Laughed ’Til He Died (21 page)

Annie crossed behind the stage. She walked into the woods and continued a few feet. A huge magnolia towered above her. Depressions and scuffed spots at the base indicated recent activity. She pictured Emma standing with folded arms and a circle of onlookers as an agile kid climbed the tree.

Annie looked up, wondering which branch might have held Tim. Her sandals wouldn’t be much help in climbing a tree, but she could manage. She reached up and pulled herself into the tree and began to climb. It would have been fun if she hadn’t carried with her a memory of a dead man with a bloodied shirt.

She was about twenty feet above the ground when she spied a branch that would have been a perfect platform for Tim and his rifle. Cautiously, she eased out on the branch. Two big limbs forked, a perfect spot to rest a rifle. When his stepfather was shot, Tim would have been looking down.

Annie looked down. She imagined a figure in the highwayman hat and cape bending to unplug the lights. Once it was dark, the killer must have been quick to stand and fire before Booth turned.

Very quick.

The gunman had probably taken about three strides to reach a point in line with Tim’s view and directly behind Booth. There was nothing behind the stage to impede that movement. The gun was raised and fired, the target made clear by the patch of phosphorescent tape.

All the while, the killer’s heart must have thudded, fearing light. As soon as Booth fell, the murderer removed the cape and feathered hat, wadded them into a ball, tossed the bundle into the lake, and ran into the woods to reach the path that led back to the field.

It was as if Annie were struck sharply in the chest.

The murderer’s escape had depended upon speed and precision that could not have been achieved in darkness. There were two possibilities. The murderer had night-vision glasses or the murderer used a light. Night-vision glasses would surely have been discarded when the murderer regained the field. They would likely have been found. Billy’s officers were thorough. Every trash can would have been emptied and the contents checked. However, night-vision glasses hadn’t been necessary to shoot Booth. He had been marked by phosphorescent tape. It was much more likely the murderer used a tiny key-ring flashlight to find the way to the path.

From his vantage point, Tim could not have missed seeing a flash of light. Tim came down from the tree shaken and terrified. What had he seen?

Annie scrambled down the magnolia. What fools they’d been. Everyone on the island probably knew by now that Tim Talbot had run away and was hiding because the police had come to ask him about the rifle he’d carried up to the tree behind the stage the night his stepfather died.

Scarcely anyone was now seeking Tim, comfortable in the thought that he’d come home when he realized the police didn’t want him.

Scarcely anyone was now seeking Tim, except for a desperate murderer who had to fear that Tim Talbot had seen too much from his perch in the magnolia.

O
FFICER
H
ARRISON HELD
back the feathery fronds of a royal fern. Billy Cameron stood with folded arms, watching as Mavis photographed the crumpled witch’s robe and smashed conical hat. A flash blinked sharp white.

Billy was matter-of-fact. “When you get to the crime van, check the hat and jacket for fingerprints.” He turned toward Max. “It looks like you had the right idea. The murderer wore that stuff Sunday just in case anyone was around. The costume served as a disguise until the murderer was out of the harbor woods and across the apartment house parking lot. Once around the corner, it was time to get rid of this stuff.”

Max didn’t say I told you so. He was feeling anything but triumphant. “Looks like the stuff was put where it would be easy to find.”

Billy’s stare challenged Max. “You want my take on it? Jean Hughes wore the outfit to the nature preserve and pushed Click off the platform Thursday afternoon. I’d guess she shoved him from behind. She probably put the costume back where it belonged. The stuff would have stayed there, but Darren Dubois thought he was a junior G-man. He tried to get evidence against her with a fake blackmail scheme. My guess is he didn’t think anyone would believe him if he said he’d seen her in the highwayman costume. She promised she’d have a payoff taped under Fish Haul Pier by one o’clock Sunday. When he shows up on the pier, she’s standing in the woods in the witch costume. She pulls a gun out of one of the deep pockets and blows him away. She ducks behind a bush and waits to see if there’s anyone coming on the path. When the coast is clear she runs out of the woods into the parking lot of the apartment house. Once around the corner, she darts in here and hides the
costume. It’s too hot to handle now. She doesn’t want to be found with it.”

