Laughed 'Til He Died

by Carolyn Hart

  “I think he was murdered.” Max listed his reasons: Click’s unexplained presence in the forest preserve, the oddness of a healthy teenager falling from a platform, the pulled-out pockets in his shorts, Click’s excitement about his role Friday night though he wasn’t on the program.

  Larry appeared skeptical. “You have murder on your mind, Max. I don’t remember which boy he was, but kids do funny things. Maybe he was going to meet a girl there. Maybe she stood him up. Maybe he climbed up because he was bored and had a misstep on the way down. Anyway, it’s Jean who looks to be in trouble. She called to tell me she might be arrested Monday. She said you’re trying to help her.” He appeared plunged in gloom. “That’s why I’m here.” He stopped, his expression indecisive.

  Max looked at him with full attention. Clearly, the businessman was struggling with knowledge of some sort. Yet he was skittish, much like a horse scenting a rattler. Max knew he needed encouragement.

  “I’m glad you came.” Max’s tone was easy. “I was going to check in with you. You and Booth had some business dealings. You knew him well, the good and the bad. Tell me about the bad.”

  For an instant, Larry looked bemused. “Oh man, speak ill of the dead? I kind of hate to slam him now. Though I guess I have to go into a little background to explain why I’m here.” He rubbed his knuckles against his cheek, obviously uncomfortable. “You have to understand that Booth saw most things as a big joke unless the laugh was on him. Like with his first wife. She got mixed up with this poet or writer of some kind. She was kind of a weak sister, if you know what I mean. Booth overwhelmed her. Anyway, when she left Booth, she thought she was going to marry this guy after the divorce. Booth laughed his head off when the guy took a hundred thou and beat it to New York. Minus Ellen. I mean,” Larry’s shrug was eloquent, “what was a hundred thou to Booth? He had the bucks to do whatever he wanted, whenever. That’s how he and I got crossways. Man, was he mad at me.”

  Max grinned. “Did you fall for a poet?”

  “Wish it had been that simple.” Larry looked weary. “A friend told me about a sweet deal on a factory down in Nicaragua, going for a song. I told Booth, just one friend to another. It turned out my friend was trying to unload a loser. Booth bought the factory, and he lost a bundle. He told me he understood the deal wasn’t my fault. I guess I should have known he wouldn’t make nice with somebody he thought had gulled him. But it wasn’t my fault.” Larry looked aggrieved. “The other guy fooled me. And yeah, I picked up a little commission, but nothing to make it worth what it cost me eventually. Anyway, I thought Booth and I were still friends. About six months later, he tipped me to an Inverted Jenny stamp that belonged to somebody he knew, a woman who’d inherited it in a box of old stamps from her aunt and didn’t realize what it was worth. Booth handled the deal, and I got the stamp for a half mil. One sold in an auction recently for almost nine hundred thousand so I knew I had a sweet deal. I guess if the market hadn’t crashed I’d never have known that Booth had gigged me.” His face hardened for an instant. “I needed money, bad. When I tried to sell, the stamp turned out to be a fake. Booth laughed his head off. That brings us up to a week or so ago. All of a sudden Booth tried to be chummy. He wanted my vote to get rid of Jean. Well, I saw my chance. I told him if he bought the stamp back at what I paid for it, my vote was his.”

  Max made no comment. On his legal pad, he sketched a precipice and a stick figure reaching for a rope.

  Larry massaged his cheek again, slid his eyes away from Max. “Maybe I don’t come off looking swell, but I had to get the money.”

  Max sketched a snake. “Did you?”

  Larry looked pleased. “Every penny. I told Booth I wanted the money signed, sealed, and delivered before the board met. That’s why I was at his house Friday morning. He transferred the money online to my bank. But,” Larry gave a heavy sigh, “that’s why I saw what I saw. I wish I hadn’t. Look, how bad is it for Jean?”

  “Bad. Like she said, she may be in jail Monday.” Max pointed at the papers spread across his desk. “If I don’t come up with some credible reasons for Chief Cameron to keep looking, she’s going to be in real trouble.”

