"But…."
"I don't want anyone distracted," she said, raising her voice over Shirley's instant objection. "The kids are stressed enough, with tonight being the last rehearsal. It's over, and no one got hurt." A nasty bruise didn't count, she told herself.
After a quick conference, the others reluctantly agreed, but Paisley saw Shirley sneak concerned looks at her as the other cast members trickled in. Paisley smiled back reassuringly. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. No one would try anything with witnesses around.
Then her smile flagged. What if the accident wasn't rigged for her? Kevin could have been the one standing under the mainsail when it dropped. If she hadn't arrived early, he would have been the first one on the stage. And no one knew she was going to be here an hour before rehearsal; she had told no one.
Ray Henderson was the last of the cast members to arrive. Although he was running late, fortunately he was already in full makeup. His beard was glued on, and he was wearing the Major General's military costume with its double breasted buttons and bicorn hat with an enormous, flowing ostrich feather. His big face seemed flushed and his eyes sparkled as if excited for dress rehearsal. I always knew he was a ham, Paisley thought, smiling to herself.
He winked at Paisley as he passed her on his way to the refreshment table. "Here," he said, returning and handing her an open can of cold Pepsi. "I noticed you're always sipping on some beverage. Must be working. You don't sound like a four-pack-a-day smoker any more. Although you look a little pale. You really ought to get out in the sun more. I thought this was supposed to be a vacation for you."
"Thanks," she said wryly. So she didn't sound like a four-pack-a-day smoker anymore? Well, at least it was an improvement.
She took the can and took a refreshing gulp before plopping into her usual seat in the center of the front row, where she could watch the actors up close. Ray grabbed a few M&Ms from the refreshment table and tossed them in his mouth as he went backstage, whistling to himself. She was glad he was in a good mood. Maybe he'd sold a house that day.
Steve came over next. "Everything's cleaned up backstage," he told her, searching her face anxiously. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," she said a bit too sharply. "Go away, Steve. There's nothing more you can do. I'll make sure Kevin gets a ride home after rehearsal."
He left, looking handsome but crestfallen, and she kicked herself for not being nicer to him. Really, why was she always so hard on Steve? There had been a time when she had actually thought that something might happen between them, someday in the distant future. When she was ready for a relationship. He was trying so hard to be a good stepfather and to get his struggling winery off the ground. And he really was very good looking, with that shiny black hair and those slim hips. She’d always been attracted to dark men.
A chorus of high-pitched giggles distracted her. The Major General's daughters were lining up in front the curtain, corkscrew curls bobbing, pastel-colored crinolines swaying, and ruffled parasols twirling. On the other side of the stage, the young pirates joked and jostled each other, brandishing their plastic cutlasses and checking their glued-on beards and mustaches. The broken mast had been cleared away before the actors arrived, and none knew of the accident.
She mentally thanked Steve for taking care of everything so quickly. His quick action had averted a lot of distracting questions. She only wished she had shown more gratitude.
As the first lively notes of the overture began, Paisley's mind returned to the what had happened earlier. There was no way to brush this one off, she thought. Ian was right: someone was trying to injure or kill her. The culprit was doing it in a slapdash, amateurish way, but that didn't make it any less serious. Apparently they didn't care who else got hurt, either. Her hands curled into fists at the thought of how easily the mast could have fallen on Kevin, or any other crew member who arrived early.
She mentally kicked herself for not insisting someone call the police right away to report the sabotaged set-piece. Everyone thought it an accident, and she had not contradicted them, not wanting to disrupt the rehearsal. True, her previous experiences had prejudiced her against the local law enforcement, but that was no excuse. She'd better call them now, and make the report herself.
Her cell phone was not in her purse, however, and she remembered with a wave of annoyance that, in her excitement over finding the jewels, she'd left it on her bed at home, after her failed attempt to reach Ian earlier that evening.
