“Smells wonderful,” Armand said.
“Oh, great,” Penelope said with a smile. She straightened her chef coat and brushed the edge of the tablecloth. “I hope everyone will enjoy it.”
“Oh my dear, I’m certain they will,” Armand said, peeking under the foil covering the nearest steam table. “I think Arlena is filming tonight’s show. Well, not Arlena herself, you know, the crew.”
“Do you normally record any of the shows?” Penelope asked.
“We do one or two each year for the archives,” Armand said, his eyes rolling over the salad station. “And news crews come sometimes to film a few scenes to go along with their coverage of the theater, or Broadway in general.”
“How long have you been doing that?” Penelope asked.
“As long as I can remember,” Armand said. “I’d have to check and see how old the tapes go back. And you know, video disintegrates, so…”
“Right,” Penelope said. “I was thinking maybe you’d have footage of Ruby for Arlena.”
“Quite possible,” Armand said. He rubbed his palms together. “Shall I ring the dinner bell then?”
Penelope laughed, picturing Armand in his elegant suit on a country porch ringing a bell. “Yes, let’s let them through.”
Chapter 41
Penelope watched the dancers file through the room, helping a few of them here, grabbing bottles of water or tea, and explaining what a few of the items were on hand.
After everyone had been served, Penelope wandered through the dressing room area, where a few of the dancers had decided to eat, propping their plates on makeup desks and chatting with each other. Out on the stage, Penelope saw a group of them sitting in a circle, plates on their laps, eating quietly together.
Abigail sat off by herself in the corner, her knees pulled up, her plate on the floor next to her. She picked at some lettuce, and her chicken breast was untouched.
“Hey,” Penelope said. “You don’t like your dinner?”
“No,” Abigail sighed. “It tastes great. And it’s free. Nothing tastes better than free food.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Penelope said. She crouched down next to Abigail and put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Abigail pulled her phone from her sweatshirt pocket, swiped it to life and held it out for Penelope to see.
“I just got this,” Abigail said.
Penelope squinted at the screen. She recognized a small print hanging near the kitchen area of a set of ballet shoes. “Is that your apartment?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “Look closer.”
Penelope enlarged the photo and saw the top of a woman’s head, appearing to be asleep in bed, a few dark red curls snaking out over the comforter.
“Is that…Elspeth?” Penelope asked.
“Yeah,” Abigail said. “Asleep in her bed. Who could’ve taken this picture?”
“And why are they sending it to you now?” Penelope asked.
Abigail shrugged. “It came from one of those anonymous apps that hides the identity of the sender.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” Penelope admitted. While she was only in her late twenties, Penelope sometimes felt ancient around women Abigail’s age, even though she couldn’t even be ten years younger.
“Yeah, Pinger, TextFree. Those are a few of them,” Abigail said.
“For what purpose?” Penelope asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.
“It’s for trolls, mostly,” Abigail said. “So they can leave anonymous comments online, or keep their identity a secret while communicating.”
“Sounds like it could be dangerous,” Penelope said. “What’s to stop a stalker from targeting unsuspecting women? Luring them into something dangerous?”
“It’s not a safe world out there,” Abigail said. “Should I be freaked out about this? I feel like I should be.”
Abigail sat down on the stage and crossed her legs, staring at the photo.
“This was taken before she died, right?” Penelope asked.
“I guess,” Abigail said. “But why send it to me?”
“I’m not sure,” Penelope said. “But I think we should tell Detective Doyle about it.”
“Okay,” Abigail said. She tucked her hands inside her sweatshirt sleeves and curled in further on herself.
Chapter 42
Penelope hung up with Detective Doyle after explaining what she’d seen on Abigail’s phone, then went back to the break room to help Francis and Alex clean up, cover and store the leftovers.
“Not many opted for the grilled steak,” Penelope said, eyeing the hotel pan halfway full of medium rare beef.
“We can make something else with it for tomorrow. Steak and eggs for breakfast?” Alex said.
“Good idea,” Penelope said.
They took most of the pans and slid them into the refrigerator in the break room, then stowed away the plates and cups, leaving a few out for any stragglers.
“Good service,” Penelope said.
A young man entered the break room, pulling off his jacket. “Did I miss dinner? I had a doctor’s appointment.”
Penelope recognized the man from the orchestra pit as one of the musicians. “There’s still plenty, go ahead.”
They watched him help himself to a salad and some chicken then take a seat at the table they’d just cleared away.
“Thanks,” he said between hurried mouthfuls. “It’s a long night without some food in my stomach.”
“You guys are doing two shows, right?” Penelope asked.
“Yeah, the doubles are a killer,” he said, chewing a piece of lettuce.
“Hey, weren’t you the one who heard Elspeth Connor say she was from Phoenix?” Penelope asked.
The musician slowed his chewing and eyed her carefully. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she said she was. It was this one time when we were outside waiting to be let in.”
