“Costumes help actors stay in character.” Suzanne fussed with her large blue lapis necklace. She collected statement jewelry with the same passion that Piper did Birkins. “Only most of them are too lazy to get fully dressed for rehearsal. They behave like rank amateurs.”
I wanted to remind Suzanne that everyone here was an amateur, including her.
“Let’s get through this rehearsal!” Ed bellowed. “I have an early appointment tomorrow to pull out the bathroom sinks at the public library.”
Suzanne patted her mass of teased hair. She loved big hair so much, she could have been a Texan. “Temperamental actors,” she sniffed, before leaving me alone behind the backdrop.
The scene began. Ed grumbled and said, “Humbug,” followed by an audiotape of ringing bells. I heard Kevin grunt and looked over in time to see him whack a piece of plywood on the floor with his bat. Again and again.
Then I was on.
A wave of nerves washed over me. And not because twenty actors stared up at me from the audience seats. I wasn’t prepared. In fact, I had a hard time recalling the lines I had committed to memory.
Ed Wolfson regarded me with mock horror as if I already looked like his cadaverous business partner. He asked what I wanted with him.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“What do you want with me?” he repeated.
My mind raced. It was an easy first line. “Much!” I finally shouted.
“Not so loud,” Suzanne instructed me from the wings. “Scrooge is old, but he’s not deaf.”
Ed asked for my name in his shaky Scrooge voice.
My lines were coming back to me. “Ask me who I was,” I said with relief.
We made it through the next few lines without incident. Then Scrooge asked Marley why spirits walked the earth and why they came to him.
I’d memorized this passage only this morning. It was the first long passage I committed to memory. But nothing came to me now. Not one syllable.
“Repeat the line, Ed,” Suzanne said.
I still had nothing to say after he did. Ed said the line yet again.
Admitting failure, I looked down at the script in my hand. I read aloud the passage that began, “It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men.”
Ed said his next line: “You are fettered. Tell me why.”
With an air of defeat, I read, “I wear the chain I forged in life” from the script.
How could I not remember one of the most famous lines in A Christmas Carol?
My scene with Scrooge—the only scene I appeared in—at last came to an end. Most of the lines belonged to Jacob Marley, and I dutifully read every one of them from the printed page. And in a monotone I hadn’t heard myself use since I awoke from wisdom teeth surgery.
Someone in the audience said, “I feel like I’m watching Carl Fitzbaum all over again.”
My mood plummeted even more. The other night at dinner, Tess and David said that the worst Christmas Carol production took place four years ago when Carl Fitzbaum’s Scrooge forgot every line during the performance. And how a frustrated actor hit Carl on the head with Tiny Tim’s crutch. If I had that crutch now, I’d clobber Andrew for letting me think playing Jacob Marley would be easy.
After my last line, both Ed and the actors in the audience looked stunned.
“Sorry.” I clutched the script to my chest. “I haven’t had time to memorize all the lines.”
I expected a dramatic response accompanied by hand-wringing and sighs, but Suzanne only nodded. “We expected too much of you. Our mistake.”
I felt even worse.
“At least Rowena is up to snuff in her role,” Suzanne continued. “She came to the theater earlier today and ran lines with me. I’m grateful she’s such a quick study.”
Everyone looked at Rowena Bouchet, in the second row. Given her lustrous long hair, it came as no surprise that she had replaced Andrea Shipman in the role of the Ghost of Christmas Past. But who knew our town yoga instructor was a budding Judi Dench?
Rowena blushed. “I have a good memory. Thanks to my daily meditation.”
“If only all my actors meditated.” Suzanne glanced my way.
“We can do the scene again,” I said. “I might remember more lines this time.”
“That would not be fair to the other actors. We have an entire play to get through.”
Andrew sent me a mock-aggrieved look. I glared back at him.
“But I’d like you to go downstairs and spend the rest of rehearsal studying your lines,” Suzanne continued. “We cannot have a repeat of this performance.”