  Larry stared at the papers. “That’s what I was afraid of. I mean, I didn’t mind seeing Jean fired. She got the job because Booth agreed to build the gym and it was pretty clear on what basis: Hire this woman. But to see her go to jail if maybe somebody else pulled the trigger, that’s something else. I guess I don’t have a choice. But I feel like a louse.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s Friday morning. Booth asked me to come over. He told me to come on inside when I got there, that the door would be unlocked. I opened the front door and went straight to his office. Maybe I should have knocked, but it didn’t occur to me. He was expecting me. Anyway, I opened the door and his daughter was standing behind his desk with the middle drawer open. She was holding a bank envelope, you know the kind they put cash in. Actually, I knew Booth kept ready cash in his desk.” He stopped and shook his head. “It was like seeing a cartoon. Meredith held some bills in her other hand. When she heard the door, she swung around and if ever a kid looked terrified—and guilty—she did. I knew she was taking money on the sly. She knew I knew. We kind of looked at each other and then she started crying. She said, ‘Don’t tell Dad. Please don’t tell him. I had to get some money. It’s for my mom. She’s broke.’”

  Larry turned his hands over. “I don’t know if I did the right thing. Maybe I didn’t. I told her I wouldn’t tell him. I told her to go on, that I hadn’t seen her, didn’t know she’d been in his office, and I was going to sit down and wait for him because we had some business, but she was invisible to me. I walked over to look at a painting, some damn ship scene. I heard the French window click. When I turned around, she was gone. The desk drawer was still open. I shut it and waited for Booth. I didn’t tell him. As far as I was concerned, what was between him and his kid was between him and his kid.”

  Larry pushed back his chair. At the door, he looked back at Max. “I came to you because I know you’ll do what’s right for Jean. Try to do what’s right for the kid, too.”

  ANNIE BENT TO pick up three folders resting on the back porch. Max balanced a grocery sack as he unlocked the back door. They almost always came into their lovely old house from the back porch.

  Annie followed him into their redecorated kitchen. Annie still had that thrill of delight from the freshness of the countertops, wooden not granite, and an old-fashioned white wooden table that could seat eight. The food island did have a granite top, the better for Max when in the throes of culinary creation.

  He put the sack on the food island. “How about shrimp Creole?”

  “Great. I’ll fix a salad in a minute. Tea?” As the tea brewed, she settled at the table with the folders. “Maybe one of the Intrepid Trio has discovered the fact that will unravel all.” She kept her tone light, though she felt drained and weary. The pointer now seemed to be aimed squarely at Ellen Wagner and that argued even more misery for a child who’d watched her father die and might now lose her mother. Or was Meredith the prime suspect? Max believed Meredith’s filching of money from her father’s desk indicated desperation. Had Meredith been desperate enough to wish her father dead so that she would be able to take care of her mother? If not aimed at Ellen or Meredith, the pointer swung toward Tim Talbot. What would he have done to keep from taking to a trail in an ATV, his stepfather riding fast behind him?

  As Max browned onions and green peppers, Annie held up the folders for his inspection. Each surely reflected its author. Emma’s folder was blue. Her name adorned the cover in huge gilt letters. Of course, her name on her book covers was always a shiny gold and large enough to be read at thirty feet. Small black letters announced: CLOSING THE NOOSE. Laurel’s folder was a soft pink. On it she’d written in a looping script in bright red ink: LOVERS’ PLIGHT. Henny’s folder was plain white, the legend purple: NIGHTMARES.

  Max drained freshly cooked shrimp, dropped them into
the skillet, added his own homemade seasoned tomato sauce. “The rice is almost ready.”

  Annie put the folders aside. She stirred up Thousand Island dressing, then cut them each a quarter of crisp iceberg lettuce. Max could yearn for endive. Sometimes, especially on a steamy summer day, she had to have iceberg.

  As they settled at the table, Annie read aloud the results of Emma’s investigative foray. Annie was excited by Emma’s discovery of the twenty-two rifle in the magnolia behind the stage. “That must be Tim’s gun. Rachel and I found the plastic bags he used to wrap the rifle, but they were empty.” She felt a lurch of her stomach. “If he had the gun Friday night and was up in a tree behind the stage, he must have intended to shoot Booth.” What else could have been his plan? She pictured him climbing, careful with the gun, pausing to rest his leg, finding a sturdy branch. Had he sat on the branch, wrapped his good leg around it, lifted the rifle? Still, she clung to hope. “The officer said a bigger-caliber bullet killed Booth.”

