Armand stood in front of the sobbing young woman, still curled into a tight ball at the edge of the stage, her shoulders shivering beneath her coat.
“I hope everything turns out okay,” Penelope called softly.
Arlena and Penelope made their way to the coat closet in the lobby to retrieve their things. As they got closer it was clear the door was ajar.
“I could’ve sworn I watched Armand pull that shut,” Penelope muttered, reaching for the knob. The top half of the door swayed open and she looked inside. “Oh no, Arlena, look.”
“What?” Arlena asked, alarmed.
“Someone’s been in here,” Penelope said in disbelief. “Our packages and purses…all of our things are gone!”
Arlena and Penelope stared at the rummaged through coat closet for a moment and Arlena sighed. “I guess it really is time to call the police.”
Chapter 5
The police officer listened intently as Penelope spoke, the radio on her wide utility belt chirping with static every few seconds. She wore a heavy winter jacket and tall boots. Her partner, a skinny red-headed man was nudging a few of the coats hanging in the closet and peering on the floor behind them.
“I guess we shouldn’t have left our things in there. We thought it was safe,” Penelope said. There was an old keyhole on the bottom half of the door that Penelope could look right through. “Since we were all inside and the doors were locked…”
“We’ve had some problems in the neighborhood lately,” Armand said, wringing his hands.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” the officer asked. Her voice was clipped, her brown skin smooth. The nameplate under her badge read Smythe.
“Ever since that homeless shelter opened up down the street, my patrons get accosted for change while waiting in line to enter the theater,” Armand said, his voice dropping an octave. “Most inelegant, I must say.”
“Uh huh,” Officer Smythe said, eyeing Armand’s expensive suit jacket. “Have you had any recent break ins?”
“Not that I can recall,” Armand said. “There was a woman who said her mink stole went missing one night last season, but I assumed she was making it up as part of an insurance claim.”
“Why would you assume that?” Officer Smythe asked.
“I’d heard through the grapevine the woman in question was having money problems,” Armand said quietly. “Old money problems. You know. Divorce.” He whispered the last word dramatically with a roll of his dark brown eyes.
Smythe’s partner, a skinny red-headed man who looked like he should still be in high school, exchanged a glance with her as he stepped from the coat closet. “I’m going to take a look outside.” He pulled his coat’s zipper up to the top of his jacket and stepped through the doors. A cold blast of air snuck past him as he left.
Abigail hurried into the lobby, apparently recovered from her crying jag on the stage. “Officer, please. You have to help my roommate.”
Smythe’s shoulders tensed and her expression sharpened. “What are you talking about, ma’am?”
Armand chuckled a bit too harshly. “Officer, I assure you, it’s probably nothing,” he said. “Abigail here is worried because her friend didn’t come home last night.”
Smythe’s expression relaxed and placed her hands on her belt. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” she asked.
Abigail sniffed and tugged at her coat. “When we left rehearsal yesterday. Around four.”
Officer Smythe shook her head. “She has to be missing for at least forty-eight hours.”
“Two days?” Abigail asked, throwing her arms to each side in frustration. “Awful things could be happening to her. She has to suffer through two days of torture before you even start looking?”
Smythe watched Abigail carefully. “What makes you think that’s what is happening? Is there anyone in particular who would harm your friend?”
Abigail shrugged and dropped her gaze to the ground. “I don’t know…but what if some creep snatched her off the sidewalk?”
The radio on Smythe’s belt beeped and she pressed the button to respond. “Go ahead,” she said, keeping her eyes on Abigail.
“…in the alley behind…” was all Penelope could make out through the static.
Officer Smythe turned her gaze to Penelope and Arlena. “Good news. My partner found some of your things in the alley out back.”
“Thank goodness,” Arlena said.
Armand clapped his hands together once loudly.
Abigail stood frozen to the spot, the look of pleading remaining on her face. “Officer, please, you have to help me find my friend.”
“Let me get this situation under control first,” she said, “and then I’ll listen to what you have to say and see if there’s anything we can do.”
Chapter 6
Penelope and Arlena followed Officer Smythe around to the rear of the Vitrine Theater. A wrought iron gate with an intricate pattern of swirls at the top creaked back and forth in the breeze. On the other side of the gate was an alley that curved around to the back of the building.
Penelope could see her messenger bag lying on the pavement with some of the contents spilled out.
“Wait here one second,” Officer Smythe requested, stopping them near the corner of the building. She stepped gingerly over to the shopping bags and purses strewn across the concrete.
Her partner stood gazing down at the discarded items. “I see two wallets, and there are phones here.”
Officer Smythe shook her head. “That’s weird. What kind of thief doesn’t take the wallets?” She pulled latex gloves from her pocket and slipped them on, knelt down and opened Arlena’s purse.
“This bag isn’t cheap either. Why would he go to all the trouble to swipe purses and leaves valuable stuff behind?” Officer Smythe said. “This purse alone has got to be, what…six hundred bucks easy?”
Arlena nodded. “About that, I think. It was included with the swag I got on a movie last year from the producers.”
