Laughed 'Til He Died

by Carolyn Hart

  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.

  The woman next to Annie tried to move past her. “My son’s down there. He’s in the first act. He’s little. I’ve got to get to him.”

  “Please wait. The police chief’s on his way there. He’ll see…” But the frantic mother clambered past Annie and into the aisle.

  Someone behind them, voice high and thin, cried, “We need to get out of here.”

  Billy shouted, “Stay in place. Police order.”

  Frank reached the stage. Billy Cameron was right behind him. Even in the narrow beam of Frank’s li
ght, there was no mistaking trouble when he pointed the flashlight where Booth Wagner had stood.

  Booth lay half on, half off the stage. He’d fallen forward. Blood welled across the back of the bright Hawaiian shirt.

  “Coming. Hard to see.” Doc Burford’s deep voice was bulldog-strong. “I’ll take a look.” Dr. Burford lumbered up in baggy T-shirt and khaki shorts. Dr. Burford was the island’s brusque medical examiner and chief of staff at the island hospital. Burford pulled off his T-shirt, wadded it to press against the welling blood. He pointed to a shadowy figure. “You there. Press firmly.”

  A woman a few rows from Annie cried out, obviously close to hysteria, “If somebody’s shooting, what’s going to happen next?”

  Lou Pirelli, one of Billy’s officers, though clearly off duty in a Braves T-shirt and cutoffs, thudded to the platform.

  Billy held up a hand. He didn’t need a megaphone to be heard. “Stay calm. There was one shot. The likelihood is that the shooter has fled. Please do not move until we can arrange an orderly dismissal. We have a casualty and must see to the victim first. The shot came from the woods behind the stage. Officer Pirelli will patrol there to protect everyone. Do not move.”

  Annie gripped Max’s sleeve. “Lou doesn’t have a gun.”

  Max was reassuring. “There was one shot. Anybody planning a massacre would still be shooting.” Those kinds of killings happened, at schools or churches or workplaces. The attacker never stopped with a single shot. “I want to help but we’d better stay put, do what Billy said. If we move, the people close to us will move. He’s sure to have already called the station. Help will be on the way.”

  Henny turned and gave Annie a reassuring nod. “No one can ever be sure, but it would be odd for an attacker to wait this long to fire again. I think everyone is safe enough now.”

  Murmurs and cries sounded. Despite Billy’s orders, figures ran toward the parking lot, people melting into the night. Beyond a hedge of pittosporum, headlights flashed in the parking light.

  Running feet thudded down the center aisle. Jean, breathing hard, flashlights in both hands, skidded to a stop only a few feet from the stage. She trained the large beams on the stage. Billy Cameron stepped forward and grabbed a flashlight. He held one, shouted to Lou. “Lou! Get a light. Check the woods behind the stage.”

  The chunky young officer took the other flashlight from Jean.

  Neva Wagner rushed forward and stopped to look down at her fallen husband. “He’s hurt. Booth’s hurt.” Her voice was high and shrill.

  A siren wailed in the distance. The Haven was perhaps a mile as the crow flies from the police station near the harbor, but the blacktop road wound in a desultory fashion.

  Shirtless, his muscular back tensed, Burford squatted next to Booth’s limp body and placed one finger against Booth’s neck. His face grim, the doctor looked up at Billy and shook his head. “The shot must have struck the heart. Death from a gunshot is rarely instantaneous, but it can happen.”

  Neva stepped toward the doctor. “Can’t you do something? Can’t you stop the bleeding? Why doesn’t somebody do something?” Her face was gaunt.

  Annie stared at Neva. If Max—dear God forbid—lay bleeding on the ground, Annie would be at his side, holding him. Annie knew shock affected people differently. But how could Neva stand away from her wounded husband? Dr. Burford rose and walked to Neva. They made an arresting tableau in the light from the flashlights—the shirtless, powerfully built, sixtyish doctor and the rigid woman staring down in horror. Dr. Burford spoke quietly. His words were not audible.

  Neva folded her arms tight across her chest. Her face was ashen.

  Suddenly Meredith darted into the flash-lit area from the woods to the left of the stage. She looked at her father’s body. Her face was shocked and sick and terrified.

  Neva reached out to slip an arm around her shoulders, tug her away from the stage.

  Meredith twisted free. She spoke to Neva, then turned and hurried away. Neva took a step after her, then stopped as her son, Tim, limped forward. He walked jerkily. He never looked toward Booth’s body. He was breathing in gasps, his eyes wide and staring. Tim reached his mother, then jerked about and ran, his gait uneven, back toward the woods.

  “Tim. Come back.”

  But he was gone into the darkness to the left of the stage.

  Sirens wailed. Lights shone in the parking lot beyond the pittosporum. The sirens cut off.

