Laughed ’Til He Died (6 page)

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.

I
F 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.