Laughed ’Til He Died (7 page)

Meredith’s quick glance at Annie was combative, defensive, despairing. “She can’t help it.”

“I know.” Annie knew. Drugs and alcohol fasten onto some lives with the tenacity of steel hooks and the destructive poison of a scorpion. Annie gave Meredith a reassuring nod. “I’ll stay with you for a while. Maybe I can help you get her into bed. Or we could order some coffee.”

Ellen took a final gulp, tapped the glass hard onto the table. “Now.” She slid her purse off her shoulder. “Maybe he’s there. Maybe I missed him.” She gave a sunny smile, confided, “Sometimes things aren’t there and then there they are.” She upended the bag. The contents clattered onto the tabletop: a worn billfold, a change purse, several lipsticks, a compact, a travel-size Kleenex, some dog-eared sheets of paper, a frayed plastic photo album, some lottery tickets, a bag of peanuts, a bottle of Advil, a partially empty package of Tums, two ballpoint pens, a nearly full perfume atomizer, a thin notebook.

Ellen gave a huff of disappointment. “Not there.” She stood, turned, headed for the door. “I have to find him.”

Meredith blocked her way. “Wait, Ellen. What is Rufus?” Her tone was patient. “Tell me and I’ll look for him.”

“Rufus.” Her mother gave a little giggle. “My new best friend. He’s the cutest thing, my little pearl-handled revolver.”

Meredith stood frozen. “A gun?”

Annie’s breath caught. Before she thought, she asked sharply, “Do you have a permit to carry a gun?”

Ellen looked at her reproachfully. “I thought you were a friend. Meredith’s friends are my friends, but I don’t like,” she waggled a finger, “people who are sticks in the mud. Rules for everything. I don’t follow rules.” She spoke with pride and then her face sagged. “Somebody’s always saying I’m wrong. I can’t listen to everybody.”

“When did you last see Rufus?” Annie tried to sound helpful, not accusatory.

Meredith looked panicked. “Why don’t you leave now. She doesn’t mean anything. Mother didn’t really have a gun. She didn’t.”

Ellen stamped her foot. Or tried to. She almost toppled except for Annie’s quick move to grab her arm. She shook free and said in tones of affront, “I don’t tell lies. Rufus is my little gun and I had him in my hand—” She looked perplexed. “I guess that’s what happened. I must have dropped him.”

“Why did you have a gun, Ellen?” Annie kept her voice conversational.

Meredith pointed at the door. “You have to go now. This is all nonsense. She’s confused.”

“Meredith.” Her mother was chiding. “I’m not confused. I had Rufus with me and I went back because I had to tell your father I couldn’t stand any more. I had Rufus—” She stopped, blinked. “I got there and I felt kind of dizzy. I heard Booth. But the lights went out. I guess I got confused. I started back to the hotel, but I got lost.” She put her hands up to her face. “Tired. Think I’ll rest. See about everything tomorrow.” She turned and moved heavily toward the bed and slumped onto the spread.

Meredith and Annie faced each other.

Again Meredith’s young face looked old. She had seen too much this night, her father’s death, her mother’s drunken and perhaps sinister odyssey.

Annie held out her hand, hoping to appear supportive. “If she had a gun, we’ll have to search for it.” That search had to include the police.

Meredith responded harshly. “Of course she didn’t have a gun.” Her tone was scathing, but her eyes were terrified. “You saw her. She could barely walk. Even if she had a gun, do you think she could shoot and hit anything? Besides, she wouldn’t kill Daddy.” Tears brimmed. “Daddy…”

Annie moved to her, slipped an arm around Meredith’s
shoulders. “Let me get some help for you. You need to go home. Your stepmother will be frantic.”

Meredith pulled away, swiped at her face with shaking hands. “That’s how much you know. Neva won’t care where I am or if I ever come back. Anyway, I’m staying here. With my mom.”

A
t the end of the inn parking lot, Annie looked back, then reluctantly took the path toward the Haven. As much as she disliked leaving Meredith at the inn with her obviously intoxicated mother, Annie recognized that she had no authority. Meredith had insisted that Annie leave. After all, drunk or sober, Ellen was Meredith’s mother. Certainly Annie couldn’t force Meredith to return to the Haven. Meredith was perfectly capable of seeking help if she felt she needed it. Moreover, she’d promised to call home and report her whereabouts. Annie picked up speed. She would alert Billy.