  Billy moved behind the stage, aimed his flashlight at the ground. He stopped, bent down. The soft-box heads on the light stands gleamed, abruptly bright and harsh. He returned and stepped onto the platform, only a few feet from Booth’s body. Now his shout was stentorian. “Stand in place. This is a crime scene. Anyone moving will face charges of interfering with an officer. A roadblock will be set up in the lane. No cars will be permitted to leave until the occupants are identified and listed.”

  At least half the audience had left.

  An angry voice shouted, “Are we supposed to stay here and get shot down?”

  Another siren’s wail neared and abruptly ended. A police cruiser rumbled around the hedges, turned so that the headlights were aimed across the field, affording even more light.

  Billy’s response was gruff. “One shot, one victim. We now have reinforcements. An armed officer—”

  Officer Hyla Harrison, crisp in her uniform, moved swiftly toward Billy. Her pistol was drawn, her hand steady, her eyes checking out the shadows. Two more uniformed officers hurried to join Billy. All carried Maglites.

  “—Will search the area behind the stage where the shot originated. Other officers will go row to row and take down names and addresses and phone numbers.” He gestured toward the newly arrived officers. “Anyone with information regarding the attack is asked to remain to be interviewed.”

  Max touched Annie’s arm. “I’ll see if I can help. After you’ve given your name, go on home. Someone can drop me off later.”

  Annie started to protest, then in the wash of the cruiser’s headlights, she glimpsed Meredith Wagner plunging onto the path to Sea Side Inn. In the lights from the stage, Meredith looked frightened, upset, fearful.

  Max had already turned away.

  Where was that stricken child going? Why hadn’t Neva kept her near? And where had Neva’s son gone? He had run in the other direction. He should have stayed. Officers were moving into the woods behind the stage.

  Annie started to call after Max, hesitated, shook her head. She moved to Henny and spoke quickly.

  Henny looked grave, then slowly nodded.

  IF IT WEREN’T for the occasional walkway lighting along the trail for the convenience of Sea Side Inn guests, Annie would have quickly given up the chase. Even so, the posts with their dim lantern tops seemed too far apart, leaving most of the path in darkness. Pine limbs made soft sighing sounds, magnolia leaves clicked, an owl hooted, shrubbery rustled. She brushed past feathery ferns, jerked to a halt at one point, heart pounding, until she was sure the log lying diagonally across the path was indeed a log and not a vagrant alligator.

  She heard the faint slap of running feet far ahead.

  Annie hesitated for an instant. She didn’t want to intrude on Meredith’s private world, but sometimes instinct urged action when the mind was reluctant. Was she driven to follow the girl because she was obviously in distress? More than likely, Meredith was seeking the woman she had earlier shepherded away from the Haven. The relationship between Meredith and the woman was not any of Annie’s business, but she couldn’t forget her glimpse of Meredith’s face as she ran toward the path. There was more than shock or distress. There was an unmistakable imprint of fear.

  Annie picked up her pace, breaking into a run. She reached the end of the path and the well-lit parking lot behind the inn in time to see Meredith dash inside a back door.

  Annie hurried to the door, pushed inside. She stood in a rear entryway. Uncarpeted stairs led up. Once again she heard the clatter of quick steps.

>   Annie was breathing fast when she reached the second floor. She stopped, listened. Not hearing steps continuing up, she opened the door to a hallway in time to see Meredith turning at the end of the hall.

  When Annie came around the corner, Meredith was knocking on a door, rattling the knob, calling out, “Ellen, it’s me. Open the door, I’ve got to talk to you.” The desperation in her voice was painful to hear. She was a child bordering on hysteria. She knocked again and again, louder and louder.

  The door to the next room banged open. A plump woman clutching a squalling baby looked out angrily. “If you’ve lost your key, go get another one. I just got Ricky to sleep. Stop that pounding.” The door slammed.

  Meredith slumped against the closed door, her shoulders shaking.

  Annie didn’t hesitate. She hurried to her, spoke softly. “Meredith. Please let me help.” She reached out, touched a trembling arm.

  Meredith turned. Tears slid down her pale cheeks. She stared blankly at Annie.

  “I’m Annie Darling. From the bookstore.”

  There was a flicker of recognition and embarrassment. Meredith wiped a hand across her wet face.

  “Oh honey, don’t worry. I know you’re upset. Max—”

  Meredith nodded. Obviously she knew Max from the Haven.

  “—And I were there tonight. I’m sorry about your dad.” But what odd impulse sent the girl scurrying to a woman who very likely had been drinking? Who was the woman? “Are you trying to find a friend?”

  “My mom. I’ve got to talk to her.” There was an undercurrent of panic in her voice.

  “Of course you do.” Everything now made sense. Meredith’s mother obviously was the dark-haired woman with the unsteady gait whom Meredith earlier had led in the direction of the inn. Annie thought her mother was probably suffering from too much alcohol. Quite possibly, she was sunk in stuporous sleep and hadn’t heard the banging at her door. In that condition, she might not be much help to Meredith, but the child wanted her mother. “Look, maybe I can get a key. I know the owner of the inn.”