her home. As she cleared the buffet, gathering up dishes, washing them, she tried not to worry. She had initiated the search for Tim Talbot. What if Neva had lied about the forty-five? What if Tim had that gun? Or perhaps Neva’s lie was in the timing. Perhaps she had taken the gun from Booth’s desk on Friday and Friday night lifted her hand and aimed and shot at the husband who wouldn’t set her free.

Every so often, Annie walked from one caller to another in the terrace room. She paused, looked down, and each time received a head-shake. No one had seen Tim Talbot. Annie occasionally touched the cell phone in the pocket of her linen slacks. It was as if she reached out to Max. If she called, she would hear his voice. She clung to that sense of connection, and the little prayer in her mind ran over and over:
Keep them safe, the men looking for Tim. Let Tim be found and everyone be safe, everyone.
Too much had happened in her life and Max’s to take safety for granted, not now, not ever.

Neva paced in front of the windows. Every time a phone rang, she froze and waited, her eyes enormous in a face blanched by fear. Each time there was no news and she expelled a breath
and began again her nervous, driven circuit, her sandals clicking on the tiled floor.

Abruptly, Neva cried out, “He’s been gone for hours. I can’t bear it. I’m going to look for him.” She whirled and hurried to a French door that opened onto the terrace.

T
HE SANDY ROAD
twisted and turned, deeper and deeper into the forest. Overreaching branches blocked the moonlight. The Jeep’s headlights seemed puny against darkness as impenetrable as a pool of oil. All four windows were down. Max drove the barely moving Jeep with one hand, held a battery-powered megaphone to his lips. “Tim Talbot. You are not wanted by the police. Tim Talbot. You are free to come home. Tim Talbot…”

Every ten minutes he paused to drink some water, and then he began to call again. “Tim Talbot…” The megaphones had a five-hundred-yard range. Max felt confident Tim would hear the summons. Whether he chose to respond was another matter. As time passed, Max received calls from other searchers, indicating they’d driven their routes with no success.

Max reached the end of the road. He shook his head, turned the Jeep, and drove back the way he’d come, the megaphone lying in the seat beside him.

N
EVA STOOD ON
the boardwalk to the beach, a dark form in the creamy moonlight. She stared out at the ocean and the curling white of the breakers.

Annie hurried to catch up, her shoes thumping on the wooden planks. Waves rose and fell, the crashing sound familiar, reassuring.

Neva stood stiff and straight. “He took his sleeping bag.”

Annie knew Neva held on to that fact like a talisman. “He’s probably fast asleep right now. I’m sure he’s perfectly all right. Maybe he feels like he’s having an adventure, sleeping out under the stars.” She looked up at the Milky Way and the Big Dipper, at Mars and Saturn and Venus. Untold millions of stars glittered across the expanse of sky, shining on the unlit beach with dazzling brilliance.

Neva’s pale face turned toward her, the features scarcely visible. “Will they find him?”

“They’ll do their best.”
And, please God, may they all be safe, Max and the men and Tim, too.

Neva gave a ragged laugh. “Do your best. That’s what my mother always said. God knows I tried, but I’ve made so many mistakes. Poor little Tim. I didn’t know everything would end like this. His dad died of cancer. Tim watched him die, getting thinner and sicker day by day. Booth was very kind. He was my boss. Two years after Paul died, Booth told me he and his wife had separated. I’d heard she was involved with someone. I should have been smart enough to see how angry he was with her. Anyway, he kept after me and he was nice to Tim. Booth was so loud and healthy and vigorous. I thought he’d be good for Tim. And good to him. We hadn’t been married six months when I realized the truth. Booth didn’t care about me. He married me to get back at Ellen. Someone at the office told me that word was out that I was a home wrecker. I know who put that word out. Booth. That isn’t the worst thing he did. The worst was trying to make Tim ‘act like a man.’ I hated him then. Tim will be a fine man. He’s a good boy. But he is gentle and reserved and sensitive. Nothing like Booth. The accident was Booth’s fault. Tim can’t run now. Or play baseball. One leg is shorter
than the other. They think they can put in a rod and maybe he’ll be as good as new. But it costs thousands of dollars. The scar on his face needs more surgery. Booth thought that was a waste. He said that a good scar made a man look tough. I wanted a divorce. He refused. Then I met Van. I suppose everyone thinks I’m a slut. I don’t care. When Booth found out, he threatened to get Van fired. Booth said if I left him I’d have no medical insurance for Tim and not enough money to buy it. Do you wonder that I didn’t care when someone shot him? I didn’t know Tim was angry enough to take his rifle to the program. That breaks my heart. I should have known he was desperate. I should have done something, anything, taken him away, but he needs those operations. And now he’s frightened. He’s just a boy. He must think the police will arrest him and blame him for Booth’s death.” She looked out at the water. “Tim? Tim, where are you?” Her voice rose against the immensity of the night and the boom of the surf. “Tim, please come home, please, please, please.”

