Laughed ’Til He Died (5 page)

She didn’t look up, obviously knowing the path well, and walked without noticing or caring into the dim tunnel made narrow by encroaching fronds and vines and ferns.

“Jean.” Max’s voice was gentle.

With a quick-drawn breath, Jean’s head jerked up. She stopped and stared with eyes reddened from weeping. Her face reflected a misery that made the dusky tunnel seem darker, the heat heavier, the whirring of the insects ominous.

Annie held out a hand, wishing she could ease the pain that tormented the director. Knowing that was impossible, she offered a hand to hold, a human touch that said: I’m sorry, I care, I wish it could be different.

Jean’s lips trembled. Slowly, she reached for Annie’s hand, clung.

Annie hadn’t known what she was going to say and then she spoke from her heart. “My mother died of cancer.”

“Giselle,” Jean’s throat worked, “has a month or so at most. That’s what the doctor said. Maybe less.”

Max was gentle. “Is that the call that upset you?”

Jean blinked as if awakening. She seemed to become aware of her hand clinging to Annie’s and loosed her grip, stepping back a pace. “Oh.” Her gaze focused on Max. “I guess you talked to Rosalind. No. I’ve known about Giselle for a while.” Her voice was dull. “Booth called me.” She folded her arms across her front. “I asked you to help me, but there isn’t any help. I’m sorry I put you to the trouble. I should have known nothing could be done.”

“There’s lots to be done. Max did it.” Annie stepped forward. Everything in life was attitude. Jean had to shake free of defeat. “Max has the votes to save your job. You can fight Booth. You’ve got friends.”

Jean didn’t even bother to shake her head. Her face told the story. She was done, through, finished. “I’m sorry I involved you. I’ve put you and so many people to trouble. I didn’t mean
to do that. I’ll resign tonight.” Her voice was thin and flat, as if every word took extreme effort.

Annie started to speak, but stopped at Max’s quick head-shake.

Max’s face was thoughtful. “What has he threatened?”

A monarch butterfly fluttered near the tiny bright orange flowers of a butterfly weed. The movement caught Jean’s eye. “Everybody loves monarchs. Giselle knows the butterflies by name and which plants they like. She can see butterflies from the porch. You see,” and her tone was confiding, “the porch is her favorite place. She’s cold all the time. Even now when it’s so hot. She sits in a chair wrapped in one of Mama’s quilts and looks out at the marsh. She says the marsh changes all day, every minute there is something new to see and everything is alive. The porch means everything to her. That’s why I have to do what Booth wants.”

Max’s face folded in an angry frown. “What does Booth have to do with Giselle on the porch?”

“Oh, everything.” She gave a ragged laugh. “I was dumb. You know I always thought I was savvy when we lived in the city. I knew when some guy was hitting on me and was bad news, the worst kind of news. Nobody could scam me. Then Booth came. He was rich and polite. When he told me about the Haven, I pooh-poohed it at first. I said nobody would hire somebody like me and he told me the board wanted somebody who’d come up the hard way like I had and could understand kids who didn’t come from ritzy homes. Sure. I understood that. He persuaded me I had a chance. He said all he could do was offer my résumé and maybe it wouldn’t pan out. See, I thought that meant it was legit. I was just one of a bunch of applicants so I didn’t even really hope. And then it seemed like such a miracle
when he came and told me I was hired. Oh, it doesn’t matter now, all the lies he told. But the worst lie was the cottage.”

Annie gestured toward the clearing. “What does Booth have to do with the cottage?”

Jean rocked back on her heels. For an instant, hatred burned in her eyes. “He told me the cottage came with the job, no rent or anything. When I came to the island, he had me sign a bunch of papers. He said they didn’t amount to anything, I didn’t need to read them, just stuff like I promised to stay a year and I agreed not to accept any gifts or extra money from anyone—he said that was to protect the Haven from people trying to get kick-backs—and then there was one for the cottage and he said I was agreeing to leave it in good condition.”

