Although darkness had yet to fall, most of the Haven grounds lay in the deep shadow of huge pines as the sun slipped westward. An old concrete pad sat where the woods curved close to the lake. The pad now served as a stage for outdoor programs. “Stage” was a generous description. The concrete rectangle was all that remained of some long-ago storage building. Between the back of the stage and the woods stood several six-foot light stands. Suddenly bright light flared. Rosalind Parker darted from behind the soft box headlights and clapped her hands in excitement. “They’re working!” The illumination of the stage was uneven. Rosalind bustled to the back of the stage and stepped down. She knelt to pull a plug from a cable.
Max looked relieved. “It’s always touch-and-go with the lights. But I like having the summer program outside even though we have to borrow a portable lighting system. The little theater group loans the lights to us. When the new gym is finished, the programs will be inside.”
The Haven summer program had drawn a good crowd. Annie guessed there must be about seventy-five people milling around, viewing artwork, corralling excited kids, drinking Kool-Aid. Conversation was animated. Some voices spoke in the old and beautiful low-country cadence. A goodly number of other accents could be heard. Yankee twangs, Midwestern flatness, and Western drawls were common on a sea island that offered year-round sun and warmth. Forty-degree days in January beat sub-zero in Minnesota.
Jean moved from cluster to cluster, greeting, welcoming, gesturing toward various venues. At one point, Jean paused to smile at a young mother who held a squirming toddler on one hip. They stood near the steps to the old school building, clearly revealed in a bright, sharp overhead light. Jean was attractive in a pale-lime cotton knit dress and white sandals. She managed to smile though her eyes were somber. There was an aura of exhaustion about her. Thankfully, the lighting on the grounds was sparse enough that she was spared close scrutiny.
A teenage boy sidled up to Max and asked shyly if he’d like to come and see the posters that Rosalind had asked them to make for Jean.
“Go ahead,” Annie encouraged. “I’m going to look for Henny before the program starts.” As she strolled toward the refreshment table, Annie wondered if others were aware of a dark current beneath the surface excitement. It seemed that wherever she glanced, there were sharp reminders of the drama unfolding beneath the cheer.
First and foremost, the arrival of Booth Wagner set her teeth on edge. He walked in with a tall woman at his side and two teenagers lagging a bit behind. Annie knew his wife casually and she recognized the teenage girl as a customer who bought mostly used paperbacks. She’d never seen the boy and noticed he moved with a decided limp. Booth beamed. His wife’s face was composed but not enthusiastic. The teenage girl looked tense and the boy bored. Booth had a peacock strut and clearly expected homage similar to the adulation heaped on politicians. He immediately plunged into the crowd, leaving his family behind. It was easy to follow his progress because of his height and flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, this one purple and green and orange. Booth exuded charm as he moved from group to group, shaking hands, his loud voice easily heard. Booth’s boisterous laughter rose above the exuberant din of conversations and shouting kids. At one point he huddled with Larry Gilbert, clapping an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders. Larry gestured toward the tennis court, almost invisible in the growing gloom. Annie felt a spurt of irritation. So what difference did a ragged net make? But the sagging net was the least of Jean’s worries now.
Booth’s wife and the teenagers drifted toward the periphery. Annie glanced at the back page of the program. Bright red type thanked the board of directors. Each received an introductory paragraph with a photograph. She read the tributes to Henny Brawley and Frank Saulter, whom she knew well. The paragraphs were modest and unassuming and likely had been submitted in a response to a request for material. Henny was pictured standing on the porch of her house overlooking the marsh. Frank was surrounded by kids clutching fishing rods at the end of the pier.
Larry Gilbert’s paragraph was more formal and clearly written by a businessman looking for a spot of free publicity. He was grinning in an informal shot at a pancake supper, a white chef’s hat on his dark hair.
She read Booth’s contribution:
Booth Wagner, former CEO of multimillion-dollar Wagner Enterprises in Atlanta, brought his passion for excellence to Broward’s Rock when he and his family retired here two years ago. Praised in Fortune magazine as a hands-on executive, Booth had energy, charm, and a can-do attitude that brought new life and energy to the Haven. Wagner believes in family values. His wife Neva, daughter Meredith, and stepson Tim Talbot are also familiar faces at the Haven.
Booth had provided a family picture. His bulk emphasized the slender athleticism of his wife. She looked cool and self-possessed. Meredith had curly dark hair, a heart-shaped face, and a shy smile. Slightly built Tim stood with arms folded, face half-turned from the camera. His brown hair was fairly long.
Annie raised an eyebrow. Family values? Was that why Booth had convinced an admittedly too credulous Jean he was in love with her and separated from his wife?
Annie folded the program, put it in the pocket of her white slacks, and scanned the crowd for Henny.
