Laughed ’Til He Died (16 page)

H
ER EYES LIKE
saucers, Rachel jumped into the passenger seat before Annie had the car fully stopped. “I didn’t do a thing, but she was all over me, like everything was my fault. She wasn’t making sense. She said I had to come and tell her where he is. She hung up on me before I could say anything. When I tried to call back, the line was busy.”

Annie loved the sleepy lane where Pudge and Sylvia and Rachel and Cole lived. Comfortable houses were surrounded by live oaks and palmettos, willows and crape myrtle. The unpretentious rambling ranch house was perfect for her dad. Occasionally, she felt a pang at how much her own mother would have loved the house and how sad it was that misunderstandings could part two people who had loved each other. Her mother had died much too young. Annie was glad Pudge had found happiness. She liked her stepmother, and she especially enjoyed watching coltish Rachel grow up, sometimes coolly sophisticated, other times flustered and uncertain.

Now Rachel’s dark eyes were stark with fear. “I heard about Darren. Everybody’s been texting. But not Tim. He doesn’t have any friends. You know how people are. Tim’s kind of jerky and rude. When somebody talks to him, he always turns the good side of his face toward them. I know guys aren’t supposed to be vain, but I think he minds a lot about that scar. Some of the guys called him Scarface. You know,” there was a plea in her voice, “if he had handled it right, you know, said he was the original for the movie, they’d have thought he was cool.” She sat hunched forward. “Can’t you go faster?”

Annie picked up speed, but she slowed as she came around a curve. This was the season for visitors on bikes. The Wagner house was a Mediterranean-style mansion on the ocean. Annie
didn’t understand why anyone would choose to live in a ten-thousand-square-foot house, one of the largest on the north end of the island. Most of the huge homes were within the south end gated community. “Okay, Neva Wagner called you and said Tim is missing. Missing from where? Why did she call you?”

Rachel twined a dark strand of hair around one finger, talked faster and faster. “See, I’m about the only name she found in his phone. I mean, I told him the other day that sometimes if he wanted to call someone, you know, just to say how awful everything was, I liked to gripe, too. Once when he called he said wasn’t it the pits to have a stepfather. I didn’t tell him how great Pudge is. I mean, what good would that do? I said something like life is complicated. He said the only thing that would make his life better would be if Booth died. And he hung up. Anyway, a little while ago his mother called and asked if I’d seen him. She was real upset.”

Annie turned into a drive lined by live oaks. There was a disconnect to Rachel’s narrative. “Why is she upset? Had they quarreled?”

Rachel turned a worried face toward Annie. “He was supposed to come down to the living room when the police came to talk to him about the twenty-two. When he didn’t, she went up to his room. She found a note. It said,” she took a deep breath, “‘Mom, I’m sorry about everything.’”

Annie braked behind a police car. Several people clustered on the broad front steps of the stucco mansion. Neva Wagner faced Billy Cameron, who stood with his arms folded, frowning. He glanced at Annie’s car, turned his attention back to Booth’s widow.

Neva was crisply dressed in a cream silk blouse and black linen slacks and black lattice slide pumps. Her mother-of-pearl
necklace matched her earrings. She was as elegant as usual, but fear glittered in her dark eyes. Despite delicately applied makeup, her face looked gaunt and pale.

Rachel grabbed and held Annie’s hand as they started toward the house. Broad marble steps reflected the late-afternoon sunlight. Heat rebounded from the concrete drive.

Neva looked at them blankly, then hope lit her eyes and she hurried down the steps. She ignored Annie, stared at the girl. “Are you Rachel? Do you have any idea where Tim might be? You’re the last person he talked to on his cell.”

Billy joined them. His face was red and perspiring in the unshaded drive.

Rachel shot an uncomfortable sideways glance at Annie. “Tim phoned last night and asked me not to tell anyone about the gun. I had to tell him my sister called the police. He said,” and her voice quivered, “he thought I was his friend, then he hung up on me.”

Neva looked stricken. “If you don’t know where he is, I don’t know how I can find him.” She whirled toward Billy. “You have to help me. He’s only thirteen. He must be terribly frightened.”

Billy’s expression was sympathetic, but his head-shake firm. “There’s no indication that your son is in any danger, or, for that matter, that he’s a missing person. You saw him a little over an hour ago. He would have to be gone more than twenty-four hours for us to put out an alert.”