She watched the monarch, spoke in a monotone. “Booth owns the cottage, not the Haven. The paper I signed was an agreement to move out on demand. With one week’s notice. Today he gave me one week’s notice. But he said if I resigned, I could stay in the cottage for three months. That’s time enough.” She swiped at her eyes to wipe away tears. “Oh God knows, that’s time enough.”

“You don’t have to stay in the cottage. Maybe he’ll get the cottage, but Max has the votes to keep your job for you.” Annie was furious. “We’ll help you move.” Annie’s eyes glinted. “It won’t cost you a penny. We’ll get our friends to help. We’ll line up a convoy of pickups and—”

Jean was shaking her head. “I can’t move Giselle. We don’t have anywhere to go. Even if we did, I won’t move her. That kind of excitement would kill her. Oh, I know,” there was a sob in her throat, “she’s dying. But I don’t want to steal a day or an hour or a minute away from her. She loves the porch. In Atlanta, we lived in a little cramped dark apartment and there was no
way for her to be outside unless I took her in a wheelchair. Now she sits on the porch and listens to her music and watches the marsh. The music lifts her up and she forgets that she’s dying or maybe the song gives her peace and she knows she can cross the street when the time comes. I’d kill to keep her on that porch.”

A
NNIE PUSHED THE
button to start the dishwasher. Their early dinner had been solemn. Usually they laughed and talked, each interrupting the other, glad to be together, eager to share, often dissolving in laughter, sometimes sparring but always with good humor. True, they were polar opposites in some ways. Annie’s Puritan ethic valued work. Max extolled the ideal of the Renaissance man. He was much more interested in dabbling here and there than tethering himself to a task. Beneath his frivolity, however, was a man who always kept his word.

Annie hung up her apron. Usually she looked forward to their evenings, a stroll on the beach, dancing at the club, working on an intricate picture puzzle. Max was so much better than she at turning a piece upside down and slotting it into sky or ocean. Sometimes Dorothy L., determined to engage Max’s attention, snagged a necessary piece and refused to part with it unless offered a kitty treat.

Annie bent down, petted the fluffy white cat. “Later, sweetie. We have to go out.” Annie felt dull with dread. They had to go to the Haven and pretend everything was all right and help Jean maintain her dignity.

Annie stepped out onto the back porch. In the spring and early summer the garden was glorious with banks of azaleas, red and pink and cream. Now bougainvillea and hibiscus bloomed. Calla lilies were majestic at the pond. She and Max loved sitting
in their wooden rockers and watching their own small pocket of heaven.

This evening, as the sun hovered just above tall pines, he stood at the porch railing.

She came near. “There’s nothing we can do, is there?”

“No.” There was grim acceptance in his voice. “Staying in the cottage matters more to her than the job. Or anything else. All we can do is be there for her. After…” His voice trailed away. He took a breath. “We’ll help her find a new job, a new place to live. One thing I can do is raise some money for a bonus. She’s proud. She wouldn’t accept money from us, but if a group contributes and we make it clear that the bonus is in recognition of her work at the Haven, I think we can persuade her.”

Annie nodded. “Henny will help.”

Max slipped an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “We’ll ask Henny to be in charge. It will definitely be a group effort and how much any one person contributes will be confidential.”

Annie knew Max would contribute the most, but he understood pride and independence.

Annie felt a curl of sadness. Had Jean told her sister that she’d lost her job? Maybe Jean would say she was taking a vacation after this evening’s program. Had Jean forced a smile, promised Giselle she would tell her everything when she returned, that the program was going to be wonderful? Was Jean walking on the darkening path toward an evening that should have been joyful and now promised nothing but humiliation and defeat?

Annie faced Max. “I hate what’s happening to her. I wish we could do something to make tonight easier for her.”

“All we can do is go.” Max nodded toward the Jeep. “And now it’s time.”