Well, she'd just borrow someone else's phone after rehearsal. There was no hurry, since all the police could do was take another report. Certainly they'd find no clues, for by now the crime scene had been swept clean by an over-enthusiastic stage crew and compromised by dozens of bustling actors. Nor could they do anything to protect her against future incidents. She hardly rated round-the-clock body guards.
It all boiled down to one fact: she must leave River Bend. The thought had already occurred to her, but it returned with a dreadful sense of finality. Too bad, she thought humorlessly, that the unknown enemy didn't know she had already decided to do just that. If the falling mast was a message, it had been a wasted one.
Then her mouth tightened. She'd leave, all right—after opening night. Tomorrow. No way would she'd leave River Bend before seeing the payoff for all her hard work.. After the cast's final bow, she'd recover the jewels from their newest hiding place, drive the VW to San Francisco, and fly out on the first plane. Nigel would be thrilled to see her. After receiving her message, he might already have set up some auditions, allowing her to segue smoothly into her old life. And all this would be over.
Instead of feeling satisfied, she sensed a strange new emotion wash over her, unrelated to either her headache or her still-throbbing injured shoulder. In front of her imagination swam a picture of the cozy house Ian and his friends had labored to fix up; Shirley's kind eyes and sympathetic air, the friendly tête a têtes over bowls of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and aromatic, out-of-print books. Ian's tousled hair and whipcord-strong arms, and.... She didn't want to think about Ian.
At least, Ruth's rubies were safe. Although Paisley had read some famous jewels were thought to bring bad luck, such as the Koh-i-noor and Hope diamonds, these gems were different. They reminded Paisley of strong women who had showed courage and perseverance in the face of difficulty. The jewels had survived for nearly a hundred years, In a crazy way, she felt a responsibility to continue to guard them.
"Are sure you're all right?" It was Ray, towering over her with an odd expression on his face. The house lights had come up, and she looked up, blinking in surprise, to find the actors fanning toward the exits. She had missed the whole last act.
Ray removed his plumed bicorn hat and false beard and wiped sweat off his broad, pink forehead. Shirley was nowhere to be seen; no doubt she was backstage taking care of some business as usual.
"I'm fine," Paisley mumbled, getting to her feet and staggering.
He caught her by the arm with his free hand, and frowned when she winced and pulled away."Hey, you're hurt."
"It's nothing serious. I had a...a little accident before the show."
With unexpected sensitivity, he didn't press her about it. Perhaps her face told him she did not want to talk about it. Nevertheless he drained his coffee and said firmly, "Well you certainly can't drive in this state. Let me take you home."
The thought was tempting, but she remembered, "I can't leave my car here overnight. I'll be using it tomorrow."
"That's no problem. Kevin lives by you, doesn't he? Why not let him drive it to your house?"
She turned her head. Kevin had changed back into street clothes. His lower face was still bright pink from where the spirit gum had adhered to his false mustache and sideburns. Ray's florid jaw was pink too, where he had stripped away his beard. He must have had trouble doing so, for one side of his face looked raw and discolored. She really should give Alixis, the sixteen-year-old makeup director, tips on applying artifici
al facial hair correctly, she thought.
Kevin brightened up at Ray's words. "Sure, Paisley, I'll drive your car home. Don't worry, I got my license a month ago."
"Good," she said, smiling at the pride beaming from his young face. Boys and cars. Some things would be the same a hundred years from now. "Are you sure you don't mind giving me a lift, Ray? My house is out of town."
"One of the advantages of a small town is that everything's relatively close." He offered his bulky arm with old-fashioned courtesy, and she took it, grateful for the support. She was still feeling shaky.
"Then I'll take both of you gentlemen up on your offers," she said, taking her car key off the key ring and handing it to Kevin. "Just drop off the VW in the driveway. And, please," she added, remembering that she was talking to a teenager, "drive carefully."
"Sure." To give Kevin credit, he didn't roll his eyes at her warning. Kevin and Chloe left together, followed by a gradual exodus of the other cast members.