“Twenty-four hours.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Anything could happen to him.”

“There’s no reason to think he is in danger.” Billy frowned. “Was your son acquainted with Click Silvester or Darren Dubois at the Haven?” His blue eyes were abruptly intent.

“I don’t know those names. Who are they?” She looked hopeful. Neva had no knowledge that two teenagers had died within days of each other, two teenagers with links to the Haven.

Rachel’s grip on Annie’s hand tightened.

Billy looked grim. “Click Silvester died in a fall from a viewing platform at the nature preserve Thursday. Darren Dubois died today after he was shot on Fish Haul Pier by an unknown assailant. The shot came from the woods opposite the pier. No one has been apprehended.”

Neva reached out, gripped his arm, held as if to keep her balance. She flung questions at him. “Who were they? Why were they killed? What do they have to do with Tim?”

Billy looked thoughtful. “Click and Darren were regulars at the Haven. Darren was Click’s best friend. Nothing can be proved about Click’s death, but it is possible he told Darren something special was planned Friday night at the Haven. We believe Darren was watching someone and that he saw your husband’s killer. Darren set a trap and the murderer shot him. If Tim was in contact with either Click or Darren, there might be cause for concern.”

Rachel loosened her grip on Annie, took a step toward Billy. “Tim hardly knew anyone at the Haven. He never talked to anybody but Meredith or me or Mrs. Hughes. The guys didn’t have anything to do with him. Besides, Click and Darren were older.”

Billy’s gaze was sharp. “Are you sure?”

Rachel was solemn. “Yes. I don’t care who you talk to, they’ll tell you the same. Half the time, Tim left right after he and Meredith showed up in the mornings. When he did stay, he fished, but he always sat by himself on the pier. Chief Saulter was real nice to him.”

Billy looked relieved. “As long as there was no contact between Tim and the dead boys, I see no reason to be concerned for his safety.”

Neva wavered on her feet, her face twisting in fear. “You’re telling me two boys have been killed and now Tim is missing and you won’t help hunt for him?”

Billy was crisp. “Your son ran away because he didn’t want to talk to the police about the twenty-two we found in the magnolia behind the stage. Or,” Billy’s face was grim, “his target practice. You told him I was coming and he thought he was in big trouble. You’ll probably find him at a friend’s house.”

“But that note he left…I’m frightened of what he might do.”

Billy was patient. “Your son wrote that he was sorry. He could be sorry for shooting at targets fashioned like his stepfather or sorry for taking that rifle to the program. It’s clear that the gun found in the tree behind the stage belongs to him. His initials are scratched on the stock. Maybe seeing his stepfather killed made him sorry for wanting to shoot him. I hope so. It’s lucky for him that we know a twenty-two bullet didn’t kill your husband.” Billy gave a short nod and turned toward his car.

Neva watched him walk away. Her face twisted in despair.

Annie understood Billy’s attitude, but someone had to reassure this fearful woman. “Neva, I’m Annie Darling, Rachel’s sister. We’ve met before.” It was as if she spoke into a void. Neva stared at her with no change in expression.

Annie felt uncomfortable and intrusive. Even though they had come because Rachel was summoned, there was no place for them here. They had no help to offer, only sympathy. Neva Wagner was suffering from new shock laid upon old. Her husband shot dead. Her son’s whereabouts unknown. Annie spoke
quickly. “I wouldn’t worry. Billy’s probably right. Tim was scared. That’s why he ran away. Why, he may be watching us right now, waiting for the police to leave.”

Neva lifted her head, looked beyond the well-kept lawn at the surrounding woods. “No.” Her voice was dull. “I would know if he were near. He’s gone.” She looked at Annie with anguished eyes. “He doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

Rachel took a step forward. “Look, why don’t we call people, ask about Tim? And you can tell us where he likes to go, and we’ll go look.”

Annie’s eyes widened. Who would go and look? Where would they look? The island was small, not more than twelve miles long and three miles across at the widest point, but there were deep woods tangled and choked with underbrush and creepers. Anyone could remain hidden for a long time. Had Tim taken any food? Was he prepared for mosquitoes and chiggers and horseflies? She pushed away thoughts of nightfall and the creatures that moved in darkness: lean, quick foxes, stealthy bobcats, sharp-hooved feral hogs.