  Max put down his fork. “Billy’s keeping quiet about the gun. But maybe…” He pushed back his chair and retrieved the phone from the counter. He clicked on the speakerphone. Billy answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Max.” He sounded tired.

  “Billy, what caliber bullet killed Booth?”

  When Billy didn’t reply, Max said temperately, “I know you keep a lid on information you acquire in an ongoing investigation. But the killer knows what caliber.”

  Billy gave a snort that might have been amusement or might have been irritation. “Right. Between us, the slug was damaged by bone. It was deflected into the heart. A lucky break for the shooter. Not so lucky for the victim. That’s why he died so quickly. More tests will be run to try and determine the caliber.”

  “Billy, do you know enough to tell us one thing?” Annie heard the wobble in her voice, wished she didn’t have a sad memory of Tim Talbot’s face twisted in panic, the scar angry on his cheek. “Could the slug have come from a twenty-two?”

  “Are you talking about the twenty-two Emma Clyde found? Nope. That rifle has nothing to do with the murder. But try to tell Emma that!” He sounded impatient. “I’ll grant she was smart to have someone climb the tree. We checked the trees out thoroughly from the ground Friday night with flashlights and again in daylight. Problem is, the gun was balanced where it couldn’t be spotted through the foliage. But we’ve now been over that magnolia from bottom to top and found nothing related to this investigation. Emma can’t see beyond what she calls the Rectangle of Interest. If she tells me one more time that the case will only be solved when everything that happened there is revealed, I’m going to tell her to take her idea and,” he drew a breath, “use it in her next book.” Now he did manage a laugh. “Actually that is only roughly what I was thinking of telling her. Try to get her to back off, if you can. A text message an hour with her own creative abbreviations for Close the Noose.” He snapped the letters, “‘CLS TH NUS.’ She’s driving me nuts.”

  “I’ll try.” Annie knew that diverting Emma was as likely as Laurel taking vows of…Better not go there. “Billy, I know you’re hassled, but could the slug have come from a forty-five?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I suppose Marian tipped you about the reported theft of a forty-five from Wagner’s desk. We don’t know if there is a connection. We are considering every possibility.” Billy clicked off.

  Annie saw a silver lining. She looked at Max. “Why would Tim have his rifle there and also bring a forty-five? Does that make sense?”

  Max speared a portion of lettuce. “It doesn’t look good for him, even if the shot didn’t come from a twenty-two. Apparently there was a forty-five in the Wagner house and now it’s missing. Tim hated Booth. He blamed him for the accident. Tim’s scheduled for more surgery, and every time he looks in a mirror he sees that scar. Then Booth set it up for them to go out and ride trails next week. How desperate was Tim not to do that?”

  Annie shook her head. “He didn’t need both a twenty-two and a forty-five.” She took a second helping of the shrimp Creole. Max used just enough cayenne pepper for a flicker of heat. She picked up the pink folder. As she ate, she scanned Laurel’s looping script. She knew Max was watching her, so she managed not to reveal her thoughts. Honestly, the pages crackled with fired-up libido. Laurel was…

  Annie decided to concentrate on the message, not the messenger. Her lighthearted amusement fled when she finished. “Your mom thinks Neva Wagner dumped Van Shelton because she had a prenup that would have left her with nothing if she divorced Booth.”

  “Hey, Ma always gets the goods.” His pride was evident.

  Annie chewed energetically. That wasn’t all Laurel got, but some things were better left unsaid.

  Max was pumped. “The more we find out, the better it is for Jean. Billy can’t ignore Tim Talbot’s state of mind or a missing forty-five or an angry lover. Or the thirty-two found in the lake. Both a forty-five and a thirty-two are powerful.”

  Annie reached for Henny’s folder. Annie read the contents aloud.

  When she finished, Max looked somber. “So Tim Talbot’s having nightmares.” He glanced outside at the deepening shadows thrown by the pines as the sun slipped down, splashing the sky with cream, rose, vermilion, and mauve. “That has to get Billy’s attention. Tomorrow we can tell him about Booth insisting Tim ride an ATV again and Meredith taking money from Booth’s desk. Maybe by then I’ll have found Darren Dubois.”