Officer Smythe stood up again and walked to the Steiners shopping bag on the ground. “Looks like they helped themselves to whatever was in here,” she said, lifting the empty scarf box into the air. She waved Penelope and Arlena over. Her partner wandered farther away and stepped behind the far side of the theater, pausing every few steps to look behind large black cases that lined the stone wall that encircled the property.
“What are these for, you think?” he asked, touching one as he passed. They looked like oversized suitcases, some with white marker scribbled along the sides. Penelope could read CHRISTMAS EXTRAVAGANZA on a few of them.
“They’re for transporting set pieces,” Smythe said. “Props, things like that.”
When her partner gave her a questioning glance she said, “My brother used to pick up work down here, unloading trucks for the theaters. He got paid by the hour, easy money.”
He nodded and continued poking around the cases near the wall.
“Can we take a look and see what might be missing?” Penelope asked.
Officer Smythe nodded, and they gathered up their things, both of them looking inside their purses first.
“My wallet is here,” Arlena said. “And my phone.”
“Maybe not for the phone,” Smythe said with a twist of her lip. “They’re harder to break into now if you have a passcode. Which you always should have. Leaving the contents of the wallet behind...we don’t see that every day.”
Penelope thumbed through her own billfold. “My credit card is still here. I didn’t have any cash on me. I spent my last twenty at Steiners getting coffee.”
“So maybe our robber gained a conscience halfway through the job,” Officer Smythe said. “It is the holidays, after all.”
“Wait,” Penelope said. “Something is missing.”
“What?” Arlena said.
> “I had a picture of me and my parents in here,” Penelope said. “It’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” Officer Smythe asked.
“Yeah, I always keep it tucked back behind my license. Which is still here, but the picture is gone.”
“Oh no,” Arlena said. “The one of me and Sam from last Christmas is gone too.”
“You both carry photos in your wallets?” Officer Smythe asked.
“Not usually,” Arlena said. “I just remember tucking it in there. It was one of those photo booth things. Sam ripped it in half, and I kept two of the photos. Sam kept the others. We’re apart a lot so it was, I don’t know, something for us to share.”
“I’ve had that picture of my family in my wallet since culinary school, when I left home and then they moved away. I’ve always carried it,” Penelope said. “My Buche de Noel is gone too.”
“Your what now?” Smythe asked.
Penelope shook her head, then looked around the pavement, searching for the gold box. “It’s a cake, a yule log kind of thing I just bought to send to my mom for the holidays.”
“Okay,” Smythe said. “You’ll have to spell it for me for the report.”
“Smythe,” her partner called, “looks like someone’s been living back here.”
“Stay put,” she said, nodding to her partner. “I’ll be right back.”
Arlena sighed and slung her bag over her shoulder. “It’s always something in this city, you know?”
“I know,” Penelope said. “I’ve never been mugged before. I guess there’s a first time for everything. But why just take things that have value only to us?”
Arlena shrugged.
A gust of wind slipped through the alley, lifting one of the discarded shopping bags into the air. It landed against one of the set cases lined up next to the wall. Penelope hurried to retrieve it, stumbling against one of them in the process.
“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her shin. The case lurched forward, and she reached a hand out to steady it, but instead lost her balance and stumbled back. The case fell on its side at their feet.
“You okay?” Arlena asked, grabbing Penelope’s arm to help her regain her balance.
“Yeah,” Penelope said, rubbing her shin harder. “That thing is much heavier than it looks.” The silver handle of the case fell toward the ground and clacked loudly against the shiny black siding.
“What is in there that is making it so top-heavy?” Arlena asked.
The main latch popped open. Penelope put her hand over her mouth.
“Pen, get back!” Arlena called, pulling Penelope by the shoulder away from the case.
A woman with dark red hair lay face-down on the ground, her bare torso tumbling out of the set carrier. One of her arms was twisted beneath her, the other lay at an odd angle, her skin stark white against the cold gray concrete.
“Officer Smythe!” Penelope managed to choke out. She couldn’t stop staring at the bluish tint of the skin on the woman’s back.
Officer Smythe and her partner rushed over from the far side of the theater, coming to an abrupt stop when they saw the woman’s body on the ground. Officer Smythe knelt down quickly and touched two fingers to the woman’s neck. Her partner began talking into his radio, his eyes darting around the area near the body.
Penelope and Arlena took a few steps back, making room for them to do their jobs. Penelope thought they should turn away, but she was unable to take her eyes off the woman from the case.
Chapter 7
Penelope watched the EMTs from the other side of the police tape as they studied the scene. The man in charge had a black mustache and shook his head as his eyes traveled across her soft white shoulders and painted red fingernails. Officer Smythe’s partner began to erect a tent to shield the alley from onlookers.
A van with a satellite dish on top of it double parked on the street next to where Penelope stood on the sidewalk. A woman with a heavily sprayed helmet of hair emerged from the passenger seat, a microphone with the letters CMZ gripped tightly in her fist. A tall man with a shoulder cam stepped from the back of the van and followed her to the sidewalk. The reporter turned her back to the alley and nudged Penelope lightly with her shoulder, jostling her from the shot. The man pointed his camera directly at the gate to catch as much as the police activity as possible before the tent was put in place.