Neva took a step toward Rachel. “You’ll help me?” Neva’s cry was glad. She turned to Annie, hand outstretched. Her eyes, huge and dark in her pale face, were beseeching. “I’m so frightened. Will you help me find Tim?”

M
ax’s office was cool and quiet. All the lights were on, including his desk lamp, brilliant with its Tiffany shade, a Valentine’s Day gift from Annie. Papers and folders were arranged atop the immense Italian Renaissance table that served as his desk. He lightly touched the silver frame of his favorite picture of Annie. He always took pleasure in seeing her blond flyaway hair, steady gray eyes, and kissable lips. His mood buoyed, he turned back to the legal pad.

Rank of suspects in terms of motive:

• 1. Jean Hughes—Booth Wagner’s death on Friday night—
  

He underlined
Friday night
three times.

There was no tomorrow for her.

• 2. Tim Talbot—He blamed his stepfather for his injuries. Wagner’s death meant he wouldn’t be forced to ride trails again.
  
• 3. Van Shelton—Neva Wagner had ended their affair. Would he kill to marry her?
  
• 4. Neva Wagner—She had broken off her affair with the golf pro. Did she do so because she planned a murder that would set her free?
  
• 5. Ellen Wagner—She drank too much. She wanted her child back. She brought a thirty-two pistol to the island.
  
• 6. Meredith Wagner—She wanted to be with her mother. She’d stolen money from her father’s desk.
  
• 7. Larry Gilbert—He had reason for revenge after Booth rooked him over the collectible stamp. Larry claimed they were on good terms, the money restored in return for Larry’s vote to oust Jean.
  

Max shook his head in disgust. It was a nice ranking as far as it went but maybe it didn’t go far enough. How could he judge what mattered enough to make one of these people kill? Almost anyone would agree that Jean had far greater reason and far greater urgency to kill Booth Wagner Friday night. What if Tim Talbot’s fear of riding on an ATV was all-consuming? Lovers were known to kill the unwanted spouse. Ellen Wagner had lost her marriage and her lover and her child. Meredith wanted to be with her mother, care for her mother. Larry Gilbert claimed all had been resolved between him and Booth, but murderers lie.

Max reached for Henny Brawley’s folder. He read the housekeeper’s revealing comment about Tim Talbot: “He kept screaming out in the night. She was up and down with him. But
he wasn’t the least bit fond of Mr. Wagner. Master Tim could hardly stand to be in the same room with him, anybody could tell that.”

Max opened Laurel’s folder. The assistant golf pro defended his boss: “I mean, he and Neva were through. It was making him crazy. See, she broke things off because of this prenup agreement.”

Maybe Neva thought they were through, but Van decided she was worth killing for. Or perhaps Neva decided on murder to make sure her son would have medical care and she could marry Van.

Had Booth discovered Meredith’s theft? How frightened was she for her mother’s safety?

As for Ellen Wagner, Gilbert claimed Booth had bought off her lover. That was history. Had she brooded about her humiliation and come to exact revenge?

Max studied the list. Obviously, Billy Cameron considered Jean Hughes the primary suspect. The only physical evidence against her was the phosphorescent tape found in her office, but someone else could have placed the tape there. Unless Billy found a gun and connected it to Jean or discovered some other incontrovertible link, she remained one suspect among several.

A
NNIE RESPECTED
B
ILLY
Cameron’s judgment. She understood that he was much more concerned about three deaths than a runaway teenager. But she could no more turn away from a desperate Neva Wagner than she could ignore the frantic cries of a kitten abandoned in a Dumpster. They were unlikely to find Tim. There were too many woods, too many hiding places.

“We’ll do what we can.” Annie knew she sounded doubtful.
She hurried to add, “Let’s look at his room, see if you can figure out what he’s taken.”

“That’s a good idea. Then we’ll know…” Neva trailed off. “If he didn’t take anything, that would be worse, wouldn’t it?”

Annie saw despair in her eyes. Neva was afraid something dreadful had happened or would happen. Was she hearing those panicked cries in the night? Billy had told her the twenty-two was not the murder weapon. A forty-five had been taken from Booth’s desk. Was she terrified that Tim had carried the pistol as well as his rifle Friday night and that he still had the forty-five?

“We need to hurry.” Neva turned and started up the marble steps.

Annie glanced at Rachel. “Call Max. Ask him to come. He can organize a search.” She took a step, paused. “Call Henny Brawley. Ask her if she’ll put together a phone bank.”