Like a chastised schoolchild, I made my way offstage. I suddenly envied Everett Hostetter. Yes, he was dead. But at least he had an excuse to not act in the play.
* * *
Before the barn had been moved to its present location, construction crews excavated a basement, which the hundred-year-old barn now sat atop. But given the bone-chilling temperature down there, I wondered if I’d been sent to the catacombs instead.
Even if I hadn’t known the barn had been sold in 1951, the retro basement would have been a giveaway. Someone with questionable taste had covered the walls with knotty pine, and the floor with aqua linoleum. The fluorescent lights overhead made me think of a steno pool in Mad Men. An ancient refrigerator hummed loudly by the restrooms. I suspected if I looked inside, I’d find Jell-O molds and iceberg lettuce.
The freezing temps didn’t help. I spotted at least six space heaters, all switched on. But it still felt like a drafty root cellar. On either side of the basement ran partition walls, their knotty pine covered with posters from past productions at the theater.
I peeked into the communal dressing room for men, easy to tell from the costumes hanging on the racks inside. The women’s dressing room lay directly across. Both had identical long makeup tables and illuminated mirrors. And more space heaters.
Voices overhead reminded me that everyone else in the Green Willow Players knew their lines. I’d be wise to use my time in the basement to study. I sat on one of the chairs before the makeup table in the women’s dressing room. Combs, brushes, hair dryers, cosmetic cases, and bottles of adhesive lay scattered about. A pile of wigs sat in the center. I wondered if one was mine.
Determined to focus, I read each line from the script, closed the pages, and recited it aloud. When I successfully remembered the passage that began with I wear the chain I forged in life, I let out a sigh of relief.
All I had to do was not allow any distractions to get in the way. Except I couldn’t help being distracted by the sound of someone coming downstairs.
“Welcome to the Green Willow Players, Marlee.” A statuesque redhead appeared in the open doorway of the dressing room.
I jumped to my feet. “Mrs. Madison!”
The last person I expected to see was my high school biology teacher. Due to her height and flaming-red hair, students had nicknamed Christine Madison “Big Red,” after the famous red lighthouse in nearby Holland. Now in her sixties, the retired schoolteacher still used the same copper-red hair dye. And continued to wear her thick mane twisted in a casual chignon.
“When did you join the Green Willow Players?” I asked after we hugged. “I’ve never seen you in any of their plays.”
“Nor will you.” She peered at me over her trademark green eyeglasses. “But after I retired from teaching, I felt a little bored. My husband hired Ed Wolfson to remodel our kitchen, and he suggested I help out with the players. Now I take care of the costumes here.”
“You’re the wardrobe mistress?”
“That makes it sound fancier than it is. I haul costumes out of trunks and put them back at the end of the season. The fun part is hunting through garage sales for old clothes.”
“Are you here to give me my costume?”
“In a way.” She took a key from her cardigan pocket and handed it to me.
“And this belongs to. . . ?”
<
br /> “Your dressing room.”
I waved at the long table behind me. “I thought this was the women’s dressing room. And the men’s is along the other wall.”
“Two lucky actors get their own private dressing room. I’ll show you.”
I followed her to the farthest end of the basement, which held two rooms.
She pointed at a half-open door. “That one is reserved for the lead performer. Since Ed Wolfson is Scrooge, it’s his for this production.”
A quick glance inside revealed a dressing table, chair, and mirror. Scrooge’s frock coat and nightgown hung on a wheeled clothes rack.
Christine Madison unlocked the room next to Ed’s. “This is yours.”
“Why do I get my own dressing room? Jacob Marley only appears in one scene. It makes more sense to give it to the actor playing Bob Cratchit.”
“This dressing room was set aside for Everett Hostetter to use during the annual A Christmas Carol. He insisted on having a private dressing room. One he liked to keep locked.”
“I heard he was one of the biggest donors to the Green Willow Players. I guess that bought him some perks.”
“Not much of a perk. Too bad he didn’t use his money to spruce up the basement.”
