Annie fumbled in her purse for scratch paper. She found a grocery list, turned it over, and wrote: Not to worry. I’m with Rachel. She wants to show me something in the woods. Annie wasn’t sure what her stepsister hoped or feared. Rachel’s explanation had been disjointed in her impatience to get started.
Annie tucked a note beneath the driver’s windshield wiper of Max’s Jeep. If he came out to the Haven parking lot and saw her car and didn’t find her anywhere, he might be concerned. She tossed her purse in the trunk.
“Annie, hurry. Tim’s probably there by now.” Rachel gestured toward the woods. Thin as a whippet, with a narrow, intense face that hinted at the haunting beauty she would become, today she looked drenched in misery, reluctant yet committed. “Maybe everything’s okay. But he looked so strange. Come on,” she tugged at Annie’s hand, “stay behind me and don’t make any noise.”
When they reached the dim opening in the fern-choked thicket, Rachel stopped, plucked her cell phone from her pocket, turned it off. She looked over her shoulder. “Make sure your cell phone’s off.”
“I left my purse in my trunk.”
Rachel nodded and sped ahead.
Annie hurried to catch up. Rachel was a good ten feet in front of her, stepping softly on pine straw at the edge of the narrow path.
The caw of crows, the baking late-morning heat, a whirr of gnats, the flutter of ferns as they brushed past them, the smell of damp earth, the mixed scents of lavender lobelia and wild hibiscus and honeysuckle, the dreamy Green Mansions dimness of the path hidden from sunlight by overhanging branches, the ever-present fear of snakes were part and parcel of summer in the deep woods. As she followed her stepsister deeper and deeper into the dusky and isolated forest, Annie felt caught up in a strange and unnerving quest.
Abruptly, Rachel stopped, a hand held up in warning. She bent forward, shoulders hunched, listening.
Not far ahead came thrashing sounds.
Annie stiffened. Wild boars still roamed remote woods. With pointed ears, black bristly hair, and sharp tusks, the feral pigs were fast and dangerous. Annie squinted at the path in the dimness, seeking their distinctive muddy tracks. They often rolled in mud to cool off from summer heat.
Rachel made a tiny follow-me gesture and sidled around a curve.
Annie took two quick strides. She saw a welcome shaft of bright sunlight and knew a clearing lay ahead.
Rachel, her body taut, peered from behind a saw palm. Annie slid up next to her.
Tim Talbot, his thin face glistening from effort, sweat patching his T-shirt, worked furiously, pulling apart a bale of hay, pausing every so often to shove a hand into the pocket of his shorts.
“He’s digging out the bullets.” Rachel looked shaken.
The livid scar looked angry on Tim’s sweat-sheened cheek. His fingers scrabbled at the hay. He stopped, sneezed, wiped his face. Dust and sprigs of hay swirled as he gouged and ripped.
Rachel’s soft whisper was anguished. “If it was all right, he wouldn’t, would he?” She gripped Annie’s arm. “I saw him shooting at cups last week. He’d drawn a face—” She looked sick. “—With yellow hair on each cup. He blew them apart.”
Despite sweat sliding down her back and legs, Annie felt chilled. She stared at the small clearing, her eyes searching. She didn’t see a gun or any kind of weapon. She bent close to Rachel, scarcely breathed as she spoke, her words a ghost of sound. “Go back to the Haven. Get Max. I’ll wait here.”
Rachel twisted to answer. A twig snapped underfoot.
Tim’s head jerked up. He looked like a startled fawn, dark hair lank on his face, lips parted. A pulse quivered in his throat. He gazed around the clearing in a frenzy, seeking the source of the sound. Abruptly, grunting with effort, he pushed at what remained of the bale, shoving the ragged bunch of hay behind a resurrection fern. He dropped to his hands and knees, frantically sweeping the remainder of the bale into the under-growth.
“I can’t stand this.” There was a sob in Rachel’s voice. She pulled away from Annie, bolted into the clearing. “Tim, don’t be scared. It’s just me and my sister. We want to help you.”
Annie pushed past a scratchy frond of a saw palmetto. Alert for any threat, she watched Tim, ready to push Rachel to safety, ready to scream for help though she knew they were deep in an unfrequented wood.
Tim came to his feet, panting. His eyes were wild, his hands clenched. He was disheveled and desperate. “I don’t need any help. Leave me alone.”