Annie was grateful to see the lights from the Haven as she neared the end of the path. Although there was little likelihood Booth Wagner’s murderer was anywhere near, the dark woods were daunting. She reached the clearing. More lights had been rigged to illuminate the stage.

Annie stopped, her gaze held by the crimson splash of blood on the concrete, stark in the glare. More blood had spread from beneath Wagner’s body as he lay half on, half off the stage, turning the sandy dirt dark. Even though Doc Burford had been at hand and surely had officially pronounced Wagner dead, the body would not be moved until a careful record had been made. Officer Harrison recorded her observations into a videocam.

The businesslike process of investigating a crime scene was in full swing. Crime scene tape was in place, creating a square box extending twenty feet in all directions from the stage. Behind the stage, Lou Pirelli moved at a snail’s pace, Maglite in hand, looking at every inch of ground. Flashlights gleamed in the woods, beams crisscrossed high in the air, illuminating the branches of live oaks and magnolias.

Most of the audience had left. Only the last few rows of seats were occupied. A somber group stood in a patient line leading up to a card table manned by Frank Saulter.

Annie felt a quick relief when she saw Max near the back rows. He carried a notebook and was apparently helping record those attending. Annie nodded approval. Billy Cameron could use every willing hand available and Max’s effort freed an officer for other duty.

Billy Cameron, face impassive, stood a few feet from the card table, talking to Jean Hughes. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms held stiffly at her sides. She carefully did not look toward the body.

Annie hurried toward Billy. He needed to know about the gun Ellen Wagner claimed she had lost. More important, informing Billy would make certain that Meredith’s whereabouts and circumstances were known.

Annie veered around a stake with fluttering crime scene tape. She stopped a few feet from Billy, looked toward him. “When you have a minute, I need to talk to you.”

He gave a sideways glance and a quick nod.

Jean was speaking. “…I was behind the stage, waiting until time to start the first act. As soon as Booth finished speaking, I was going to bring on the Golden Girls. Some of our teen girls were dressed up like…but that doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I was moving toward the girls when the lights went out. I thought somebody had tripped over the cord. A single cord linked the light stands. The cord was plugged into a battery pack. I started to go check and I heard a crack. I didn’t know what it was and then there was noise, like somebody hurt—” Her face worked. “—I guess when Booth was hit. He cried out and there was a thump.”

The question was quick and sharp. “Did you see anyone?”

She looked puzzled. “It was dark.”

Billy was impatient. “Before the lights went out, who was near you?”

Jean made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know. The lights faced the other way. It was very dark behind the lamp stands. There were people around, but I have no idea who may have been there.”

“If you can’t name anyone near you,” his gaze was measuring, “no one can swear that you were there.”

“Maybe someone noticed me.” She sounded uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“Did you sense movement? Hear anything after the crack?”

She flexed her fingers as if they were numb. “I heard a crackle. Maybe somebody was in the woods. I couldn’t see anything.”

Billy’s blue eyes stared at her. “To your knowledge, did Mr. Wagner have any enemies?”

Her face was a mask of emptiness. “I wouldn’t know.”

Billy glanced toward the body, then back at her. “Why was he shot here?”

She was startled, then said with a flash of anger, “How would I know?”

Billy’s gaze moved from the stage to the empty rows of seats and back again. “The Haven seems an odd place for murder, Ms. Hughes. A murder was committed with a gun. Why didn’t the murderer meet Wagner in a private place and shoot him? Why was he killed in front of an audience?”

“I don’t know.”

Billy gestured at the stage and the empty chairs. “Maybe seventy-five people attended a program for the Haven’s summer session. How many people knew Wagner would speak?”

“He’s listed in the program.” Her voice was thin.

“The program was passed out when people arrived. Someone had to know ahead of time to bring a gun.” Billy was relentless. “Who knew? You. Others involved with the program. His family. Maybe some friends. That narrows down the possibilities. And there’s a critical piece of knowledge possessed by the murderer. How many people knew how the lighting worked?”

