Who's Kitten Who?

by Cynthia Baxter

  Ian!” I cried, my mind racing as I tried to come up with the right thing to say to someone who was brandishing a knife. “How nice to see you. Are you, uh, here for the show?”

  Desperate to pretend that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was happening, I turned toward the mirror and picked up a tube of lipstick. I only hoped he was far enough away that he couldn’t see how badly my hands were shaking.

  I even dared to wonder, just for a second, if perhaps the knife in his hand was just a prop. But when he grabbed me roughly from behind and held it against my throat, I knew from the sharpness of the blade that this was no fake. This was the real thing.

  I could see in the mirror that thanks to his jolting movements, his wig had been pushed askew, revealing a large patch of Kyle Carlson’s sandy-colored hair. He might have looked humorous if it wasn’t for the fury burning in his eyes.

  “The whole cast will be back any minute now!” I cried. “Ian, why don’t you just go into the theater and—”

  I stopped talking when he pressed the blade more closely against my flesh. In the mirror, I saw that a tiny red line had appeared just above the blade.

  “You figured the whole thing out, didn’t you?” he hissed in my ear. “I could see it in your eyes today when you were at the house. My house. The house I live in alone.”

  “But Ian!” I tried again.

  Once again, he used his knife to make his point. “Stop pretending!” he demanded.

  I was hardly in a position to argue. “You’re right,” I admitted breathlessly. “I know that Ian isn’t real. He’s someone you invented to prove what a terrific actor you are.”

  “I think you know the real reason,” he shot back.

  “No, I—”

  He drove home his sense of urgency with the stainless steel blade, cutting a second red line into my flesh.

  “All right!” I gasped. “I do know the real reason. You made up Ian to give yourself an alibi.”

  “Aren’t you smart,” Kyle snarled. By this point, the wig had slipped off his head completely. I also noticed that his fake beard was coming loose on one side of his face. “The problem is, you’re a little too smart. Unfortunately, it’s going to cost you.”

  “But why?” I asked in a shrill voice. “Why did you kill Simon?”

  “Because he stole it!” he yelled into my ear.

  I instinctively lurched forward. As I did, I felt the terrifyingly sharp blade push even deeper into my skin.

  “She’s Flying High was my play, not Simon’s!” he cried. “I came up with the idea of writing a musical based on Amelia Earhart’s life back when we were just out of college. I’m the one who wrote it, not him! And I finally got tired of listening to everybody talk about how great he was. What a genius he was.

  “I’m the genius!” he exclaimed. “I’m the one who stayed up until two or three, night after night, perfecting the script. I’m the one who came up with the clever lyrics! She’s Flying High is my creation!”

  “Why didn’t you just tell everyone the truth?” By that point, my words came out as wheezing sounds. “Derek and the Stones and…and everyone else who was involved with the production?”

  “Because I had no way of proving it. Ten years ago, right after I finished it, I showed it to Simon. I was actually trembling as I handed him a copy. His opinion meant so much to me. I hoped he’d read it and tell me it was great. Instead, his reaction devastated me. He told me he thought that parts of it showed promise, but that overall it just wasn’t good enough.

  “And I believed him! In fact, I burned every copy I had. I was devastated, of course, but I trusted him so much I didn’t question him. It never even occurred to me that he’d squirrel his copy away and that, when the time was right, he’d put his name on it!”

  “But that’s exactly what he did,” I said, doing my best to sound sympathetic. If there had ever been a time I wanted to convince someone I was on his side, this was it. “Simon betrayed you! And you thought he was your friend. I don’t blame you for being angry!”

  “It was the first time I’d ever seen him do anything that selfish,” Kyle continued. I had the feeling he was talking to himself, not to me. “That evil, conniving bastard. I confronted him, of course. As soon as I realized what he’d done, I demanded that he come clean.

  “But Simon could be very persuasive once he turned on the charm. He insisted he was simply paving the way. At that point, he already had Derek and everyone else in the company under his spell. He’d also caught the attention of the Stones. See, he was great at crashing parties and making contacts and networking, things I’ve never been good at. He kept saying that since he was the one who was pitching it to the people who really mattered, he couldn’t very well let on that someone else had written it. He assured me that once things were firmly under way, he’d tell everyone the truth.

  “I waited and waited, but that moment never came. Finally, when we were only two weeks away from opening night, I confronted Simon again, this time at the theater. I knew he’d show up here that Friday evening, even though there was no rehearsal. He liked to run through his lines on his own, and he preferred to do it on the same stage where he’d be performing. He told me he’d arranged to meet Aziza here so they could rehearse together.

  “But by the time I got here, she was long gone. He told me he’d just broken up with her, and naturally they had a huge fight. She stormed out of the theater, but he stayed to rehearse, the way he planned. He acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He could be like that—so determined to get what he wanted that nothing else mattered.

  “I was glad I’d gotten him alone, since I figured that without Aziza and Lacey and the rest of his entourage crowding him, I’d have a chance to talk some sense into him. Instead, when I demanded that once and for all he give me credit for the musical I’d written, he started giving me the same old story about how the timing wasn’t right. And standing there in the dressing room with him, I suddenly realized that the timing would never be right. I finally saw Simon Wainwright for what he really was.”

  “No wonder you were devastated!” I exclaimed.

  “I saw red,” Kyle agreed coldly. “The more he tried to explain why it made sense for him to take credit for my creation, the more enraged I became. Finally, I lost it. Simon turned his back on me, as if our discussion was over and he was going to walk out.