A
NNIE LIFTED THE
saucepan just as the milk began to steam. She measured and added nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and honey.

Max leaned against the kitchen counter, comfortable in a T-shirt and boxers. He looked tired but calm, a man who had done as he’d promised.

Annie poured his portion into a mug with a zebra-head handle. Her handle was a lioness. They’d brought home a set of six from an African safari. She remembered nights in the bush, the roar of lions, the cackle of hyenas, the odd thwacking sound of hippos, and the rumble of frogs. She had enjoyed the journey, but she had known at all times and in every place that danger was near. She felt very much the same now.

“Don’t you think he would have come out if he was okay?” She cradled the warm mug in her hands.

“Tim’s all right.” Max was irritated. “You’re as bad as Larry Gilbert. He helped me box up the megaphones and he was like a cat on hot bricks, worrying about the Haven and some kind of kid cabal. I told him that was nuts. This wasn’t a matter of disaffected teenagers cooking up some weird murder. Click Silvester wasn’t disaffected from anything. He was a happy, good kid who worked hard and was excited—in a good way—about the Friday night program. Darren was a daredevil, but he didn’t have teenage angst. The only disaffected one is Tim Talbot and he never hung around with the older guys, plus he had a good reason to take a hike when the cops came calling. No, the central murder is Booth’s and that’s where we have to look for the killer. Who hated him enough to be willing to kill a teenager to clear the way and take out a second who tried blackmail? Tim Talbot doesn’t fit into this picture. He’s a side issue.”

Annie persisted. “Why didn’t Tim come out when he heard the calls that it was okay to come home?”

Max shrugged. “This isn’t a kid who’s willing to trust. If there’s no posse with dogs out looking for him tomorrow, I promise he’ll be home by dark. Look at the facts, Annie. He took a backpack and a sleeping bag. He wasn’t going to walk into the ocean. If that was his mind-set, he’d have run away empty-handed. I don’t have any doubt he heard one of the megaphone calls tonight. He decided to wait and see. Tomorrow nobody will be looking for him, and he’ll realize it’s safe to come home. In the meantime, Mrs. Darling,” Max’s eyes lit and he reached out his hand to take hers, “it’s time we slept the sleep of the just. As in, just fell in love, just can’t wait…”

I
n her dream, Annie ran through darkness, trying to catch up with Neva Wagner, whose voice rose above the roar of the surf, “…Please come home…please…” The shrill peal of the telephone brought her gasping to wakefulness. Heart thudding, Annie threw back the sheet.

Max’s groggy voice mumbled, “H’lo.”

Annie fumbled with the switch, turned on the bedside lamp.

Max’s beard-stubbled face furrowed into a tight frown. “I’ll come over…That’s all right. I think you need someone there.” He put down the phone. “Jean. Somebody threw something under her house. The noise woke her up. She’s called the police.”

Annie swung over her edge of the bed.

Max gave her a weary smile. “Go back to bed, honey. I’ll take care of it.” He glanced at the clock.

Annie didn’t need to check the time to know they were still in the dark watches of the night, when mind and body clung
to slumber. Max was not going out into the night alone. There were too many guns loose on the island. Though her decision wasn’t logical, she felt that two together was safer than one alone. She knew his response if she revealed her reason. Instead, she blinked away sleep and said firmly, “This may be a big break. I don’t intend to miss any of the action.”

L
IGHT STREAMED FROM
the cottage windows and blazed from all four corners of the deck. Her hair tangled, Jean looked as if she’d dressed in haste—a red cotton shirt untucked from worn Levis. She was barefoot and wore no makeup. She stood on the steps, pointing.

Lou Pirelli’s uniform was wrinkled, but he looked competent and wide-awake. He held a Maglite trained on the side of the cottage. In common with many low-country structures, the cottage was supported by brick pillars, which lifted the floor a good four feet above the ground, protecting it from hurricane storm surge. The wooden lattice that screened the area beneath the house was pulled ajar.

“…I didn’t leave the screen that way. Someone’s pulled the lattice out. I heard the screech as it moved and then a thump. I got up and came to the front window.” She turned and looked toward the woods. “In the moonlight I saw somebody for an instant before they ran into the woods.”

“Man or woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was just a dark form and then it was gone.”

Lou nodded. “I’ll take a look.” He walked toward the dark opening beneath the cottage. He took his time, swinging the Maglite back and forth in front of him. Annie wondered if he was looking for footprints, tracks of some sort.

Lou reached the opening. He knelt and played the light beam into the darkness. Suddenly he stopped, his posture tense.

Annie started to move forward, but Max caught her hand.

“Wait. There might be footprints. Traces.”