“Did she say where in Phoenix?” Penelope asked.
“No, but it was weird because she said it was colder than Phoenix that day,” he said. “I think she was trying to be funny but it didn’t make sense. When is Phoenix cold?”
Penelope’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out. Seeing Joey’s name she smiled and excused herself, ducking backstage behind the curtains.
“Thought I’d catch you before show time,” Joey said. “Is now good?”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “What are you up to?”
“Got a little shopping done,” Joey said. “A few names have been crossed off my list.”
“Oh yeah?” Penelope asked. “Like who?”
“Like Ma, and I got my dad a new fishing pole,” Joey said, his tone playful.
“What did you get for your new partner? You guys doing a secret Santa at the station?”
“Ha,” Joey said. “Clarissa…I’ll probably get her a gift card. What do you get for the woman who wants nothing from anyone?”
“Give her a break,” Penelope said. “She puts up with you all day. That deserves a little something at least.”
“You’re teasing me again,” Joey said. “Hey, when are you coming home?”
“Well, the first show starts in twenty, and they’re doing a double feature tonight. But dinner is finished, so we can probably clear down and get out of here soon.”
“Good,” Joey said. “I miss you.”
“I’ll probably hop on the train,” Penelope said. “Arlena’s going to work late tonight, but It’s been a long day.”
“Okay, see you soon then?”
“Yean, also…I was wondering if you could show me some mug shots? A woman I met in the grocery might be tied into what happened to the murdered dancer.”
“Okay,” Joey said, a note of hesitation in his voice. “I suppose I could do that. Text me the parti
culars and I’ll load the iPad. And let me know when you’re close to leaving.”
“I will,” Penelope said. “Thanks. Love you.”
The curtain next to her rustled and she glanced at it. She knew she hadn’t brushed it or bumped it, and figured it was a random breeze, probably from someone opening the back door. She kept quiet for a minute, then stepped around, holding her breath to be as silent as possible.
Creeping around the heavy curtain, she jumped when the orchestra began practicing, then continued to the main backstage area. Looking up, she saw Armand on his office’s balcony, looking down at the stage and the dancers who were getting assembled.
“Armand,” Penelope called up to him.
He cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned over farther.
“Who was just here?” she called.
Armand shook his head and shrugged, holding his hands up in the air. He pointed to the orchestra, indicating to her he couldn’t hear her over the music.
Penelope shouted then. “Who was just here? Backstage?”
Armand stared at her in confusion and then mouthed something in return. The music got louder and Penelope froze when she saw a figure move out on the balcony behind Armand.
“Turn around!” Penelope shouted.
Armand continued to mouth wordlessly at her, pointing to the orchestra on stage.
Penelope waved her hands in the air, willing him to turn around. The person edged closer to Armand on the balcony and Penelope tried to make out their face. The person was short, and cloaked in a large coat with a large hood that obscured the face, but a wiry beard stuck out from the bottom. Penelope saw black gloves on the person’s hands, as they reached out toward Armand.
“Stop!” Penelope yelled.
At the last second, Armand turned halfway around, just as the person behind him shoved him over the balcony.
Chapter 43
“Hang on!” Penelope called up to Armand, who had grabbed onto one of the balcony railings with his hands.
Penelope rushed out to the stage from behind the curtain and yelled at the conductor. “Help me!”
The man froze and stared at her, then waved his baton in the air to stop the music.
“What on earth?” he asked.
“It’s Armand! He’s going to fall!”
With that she turned and ran toward the stairway that led up to his office. The conductor and a few musicians scrambled out of the pit and followed her.
Armand clung onto the railing, his shoulders rigid and his legs cycling through the air. The person who had shoved him was gone, vanished back inside the office.
“We’re coming!” Penelope said. “Hold on!”
Penelope took two steps at a time up the rickety wooden staircase, not feeling her legs beneath her, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The orchestra members followed her up the stairs that rattled beneath her feet, and she wondered how long ago they’d been built and if they’d hold up for at least one more day.
The conductor stood below, barking orders to the remaining musicians, telling some to head in one direction and the others on the opposite side. A few of the dancers had emerged from the dressing rooms, partially made up and a few already dressed in their costumes for the show.
“What’s happening?” one of them cried.
Penelope reached the office suite and banged through the door, moving quickly through the outer to the inner office and out onto the balcony. She fell down on her knees and poked her hands through the wood slats, grabbing onto Armand’s wrists.
“You’ve come for me,” Armand panted. Penelope could smell a slight whiff of alcohol on his breath. Faint, but still there, as if he’d had a glass of wine with dinner.
“Hang on,” Penelope said.
The two musicians who had followed her leaned over on either side of her to grab onto Armand.
Penelope could feel his hands were slick with sweat and she grabbed onto his wrists harder as he slid further down the slats.
“Don’t let go, dear,” Armand said.
“We’ve got you,” Penelope said.