Annie understood Rachel’s pity. Yet, she remembered Laurel’s words—“Oh, I won’t forget his face”—when the lights came on after his stepfather’s murder. Annie spoke and the words were there without thought or planning. “What have you done with the gun?”
Tim stared at her with glazed, dark eyes. His face was ashen. He glanced toward the not-quite-hidden mound of shredded hay. “I didn’t…I didn’t…” He backed away from Annie, jerked around, and ran toward the path.
Rachel took a step toward the trees. “Tim, please come back.”
The only reply to Rachel’s call was the dwindling sound of his running steps.
“A SEARCH WARRANT?” Jean stared down at the paper in her hand. Her eyes widened in shock. “Why did you get a warrant? I don’t mind if you look in my office. You’re welcome to see everything.”
Billy was looking especially stolid. “The warrant makes the search official.” He turned away and walked toward the main building. Marian Kenyon was right on his heels.
Jean looked at Max. “What does he think he’s going to find?” Her voice was uneven. She brushed back a strand of blond hair with a shaky hand.
Max tried to keep his expression relaxed, but he knew Jean was in trouble. To obtain a search warrant, Billy had convinced the judge that there was probable cause that incriminating evidence would be found. “We’ll find out.”
When they stepped into the main building, Mavis Cameron waited in the hall outside Jean’s office. Mavis, who also worked as a crime scene tech, held an oblong metal box and wore latex gloves.
“Go right in.” Jean pointed at the open door to her office. She looked both scared and angry.
Max thought her anger was a sign of innocence.
Marian glanced in the office, then took two quick steps to confront Jean. “Ms. Hughes, you came to the island as a protégé of the murder victim. How long had you known him?”
“I don’t—”
Max interrupted. “Ms. Hughes is cooperating with the police investigation and will not discuss the matter at this time.”
Marian gave Max a combative glance. She sidestepped him. “Ms. Hughes, can you suggest why Mr. Wagner was killed here at the Haven?”
Jean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. It’s a nightmare. It still seems impossible, the lights going out and a shot.”
Marian’s bony face squeezed in inquiry. “How many people knew that he was scheduled to speak at the program?”
Jean looked in turn perplexed, thoughtful, and stunned. “I suppose a lot of people could have known.”
Marian was unrelenting. “His bio was in the program, but there was no indication he would speak. You were listed as emcee.”
Jean abruptly exploded. “What are you saying? Everybody who knew him would know he’d be on the stage. He always bulled his way into the middle of every event.”
Marian studied Jean for a moment, then turned away to look into the office.
Billy sat behind the desk. He, too, wore latex gloves. He pulled out the center drawer, placed it on the desktop.
Mavis lifted the lid of a cardboard box near the door.
Jean paced back and forth in the hall, arms folded tight across her front.
Max was uneasy. Some fact unknown to Jean and to him must have prompted the search. Max felt sure that Billy was looking for something specific.
Jean looked from Max to Marian. “I didn’t have anything to do with Booth’s murder.” Her voice was shaky, but determined. “There can’t be anything in my office connected to the shooting.”
Marian wrote in her notebook.
Jean gave a sigh of relief. “So, I don’t care what they find.” She seemed to take comfort in her own words. Some of the panic seeped from her eyes.
Max hoped she was right. Was Billy looking for the murder weapon? Killers did odd things, but Jean would have been an incredible fool to have hidden the gun in her office. Max spoke quietly. “While we have a minute, I wanted to ask about Click Silvester. Freddy Baker said Click was really excited about the program. He said Click told him he had a secret part.”
Marian took a step nearer. “That’s the kid who died in the nature preserve.” Her dark eyes were sharp and intent. “What’s his role in the program got to do with the Wagner kill?”
Jean looked perplexed. “Click wasn’t on the program.”
In Jean’s office, Mavis eased files out of a middle drawer in a cabinet, bending to look inside.
Max persisted. “Click told Freddy he had a special part, but it was a secret. Click was really excited and couldn’t wait for Friday night.”
Mavis refilled the middle cabinet, pulled out the bottom drawer.
Jean’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Maybe Freddy was talking about something else.”
Max recalled his conversation with Freddy. According to Freddy, Click was excited about the program. Max jammed his hands in his pockets. That made two odd aspects to Click’s death. The first was his presence in a nature preserve. The second was his excitement about a program in which he was not scheduled to take part.
