Laughed 'Til He Died

by Carolyn Hart

  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.”

  MOST 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…”

  COMFORTABLE 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.

  Annie kept busy. She made calls, set up a buffet on an elegant Louis XV lacquered commode, and later arranged for Pudge to pick up Rachel and take her home. As she cleared the buffet, gathering up dishes, washing them, she tried not to worry. She had initiated the search for Tim Talbot. What if Neva had lied about the forty-five? What if Tim had that gun? Or perhaps Neva’s lie was in the timing. Perhaps she had taken the gun from Booth’s desk on Friday and Friday night lifted her hand and aimed and shot at the husband who wouldn’t set her free.

  Every so often, Annie walked from one caller to another in the terrace room. She paused, looked down, and each time received a head-shake. No one had seen Tim Talbot. Annie occasionally touched the cell phone in the pocket of her linen slacks. It was as if she reached out to Max. If she called, she would hear his voice. She clung to that sense of connection, and the little prayer in her mind ran over and over: Keep them safe, the men looking for Tim. Let Tim be found and everyone be safe, everyone. Too much had happened in her life and Max’s to take safety for granted, not now, not ever.

  Neva paced in front of the windows. Every time a phone rang, she froze and waited, her eyes enormous in a face blanched by fear. Each time there was no news and she expelled a breath and began again her nervous, driven circuit, her sandals clicking on the tiled floor.

  Abruptly, Neva cried out, “He’s been gone for hours. I can’t bear it. I’m going to look for him.” She whirled and hurried to a French door that opened onto the terrace.

  THE SANDY ROAD twisted and turned, deeper and deeper into the forest. Overreaching branches blocked the moonlight. The Jeep’s headlights seemed puny against darkness as impenetrable as a pool of oil. All four windows were down. Max drove the barely moving Jeep with one hand, held a battery-powered megaphone to his lips. “Tim Talbot. You are not wanted by the police. Tim Talbot. You are free to come home. Tim Talbot…”

  Every ten minutes he paused to drink some water, and then he began to call again. “Tim Talbot…” The megaphones had a five-hundred-yard range. Max felt confident Tim would hear the summons. Whether he chose to respond was another matter. As time passed, Max received calls from other searchers, indicating they’d driven their routes with no success.

  Max reached the end of the road. He shook his head, turned the Jeep, and drove back the way he’d come, the megaphone lying in the seat beside him.

  NEVA STOOD ON the boardwalk to the beach, a dark form in the creamy moonlight. She stared out at the ocean and the curling white of the breakers.

  Annie hurried to catch
up, her shoes thumping on the wooden planks. Waves rose and fell, the crashing sound familiar, reassuring.

  Neva stood stiff and straight. “He took his sleeping bag.”

  Annie knew Neva held on to that fact like a talisman. “He’s probably fast asleep right now. I’m sure he’s perfectly all right. Maybe he feels like he’s having an adventure, sleeping out under the stars.” She looked up at the Milky Way and the Big Dipper, at Mars and Saturn and Venus. Untold millions of stars glittered across the expanse of sky, shining on the unlit beach with dazzling brilliance.

  Neva’s pale face turned toward her, the features scarcely visible. “Will they find him?”

  “They’ll do their best.” And, please God, may they all be safe, Max and the men and Tim, too.

  Neva gave a ragged laugh. “Do your best. That’s what my mother always said. God knows I tried, but I’ve made so many mistakes. Poor little Tim. I didn’t know everything would end like this. His dad died of cancer. Tim watched him die, getting thinner and sicker day by day. Booth was very kind. He was my boss. Two years after Paul died, Booth told me he and his wife had separated. I’d heard she was involved with someone. I should have been smart enough to see how angry he was with her. Anyway, he kept after me and he was nice to Tim. Booth was so loud and healthy and vigorous. I thought he’d be good for Tim. And good to him. We hadn’t been married six months when I realized the truth. Booth didn’t care about me. He married me to get back at Ellen. Someone at the office told me that word was out that I was a home wrecker. I know who put that word out. Booth. That isn’t the worst thing he did. The worst was trying to make Tim ‘act like a man.’ I hated him then. Tim will be a fine man. He’s a good boy. But he is gentle and reserved and sensitive. Nothing like Booth. The accident was Booth’s fault. Tim can’t run now. Or play baseball. One leg is shorter than the other. They think they can put in a rod and maybe he’ll be as good as new. But it costs thousands of dollars. The scar on his face needs more surgery. Booth thought that was a waste. He said that a good scar made a man look tough. I wanted a divorce. He refused. Then I met Van. I suppose everyone thinks I’m a slut. I don’t care. When Booth found out, he threatened to get Van fired. Booth said if I left him I’d have no medical insurance for Tim and not enough money to buy it. Do you wonder that I didn’t care when someone shot him? I didn’t know Tim was angry enough to take his rifle to the program. That breaks my heart. I should have known he was desperate. I should have done something, anything, taken him away, but he needs those operations. And now he’s frightened. He’s just a boy. He must think the police will arrest him and blame him for Booth’s death.” She looked out at the water. “Tim? Tim, where are you?” Her voice rose against the immensity of the night and the boom of the surf. “Tim, please come home, please, please, please.”

  ANNIE LIFTED THE saucepan just as the milk began to steam. She measured and added nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and honey.

  Max leaned against the kitchen counter, comfortable in a T-shirt and boxers. He looked tired but calm, a man who had done as he’d promised.

  Annie poured his portion into a mug with a zebra-head handle. Her handle was a lioness. They’d brought home a set of six from an African safari. She remembered nights in the bush, the roar of lions, the cackle of hyenas, the odd thwacking sound of hippos, and the rumble of frogs. She had enjoyed the journey, but she had known at all times and in every place that danger was near. She felt very much the same now.

