At 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…”
MAX 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:
…A shocking murder tops today’s news. Last night wealthy retired businessman Booth Wagner was shot at a Broward’s Rock recreation center for teenagers. Island Police Chief Billy Cameron said the former CEO of Wagner Enterprises, reputed to be worth more than twenty million dollars, died from a gunshot wound. No person of interest has been named but Cameron said the investigation was proceeding. According to witnesses, Wagner was speaking before an audience at an outdoor venue when the lights went off, plunging the area into darkness. A shot was heard and Wagner was struck. He fell to the ground. By the time a doctor reached Wagner and examined him by the light of a flashlight, Wagner was dead. Chief Cameron has declined to explain how a shot fired in the dark found its mark. Any person with knowledge of the crime is invited to contact the police or to call the Crime Stoppers number…
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.”
THE 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, Annie, 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.”
Max looked at Annie. “Was she that drunk? Was she drunk at all?”
Annie looked thoughtful. “She appeared to have trouble walking when I saw her before the program started.”
“Maybe she was playing drunk, from start to finish.” Max leaned forward. “How does that fit for size, Billy? Stone-cold sober, Ellen Wagner decides to kill him. She acts like she’s intoxicated when she arrives at the program to scope everything out. Then later, how hard is it to slur her words and hunt for her little gun? Think about the spot she’s in. She probably intended to claim she never left her room at the inn after Meredith brought her back. Then she finds Meredith and Annie in the hall. What’s she going to do? Maybe she’s clever. She decides to convince Annie she’s drunk. She underlines her innocence by prattling about Rufus.”
Billy leaned back. “We’re looking at her. We’re looking hard.”
Max gave a wry grin. “Now I’ll be the devil’s advocate. Ellen Wagner may look suspicious, but I don’t see how she could have any connection to Click Silvester. I think it’s strange that Click dies in a presumed accident Thursday afternoon and Booth Wagner gets shot during a program at the Haven Friday night, especially,” and now Max sounded grim, “after Click told one of his Haven buddies how excited he was about the program. Click said he was going to have a secret part.”
Billy looked surprised. “What are you implying? That Click knew somebody was going to shoot Wagner? Hey, everything we’ve turned up says Click was a straight arrow. The tox tests found him clean as a whistle.”
Max frowned. “Why did he fall down those steps?”
Billy shrugged. “Accidents happen.”
“Click wasn’t an outdoor guy. Why was he at the preserve? Who pulled out the pockets of his jeans?” Max flipped up one finger at a time as he made his points. “Why was he super-excited about the program?”
Billy’s smile was tired but genuine. “Kevin was excited, too. Hey, they may be teenagers and mostly try to act cool, but it’s still a big deal to be in a program. There’s nothing weird about a kid being excited.”
“Why did he say his part was secret? I’ll ask Jean. Maybe she’ll know.”
Billy was abruptly somber. “That may be the easiest question she’ll answer all day. Tell me about the mess at the Haven.”
Max’s blue eyes narrowed. He looked thoughtful.
Billy persisted. “Yesterday at Parotti’s, you and Annie had a set-to with Booth Wagner. Tell me about it.”
Annie felt caught in a bubble of tension. She and Max and Billy went back a long way, through good times and bad. Billy’s honesty and determination to do his duty as he saw fit had saved Max from a murder charge. That same honesty now made him the man on the other side of the desk, determined to gain information from them that they were reluctant to provide.
Annie sat on the edge of the chair. “Billy, you know—” And her eyes reminded him of dreadful August days that had looked so black for Max and Annie. “—Things can be made to look bad for people.”
“I understand what you’re saying. You and Max have tried to help Jean Hughes. Obviously, you like her or you wouldn’t bother. That’s fine. But she’s one of the people I’m looking at. She was upset with Wagner. She was there. In fact, she was in a good position to have fired that shot.” Billy tapped his pen on a legal pad. “So if you spoke to Wagner about her yesterday, I want to know.” He looked at Max.
Max nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware that Wagner wanted her fired.”
“Frank filled me in.”
“However, I’d lined up the votes for the board meeting next week to keep her as director.” Max’s tone was relaxed. “Booth heard about it. He came to tell me that the question was moot, Jean had agreed to resign.”
Billy waited. He looked like a man expecting an explanation.
Max remained silent. His expression was pleasant but unrevealing.
Billy’s eyes glinted. “What happened then?”
“Annie and I went out to the Haven. We spoke with Jean. She confirmed Booth’s statement.”
Billy gave a huff of impatience. “Come on, Max. One day she’s fighting to keep her job. The next, she gives up, agrees to resign. There has to be a reason for her about-face.”
Max shook his head. “It would be better if you asked Jean directly.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask her. Right now I’m asking you what caused her change in plans.”
“Her sister is ill. I believe she decided to take time off to be with her.”