Neva was almost to the front door. Annie rushed to catch up. Surely Billy would understand. He loved his stepson and his beautiful little blond daughter. If one of them ran away, as a father he would seek them. Whatever Annie brought about, a gathering of searchers, telephone calls seeking Tim, the noise and sound would at the very least comfort Neva and might help find the missing boy. In the best of all possible worlds, Tim would come home by nightfall.

M
AX PULLED OFF
the sheet from the legal pad, reread the questions he’d listed:

• 1. What caused Tim Talbot’s nightmares?
  
• 2. How many of the suspects could handle guns with ease?
  
• 3. Why did Ellen Wagner come to the island now? Why did she bring a gun? Or perhaps two guns?
  
• 4. Could Larry Gilbert prove Booth had transferred money Friday morning, reimbursing him for the fake stamp?
  

He leaned back in his red leather seat. Tomorrow he and Barb would look for answers and who knew what else might be discovered between now and then.

The phone rang. He glanced at Caller ID and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Rachel.” He frowned as he listened. “If Billy doesn’t think…Annie promised?” Exasperation mingled with pride. Of course she shouldn’t have agreed to mount a search that Billy clearly felt was unnecessary. Of course she had agreed. Annie never met a broken heart she didn’t want to mend. He looked at her picture. Gorgeous. But stubborn. “Okay. I’ll come.”

A
LCOVES WITH
R
OMAN
and Greek statuary in the marble hallway made the upper floor resemble a museum. Annie wondered fleetingly if the marble sculptures were reproductions. Or not. If the latter, Booth Wagner had been a wealthy man indeed. That kind of wealth conferred all imaginable luxuries and set him apart from ordinary constraints. If someone displeased him, he had the power to cost them dearly. He had used that power, buying off his first wife’s lover, luring Jean Hughes to the island as an affront to a dignified Haven board member, bartering reimbursement for a fake stamp to gain Larry Gilbert’s vote to oust Jean, keeping Neva locked in a failed second marriage.

Stepping into Tim’s bedroom was like visiting an alternate universe. The room was huge, but the furnishings were modest, a maple bunk bed against one wall, a battered old walnut desk,
a long Formica-topped table littered with balsa wood and model airplanes in various stages of completion and rows of metal soldiers in battle formation, some painted Union blue, others Confederate gray. Miniature cannons on a mound of dirt were trained on a Union company. Bright rock posters adorned the walls. Albums were stacked next to a CD player. A red plastic bean bag chair flopped opposite a TV set hooked up to a Wii. A scuffed baseball glove lay in the depression of the bean bag chair.

Neva looked uncertainly around, then walked to an open closet door. She stepped inside. Her muffled voice rose in excitement. “His sleeping bag is gone and his backpack.” She came out into the room. Abruptly, tears spilled down her cheeks. “He took things. That means he’s run away. Really run away, not just walked out with nothing. I’ve been so terribly frightened.”

W
HEN PROBLEMS LOOMED,
Annie always felt better when Max was near. Now he stood with his arms folded in the hallway of the Wagner house, tall, blond, handsome, resolute.

Annie knew the folded arms weren’t a good sign. “Can’t you call on the Boy Scouts, round up a group of men and get a search started?”

Max’s face furrowed. “I can’t ask people to look for a boy who might be armed.”

Neva took a quick step toward him. “That’s crazy. Tim ran away because the police found his gun in a tree. That policeman said Tim’s gun wasn’t the weapon that killed Booth. Don’t you see, Tim ran away because he’s frightened. He isn’t a danger to anyone.” Her voice shook.

Max’s expression was bleak. “His twenty-two didn’t kill
Booth. The murder weapon was a larger caliber.” His gaze at Neva was uncompromising. “Booth was killed by a gun like the forty-five that someone stole from his desk. Tim took his sleeping bag and his backpack. He could have that forty-five in his backpack.”

Annie felt jolted. Max was right. They could not be sure that Tim Talbot was innocent. He’d been in the right place at the right time to have shot his stepfather and he could have taken Booth’s gun. Maybe the rifle had been left in the tree because Tim had the forty-five in hand. Maybe he’d hidden the forty-five in the woods. The police search had been careful, but woods have many hiding places. Tim could have retrieved that gun.