Maybe both could be explained. Maybe he went to the nature preserve on a dare or somebody had persuaded him it was fun to see the birds in the rookery. Maybe he was excited about the program because somebody was going to include him in a skit even though he wasn’t officially part of the program.
Neither explanation satisfied Max.
Marian’s angular face was creased in a puzzled frown. “Come on, Max. What’s the connection between the kid’s death and Wagner’s murder?”
“Chief!” Mavis’s voice was sharp.
They all turned to see Mavis staring into the bottom drawer.
Billy was beside her in an instant. He bent down, looked, nodded. “Hold on.” He retrieved a rod from the forensic case, poked it toward the back of the cabinet, carefully eased the rod up.
A roll of tape wobbled on the rod. Billy moved the rod until he held both ends. The tape balanced in the center of the metal piece. He rose and came out into the hall.
“What is this, Ms. Hughes?” He was still expressionless, but his eyes were cold and measuring.
Jean blinked in surprise. “Phosphorescent tape. We cut strips to mark spots on the stage when props are moved in the dark. But it shouldn’t be in my filing cabinet. I didn’t put it there.”
Billy’s gaze was steely. “Where should the tape be?”
“Oh.” It was as if she suddenly understood, as if a piece of a puzzle slotted into place. “The phosphorescent tapes are kept in the shed. On the middle shelf toward the back on the left side. Whoever broke into the shed must have taken that roll and put it in my filing cabinet. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
Marian barked, “Chief, was the tape—”
Billy made a sharp gesture. “Later.” He stepped toward Jean. “Ms. Hughes, I am taking you to the police station for questioning.”
She lifted a hand to her throat. “What does that mean?”
“It’s necessary to ask you more particulars about last night. And about your relations with Mr. Wagner.”
Marian bounced on her feet. “Is Ms. Hughes a person of interest?”
Max stepped forward. “Ms. Hughes has a right to counsel.”
Billy’s jaw tightened. “You are not licensed to practice law in South Carolina. Ms. Hughes is not being charged. Her cooperation is requested in a murder case.”
Max was pleasant. “That’s fine. However, for any formal talks with the police, Ms. Hughes has a right to counsel of her own choosing.” He turned to Jean. “I suggest that we contact Handler Jones on the mainland. It’s unlikely he will be available until Monday morning.” Max looked at Billy. “Since you would like to have Ms. Hughes’s cooperation,” Max emphasized the noun, “I suggest she make herself available at nine A.M. Monday morning at the police station.”
Billy’s expression remained stolid, but irritation flickered in his eyes. He stared at Max.
Max continued to look affable, knowing the outcome hung in the balance. Was Billy ready to formally announce Jean as a person of interest? Or was he suspicious but aware there were many other avenues he had yet to explore?
Finally, Billy gave a short nod. “Nine A.M. Monday morning.”
ANNIE PUT OUT a restraining hand. “It won’t do any good for us to go after him. He won’t listen to us.” She felt Rachel’s arm tremble.
The last sounds of running steps, the rustling of broken twigs, the crackling underbrush faded away, leaving them in hot, green silence.
Annie looked at the evidence of Tim’s frantic efforts to destroy an intractable bale of hay. There was a sense of darkness in the bright clearing, of passionate feelings and inimical acts.
Rachel’s eyes glistened with tears. “He’s scared.”
“I know.” Tim’s fear had been as real as the straw that littered the ground. Annie pointed at an edge of the hay bale that wasn’t quite hidden in the underbrush. “You have to tell me, Rachel.”
Rachel pulled away, stood with her thin shoulders hunched. “I’d kind of made friends with him. He was like a dog somebody had kicked. I could tell by the way he acted rude that he hated the way he had to walk and the scar on his face. Kids looked at him with their eyes real big. They didn’t ask what happened, but anybody could see something bad had happened to him. When he came to the Haven, he kept to himself, played computer games and never looked up. A couple of times, I showed him some silly pictures I’d drawn and we got to talking. I knew he was unhappy.”
Annie understood. Several years ago, Rachel had been a suspect in her mother’s murder. Rachel had known sadness and mourning, loneliness and despair. That dark experience had made her sensitive to misery in other lives.