Annie knew he had picked his words carefully. As Henny Brawley had once told her, “There are many ways to tell the truth.” Max was telling the truth, but nothing in his manner hinted at the anger and confusion and despair attendant upon that calm statement. They had told Billy the truth but not all of the truth. Only she and Max had heard Jean’s despairing cry in the dim tunnel in the woods, “I’d kill to keep her on that porch.”
Billy was insistent. “Why did you and Annie get mad?”
Max raised an eyebrow.
Billy made an impatient gesture. “One of my officers was eating lunch, told me you looked like you wanted to break a chair over Wagner.”
“I didn’t want to see Jean leave the Haven. She’s done a good job.”
“Why did Booth want her fired?”
Max shrugged. “I wasn’t in Booth Wagner’s confidence.”
“You must have some ideas. You must have seen his actions as unjustified.” Billy’s gaze was intent. “Otherwise, why were you helping her?”
Max smiled. “That’s easy, Billy. I was helping her because I thought keeping her at the Haven was best for the kids. I’d lined up support on the board. I hoped she’d reconsider her decision to resign. That’s the extent of my involvement.”
A tiny smile tugged at Billy’s lips. “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”
The two old friends looked at each other in complete understanding.
Billy glanced down at a file. He no longer smiled. “Jean Hughes was there. In fact, she was very close to where the shooter stood. She had opportunity. She appears to have a motive. I’ll be talking to her.”
SUNBURNED VACATIONERS MILLED around the marina. Annie avoided a couple on a tandem bike and hurried to the boardwalk. The harbor wasn’t quite as full as usual in July, evidence that the economic downturn had affected the rich as well as everyone else. Still there were yachts of prodigious size, sailboats, motors boats, and cruisers moored at slips.
Annie’s practiced eye judged the boardwalk to be nicely filled with tourists and, of course, a goodly number would find their way to Death on Demand. Inside, she paused for her customary spurt of joy, the smell of books, the moth-eaten raven above the beaded entrance to the children’s section, the bright covers on the New table, and Agatha preening on the cash desk before an admiring customer.
Ingrid, thin, brisk, and efficient, was hard at work, giving Annie a swift nod as she led two middle-aged ladies down the center aisle. “All of the Patricia Wentworth Miss Silver mysteries have been reprinted by Hodder & Stoughton in England and we import them.” Ingrid gestured to Annie to take over at the cash desk.
Annie checked out two customers, each with a hefty stack of books. There were the usual suspects, Alexander McCall Smith, Janet Evanovich, John Grisham, Mary Higgins Clark, Robert Crais, C. J. Box, Diane Mott Davidson, James Lee Burke, and Laura Lippman, but there were also fresh names, wonderful writers all, Mary Saums, Dorothy Howell, David Fuller, Charles Finch, Megan Abbott, Christopher Fowler, Patricia Briggs, Deanna Raybourn, and Donis Casey.
Annie bagged the books, handed the customers their receipts. “A good day to read on the beach.”
As they left, she wished she could go to the beach with her new Margaret Maron title, a sun hat, and a cooler with chilled shrimp and cold, very cold, Heineken. Maybe this evening, she and Max would take their sand chairs and set them up in a tidal pool. She loved the little pools left between sand ridges as the tide flowed out. She was ready to immerse herself in a tale where she knew justice would prevail. In the midst of this cheerful daydream, she became aware of the clunk of purposeful steps coming from the coffee bar. She looked up.
Emma Clyde, her pink caftan swirling about her, gestured imperiously. The island’s famous mystery author was always commanding. Today her sapphire-blue eyes held an impatient glint. Lines denoting intelligence seasoned with a touch of belligerence seamed her square face.
Emma stopped in front of the cash desk, clapped her stubby hands on the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Emma turned and marched toward the coffee bar, obviously assuming Annie would follow.
Of course, she did.
Rebuffing Emma was a pleasure to be enjoyed only in her dreams. However, she was somewhat surprised to find her mother-in-law and Henny comfortably settled at a large table.
Annie couldn’t help inquiring: “What are you doing?”
Emma pontificated, “As Marigold observes, ‘Even with the best will in the world, the authorities lack intuitive gifts.’”
Annie restrained herself from noting aloud that Marigold Rembrandt wasn’t real. She was the figment of her author’s imagination. Quoting her, therefore, was not persuasive.
Emma gave a benign smile. “I am between books.”
Annie translated: focusing on Booth Wagner’s murder was much easier than plotting a new book.
Annie looked at Henny. Her old friend and the island’s greatest mystery enthusiast also prided herself on her deductive powers but she was thoroughly grounded in reality.
Henny exuded determination. “We may be able to discover information that will be helpful. Sometimes people won’t talk to the police. I want to be sure the kids are safe at the Haven. I asked Billy if an officer could keep an eye on things. He said Officer Harrison will be on duty during the hours the Haven is open.”
Laurel’s husky voice was firm. “Giselle Hughes should be able to die in peace.”
Annie blew a kiss to her mother-in-law.
Laurel’s blue eyes glowed with affection and appreciation.
Emma, never one for sentiment, cleared her throat. “Enough of this lollygagging around. Let’s get to work.”