Paisley expected that Ray would want to leave right away as well, but the real estate agent offered to wait while she made sure everything was ready for tomorrow. "I know you have a lot to do," he said. "No worries, I have plenty of time."
Grateful and a little surprised at his considerateness, she checked that all the props were in their proper places, the costumes were hung up neatly, and the stage was swept clean. And that, this time, the building was locked up securely. She tested and double-tested the doors, to make sure.
There was another reason Paisley lingered as long as possible, although she would not have admitted it to Ray or anyone else: she was not looking forward to spending the night alone. Her vulnerability had finally sunk in. All her claims that she could handle things by herself felt particularly hollow tonight.
Maybe she could ask Ian to stay over tonight, she thought as she walked behind Ray to his big Explorer, which was parked behind the high school. She could tell Ian to sleep on the couch downstairs or in the spare bedroom, so there was no confusion about the purity of her motives. Or, better yet, maybe he'd invite her to spend the night at his house. That way, she wouldn't jump at every strange noise that disturbed her sleep. Yes, that was what she would do. As soon as she informed the police about tonight's accident, she'd dial Ian's number. Too bad she hadn't thought of it sooner.
"Ready?" Ray was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open, his coffee in its usual spot, in the cupholder. She realized they were the last to leave the parking lot.
"Sorry," she said, and got in.
Once they were on the road, they spoke little. The moon was full, and a panoply of stars tossed across the sky, like sprinkles on a chocolate donut, made the scene unusually bright. Perhaps the real estate agent was reviewing his lines for the play, she thought drowsily, resting her head against the leather seat. The rapid patter of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" was notoriously difficult, and Ray had stumbled over more of the words than usual tonight.
Then Paisley's thoughts turned to Ian again. She pictured him buried deep in his master's thesis, ignoring the urgent call of his cell phone. Or maybe he had turned it off, to reduce distractions. That would be like him. He liked to give tasks his full attention.
As they approached the curve in the river, Paisley came out of her reverie. She gasped and put a hand on Ray's arm. "Look, there! What's that?"
A glint of buttercup yellow paint reflected in the Explorer's headlights, down at the bottom of the embankment. For a moment, she thought she had imagined the sight.
Ray started, and the car swerved slightly. "What is it?" he asked. "I don't see anything."
"No, stop, Ray. I mean it. Down there, in the river. It's the VW!"
Chapter Seventeen
Ray's reflexes were faster than Paisley's. His hand went around her upper arm, his grip so tight that later she found new bruises to match the one on her shoulder. "Stay in the car," he ordered.
"But...."
"Stay here," he repeated. "I'll see if the kid's all right. The river's running fast this year; no sense all of us putting ourselves in danger."
He got out, leaving the car door open, and carefully began to climb down the steep sides of the ravine, toward the half-submerged VW The powerful headlights of the SUV lit his progress as effectively as a spotlight following an actor across a stage.
The little car must have come too fast down the hill and failed to negotiate the curve, she thought, as she slipped out of the SUV with no intention of obeying Ray's order. If she had not been so worried, she would have resented the man's high-handed manner in assuming he was in charge. But then, he was ex-military, accustomed to barking orders; it was hardly his fault.
She followed him, guilt battering her conscience while her sandals slid in the mud. If only she hadn't allowed Kevin to drive. He was young and inexperienced. The old car was unreliable. In spite of the full moon, there were a few clouds, which occasionally blotted it out, or made its light unreliable.
A few yards later, one of her sandals came off, and she sat on a boulder to put it back on. Something off to the side caught her eye: a long, dark form on the ground that almost blended into the brushes. Heart beating quicker, she clambered in its direction, searching carefully in the shadows. Then the veil of clouds parted and a cold beam of moonlight shone down, revealing a fallen log where she had thought she'd seen a body.