Max felt backed against a wall. “Both women who saw the murderer said the figure could have been a man.”

Billy wasn’t impressed. “Or a woman. We’ll get statements. What matters is where the costume came from and whether we find her fingerprints on it.”

Max very much feared he knew the origin of the costume: the trunk in the prop shed at the Haven. If he was right, Jean Hughes’s fingerprints would be all over it.

“In fact,” Billy started to move, “I’m going to the Haven right now. Jean Hughes’s assistant called and said someone broke into the kitchen. I’ll see about that and check the costumes, too. You’re welcome to come and see if I’m right.”

A
NNIE HURRIED OUT
of the woods. The Haven was much nearer than her car with her purse in the trunk. She wanted to call the police as soon as possible. She walked swiftly across the field. Even if the kids had been sent home, Rosalind Parker was on duty. The sooner the police started looking for Tim the better, but he’d done such a good job of hiding, he should be safe from the murderer.

Rosalind Parker bolted out on the porch, clutching a sheet of paper and a roll of tape. She slammed shut the front door to the Haven.

Annie ran to the steps. “I need to use the phone.”

Rosalind shook her head. “Everything’s locked up. I’m not staying another minute. That policewoman didn’t come back this morning, so there’s no one to look after us.” She turned and held the sheet on the front door, taped it with a shaking hand.
“I’ve closed everything down. Too much has happened here. A man killed and two kids dead. This morning there was a muddy footprint in the kitchen sink. Maisie quit, saying she wasn’t going to stay someplace where people got killed and somebody had broken into her kitchen and maybe they would be coming for her with an ax and she ran out the door. I couldn’t have lunch ready for the kids, and then I got scared too. I called the police. They wanted to know if anything was missing. I said I didn’t know, but the cabinets aren’t locked in the kitchen. The woman said I could come by the station and fill out a report. What good would that do? So I sent the kids home.” Rosalind slapped another piece of tape on the sheet and stepped back to look at it. “There. That tells everyone.” She started down the steps. “I called the directors and told them I wasn’t going to stay someplace where people broke in. I told them I sent the kids home. I don’t care what they say, but I’m not coming back here until they let Jean go. She’d never in a million years hurt any of the kids. It’s all a lie. No matter what happens they blame Jean. But something’s wrong when somebody breaks into a place. It’s dangerous. Somebody’s out there,” she waved her hand toward the woods, “and I don’t know who they might hurt next. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll get out of here, too.” She brushed past Annie, hurrying down the steps.

“Rosalind, please,” Annie called after her, “I need to call the police. Let me use your cell.”

But Rosalind was running toward the line of pines that screened the Haven parking lot.

Annie looked after her, hot, irritated, and thwarted. She started down the steps. Now she’d have to walk back to her car to call. So someone had broken into the kitchen. Big deal.

Annie stopped on the third step. A muddy footprint in the kitchen sink. Why did anyone break into a kitchen?

For food.

Tim Talbot ran away Sunday afternoon. By nightfall, he would have been hungry. Annie looked toward the woods that stretched into the distance behind the stage and curved around the far side of the lake. There were no roads into that patch of woods. Max and the others had driven around the north end of the island, shouting out to Tim, telling him it was all right to come home.

No cars or trucks had traveled into those dark, thick, heavily overgrown woods. There were only a few paths. Annie remembered Rachel describing a walk there sponsored by the Haven with a local historian. “Clouds of mosquitoes surrounded us. That’s why they abandoned the fort. They died with yellow fever. There’s not much left now. Three big grassy hills with wooden timbers poking out. Down beneath some of the broken timbers, there’s a cellar that was used as a storeroom. I’ll bet it’s got snakes and spiders in it.”

Tim Talbot loved old places on the island. She’d not thought of the remnants of this ruin because it wasn’t a tourist attraction. There wasn’t enough left, a few humpy hills and part of an emplacement. The other historic sites were maintained, accessible. She didn’t remember the name of this fort. Tim would have known. She remembered the lines of metal soldiers in his room, Confederate gray and Yankee blue.

Annie hesitated. She could go to her car, phone Billy.

