Read Online Laughed ’Til He Died by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online

Booth’s wide mouth spread in a delighted smile. “Priceless, as they say. Not surprised she’d go your way. If there’s anyone she cottons to less than Jean, it’s me.” He shoved back the chair, towered over the table, big, burly, and commanding. “The question’s moot now. We’ll have to start a search for a new director.”
    Annie looked at him sharply. He sounded utterly confident and, even more maddening, amused.
    He radiated confidence. “See you tonight.”
    Max came to his feet. “Hold on. The vote is next week.” But Max had the expression of a sailor who sees an approaching torpedo.
    “Oh. By damn. I forgot to tell you. Dumb old me. Jean’s announcing her resignation tonight.” Booth’s false consternation ended in a belly laugh. “Be real nice for her to get the good send-off you’ve put together. Everything works out for the best, doesn’t it?”
     
    A NNIE GLANCED AT Max’s set face. He was driving too fast. She braced against the door as the Jeep squealed around a curve. “If he’s right,” Annie didn’t have to define the pronoun, “there’s no hurry.”
    Max glanced at the speedometer, eased his pressure on the gas pedal. “He’s too sure of himself. Somehow he’s forced her to quit. I have an ugly feeling that whatever he’s done, we can’t change anything. But I’m going to try.”
    Leaving the Jeep in a swath of shade from a huge pittosporum shrub, Annie hurried to keep up as Max strode across the dusty ground. Annie glanced toward the lake. Shouts sounded as racing kayaks swerved around a marker and headed for the dock. The lake was the same and yet so different from that moment when they stood on the dock and gently threw roses in Click’s memory into still, green water.
    Inside the old wooden building, they found the director’s office door open but the room was empty and the light off. As they turned away, a chunky young woman with frizzed brown hair, small gold-rimmed glasses, and a serious expression stepped out of a side room, her arms full of plastic ukuleles.
    Max lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey, Rosalind, we’re looking for Jean. Annie, this is Rosalind Parker. She’s a college intern this summer. Rosalind, my wife, Annie.”
    “Hello, Max. I’m glad to meet you, Annie.” Brown eyes looked at them worriedly. “The little girls—” she glanced at Annie, “—the girls five to nine are first on the program. Actually nobody can really play the ukulele. But they’re cute as can be in grass skirts. Of course,” she was quick to add, “they have their T-shirts and shorts on underneath.”
    Max smiled. “Everybody will love them. Where’s Jean?”
    Rosalind’s eyes rounded. Her lips parted in an O.
    Max looked at her sharply. “What’s wrong?”
    Rosalind clutched a ukulele that tried to slip free from her stack, and the strings thrummed. “Jean’s gone for a while. Can I help?”
    Annie felt a jolt of concern. The intern’s distress was obvious. Something was wrong.
    Max was direct and demanding. “Gone where?”
    The strings thrummed again. Rosalind looked miserable. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. But you’re her friend. Everyone knows how you’re trying to get the board to keep her. Jean’s wonderful. She didn’t go to college so I hear the board wants to get rid of her, but all the degrees in the world don’t give someone a good heart.” Her face was flushed and her voice shook. “Now everything’s falling apart for her. She got a phone call just before lunch and she came out of her office and her face was gray, like dirty sand. She went home to have lunch with her sister, but she hasn’t come back. She never takes this long. I’d go after her, but I can’t leave here. Someone has to be in charge and there is so much to do with the program tonight and we’re going to practice the alligator act in a few minutes. It’s the cutest thing, we’ve used tape that shines in the dark on green cloth, and when the alligators come on