A
lthough darkness had yet to fall, most of the Haven grounds lay in the deep shadow of huge pines as the sun slipped westward. An old concrete pad sat where the woods curved close to the lake. The pad now served as a stage for outdoor programs. “Stage” was a generous description. The concrete rectangle was all that remained of some long-ago storage building. Between the back of the stage and the woods stood several six-foot light stands. Suddenly bright light flared. Rosalind Parker darted from behind the soft box headlights and clapped her hands in excitement. “They’re working!” The illumination of the stage was uneven. Rosalind bustled to the back of the stage and stepped down. She knelt to pull a plug from a cable.

Max looked relieved. “It’s always touch-and-go with the lights. But I like having the summer program outside even though we have to borrow a portable lighting system. The little
theater group loans the lights to us. When the new gym is finished, the programs will be inside.”

The Haven summer program had drawn a good crowd. Annie guessed there must be about seventy-five people milling around, viewing artwork, corralling excited kids, drinking Kool-Aid. Conversation was animated. Some voices spoke in the old and beautiful low-country cadence. A goodly number of other accents could be heard. Yankee twangs, Midwestern flatness, and Western drawls were common on a sea island that offered year-round sun and warmth. Forty-degree days in January beat sub-zero in Minnesota.

Jean moved from cluster to cluster, greeting, welcoming, gesturing toward various venues. At one point, Jean paused to smile at a young mother who held a squirming toddler on one hip. They stood near the steps to the old school building, clearly revealed in a bright, sharp overhead light. Jean was attractive in a pale-lime cotton knit dress and white sandals. She managed to smile though her eyes were somber. There was an aura of exhaustion about her. Thankfully, the lighting on the grounds was sparse enough that she was spared close scrutiny.

A teenage boy sidled up to Max and asked shyly if he’d like to come and see the posters that Rosalind had asked them to make for Jean.

“Go ahead,” Annie encouraged. “I’m going to look for Henny before the program starts.” As she strolled toward the refreshment table, Annie wondered if others were aware of a dark current beneath the surface excitement. It seemed that wherever she glanced, there were sharp reminders of the drama unfolding beneath the cheer.

First and foremost, the arrival of Booth Wagner set her teeth on edge. He walked in with a tall woman at his side and two
teenagers lagging a bit behind. Annie knew his wife casually and she recognized the teenage girl as a customer who bought mostly used paperbacks. She’d never seen the boy and noticed he moved with a decided limp. Booth beamed. His wife’s face was composed but not enthusiastic. The teenage girl looked tense and the boy bored. Booth had a peacock strut and clearly expected homage similar to the adulation heaped on politicians. He immediately plunged into the crowd, leaving his family behind. It was easy to follow his progress because of his height and flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, this one purple and green and orange. Booth exuded charm as he moved from group to group, shaking hands, his loud voice easily heard. Booth’s boisterous laughter rose above the exuberant din of conversations and shouting kids. At one point he huddled with Larry Gilbert, clapping an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders. Larry gestured toward the tennis court, almost invisible in the growing gloom. Annie felt a spurt of irritation. So what difference did a ragged net make? But the sagging net was the least of Jean’s worries now.

Booth’s wife and the teenagers drifted toward the periphery. Annie glanced at the back page of the program. Bright red type thanked the board of directors. Each received an introductory paragraph with a photograph. She read the tributes to Henny Brawley and Frank Saulter, whom she knew well. The paragraphs were modest and unassuming and likely had been submitted in a response to a request for material. Henny was pictured standing on the porch of her house overlooking the marsh. Frank was surrounded by kids clutching fishing rods at the end of the pier.

Larry Gilbert’s paragraph was more formal and clearly written by a businessman looking for a spot of free publicity. He was
grinning in an informal shot at a pancake supper, a white chef’s hat on his dark hair.

She read Booth’s contribution:

Booth had provided a family picture. His bulk emphasized the slender athleticism of his wife. She looked cool and self-possessed. Meredith had curly dark hair, a heart-shaped face, and a shy smile. Slightly built Tim stood with arms folded, face half-turned from the camera. His brown hair was fairly long.

Annie raised an eyebrow. Family values? Was that why Booth had convinced an admittedly too credulous Jean he was in love with her and separated from his wife?