“It does have a Leave It to Beaver vibe.” I shivered. “A chilly one, too.”
“We have a dozen space heaters down here, which must be a safety violation. Please remember to unplug yours when you leave.” She pushed open the dressing-room door and switched on the dim ceiling light. “Here you are.”
It was larger than Ed’s dressing room, and the costume that hung from a clothing rack could belong to no one but Jacob Marley. Beside it dangled the infamous chain I’d be required to rattle. Up close, I realized it contained more than simple links. And looked heavy.
“You lucked out. This is the only dressing room with a private bathroom.” She gestured to a half-open door near the makeup table. “Another reason Everett claimed it for his exclusive use. Not that he didn’t have the right. He’s kept the theater company financially afloat for years.”
Along with the historical museum, I thought. I took a peek at the white-tiled bathroom, which boasted an overhead light bright enough to illuminate the stage upstairs.
“You lucked out with the costume, too. You’re the same height as Everett. And he lost so much weight this past year, the costume had to be taken in. I think that’s why Suzanne wanted you to replace Everett. She figured you’d fit in his costume.”
“Here I thought it was because of my name.” I went over to examine Jacob Marley’s pale gray stovepipe pants, waistcoat, and matching Victorian jacket.
“That, too. I know your parents always buy tickets for A Christmas Carol. I’m sure your mom will appreciate you performing as your namesake.”
“I’m sure she will.” I suddenly felt uneasy about putting on the clothes last worn by a dead man. “Has the costume been cleaned since Everett died?”
“No. If it makes you feel better, Everett only wore it twice this year. Once during the fitting when I took it in. And during his last rehearsal.” She peered at me again over her glasses. “Suzanne does love to get the actors into costume.”
I touched the frock-coat sleeve. The fog-like color brought to mind a phantom. It unsettled me to imagine Everett now as an actual phantom. Perhaps haunting this basement.
“Could I have it dry-cleaned?”
“Don’t tell Suzanne if you do. Also dress rehearsal is Monday night. You’d have to make sure it’s back in time.”
It was Friday evening. The chances of getting the costume dry-cleaned on Saturday were slim to none. I wondered how the costume would hold up in my washing machine.
“Having second thoughts about taking on the role?” Christine asked. “I remember your performance in Fiddler on the Roof during senior year. You were such an extrovert. And you never stopped talking with your friends during my class.”
I did love to chatter, especially in a class I had little interest in. “Sorry. Biology was not my favorite subject. And I hated the dissections.”
“Ah, yes. You set my dissection frogs free.” She shot me an irritated look. “You deserved the six-month detention.”
I grinned. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. My best friend, Tess, set the frogs free. I just took the fall for her.”
“Tess Nakamura? That polite, straight-A student who never broke a single rule?”
“She did that day. Tess hated the idea of killing a frog. But afterward, she became so upset about being punished, I told her I’d take the blame.” I shrugged. “No big deal for me. I used the after-school detention to do my homework.”
“I never guessed.” Christine laughed. “I hope she felt guilty about the whole thing.”
“I’ve been using it as leverage for years. Whenever I need a favor, I mention the frogs.”
“Still the same Marlee. Pushing limits, taking risks, smack in the middle of everything. So why do I get the feeling you’re nervous about taking on the role of Jacob Marley?”
“Maybe it’s because Everett Hostetter died two days ago. I feel funny about stepping into his role and his clothes.” To be honest, I recoiled at the idea of donning that costume. “It creeps me out. I also think it’s odd that Everett kept his dressing room locked. Why?”
“Hard to tell. Everett preferred his own company. It amazed me that he wanted to act in the play every year. Although he was good in the role.”
That made me even more nervous about my upcoming performance.
She gestured at an old-fashioned rocking chair in the corner, a floor lamp beside it. On the other side of the rocker stood a wooden bookshelf. “He had all that brought here. As you can see, he was quite the Dickens fan.”
I scanned the titles. “They’re all Dickens’s works, or books written about Dickens.”