She stopped. Moonlight dappled the cottage. Cicadas burred, their summer song intense. Swamp frogs trilled. It was any summer night, hot, humid, alive with noise and movement, except for the now ominous beam of light poking into darkness beneath the cottage.

Lou remained in a crouch. With infinite patience, he moved the beam of light back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he held the Maglite steady. He stared beneath the house, then clicked off the light. He rose, tucked the light under one arm, unclipped his cell phone, and punched a number. “Chief, sorry to wake you.” Lou glanced at their watching faces, turned away, walked far enough toward the woods that his words were inaudible. In a moment, the call ended and he walked back to them, his face impassive. “Chief Cameron will be here shortly.” Lou spoke to Jean, ignoring Annie and Max. “He will wish to speak with you. Please remain available.”

Jean stared toward the opening under the house. “What’s there?” A current of hysteria bubbled in her voice.

Max was abrupt. “Jean has a right to know what you found. She saw a prowler. What was thrown there?”

Lou looked at them with his cop face, remote, wary, unyielding. “Chief Cameron will handle the investigation.”

Jean took a step toward the opening. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Lou barred her way. “This area is off-limits until our investigation is completed.”

Annie reached out, touched Jean’s rigid arm. A confronta
tion between Lou and Jean would only make matters worse for Jean. “Let’s wait on the porch.”

Jean stood taut for an instant, then nodded toward the house. “I need to check on Giselle.” She started for the back steps, then swung to look at Max and Annie. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. It’s late. Please go home. I’ll call in the morning and let you know what they’ve found.”

Max smiled. “We’ll wait.”

Jean looked shaken. “I’m scared. Booth and Darren shot and Click dead, too. Something terrible is going on. Everything seems to be connected to me. I haven’t done anything. I shouldn’t have called the police.”

Max shook his head. “That was the safest thing to do.”

Jean stared at Lou, standing with a hand on his holster. “Was it? I don’t think it’s going to be safe for me.” She whirled and ran to the porch and up the steps.

Annie stood, arms folded. “Whatever Lou found, it must be big or he wouldn’t have called Billy.”

Jean came out on the porch to check.

Max shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I’ll wait inside. If you want to come in…”

“We’re fine. Billy won’t be long. He lives very near.” Annie tried to sound reassuring, but she saw fear in Jean’s eyes.

Jean stepped back inside.

It wasn’t long until headlights flashed and a police cruiser pulled into the drive, followed by the forensic van. Billy Cameron slammed out of the cruiser and walked to meet Lou at the opening beneath the house. Billy knelt and bent to look. In a moment, he stood, spoke in a low voice with Lou, then turned and walked toward them. The van door opened and Mavis stepped out, carrying an aluminum case. She wore latex gloves.

Billy glanced over the porch. “Where is Ms. Hughes?”

“She’s seeing about her sister.”

At Billy’s nod, Lou walked to the back door, knocked.

They waited in taut silence until Jean came out on the porch. She came down the steps, stared at Billy. “I have a right to know.” Her voice shook. “Someone put something under the house. What did you find?”

Billy’s gaze was sharp, his blue eyes studying her. “We have careful procedures with evidence retrieval so complete information isn’t available. However, the investigating officer observed a pistol, which he believes to be a forty-five, and a cell phone. Ms. Hughes, please describe the incident that prompted you to call 911.”

Jean shuddered. “A gun? That’s awful.”

Billy pulled out a notebook, held a pen. “You say you heard a sound.”

Annie thought his tone sardonic:
You say
…He could have begun by asking Jean what she had heard. Instead, his question implied that her complaint was false.

“I heard a screech. The hinges on the lattice are rusted. I’ve been meaning to oil them. That startled me. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t a night sound. I sat really still and listened. I heard a thump.”

Billy glanced at the cottage. “Where were you?”

She gestured. “In the living room.”

“The time?”

“When I called, it was twenty-six minutes after two. I guess that was a couple of minutes after I heard the noises. I was scared. I jumped up and hurried to the window and looked out. Someone ran into the woods. Then I ran to the phone.”

Billy gauged the distance from the now well-lit opening un
der the cottage to the woods. “About thirty yards. You can’t say whether it was a man or woman?”

“It was a shadow. That’s all I know.”

“Big? Little?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice trembled. “It was just a glimpse. I saw a dark shape and then it was gone.”

He looked toward the open trellis. “Move the screen back and forth, Lou.”

Lou obliged. The screech was scarcely audible above the sounds of the night.

Billy’s questioning gaze returned to Jean. “It’s interesting that you heard the noise.”

Jean was suddenly angry. “I was in the living room. Right there.” She pointed at a window directly above the pulled-out lattice. “I heard a screech and a thump. Why do you act like I’m making everything up?”

Billy’s expression was stolid.