Annie folded the program, put it in the pocket of her white slacks, and scanned the crowd for Henny.

Once again a member of Booth’s family caught her eye. This time she was struck by the furtive slide of Booth’s stepson away from the lit area. Mack the Knife couldn’t have moved with a more effective slither despite the teenager’s pronounced limp. Neither Tim Talbot’s mother nor stepsister appeared to notice or care as he disappeared into the gloom of the forest. Annie shrugged away a feeling of concern. He was certainly safe enough. A stray bobcat could pose danger in night woods
but any bobcat with sense would be as far from light and noise as possible. If Booth’s stepson wanted to hunker in the woods instead of attending a party, it was not any of Annie’s business. In fact, knowing what she knew would soon unfold, she wished she could flee into the darkness.

As she shrugged and turned away, she spotted Henny near the Kool-Aid stand. Annie joined her and they hugged.

Henny, as always, looked elegant. Tonight she was crisp in a scoop-neck lemon shell and beige linen skirt. Silvered dark hair framed her intelligent face. Her brown eyes lively and interested, she pointed toward the dock. “Frank’s putting on a casting clinic for kids. Have you been out to see? They’ve caught four catfish and thrown them back.”

Annie turned to look. Her face lit up and she waved at her father and stepsister Rachel, her stepmother Sylvia, and her stepbrother Cole. When Annie turned back, Henny was deep in determinedly civil conversation with Mayor Cosgrove, who was not a favorite of either Annie, Max, or Henny. Henny’s eyes glinted. “I’m sure the city council will approve the resolution since…”

Intent on avoiding contact with combativeness, Annie slid away and joined another circle. She sipped Kool-Aid, listened absently as Emma Clyde expounded on the state of digital publishing, and studied Neva Wagner, who stood alone near a honeysuckle-covered bower. Annie had met her casually at several country club dances since the Wagners came to the island. Neva was tall, almost as tall as Booth, but trim. A golfer, she was tan and fit. Her half-smile was automatic, but her dark eyes were somber. Suddenly, her face looked anguished, her features drooping in despair. One moment she was a stylishly attractive woman at a social gathering, composed and commanding. The
next, heartbreak stripped away the social veneer, revealing misery and hopelessness.

As suddenly, Neva’s face stiffened and she turned and plunged into the darkness of an arbor. She disappeared into the gloom. A moment later, Van Shelton, the recently divorced golf pro, ducked into the arbor, too. Van’s sunburned face was tight in a dark scowl.

Annie was shaken by that glimpse of raw emotion. Booth Wagner’s laughter boomed across the field. Annie wondered if he would be amused to know his wife and another man, both obviously upset, had slipped away from the crowd.

Annie looked to see if anyone else had noticed the twin disappearances. A few feet away Meredith stared at the arbor. Annie was dismayed to see such a cynical look on such a young face.

Suddenly, a girl ran up to Meredith, took her hand. The girl spoke quickly and pointed toward the lake.

Meredith’s heart-shaped face was abruptly tense and worried. She nodded, then whirled and ran to the dock and looked anxiously about. In a moment, she started forward, her hands outstretched, her expression fearful, yet beneath the uncertainty and distress, there was an aura of tenderness as she came up to a petite, dark-haired woman with a lost look. Meredith gently took the woman’s elbow.

Annie watched their erratic progress toward another stand of pines that separated the Haven from Sea Side Inn. Either the woman, who appeared to be in her forties, was ill or she had been drinking. Meredith protectively steered her charge around chattering groups. Occasionally, the woman seemed to resist. Meredith bent near and talked for a moment. Finally, they moved slowly to the path to Sea Side Inn.

Annie wondered if she would ever know the end of that
story, for surely there was a story there to know. She hoped there would be a happy ending. She liked her young customer, who once shyly asked her for mysteries set in interesting places. Annie had judged her to be about fifteen and had led her directly to the shelf with some newly reissued novels by Mary Stewart, who wrote breathtaking suspense in exotic locales.