Annie wanted to wrap her arms around Rachel, tell her that everything was going to be all right. That’s what she wanted to do. She couldn’t make that promise now. Everything might very well be as wrong as it could be for Tim Talbot.
Rachel shivered despite the heavy heat. “I followed him Monday morning. I’d just got to the Haven on my bike. I saw Meredith hurrying ahead of him to the gate. Tim parked his bike next to hers, then he looked around, like he was making sure nobody was paying any attention to him. He didn’t see me. I was over by a big hedge. When Meredith was out of sight, he got back on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could toward the woods, the path you and I took. I thought—” Rachel paused to draw a quick breath “—he didn’t look right. I thought something was wrong. After a minute, I went after him.”
Annie reached out to take Rachel’s hand. Dear Rachel, with her generous heart, always ready to be kind.
“I know what life’s like when everything’s bad.” Rachel’s dark eyes were huge with remembered pain. “I didn’t know if I could do anything, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know something was wrong. That’s why I came after him, but when I got here,” she pointed at the saw palmetto where she and Annie stood and watched Tim claw at the bale of hay, “I was afraid he’d be mad that I’d followed him so I didn’t say anything. I almost turned and went away, then I stayed to watch. He put the bale on top of that big log. He drew faces on some paper cups and put them against the hay. He pulled out a package. When he unwrapped it, I saw a rifle. He was over there on a tree branch.” She gestured about twenty feet from the log. “He shot at the cups. He hit each one. I was scared, like maybe it would be better if he didn’t know I was there, so I slipped away.”
Once before Rachel had followed a boy because she sensed despair, and put herself in deadly danger. Annie felt the emptiness that comes with knowledge of what could have happened.
Tim and his targets and a man shot dead. “Where was the gun hidden?”
Rachel hurried to the shrub and brushed away a covering of leaves.
“Careful.” Annie joined her. “If you find anything, don’t touch it. Maybe we’d better leave everything as it is.”
Rachel rocked back on her heels. “There are the plastic bags. He kept the gun wrapped in them.”
Rumpled black plastic lay limp on the ground, several pieces of duct tape visible. “What kind of gun?” Annie knew her voice was slightly higher than usual.
Rachel turned up her hands. “I don’t know. It looked like those guns at the fair when you shoot at the little metal ducks.”
There had been a gun. The gun was no longer there.
AS THE FRONT door to the Haven shut behind Billy and Mavis, Jean Hughes looked bewildered. “What’s such a big deal about a roll of tape? What difference does some stupid tape make? I don’t think much of him as a policeman. He’d be better off trying to find out who was mad enough to kill Booth. A lot of people hated him.” There was a vindictive hardness to her voice.
Max stared at her. Didn’t she understand the significance of Mavis’s discovery or was she pretending ignorance? “Phosphorescent tape.” He emphasized the adjective.
“I don’t care what kind of tape it is. Anyway, I’ve got to hurry.” She glanced at her watch. “I always go home for lunch at a quarter to twelve. Rosalind will see to locking everything up. The Haven closes at noon on Saturdays.” She turned to leave.
Marian was a bloodhound cornering her quarry. “X marked the spot.”
Jean paused, blinked at the reporter. “What spot?”
“Booth’s big brawny back, baby. You know, where he got shot.” Marian’s voice quivered with excitement. “That has to be how the killer nailed him when the lights went out, a bright patch of phosphorescent tape on his shirt. So far, Billy’s kept that information quiet, but that’s the only reason he could care about the tape in your office. Oh wow, I can see the lead now: ‘Stage tape made murder victim a marked man.’”
Max admired the murderer’s cleverness. Before the program began, someone greeted Booth, clapped him on the back, or, in the crush of the crowd, came up behind him, and pressed the adhesive side of the tape to the shirt. A swath of tape likely would not be noticed against the background of Booth’s bright Hawaiian shirt. Had the tape been spotted, Booth would have lived another night. But no one noticed the green tape against the purple, green, and orange pattern, so Booth Wagner died. Probably the existence of the tape hadn’t been noted until the bloodied shirt was examined at the morgue.
“Oh.” Jean’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You mean somebody used the tape to find him? Well,” she looked relieved, “then the police have to find out who broke into the shed. I certainly didn’t have to do that. I have keys. It doesn’t mean a thing that the tape was hidden in my office. I keep my door open. Anyone could have put the tape there.”
