Max’s office was cool and quiet. All the lights were on, including his desk lamp, brilliant with its Tiffany shade, a Valentine’s Day gift from Annie. Papers and folders were arranged atop the immense Italian Renaissance table that served as his desk. He lightly touched the silver frame of his favorite picture of Annie. He always took pleasure in seeing her blond flyaway hair, steady gray eyes, and kissable lips. His mood buoyed, he turned back to the legal pad.
Rank of suspects in terms of motive:
He underlined Friday night three times.
—was the only reason she kept her job and could stay in the cottage.
There was no tomorrow for her.
Max shook his head in disgust. It was a nice ranking as far as it went but maybe it didn’t go far enough. How could he judge what mattered enough to make one of these people kill? Almost anyone would agree that Jean had far greater reason and far greater urgency to kill Booth Wagner Friday night. What if Tim Talbot’s fear of riding on an ATV was all-consuming? Lovers were known to kill the unwanted spouse. Ellen Wagner had lost her marriage and her lover and her child. Meredith wanted to be with her mother, care for her mother. Larry Gilbert claimed all had been resolved between him and Booth, but murderers lie.
Max reached for Henny Brawley’s folder. He read the housekeeper’s revealing comment about Tim Talbot: “He kept screaming out in the night. She was up and down with him. But he wasn’t the least bit fond of Mr. Wagner. Master Tim could hardly stand to be in the same room with him, anybody could tell that.”
Max opened Laurel’s folder. The assistant golf pro defended his boss: “I mean, he and Neva were through. It was making him crazy. See, she broke things off because of this prenup agreement.”
Maybe Neva thought they were through, but Van decided she was worth killing for. Or perhaps Neva decided on murder to make sure her son would have medical care and she could marry Van.
Had Booth discovered Meredith’s theft? How frightened was she for her mother’s safety?
As for Ellen Wagner, Gilbert claimed Booth had bought off her lover. That was history. Had she brooded about her humiliation and come to exact revenge?
Max studied the list. Obviously, Billy Cameron considered Jean Hughes the primary suspect. The only physical evidence against her was the phosphorescent tape found in her office, but someone else could have placed the tape there. Unless Billy found a gun and connected it to Jean or discovered some other incontrovertible link, she remained one suspect among several.
ANNIE RESPECTED BILLY Cameron’s judgment. She understood that he was much more concerned about three deaths than a runaway teenager. But she could no more turn away from a desperate Neva Wagner than she could ignore the frantic cries of a kitten abandoned in a Dumpster. They were unlikely to find Tim. There were too many woods, too many hiding places.
“We’ll do what we can.” Annie knew she sounded doubtful. She hurried to add, “Let’s look at his room, see if you can figure out what he’s taken.”
“That’s a good idea. Then we’ll know…” Neva trailed off. “If he didn’t take anything, that would be worse, wouldn’t it?”
Annie saw despair in her eyes. Neva was afraid something dreadful had happened or would happen. Was she hearing those panicked cries in the night? Billy had told her the twenty-two was not the murder weapon. A forty-five had been taken from Booth’s desk. Was she terrified that Tim had carried the pistol as well as his rifle Friday night and that he still had the forty-five?
“We need to hurry.” Neva turned and started up the marble steps.
Annie glanced at Rachel. “Call Max. Ask him to come. He can organize a search.” She took a step, paused. “Call Henny Brawley. Ask her if she’ll put together a phone bank.”
Neva was almost to the front door. Annie rushed to catch up. Surely Billy would understand. He loved his stepson and his beautiful little blond daughter. If one of them ran away, as a father he would seek them. Whatever Annie brought about, a gathering of searchers, telephone calls seeking Tim, the noise and sound would at the very least comfort Neva and might help find the missing boy. In the best of all possible worlds, Tim would come home by nightfall.
MAX PULLED OFF the sheet from the legal pad, reread the questions he’d listed:
He leaned back in his red leather seat. Tomorrow he and Barb would look for answers and who knew what else might be discovered between now and then.
The phone rang. He glanced at Caller ID and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Rachel.” He frowned as he listened. “If Billy doesn’t think…Annie promised?” Exasperation mingled with pride. Of course she shouldn’t have agreed to mount a search that Billy clearly felt was unnecessary. Of course she had agreed. Annie never met a broken heart she didn’t want to mend. He looked at her picture. Gorgeous. But stubborn. “Okay. I’ll come.”
ALCOVES WITH ROMAN and Greek statuary in the marble hallway made the upper floor resemble a museum. Annie wondered fleetingly if the marble sculptures were reproductions. Or not. If the latter, Booth Wagner had been a wealthy man indeed. That kind of wealth conferred all imaginable luxuries and set him apart from ordinary constraints. If someone displeased him, he had the power to cost them dearly. He had used that power, buying off his first wife’s lover, luring Jean Hughes to the island as an affront to a dignified Haven board member, bartering reimbursement for a fake stamp to gain Larry Gilbert’s vote to oust Jean, keeping Neva locked in a failed second marriage.
Stepping into Tim’s bedroom was like visiting an alternate universe. The room was huge, but the furnishings were modest, a maple bunk bed against one wall, a battered old walnut desk, a long Formica-topped table littered with balsa wood and model airplanes in various stages of completion and rows of metal soldiers in battle formation, some painted Union blue, others Confederate gray. Miniature cannons on a mound of dirt were trained on a Union company. Bright rock posters adorned the walls. Albums were stacked next to a CD player. A red plastic bean bag chair flopped opposite a TV set hooked up to a Wii. A scuffed baseball glove lay in the depression of the bean bag chair.
Neva looked uncertainly around, then walked to an open closet door. She stepped inside. Her muffled voice rose in excitement. “His sleeping bag is gone and his backpack.” She came out into the room. Abruptly, tears spilled down her cheeks. “He took things. That means he’s run away. Really run away, not just walked out with nothing. I’ve been so terribly frightened.”
WHEN PROBLEMS LOOMED, Annie always felt better when Max was near. Now he stood with his arms folded in the hallway of the Wagner house, tall, blond, handsome, resolute.
Annie knew the folded arms weren’t a good sign. “Can’t you call on the Boy Scouts, round up a group of men and get a search started?”
Max’s face furrowed. “I can’t ask people to look for a boy who might be armed.”
Neva took a quick step toward him. “That’s crazy. Tim ran away because the police found his gun in a tree. That policeman said Tim’s gun wasn’t the weapon that killed Booth. Don’t you see, Tim ran away because he’s frightened. He isn’t a danger to anyone.” Her voice shook.
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…”