Annie waved at Ingrid and her husband Duane, spoke with several old friends, declined the offer of a kitten from a good customer. Agatha owned the store, and fluffy white Dorothy L. reigned supreme at home. About fifteen minutes later she saw Booth’s daughter, returning from the inn path. The girl looked around and seemed relieved that her father was occupied with a circle of friends. Annie wondered who the dark-haired woman was and whether she was staying at the inn. Meredith strolled past the stage and slipped into the shadows on the far side. The better not to be noticed by her family?

Annie found a trash basket, tossed aside her Kool-Aid cup, and looked for Max. Soon—too soon for her taste—the formal program would begin. Had Booth arranged for Jean to make her announcement first or last? First came the swift thought. Annie never doubted Booth intended to make the night as long and difficult as possible for Jean.

A high chime sounded. “Players at the ready.” Jean’s voice rose above the noise of the crowded area. She held the triangle chime and beater. The glow from the light stands threw her shadow in front of her. She lifted her arm and again struck the triangle that had summoned Click’s friends to the lake that morning. The tinkling sound rose sweetly above the crowd, which began to shift and move toward the rows of seats. The front rows were already full, no doubt taken by families of kids performing.

Max walked toward Annie. Though there was underlying gravity in his dark blue eyes, he smiled, and the smile said, “Good, I’ve found you, I love you, you’re mine, come with me.”

She took his hand, and they walked midway to the stage. The woods behind the light stands were now dark. Only the stage was brightly illuminated. The rows of seats were in darkness. Behind the audience, lights glowed from the front porch and windows of the main building. In between, the gloom of twilight obscured the surroundings, affording a dramatic venue for the performance.

“If everyone will please find a place. We’ve plenty of seats but if we need more, the older boys will get chairs…”

There was a flurry of movement and some of the bigger boys hurriedly set up several more rows.

Henny Brawley and Frank Saulter, along with Frank’s grandson, who was visiting for the summer, slid into their row.

With a rattling drum roll, a procession marched down the center aisle, led by a teenage drummer, who wielded mean sticks. His drum work was precise and accomplished. A string of small children followed him. They banged erratically on drums of all sizes. When the procession reached the stage, the children climbed and stood in a row behind Jean. The teenager lifted his sticks and gave a final tattoo.

The audience cheered.

Jean’s smile was tremulous. “Thank you, Curt. As most of you know, Curt is the drum major at Broward’s Rock high school. He is volunteering at the Haven this summer and teaching a drum class. Our drummers will now welcome Booth Wagner, who would like to share with Haven families his vision of the future and formally bestow his gift of a gym which will provide recreation for all of our kids and also serve as a meeting place for
the community.” She turned and stepped away from the stage and was lost in the darkness behind the light stands.

Booth strode down the center aisle, calling out greetings, bigger than life, glorying in the attention.

Annie was disdainful. “Any normal person would have been waiting at the edge of the stage and stepped up to speak. Not Booth.”

Max nodded in agreement.

The lights centered on Booth Wagner, blond hair gleaming, ruddy face flushed, Hawaiian shirt over-large. He faced the audience. “Welcome to the Haven’s summer show.”

The lights went out.

Someone tittered. A voice shouted, “Stage tech emergency.”

A crack. A strangled shout. A thumping sound.

The darkness wasn’t absolute, though there was as yet no moonlight. Annie blinked as her eyes adjusted from the bright light on the stage to the indeterminate darkness.

A woman screamed. Shouts rose. “Somebody’s shooting…get those lights on…what’s happened?”

Billy Cameron’s deep, powerful voice overrode the cries and shouts. “Police. This is Chief Cameron. Stay put. Do not move. We will restore the lighting as soon as possible. Does anyone have a flashlight?”

“There are some in the office.” Jean Hughes’s voice shook. “I’ll run and get them.”

A tiny beam of light flicked on next to Max. “Coming, chief.” Frank Saulter held a key-ring flashlight. He scrambled to the aisle and ran swiftly toward the stage.