The conductor had grabbed a spare curtain from backstage and the musicians had it stretched out below Armand. Penelope wondered how strong the fabric was, and how strong the musicians holding it were. A man, however slender and lithe as Armand was, would still be hard to catch in a fall with momentum gathering on the way down.
“I’ve got him,” the musician on her left shouted. “Grab onto me so I don’t go over with him,” he hissed with effort as he grasped Armand’s wrists.
Penelope was reluctant to let go, but stood up quickly, moving behind the man to help anchor him on the right side of the balcony.
The other musician kept his grip on Armand’s wrist and they both began to pull.
“Swing yourself up,” one of them said.
Armand almost chuckled. “I’m afraid those days are behind me, my boy.”
“You can do it,” Penelope said.
Armand smiled sadly and let loose his grip. The musicians pulled him harder, trying to get the dead weight of the man up and over to safety.
One last heave and his torso appeared above the railing. Armand seemed to return to them, hoisting himself forward and back onto the balcony, his long legs flopping over inelegantly at the end.
He lay in a tangle of arms and legs on the floor, his chest heaving and his face red and sweating.
“Thank goodness,” Penelope said. She began to shake as the adrenaline worked its way through her system. “I saw them. I saw who pushed you.”
“Bainbridge again,” Armand said.
“It was no ghost this time,” Penelope said. “Whoever it was, they were real.”
Chapter 44
“Looks like they went out through here,” Detective Doyle said, leaning out an open window in the back room of the office suite. “You’re going to have to keep these locked from now on, Mr. Wagner.”
Armand sat on the sofa in his office and nodded through the open doorway at the detective. Penelope sat next to him and felt the tremors that still rustled through his body from the shock of being dangled over the balcony.
“I might have been killed, you know,” he said to Doyle. “You must find out who is doing this to my theater. Who is out to hurt us?”
“We need your help to figure it out, Mr. Wagner,” Doyle said. “Did you recognize your assailant?”
“No,” Armand said. “I only caught a glimpse, to be honest. I was mainly focusing on not falling to my death.”
Doyle nodded. “I know. But is there anything that you can think of? Any distinguishing features?”
“All I know is one of the bums from down the street has taken aim at the Vitrine, for some reason probably known only to him. And he’s making our lives hell, through no fault of our own.”
“Okay,” Doyle said with a sigh. He looked through a few items on Armand’s desk then headed for the door. He turned at the last minute. “You, Miss Sutherland, I might need to put a protective detail on you.”
“No, you don’t. I am being careful. I was going to take the train home tonight but Arlena insists I take a car.”
“There was one odd thing, Detective,” Armand said suddenly. He stared off in space as if in a trance.
“What’s that?” Doyle said.
“The smell was missing,” Armand said.
“Excuse me? What smell?” Doyle pressed him.
“The odor, the decay smell, that comes from people living on the street,” Armand said with a shrug. “The person who pushed me smelled like…”
Doyle leaned forward, willing Armand to speak more quickly. “Like what?”
“Like roses,” Armand said simply. “Quite beautiful roses.”
Chapter 45
Joey opened the door of his apartment and Penelope hurried inside, falling
into his arms.
“I’ve missed you,” Penelope said.
“Hey,” Joey chuckled. “You too, but it’s only been a day or two, right?”
Penelope hugged him harder. “I know but it feels like forever this time.”
Joey led her through to the living room where he had a bottle of wine open on the table and two glasses set out. Penelope pulled off her coat and hung it across one of the stools that anchored the island on the far end near the kitchen and eased down onto Joey’s leather sofa.
He poured her a glass of wine and she eagerly took a sip.
“Did you get those photos?” Penelope asked.
“My day was fine, thank you,” Joey teased.
“Sorry,” Penelope said. She tapped her fingers on her knee and said, “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Joey said. He kissed her on the cheek and reached over to his iPad which was on the coffee table. “And I got your photos. Hopefully, anyway.”
Penelope scrolled through the pictures of the women. Looking at their faces was very much the same as looking at the ones in Doyle’s office. She could see that some of them were having the worst day of their lives at the moment the photo had been taken, while some looked confused, or out of it, and some appeared amused by the whole situation.
“There!” Penelope said. “That’s her!” She tilted the screen toward Joey and he squinted at the information below it.
“Helen Chadwick,” Joey said. “Burglary, petit theft, prostitution. She’s been a busy lady the past thirty years.”
Penelope looked into the woman’s eyes, a mischievous glint staring back at her from the photo. Her face appeared puffy and well worn, sun damage dotting her forehead and cheeks, and blotching the puffiness around her eyes.
“What’s that say?” Penelope asked, pointing to the final list of charges beneath Helen’s photo.
“Fraud,” Joey said.
Penelope sat back against the couch.
Joey tapped a few things on the iPad. “Check fraud, looks like. Credit cards too. She was caught using her neighbor’s identity to open several accounts, then she wrote a series of bad checks.”
MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS Page 16