  Max cleared the table while Annie dished up fresh strawberries. She spooned a generous amount of Max’s homemade whipped cream with a dash of rum.

  She settled at her place. Mmm. Her favorite summer dessert.

  Max stood at the counter with his dessert. “One more time. It may be the charm.” He flipped on the speakerphone, punched a number.

  “Hello.”

  “Is Darren there?”

  “Just a minute. Phone, Darren.” The woman’s voice was relaxed and pleasant.

  Max gave Annie a jubilant look.

  “H’lo.”

  “Hi, Darren, this is Max. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Freddy said Click had something special planned for the program Friday night. Did he tell you anything about that?”

  “Not a bunch. Something about an announcement.”

  Annie added another dollop of whipped cream to her bowl.

  Max looked eager. “Did he explain why he was excited?”

  “Excited?” Darren’s voice was grim. “Yeah. He was excited. He thought he was going to be called up on stage. That’s all I know for sure.” The connection ended.

  Max frowned at the phone. He shook his head and carried his dessert to the table. “Maybe Billy can get more out of him.”

  Annie ate a bit of strawberry and a bunch of whipped cream. To her, the proportion was perfect. “Why do you think he knows something more?”

  Max poked his spoon toward the phone. “You heard him. He said, ‘That’s all I know for sure.’ Didn’t you hear the emphasis on ‘sure’? That means he has some ideas about Friday night. I wish I knew why he’s being so cagey.”

  Chapter 11

  Billy Cameron tugged at the collar of his white shirt even though he’d loosened his tie. His suit coat hung from a coat tree. A steamy, sea-scented breeze flowed through his open office window. The ferry blasted its whistle. Ben Parotti’s Miss Jolene was into its summer schedule of several crossings a day. In the distance, a white yacht glistened in the brilliant sunlight. Inside, the ceiling fan whirred, but the air was still hot. “Air-conditioning went out yesterday. Always happens in July.” The police chief sounded morose, looked sweaty.

  Annie knew Billy must have come to the station directly after church. “Have you had lunch?” She and Max had gone home from church and changed into summer casual and enjoyed a grilled-chicken salad and iced tea. A quick phone call had located Billy at the station.

  “Mavis packed me a sandwich. I forgot about i
t. I’ll get it out of the fridge in a minute.” His desk was stacked with files. He looked at the paper wearily. “What have you got?” He made notes, abruptly looking sharp and intent as Annie described her talk with Meredith. “They were going to ride trails next weekend?”

  Annie nodded. If Tim Talbot was innocent, this information couldn’t hurt him. She wanted to believe he was innocent. Even though a twenty-two had been found in the tree behind the Haven stage, Booth had been killed by a larger-caliber bullet. But a forty-five was missing from his stepfather’s desk.

  Billy listened with interest as Max retold Larry Gilbert’s account of Meredith and the money, but he shrugged when Max described his talks with Darren Dubois. “Get over it, Max. There’s no proof Click Silvester was murdered. Maybe this Darren kid’s blowing you off because there’s nothing there. Guys aren’t girls. They don’t have to tell everything they know. If Click had a secret, maybe Darren didn’t want to share it.”

  Max looked stubborn. “Why did Click die the afternoon before the program? Who pulled out the pockets of his shorts? What was taken? What was Click’s big secret about Friday night? Why did Darren say that’s all he knew for sure?”

  Billy grinned. “Maybe that’s all he knew for sure.” Billy leaned back in his chair, the smile slipping away. “If Click was murdered, that means he knew something about Friday night and the murderer had to kill Click before Booth could be shot. Like what? You’re not suggesting Click knew Booth was going to be killed. So what could the kid know? Maybe,” there was a trace of sarcasm in his tone, “he saw Jean Hughes take the phosphorescent tape. Until somebody shows me a good reason why Click had to be killed, I don’t buy murder. I’ve always liked ‘Keep It Simple, Stupid.’ Speaking about me,” he was quick to make clear, “not you. So, KISS. What’s simpler than Jean Hughes about to lose her job and get tossed from the cottage that means everything to her right now and she gets a gun and blows Booth away? She’s right there at the lights. She’s standing behind him when he’s shot. It’s important to focus on the main point. Who needed Booth dead immediately? Jean Hughes.”