Could she convince Billy that Tim might have seen the murderer, a quick, bright, brief glimpse of a face when a tiny flashlight was used to gain the path in the woods?

She felt confident she knew what had happened. But what could she actually offer Billy? She’d climbed a tree and looked down on the stage and decided that the murderer could not have reached the path in the woods without using a light.

Billy had arrested Jean. Jean had no need to dart into the woods. Jean could have taken a few steps and returned to her place near the darkened lamp stands.

Why would Billy pay any attention to Annie’s idea?

She could tell him about an intruder in the Haven kitchen and her certainty that Tim was nearby.

Nothing she could offer had much substance, a climb into a tree and a footprint in a sink and Tim’s preoccupation with historic sites. Annie shook her head. It would be better by far to find Tim, persuade him to come with her, explain that he might hold the key to the murders of Booth and Click and Darren.

She struck off across the open field. She hoped Tim had filched some water bottles from the kitchen. Maybe he’d share one with her. She was miserably hot and thirsty, but in only a little while Tim would be safe, Jean would be freed, and Annie would drink a big, tall glass of achingly cold iced tea at Parotti’s.

She shaded her eyes, searched for a break in the trees. What was it Rachel had said? “…Way cool. I mean, actually really, really hot. The path is kind of jungly. You go past the dock and about halfway around the lake there’s an old bateau…”

Annie found the rotting hulk of the shallow draft boat. Almost directly opposite was a barely discernible gap in the woods.

M
AX LOOKED AROUND
the empty parking lot of the Haven. “This doesn’t make sense. Nobody’s here.” He turned his head, listened. “I don’t hear the kids. Some of them play volleyball no
matter how hot it is. Come on, Billy, let’s see what’s going on.”

They came through the pine trees. The dusty field was quiet and empty, the tether ball hanging limply at its pole, the volleyball court deserted.

Max pointed toward the front door of the building at the sheet taped on the door. He and Billy strode quickly across the ground. Max hurried up the steps and read the uneven printing out loud.

C
LOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

D
IRECTORS NOTIFIED.

R
OSALIND PARKER

Max frowned. “I suppose the break-in scared her.”

Billy shrugged. “I can’t follow up on her complaint, but we’re here. We might as well check out the shed.” He glanced across the field at the metal shed near the stage.

They walked in silence. Beyond the field, the lake shimmered beneath the overhead sun. Billy used a handkerchief to mop his face. “I’m sorry you were wrong about Jean Hughes.” His voice was heavy. “Kevin thought she was great.”

“Remember that someone broke into the shed. She had keys.”

Billy gave him a sardonic glance. “The same bogeyman who threw the gun and cell phone under her cottage?”

At the shed, the broken hasp still dangled, the lock useless.

Billy nodded at Max. “I don’t have a search warrant. As a Haven volunteer, you can open the door.”

A
NNIE EDGED INTO
a dim tunnel that was much worse than the path between the Haven and the inn. Ferns and vines had al
most obliterated the faint trail, but the overgrown plants clearly showed that someone had recently passed this way, ferns broken off, vines trampled, depressions in mucky spots that hadn’t drained from a recent rain.

The trail curved, once almost turning back on itself. Sweat drenched her. Flies hovered. Every step took courage. Any pile of leaves might harbor a diamondback or a copperhead. She felt caught up in a verdant nightmare. Her breathing was shallow and strained by the time the tunnel lightened. She reached the end of the path and looked gratefully at a broad sweep of marsh. About thirty yards away, the remnants of embanked earth formed grassy hillocks. The wooden support for the cannons would have been on the side facing the marsh.

Annie drew in a deep, calming breath. The marsh was beautiful, a breeze rippling the spartina grass. She loved the rank scent. The tide was going out and fiddler crabs swarmed on the mudflats. The blistering sunlight felt good after the sweltering dimness of the forest. She felt buoyant. Tim was here. She was sure of it. The broken foliage on the overgrown trail was all the proof she needed. He was here and if she was right, he could reveal the identity of a three-time killer.

“Tim? Hey, buddy, come on out.” The call was robust.

But the voice wasn’t hers.