“Like I said, Everett was a fan. By the way, he mentioned that there was a first edition of A Christmas Carol on that shelf.”
“Is that why he always locked the dressing room?”
“Could be. But why keep it in the dressing room and not in his home?”
Perhaps because he didn’t trust the nephew who lived with him.
“All I know is he spent a lot of time alone in this room throughout the year. And not just on rehearsal days, or when business meetings were scheduled upstairs. I think he looked on this as a second home.” Christine pointed beneath the makeup table. “It may have served as his office, too. Those locked metal boxes probably contain legal papers.”
I crouched down to get a better view of the three metal boxes hidden in the shadows beneath the table. “Has Suzanne contacted Everett’s next of kin? All of this belongs to the estate. Which I guess means Anthony Thorne.”
Christine made a face. “Suzanne dislikes Anthony. Every time he attended A Christmas Carol, he disparaged the cast during intermission. Especially her performances. And he referred to her as Miss Piggy.”
I winced.
“You can imagine how Suzanne reacted to that,” she went on. “Last year, things got so bad, she smacked him across the face with a program.”
“Looks like I’ve been attending the wrong performances of A Christmas Carol.”
“Things do get dramatic around here. But I don’t think Suzanne is in any rush to hand a thing over to Anthony. I doubt he knows anything belonging to his uncle is even in the theater. Except for the costume.”
“Anthony didn’t visit his uncle at the theater?”
“Oh, no. He only showed up at the Calico Barn when his uncle performed as Marley.” Christine gave a rueful chuckle. “I got the feeling Everett forced his nephew to attend, as if he were a child and not a man in his forties. And Anthony fled as soon as the curtain rang down.”
“They didn’t like each other?”
“Not from what I observed. Strange when you realize they shared the same house for almost a decade. Whenever Everett spoke of his nephew, it was in the most disapproving terms.”<
br />
This could explain why Anthony Thorne wanted his uncle cremated at record speed. And why he didn’t bother with a funeral or even an obituary in the papers.
“Perhaps Everett spent so much time here to avoid being with a nephew he didn’t like.” I shrugged. “I’ve heard Everett found fault with everyone. I’m sure he wasn’t easy to live with.”
“Even I might have found fault with his nephew.”
“Why?”
“I learned something about him from my daughter in Los Angeles. Alyssa has been a TV reporter there for almost twenty years.”
I had a vague memory of the Madison girl going to California, which was where Anthony spent much of his life before moving to Oriole Point.
“What did she tell you about Anthony?”
My former high school teacher looked like a student caught smoking in the bathroom. “Forget I said anything. It’s all in the past. Only Everett died so unexpectedly. Then Andrea was rushed to the hospital with a burst appendix. All of us involved with the play this year feel stressed-out. I’ll be glad when A Christmas Carol is behind us. In January we begin rehearsals for Pygmalion. That can’t come soon enough.”
I followed her out of the room. She locked the door and handed me the key. I didn’t mention that I had no reason to lock the dressing room. Although if there were first editions in there, I suddenly felt protective of them.
“Can you at least tell me if what Anthony did was criminal?” I recalled what Piper and Lionel had told me this morning about Katrina May. “Is he a thief?”
“No.” Christine peeked at me again over her glasses. “He killed a man.”
Chapter Ten
I’d never tasted soup made from pickles, barley, and beef kidneys. But Kit and I were already on our second bowl and enjoying every drop of it. Along with thick slices of black bread, slathered in country butter.
Natasha had been the perfect houseguest and cooked a pot of rassolnik, a Russian version of meatball soup. The kind of soup that sticks to your ribs. The weather demanded some real rib-sticking power, too.
Even though this might be a heavy meal to dig into late in the evening, neither Kit nor I had made time for dinner until now. Suzanne would have blown a gasket if I’d asked to leave rehearsal early, especially since I arrived late. And this afternoon, Kit had been called in to investigate a triple homicide at the eastern edge of the county. A case sure to require his full attention for the foreseeable future.
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