  “Don’t you think he would have come out if he was okay?” She cradled the warm mug in her hands.

  “Tim’s all right.” Max was irritated. “You’re as bad as Larry Gilbert. He helped me box up the megaphones and he was like a cat on hot bricks, worrying about the Haven and some kind of kid cabal. I told him that was nuts. This wasn’t a matter of disaffected teenagers cooking up some weird murder. Click Silvester wasn’t disaffected from anything. He was a happy, good kid who worked hard and was excited—in a good way—about the Friday night program. Darren was a daredevil, but he didn’t have teenage angst. The only disaffected one is Tim Talbot and he never hung around with the older guys, plus he had a good reason to take a hike when the cops came calling. No, the central murder is Booth’s and that’s where we have to look for the killer. Who hated him enough to be willing to kill a teenager to clear the way and take out a second who tried blackmail? Tim Talbot doesn’t fit into this picture. He’s a side issue.”

  Annie persisted. “Why didn’t Tim come out when he heard the calls that it was okay to come home?”

  Max shrugged. “This isn’t a kid who’s willing to trust. If there’s no posse with dogs out looking for him tomorrow, I promise he’ll be home by dark. Look at the facts, Annie. He took a backpack and a sleeping bag. He wasn’t going to walk into the ocean. If that was his mind-set, he’d have run away empty-handed. I don’t have any doubt he heard one of the megaphone calls tonight. He decided to wait and see. Tomorrow nobody will be looking for him, and he’ll realize it’s safe to come home. In the meantime, Mrs. Darling,” Max’s eyes lit and he reached out his hand to take hers, “it’s time we slept the sleep of the just. As in, just fell in love, just can’t wait…”

  Chapter 14

  In her dream, Annie ran through darkness, trying to catch up with Neva Wagner, whose voice rose above the roar of the surf, “…Please come home…please…” The shrill peal of the telephone brought her gasping to wakefulness. Heart thudding, Annie threw back the sheet.

  Max’s groggy voice mumbled, “H’lo.”

  Annie fumbled with the switch, turned on the bedside lamp.

  Max’s beard-stubbled face furrowed into a tight frown. “I’ll come over…That’s all right. I think you need someone there.” He put down the phone. “Jean. Somebody threw something under her house. The noise woke her up. She’s called the police.”

  Annie swung over her edge of the bed.

  Max gave her a weary smile. “Go back to bed, honey. I’ll take care of it.” He glanced at the clock.

  Annie didn’t need to check the time to know they were still in the dark watches of the night, when mind and body clung to slumber. Max was not going out into the night alone. There were too many guns loose on the island. Though her decision wasn’t logical, she felt that two together was safer than one alone. She knew his response if she revealed her reason. Instead, she blinked away sleep and said firmly, “This may be a big break. I don’t intend to miss any of the action.”

  LIGHT STREAMED FROM the cottage windows and blazed from all four corners of the deck. Her hair tangled, Jean looked as if she’d dressed in haste—a red cotton shirt untucked from worn Levis. She was barefoot and wore no makeup. She stood on the steps, pointing.

  Lou Pirelli’s uniform was wrinkled, but he looked competent and wide-awake. He held a Maglite trained on the side of the cottage. In common with many low-country structures, the cottage was supported by brick pillars, which lifted the floor a good four feet above the ground, protecting it from hurricane storm surge. The wooden lattice that screened the area beneath the house was pulled ajar.

  “…I didn’t leave the screen that way. Someone’s pulled the lattice out. I heard the screech as it moved and then a thump. I got up and came to the front window.” She turned and looked toward the woods. “In the moonlight I saw somebody for an instant before they ran into the woods.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It was just a dark form and then it was gone.”

  Lou nodded. “I’ll take a look.” He walked toward the dark opening beneath the cottage. He took his time, swinging the Maglite back and forth in front of him. Annie wondered if he was looking for footprints, tracks of some sort.

  Lou reached the opening. He knelt and played the light beam into the darkness. Suddenly he stopped, his posture tense.

  Annie started to move forward, but Max caught her hand.

  “Wait. There might be footprints. Traces.”

  She stopped. Moonlight dappled the cottage.
Cicadas burred, their summer song intense. Swamp frogs trilled. It was any summer night, hot, humid, alive with noise and movement, except for the now ominous beam of light poking into darkness beneath the cottage.

  Lou remained in a crouch. With infinite patience, he moved the beam of light back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he held the Maglite steady. He stared beneath the house, then clicked off the light. He rose, tucked the light under one arm, unclipped his cell phone, and punched a number. “Chief, sorry to wake you.” Lou glanced at their watching faces, turned away, walked far enough toward the woods that his words were inaudible. In a moment, the call ended and he walked back to them, his face impassive. “Chief Cameron will be here shortly.” Lou spoke to Jean, ignoring Annie and Max. “He will wish to speak with you. Please remain available.”

  Jean stared toward the opening under the house. “What’s there?” A current of hysteria bubbled in her voice.

  Max was abrupt. “Jean has a right to know what you found. She saw a prowler. What was thrown there?”

  Lou looked at them with his cop face, remote, wary, unyielding. “Chief Cameron will handle the investigation.”

  Jean took a step toward the opening. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  Lou barred her way. “This area is off-limits until our investigation is completed.”

  Annie reached out, touched Jean’s rigid arm. A confrontation between Lou and Jean would only make matters worse for Jean. “Let’s wait on the porch.”

  Jean stood taut for an instant, then nodded toward the house. “I need to check on Giselle.” She started for the back steps, then swung to look at Max and Annie. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. It’s late. Please go home. I’ll call in the morning and let you know what they’ve found.”

  Max smiled. “We’ll wait.”