Marian eyed her speculatively. “Including you, Ms. Hughes.”
Max knew Marian was right. “Jean, you’re due in Billy’s office Monday morning. You need to hire Handler Jones. He’s a first-rate criminal lawyer. I’ll call him for you.”
Her nod was perfunctory. “Maybe you’re right, but I can’t deal with anything right now. Besides, I don’t have money for a lawyer. Anyway, I’m running late. I have to get home to Giselle. With everything that’s happened, she’ll worry if I’m late.” She reached into the pocket of her slacks, frowned. She patted her back pockets, then darted into her office, scrambled through several drawers in her desk. “I thought I left my cell phone in here.” She grabbed the land-line receiver, started to call, put it down. “I don’t want to call anyway. It’s too hard for her to get to the phone. I’ve got to hurry.” She rushed into the hall.
Max strode after her. “Don’t you understand? Billy Cameron may arrest you Monday morning. You said there are a lot of people who hated Booth.”
Once again Marian was right beside them, alert, pen poised.
Jean was at the front door, looking back in irritation. “I’m late.”
“Jean, I need to know everything you can tell me about Booth. Let’s go to Confidential Commissions.” He wanted a quiet place with no interruptions. The time when he and Jean could talk might soon be past.
Her face twisted in anger. “I hate thinking about Booth. I hate talking about him.”
Max shook his head. “You don’t have a choice.”
“All right.” She was impatient. “Whatever you say. I’ll come to your office after lunch. I have to leave now.” She hurried to the door and pushed through.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Marian cried.
By the time Max and Marian stood on the steps, Jean was running.
He knew she would arrive at the cottage, flushed, heart racing, to be close to her sister, who had so few heartbeats remaining. There was no mistaking Jean’s priorities: Giselle first; anything and everything else, including a suspicion of murder, pushed to the corner of her mind. Yet the time with her sister that mattered to her above all else might soon be taken away.
Marian’s eyebrows arched. “Lunch is more important than being a murder suspect. What gives?”
“Jean’s sister isn’t well.” His tone was level, but he saw Marian’s quick glance. He knew the reporter would dig up the whole story. He hesitated, then decided to gamble. Marian as an ally was much to be preferred to Marian in full investigative mode. “Her sister has terminal cancer. Maybe a couple of months. Maybe a few weeks. Jean has little thought for anything else. I know she wants to be helpful to the investigation. I’m going to help her organize what she knows about Wagner for the police.”
“Just two good little citizens, right?” Marian looked amused.
“Right.” He’d put out the best spin possible for Marian, but he was worried. Jean needed a lawyer, and she needed one now. And there was still the mystery of Click, why he had died in the nature preserve and what he had looked forward to on Friday evening.
Max turned to reenter the building.
Marian trotted right alongside him. “Where are you going?”
“I want to talk to Darren Dubois.”
“Who’s that?”
“A friend of Click Silvester’s.”
“You keep bringing up the Silvester kid.” Her glance at him was sharp. “Is there a connection between the kid and Wagner?”
“I don’t think so. But Click’s death seems wrong to me. He told one boy he had a big part on the program Friday night, but it was a secret. Jean says he wasn’t on the program. I want to see if he told Darren anything about it.” He checked several rooms.
Marian chattered, “Hey, maybe the kid thought there was going to be a fake hold-up. Maybe he knew someone was going to play pin-the-phosphorescent-tape-on-Wagner. A practical joke.”
When Max poked his head in the art room, Rosalind Parker bustled up to him. “Ms. Hughes isn’t here right now. May I help you?”
“We’re looking for Darren Dubois.”
Rosalind shook her head. “I think he was watching the police at the lake. Jean told the kids to stay away, but nobody tells Darren anything. He does what he wants to do and then he gives you that charming grin and you can’t stay mad.”
When they came out into the bright sunshine, Max looked toward the lake. He shook his head. “I saw Darren earlier, but he left.”
Marian was wry. “Not your morning, Max. Jean blows you off and the kid splits.”
“I’ll call around.”
“Good luck. Let me know if you get anything out of him. Maybe we can do a little trading.” She turned to leave, then said quickly, “Hey, something’s up.” Marian’s husky voice brimmed with excitement. “Here comes the chief and he’s moving fast.”
Max looked across the field. The police chief was indeed moving fast, heading straight for the lake and the police standing on the shore.