Once again a member of Booth’s family caught her eye. This time she was struck by the furtive slide of Booth’s stepson away from the lit area. Mack the Knife couldn’t have moved with a more effective slither despite the teenager’s pronounced limp. Neither Tim Talbot’s mother nor stepsister appeared to notice or care as he disappeared into the gloom of the forest. Annie shrugged away a feeling of concern. He was certainly safe enough. A stray bobcat could pose danger in night woods but any bobcat with sense would be as far from light and noise as possible. If Booth’s stepson wanted to hunker in the woods instead of attending a party, it was not any of Annie’s business. In fact, knowing what she knew would soon unfold, she wished she could flee into the darkness.
As she shrugged and turned away, she spotted Henny near the Kool-Aid stand. Annie joined her and they hugged.
Henny, as always, looked elegant. Tonight she was crisp in a scoop-neck lemon shell and beige linen skirt. Silvered dark hair framed her intelligent face. Her brown eyes lively and interested, she pointed toward the dock. “Frank’s putting on a casting clinic for kids. Have you been out to see? They’ve caught four catfish and thrown them back.”
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 light, 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.”
In a big-city hotel, it would be tough, if not impossible, to obtain an extra key without proof of identity. If Annie could get the owner on the phone, she felt confident a key would be forthcoming. “Let’s go downstairs and—”
“Sugar pie.” The slurred voice was sweet and soft and vague.
The small, dark-haired woman came from the direction of the elevator. She dipped toward the wall, righted herself with a light push and a faint look of surprise. Her face had the thinness that comes from too much whiskey and too little food. Her face might once have had gamine charm. Now sunken brown eyes lacked focus and high cheekbones jutted. A gauzy pale blue shirt was missing a button on a three-quarter-length sleeve tab, so one cuff hung askew. Cropped beige linen slacks were too wrinkled to be fresh. Mud clung to her shell sandals.
“Sugar.” She came up to Meredith, attempted to embrace her, but it took Meredith’s quick lunge to keep her upright.
The smell of whiskey cloyed the stuffy air of the hotel corridor. She blinked at Annie. “Do I know you?” She reached out an unsteady hand.
Annie gripped thin, cold fingers, managed a smile. “I’m a friend of Meredith’s.”
“Oh.” Her tone was pleased. “Meredith’s friends are my friends.”
“Ellen, where have you been?” Meredith’s voice quavered. “You promised you’d stay in your room.”
The smile aimed at Annie disappeared as Ellen’s mouth turned down and she frowned. “Sugar, I needed to talk to your daddy.” The words slid together. “Didn’t want to talk to him ever again, but I won’t let him keep us apart.” She peered earnestly at her daughter. “Nobody can stand between a mother and her child.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I miss you all the time. I was going to tell him what was what.” She fumbled at the catch of her white straw purse, managed to open the flap, poked a hand inside. “See, I was going to—” She stopped, bent over the open purse, rooted about. “Where’d it go?” She sounded pettish. “Rufus, where are you?”
The door to the next room opened again. “Listen, people, I’ve got him down,” the young mother whispered. “Please move along. I’m going to call the desk if the noise doesn’t stop.” The door eased shut with a careful click.
Meredith took her mother’s arm. “Ellen, where’s your key?”
“Key.” Dark brows drew down in a befuddled frown. “That’s not what I need. Key…” She patted the pocket of her slacks. She fumbled, drew out the key card. The oblong plastic slipped from her fingers to the floor. “There it is. Don’t care about keys. Have to find Rufus. Had him a little while ago. Can’t remember…” She drew her purse closer, peered inside.
Meredith scooped up the key card and swiped it. As she pushed the door open, Ellen swung and headed up the hall, head down, muttering, “Got to find Rufus.”
Startled, Meredith bolted after her mother. She reached Ellen and turned her back toward the room.
Annie stepped forward, held the door open. She turned on the light, glanced into the room. She felt an instant’s surprise at the uncluttered emptiness, a room that showed no signs of occupancy except for the quarter-full bottle of J&B and a single lipstick-rimmed glass on the table near the window. No clothes lay strewn about. Annie glanced at the closet, which appeared to be empty. A soiled canvas carryall sagged on the luggage rack.
“Sugar, don’t pull on me.” Ellen’s voice was low and confused.
“Let’s go in your room. You can tell me about Rufus and I’ll go and see.” Meredith looked her thanks at Annie, who still held the door.
In the room’s narrow entryway, Ellen pulled free from Meredith. With a little murmur, she stumbled to the table and reached out for the bottle. “Need a drink.” She uncapped the bottle, then looked anxious. “I have to find Rufus. I will. In a minute.” With enormous concentration, she moved her hand, keeping it steady just long enough to pour a thin, golden stream of scotch into the glass. She didn’t bother to cap the bottle. Instead, she clanked it to the table and grabbed the glass and began to drink greedily even before she sank onto a chair.
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.”