Annie reached out, gripped Max’s hand. Billy didn’t believe Jean. Jean obviously realized the police chief was suspicious, but Annie knew Billy very well. He was going through the motions with his questions. Billy thought the gun and phone had been thrown there by Jean and the 911 call made to create a straw man.

Max started to speak, stopped, his lips compressed.

Billy gave him a quick glance, looked back at Jean. “Can your sister corroborate your story?”

“Corroborate? It isn’t a story. It’s the truth.” Her voice was hard and angry.

Billy was imperturbable. “Your sister is here. Can I speak with her?”

“She’s asleep.” Jean clasped her hands tightly together. “She
was having a bad night. She’s in so much pain. I gave her a painkiller at midnight. She fell asleep shortly afterward.”

“Was the painkiller strong enough to sedate her until morning?”

Jean stared at him. “She hurts so much. She needed the pill.”

“You say she fell asleep soon after
you
,” his emphasis was slight but unmistakable, “gave her a pill that would knock her out for several hours. Then what happened?”

Jean looked puzzled. “I sat down in the living room.”

“Why didn’t you go to bed?”

“I couldn’t relax. So much had happened. I kept thinking about Booth and Click and Darren. Nothing makes sense. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep.”

“Where is your cell phone, Ms. Hughes?”

She frowned. “It’s lost. I’ve looked everywhere for it.”

“When did you
lose
the phone?” His gaze was intent. His tone put the verb within invisible quotation marks.

“Yesterday.” Her voice rose. “I couldn’t find my cell after you searched my office.” She swung toward the opening beneath the cottage. “If that’s my cell phone, somebody put it there. I don’t know why.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “You should be finding these things out. Why don’t you look for the person who did this?”

“We’ll look.” Billy’s voice was grim. “It’s hard to find a shadow, Ms. Hughes.”

M
AX WAITED ON
the ferry dock. The brassy rumble of the
Miss Jolene
’s horn rose above the squall of sea gulls and slap of water against the sea wall. The early-morning breeze, cool off the water, tugged at his polo. The sharp scent of seawater and fresh
air gave him a needed spurt of energy. His fractured sleep had been made even less restful as images and sounds tumbled in his mind, the dark blue metal of a pistol, a black cell phone, Billy’s skeptical questions, Jean’s frightened face, the amplified sound of his own voice, hollow through a megaphone, the wail of a siren. He’d awakened feeling tired and dull. Breakfast and several cups of coffee helped.

The
Miss Jolene
, expertly steered into her berth, thumped against the tires lashed to the harbor wall. Handler Jones was the first person down the gangplank. The breeze stirred his chestnut hair, highlighted by streaks of silver. He was a courtroom warrior, boyishly handsome with confident, bright blue eyes. He moved like a man ready and eager for combat.

Max strode to greet him, hand outstretched. As no one knew better than he, Handler was a premier criminal lawyer, smart, bright, clever. He was as quick with a verbal punch as a prize fighter with a physical blow. He’d fought like a tiger for Max during those hot August days last summer when Max was accused of murder.

Handler wasted no time. “Thanks for sending the information.” He tapped his briefcase. “I’ve got some ideas. If we can alibi her for either of the crimes, that may keep her out of jail.”

“We need every idea you can muster.” Max led the way across the boardwalk to the parking lot. “Last night they found a gun and a cell phone—hers is missing—underneath the cottage.”

A
NNIE BURROWED UP
out of sleep and reached for the phone. Dimly, she realized it had rung and rung. She blinked at the empty side of the bed. Maybe Max was in the shower. She fumbled with the receiver but by the time she clicked the phone on,
the call had ended. The clock radio registered eleven minutes after ten.

“Max?”

When no answer came, she felt the house’s emptiness. She checked Caller ID. No name and not a number she recognized. The house was empty because Max had left early to pick up Handler Jones, who was coming in on the eight o’clock ferry. She amended her thought. Handler had arrived at eight. Max would have driven him to Jean’s cottage, where Handler could speak with her before the nine o’clock meeting at the police station.

Annie swung out of bed, slipped her feet into thongs. She didn’t bother with a robe, but hurried downstairs in her shorty nightgown. As she’d expected, there was a note on the breakfast table. Max had set her place—plate, silverware, juice and water glasses. She picked up the note:

Annie heated her breakfast, propped the note against the Worcestershire sauce. She was torn between amusement and irritation. He’d fixed her favorite breakfast. He had left her asleep
since they’d been up so late. She loved his thoughtfulness. But did the man think she was an idiot? She had no intention of wandering in Gothic-heroine fashion onto the equivalent of a desolate moor. For an instant she had fun picturing a moor with Spanish moss and an alligator. Smiling, she shook her head. Bless Max. He wanted her to be safe. That was always the prayer for those we love.
Be safe. Be safe.