Laughed ’Til He Died Read Free Page B

be a private detective, nor was he offering legal counsel. He was a member of the New York bar, but had never taken the South Carolina bar. Max was firm in insisting no special qualification was needed to provide advice to those in travail.
    “I’ve got an awful problem.” There was nothing artful in Jean’s language, but her stricken face told a tale of despair. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.”
    Max recognized heartbreak. His resistant look faded. He nodded toward the door. “Sure. Let’s go over to my office. Maybe it will help to talk—”
    The door closed behind them.
    Annie watched until they were out of sight. What had reduced the woman to such a pathetic state? Although Annie was well aware that their South Carolina sea island of Broward’s Rock wasn’t a paradise, even if it often seemed so, the island certainly wasn’t the proper backdrop for an Ibsen drama. Still, she didn’t like the possessive way Jean had clung to Max’s arm as they walked on the boardwalk.
    Annie shrugged. She’d know soon enough. She worked briskly on the new display, artfully placing the titles face up on the sand. The books, all superb mysteries, had the added cachet of offering stories set in South Carolina: The Mercy Oak by Kathryn R. Wall, Hush My Mouth by Cathy Pickens, Mama Pursues Murderous Shadows by Nora DeLoach, Too Late for Angels by Mignon F. Ballard, Monet Talks by Tamar Myers, and Murder in the Charleston Manner by Patricia Houck Sprinkle.
    Of course, Jean had been a disaster from the first. Hiring her to be the new director at the Haven had been on a par with choosing a chorus girl to head up a nunnery. Max wasn’t on the board at the Haven, though he’d been invited. As a volunteer, he wanted to avoid any conflict of interest, but he’d regretted that decision when Jean Hughes was appointed.
    What were the board members thinking?
    Annie didn’t need to be a mystery expert to know the answer. Not for the first time in human annals, when money sizzled, good sense fizzled.
    Max still volunteered, teaching sailing and tennis, coaching basketball, but he avoided gatherings attended by board members. That wasn’t accurate. When possible, he avoided one particular board member: Booth Wagner. Island bigwigs, including the mayor and heads of charities, had been ecstatic when Wagner retired to the island and turned his considerable energies to island affairs—his energies and his apparently limitless wallet.
    Jean as Haven director was a fait accompli when Max came home to tell Annie that the board, responding to Wagner’s offer to fund a new gym, selected her on his recommendation. Max had been wry. “She’s about as qualified to run anything as a panda.”
    Annie brushed sand from her fingers. Maybe Max would finish soon and they would close up their respective shops and go home for more fun than even the best mystery provided. After all, Jean Hughes wasn’t their problem.

Chapter 2
    J ean’s harsh sobs brought Max’s secretary, whose heart was as big as her beehive hairdo, to his office door. Summer-bright in a yellow tunic and white capris, Barb looked at him questioningly.
    As awkward as most men in the face of feminine meltdown, Max cleared his throat. “How about some iced tea, Jean? Hey, Barb, bring us some of your special fruit tea and good lemon pie.”
    Since Max’s business was sporadic, Barb took advantage of her spare time to create tantalizing desserts in the back room that also served as an amazing tiny kitchen.
    Jean, using a handkerchief provided by Max, wiped her face, leaving purplish smudges atop puffy redness. She looked shyly at Barb when she returned. Barb placed a tray with two big tumblers and two plates on the desk. “Goji berries and guava, my own private blend. Guaranteed to refresh. And lemon pie made this morning.”
    Jean managed a smile. “Thank you.” She took a bite of pie. “Hey, that’s good. I haven’t eaten much, I’ve been so upset. Booth texted me