Behind her, she heard a stream of curses. Ray had reached the half-sunken Volkswagen and was on the bank, peering through its open door.
"What? What is it?" In spite of her best effort, her voice shook.
"He's gone."
"That's good, right? He got out!"
"Or he was swept downstream." Ray's words fell like a blow. "If Kevin's still in the river, it's too late. The water is deeper and swifter than it looks."
The statement was like a slap on the cheek. She swallowed. "Maybe he got out of the car and made it to shore. The window was open."
Ray looked at her, and his deep voice softened slightly. She had the impression that, like a doctor with a terminally ill patient, he was doing his best to break the news as well as he could.
"Sure, there's a chance, Paisley. There's always a chance. But with a moon this bright, you'd think we'd of seen footprints or something in the mud on the bank."
She wrung her hands. "Why are we wasting time talking about it? We need to call for help, right away! That is, you'll have to, I left my phone at home. The sooner rescuers get out here, the better the chance that they can find him."
"You're right." Ray pulled out his cell and jabbed at the numbers. He waited for a moment, the small electronic device pressed to his ear. "Yes, ma'am, I'm calling to report a yellow Volkswagon beetle went into the river at the bottom of the hill, just east of River Bend. No, ma'am. The car was empty when we found it. Mmmhmmm. Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He pocketed the phone and turned toward Paisley. "A search crew is on its way." He breathed heavily through his nostrils. "This is going to kill Steve. He worries a lot about that boy, even if the kid drives him crazy."
She remembered that Ray and Steve had grown up in the same small town, and that her neighbor was Ray's client. It was natural that the men knew each other well.
Her teeth chattered despite the warm night, and she hugged her arms around her waist. "Shouldn't we be looking, Ray, until the rescue team gets here? Every minute might make a difference."
He flung her a look that had an edge of contempt under its sympathy. "You don't know much about search and rescue, ma'am. Amateurs often get killed themselves, or at best, get in the way. The best thing we can do is clear outta the way of the professionals."
"But we could still…."
He cocked his head, interrupting. "Listen. That must be them."
She heard nothing but the song of a night bird and the rushing of water. But Ray put his big hand on the flat of her back and guided her up the hill. "I told you, we'll just be under foot here. I'll take you home and call Steve. He'd rather hear the news fr
om me than some impersonal public employee."
She stumbled on a loose rock and bit back an exclamation as the jolt shot pain through her injured shoulder. Ray was right, she thought dully. She would probably get in the way. She certainly did not want to divert attention from the urgent crisis of finding Kevin.
Nevertheless, half-way up the ravine she turned back to scan the half-submerged Volkswagen. Wasn't it wrong for them to leave the scene of an accident? she wondered. Or did that rule apply only if one was directly involved? Her brain didn't seem to be thinking coherently tonight; perhaps she was still in mild shock from the earlier mishap with the falling mast.
At the top of the ravine, Ray helped her into the cab of the SUV, more gently than she would have expected, as if he had intuited her emotions were as fragile as her physical state. "Here, put this blanket around you," he said, reaching behind the seat and pulling out a brown-and-green afghan. Knitted by his ex-wife, perhaps, and relegated to the car for emergencies? "You don't look so good. It's been a bad night, hasn't it?"
"It's awful," she said, her teeth chattering. "I can't help thinking about that poor boy. What if he's still in the water, clinging to a branch, waiting for someone to rescue him? Or worse, what if...." Her hands clenched convulsively at the edge of the blanket as she pictured Kevin's pale face, eyes closed, as the river closed over his head. Overlying the image was the memory of that other accident, months earlier, on an autobahn far away, that other still body, black hair falling over the high, intelligent forehead.
Ray started the engine, which roared in a business-like way. "I told you, search and rescue will be here in a couple of minutes. There's nothing we can do to help." He glanced over at her, as he pulled onto the road. "What happened to you, anyway, Paisley? That must have been more than just a 'little accident."
The Jewelry Case Page 26