Neva stood, eyes staring, with her hand at her throat. Finally, in a rush, she spoke, the words tumbling over each other in her haste. “Tim doesn’t have Booth’s gun. He absolutely does not have that gun. I took the forty-five out of the desk Saturday morning. I threw it in the ocean. I threw it as far as I could.” She was sobbing now.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Neva was angry and despairing. “I was afraid. Does that satisfy you? Tim had terrible nightmares Friday night. I went to his room and he was twisting and turning, his sheets all sweaty, and I tried to wake him up. He was crying and saying he hadn’t meant to do it, he was sorry. When I got him awake, I asked him and he looked at me with his eyes all empty and he shivered and said he had a bad dream, he didn’t remember, and he turned away from me.” She reached out toward Max. “I swear it’s true. Tim doesn’t have that forty-five. He ran away because the police found his twenty-two and they were coming to the house. He probably thought they were going to arrest him. He doesn’t know a bigger gun was the weapon. All he knows is that
someone shot Booth and his rifle was found behind the stage. Of course he’s terrified.”

Max looked grim. “You’d better be telling the truth.”

“I am.” She met his searching gaze without flinching.

He gave a short nod. “I’ll call around, see if I can get some men to meet at the harbor pavilion. We can fan out from there. It makes sense to search the north end of the island. I have a friend, Buddy Winslow, who can probably furnish some megaphones.”

Annie knew that was a good idea. Buddy ran the summer beach program. “He can contact the other lifeguards.”

Neva clasped her hands tightly together. “Van Shelton will help. I know he will.” Her gaze was defiant.

Max knew about Neva and Van. She knew he knew. But his expression never changed and he spoke as if she was acquainted with Van only as a golf pro. “I’ll ask Van to round up some golfers. I’ll call Frank Saulter.” Max walked to the door, paused, and looked back at Neva. “If you’re lying,” his gaze was unwavering, his voice grim, “someone else may die tonight.”

M
OST OF THE
men gathered at the pavilion on the harbor had brought Maglites. They were dressed in long-sleeved shirts and trousers and boots to protect them from mosquitoes and ticks. Max counted eighteen. The sun slipped westward and swaths of rose and purple marked the horizon.

“Thanks for coming. Here’s the situation. We have a missing teenage boy. Tim Talbot. He ran away from home this afternoon because he thought he was in trouble with the police.” Max hesitated, then decided to be frank. These men were giving up their evening to check out the island. He owed them the truth. “I’ll
try to sum it up as quickly as possible. Tim’s stepfather was shot Friday night at the Haven during the annual summer program. It was later discovered that Tim brought a twenty-two rifle and hid it in the woods behind the outdoor stage.”

He heard the murmurs. “…brought a gun…behind the stage…what’s the deal…”

Max talked louder. “The twenty-two was later found in a tree there and proven not,” he repeated, “
not
to be the murder weapon. Obviously, Tim didn’t shoot his stepfather—”

Hal Fraley, a muscular firefighter, yelled, “If somebody beat him to it, why’d the kid run? Why aren’t the police looking for him?”

“He isn’t considered to be in danger. The police view is that he’s hiding because he thinks he’s going to be arrested for having the rifle there. That isn’t the case. But his mother is upset, and I promised we’d try to find him. My hope is that we can cover this end of the island and use loudspeakers to let him know he isn’t being sought by the police.” Max had decided against a search on foot. Maybe Neva hadn’t taken the forty-five. Maybe she had lied. Men driving in cars calling out over loudspeakers should not be in danger. “Buddy Winslow’s got a box of loudspeakers at that first picnic table.” Max pointed at the table. “All right. There’s a map of the island. Here’s how we’ll split up…”

C
OMFORTABLE RATTAN FURNITURE
with bright cushions was scattered about the terrace room. An eclectic art collection included a painted carousel bobcat on a bronze pole, a Roman jar, a gilded Portuguese mirror, a marble bust of Homer, and a Ming Lo Han sculpture. This evening, the wooden blinds were
open even though it was dark outside and the patio and dunes invisible.

Annie had no trouble distinguishing the voices: Emma’s gruff rasp, Laurel’s husky tone, Henny’s precise diction. Henny had brought the all-important Haven phone directory.

Emma had fashioned questions seeking information about Tim’s whereabouts, followed by queries about Darren Dubois and Click Silvester. So far nothing helpful had been discovered. Tim Talbot had walked out of his house and vanished.