One hand clutched at her throat. She looked badgered but, like a cornered animal, she fought back. “Anybody who walked behind the stage would see the cord.”

“Why was he shot here?” Billy returned to the question, a dog gnawing a bone. “Would you have any ideas about that, Ms. Hughes?”

Annie felt suddenly certain that Billy Cameron was fully aware of a relationship between Booth Wagner and Jean Hughes. Billy was not only the police chief, he was actively engaged on the island. His stepson was a regular at the Haven. The burly police chief, powerful and intimidating, loomed above the director.

Jean fastened her hands together in a tight grip. “I don’t know why he was shot here. I’ve told you everything I know about tonight. Now, unless you need me for something else, I’m going to close up the buildings and go home.”

Billy was gruff. “Stay on the island, Ms. Hughes. We’ll be in touch.”

Billy turned to face Annie. He glanced around the grounds, checking on the progress of the investigation, then nodded at her, attentive but clearly in a hurry.

Annie gestured toward the woods. “Billy, I followed Meredith Wagner…”

M
AX STOOD AT
the kitchen counter, pouring fresh-squeezed orange juice into glasses. He wore a T-shirt, boxer shorts, and flip-flops.

Still sleepy, Annie settled at the kitchen table. The windows were wide-open and she was comfortable in her blue shorty nightgown. Despite a restless night with her mind replaying the sudden darkness and the crack of a gunshot, the morning with its bright splash of golden light, silky summer air, and Max’s presence combined to make her happy. She smiled at him.

He brought her a glass of juice and a plate. “Good morning, Mrs. Darling.”

She took a sip of juice, admired her breakfast. “Your sausage frittata is the best.”

He gave a modest nod. “Hercule Poirot is the world’s greatest detective. I am the world’s greatest breakfast chef. You will note the spinach, mushrooms, and mozzarella.”

Annie spooned salsa on a chunk of frittata, ignoring Max’s slight wince at the unauthorized addition. “Speaking
of detectives, I wonder if Billy talked to Ellen Wagner last night.”

“I’m sure someone did. If she could talk.” Max buttered a flaky croissant. “You said she was smashed.”

Annie frowned. “I hated leaving Meredith there. Do you suppose Ellen Wagner shot him? That would be dreadful for Meredith. It’s awful enough that she’s lost her dad.”

“Billy will be finding out about everyone connected to Booth. Last night he focused on Jean. He kept asking her why Booth was shot at the Haven.” Max shrugged. “Why not?”

Annie speared a slice of papaya, her very favorite fruit. “Odd that things come in bunches.”

Max looked at her inquiringly.

Annie felt an urge to reach across the table and touch his stubbled cheek. There was something to this fashion of young men letting their beards grow just a little bit, a tantalizing bristle, a not-so-subtle flaunting of masculinity. She resisted the impulse. Let the man have his breakfast in peace, his delightful, delectable, delicious breakfast. Possibly after breakfast…“Click died Thursday and Booth was shot last night. Of course, Click didn’t die at the Haven.”

Max’s face creased in thought. “One of Click’s friends said he was really pumped about the program, that he had a secret part. I don’t understand that. How could he be on the program and that be a secret?”

“You can ask Jean.” She added a tad more salsa.

Max put down his fork. “I will. But it’s strange. A teenager who came to the Haven regularly and a Haven director. I wonder if Billy’s realized the connection.”

Annie took a final satisfying bite. “‘Connection’ seems too strong a word.”

“Maybe Billy has a point. Why was Booth shot at the Haven? Why did Click die, too? Why would a teenager fall down from a tower and break his neck? I’m going to ask Billy if Click was clean on drugs. I have to think he was from what we learned about him. If so, his death looks suspicious to me.”

“Billy’s got a lot to find out.” Annie started clearing the table.

Max handed her his plate. He glanced at the clock and moved to the counter and a radio. He turned the dial to an all-news radio station on the mainland. Some static crackled, but the reception was fairly good:

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.”

T
HE 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, An
nie, 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.”