“Okay, Bill, eyes on me,” the woman said. She touched a manicured hand to her hair and cleared her throat. The man stepped back and pointed the lens at her. “This is Candy MacNamera for New York Four reporting live from the Theater District where the police have found the body of a dead woman at the Vitrine Theater. As of now the identity of the victim is unknown, but our police sources say foul play isn’t out of the question. As you know, we’re smack dab in the middle of the busy Broadway season, and it’s not clear as of yet how this incident might affect ticket sales.”
Penelope stared at Candy as she tossed back to the studio, amazed at her flawless and smooth delivery. Candy MacNamera had been an entertainment reporter for News Four, the dedicated channel for all things New York, for at least the last fifteen years. Her voice was a familiar one, but Penelope had never seen her in person until now.
Candy dropped her mic and nodded to her cameraman. “Let’s get some crowd reaction,” she said. “Excuse me, miss?” Candy turned her attention to Penelope. “What’s your name?”
“Penelope Sutherland,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything or not, then thought about what her dad always told her: When in doubt, keep quiet.
“What do you think about what happened here today? Any comment for our viewers?”
A wave of coldness ran through her as she locked eyes with Candy. “I don’t have a comment,” Penelope stammered.
Candy smiled encouragingly. “Can you tell us if you feel safe? Will you visit the theater district again after seeing something like this?”
“I…um,” Penelope stammered. “I think…”
Penelope felt someone tug on her coat sleeve at the elbow and looked behind her. Arlena was standing there. She tilted her head slightly toward the theater, urging Penelope to join her.
“Arlena Madison!” Candy almost squealed. “Are you going to be in a play? What a scoop for our viewers. Did you know the dead woman?” The makeup on Candy’s face reminded Penelope of stage paint, orange and pink swipes defining her prominent cheekbones on top of a sprayed-on tan.
“I’m sorry, Candy,” Arlena said, pulling Penelope with her back up the theater steps. “Now isn’t the best time for a comment.”
“But, what connection do you have to the theater?” Candy pressed. “Should I call your father and ask him? I still have his number.”
Arlena paused on the steps and turned back to Candy, a knowing smile on her face. “There is a connection to the theater,” Arlena said. “Which will be revealed soon, at a more appropriate time. I’ll have Daddy give you a call.” Arlena and Penelope slipped inside the theater, Penelope stumbling slightly in the doorway before the door finally closed.
Once inside, Penelope’s teeth began to chatter in earnest, and Arlena sat her down in the last row of seats in the theater.
“The press has caught wind of what’s happened. Candy MacNamera specifically,” Arlena murmured to Armand.
“Mr. Wagner,” Abigail said, “what is happening? Where are the police?” She was huddled in a nearby chair, her knees pulled up to her chin, face puffy and voice scratchy from sobbing.
Martha had ushered the other dancers into the dressing rooms, and just a few of the musicians mingled near the orchestra pit, throwing glances up the aisles from time to time. Everyone appeared uneasy.
“I’m not sure what’s happening for certain, my dear. A few belongings went missing from the coat closet, and they’re investigating,” Armand said.
Abigail looked
at him with a confused expression. “Why would a reporter care about that?”
“Um,” Armand said, rubbing his chin.
Officer Smythe came down the aisle, followed by a tired looking man in a black suit. “This is Detective Doyle. He’ll be investigating the death in the alley.”
“Wait,” Abigail asked sharply, standing up. “What death in the alley?”
Armand turned to face her. “Something terrible has happened. The police are working to find out exactly what.”
“Who are you, ma’am?” the detective asked, eyeing Abigail. His black hair was sprinkled with gray and his wool coat looked like it had seen more than a couple of winters.
“Abigail Hamilton. My roommate is missing,” she said. “I told them…do you think—”
“I don’t think anything, Miss Hamilton,” Doyle said, raising a hand to keep her from continuing. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“But you said there was someone dead in the alley,” Abigail insisted.
“Are you the one who found the body?” he asked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad.
“I’m the one who found her,” Penelope said quietly from her seat. Arlena rubbed her shoulder and nodded.
“I’ll know if it’s Elspeth,” Abigail said.
“Okay,” Detective Doyle said with a sigh. “You two come with me. You,” he pointed at Penelope, “so you can show me exactly what happened. And you,” he nodded at Abigail, who stood in front of him, “to ID our victim. Possibly.”
Penelope closed her eyes and nodded, then pulled herself up. She felt like an entire day had passed since they’d arrived at the Vitrine.
“Is there a back door to this place? The first set of vultures has arrived. I’d like to avoid them if possible.” Doyle waved a hand toward the lobby, indicating the activity on the sidewalk out front of the theater.
“Of course, right this way, Detective,” Armand said. His tone was casual but worry creased the corners of his eyes.
MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS Page 4