  “Before I even knew what I was doing, I grabbed the first heavy thing I saw, a statue of Buddha, and smacked him in the head with it. I didn’t even think about the repercussions. It was an instinctive reaction. So I was astonished when I looked down and saw him lying on the floor. I knelt by his side and called his name, over and over. Then I started to cry. Even though I was furious with him, he’d been one of my closest friends for years. We studied together, we auditioned together, we even lived together. Simon and I shared the same dream, and we supported each other as we both went after it. I loved him like a brother.

  “I couldn’t believe I’d killed him.” By now Kyle was practically whispering. It was as if he was reliving the entire scene. “I panicked, then instinctively tried to hide what I’d done. I noticed the dusty old trunk in the corner of the dressing room, and I dragged it out and stuffed Simon inside it. Then I did my best to wipe the fingerprints off everything I could remember touching, especially the trunk and the Buddha. And I was careful to put the Buddha back into the props closet. I figured whoever had taken it out would just assume that the cleaning lady had put it back where it belonged. And then I ran like hell.

  “As I drove home, I was shaking. I’m amazed that I didn’t have an accident. But as upset as I was, I knew I needed an alibi. That was when I came up with the idea of Ian. I knew I had the acting ability to pull it off. All I had to do was create a roommate and construct a solid story to go with it. I thought it was the cleverest idea I’d ever come up with. I even chose a name that would honor my creation: I. M. Norman. I am no man.”

  This didn’t seem like th
e best time to mention that I’d already figured that one out—and that he wasn’t nearly as clever as he seemed to think he was. The last thing I wanted to do was provoke him.

  “When the police called me down to the station as Kyle,” he continued, “I was pretty nervous. But when they called me in as Ian, I was frantic. I knew this was going to be the biggest acting challenge of my life. Not only did I have to convince the cops that Ian was a real person, I had to convince them that he was telling the truth.

  “Somehow, I did it. I must say, I was flying pretty high myself when I came out of there. I’d actually made them believe I had an airtight alibi for the time Simon was killed. But then I realized I had to keep Ian alive, at least for a little while. Sure, I’d pulled him from out of thin air. But now that I was done with him, I couldn’t just have him vanish back into thin air.

  “That’s where you came in. I wanted to let you get to know Ian, and Monty was the perfect excuse. As soon as you told me you were a veterinarian who made house calls, I knew I’d found the ideal way to keep Ian going. See, I hardly ever have anybody over to the house. I’m too much of a loner for that. But I knew you’d come over for only a short time, and I figured you weren’t likely to ask too many questions.

  “But I was wrong. You kept coming around to check on Monty. I was also wrong about you not asking questions. You asked plenty. I wasn’t sure what you were up to, but I thought I’d be safe as long as you believed Ian was real. And if I could convince you and everybody else that Lacey was the killer, I’d get off scot-free. She certainly had the motive. And Aziza’s claim that Lacey had been stalking Simon before he was murdered was the perfect way to make her look guilty. So when you told me about it, I jumped right on it.

  “I also realized pretty quickly that instead of leaving the production, I’d be better off sticking with the show,” he went on. “That way, I’d have a better chance of sabotaging it. The last thing I wanted was for the show Simon stole from me to be produced on a real stage without anyone knowing that I was really the one who deserved all the credit.

  “My entire plan went fine until this afternoon. I could see from the look on your face that you’d realized that Ian and Kyle were one and the same. And you’re smart enough to figure out why I’d go to the trouble of creating a fake person—one who just happened to provide me with an alibi.”

  “I guess I’m not a very good actor, after all,” I commented weakly.

  “Actually, you’re not half bad. But the moment I started talking to Monty in that silly voice I use only with him, I realized what I’d done. It was the first mistake I made. Still, I didn’t let on. I didn’t want you to know I realized the charade was over.

  “And now,” he concluded, tightening his grip on me, “there’s only one thing for me to do. I have to get rid of you. Otherwise, you’ll go to the police and tell them everything.”

  I was about to swear up and down that I had absolutely no intention of doing that when I heard a female voice call, “Hello? Anybody here?”

  We both froze.

  Thank goodness! I thought. Someone’s here!

  I opened my mouth to scream. But Kyle covered my mouth with his forearm, still clutching the knife in his hand.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Now what I am going to—I know.”

  “Hello!” we heard once again. “Where the heck is everybody?”

  Sunny, I thought, recognizing her voice.

  But figuring out who had come into the theater didn’t do much to help me—or to prevent Kyle from dragging me down the short hallway I knew led to the props closet. I thought of trying to break out of his grasp, but I could feel how strong he was. Besides, there was that tiny problem of a sharp stainless steel blade that happened to be situated dangerously close to my windpipe.

  As we neared the props closet, I began to panic. Not only was the closet a small, dark space guaranteed to make anyone who was kept in there long enough claustrophobic. It was also the perfect place for Kyle to use his knife on me, leave me inside, and then slip out of the theater before anyone knew what had happened.

  So when we reached the closet door, I couldn’t help whimpering. It was the same sound Max made when he was standing at the window, watching a squirrel he knew he couldn’t get to.

  “Quiet!” Kyle hissed in my ear.

  He dragged me into the closet without loosening his grip. It was pretty tight once the two of us were stuffed inside. And it was fairly dark, with the only illumination coming from the thin strip of light underneath the door.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he warned. As if wanting to remind me how serious he was, he pushed the knife harder against my throat.

  “Hello?” Sunny called again. “Derek, are you here?”

  The sound of her voice enabled me to keep track of where she was. And from what I could tell, she was coming closer.

  In fact, I could hear her walking around in the hallway, probably no more than fifteen feet away from where Kyle was holding me at knifepoint.

  “Don’t make a peep,” Kyle whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

  Come on, Sunny, I thought. Open the door. Please, please think of some reason you need to check inside.

  “Hello?” I heard Sunny call once again. “Anybody here?”

  By this point, she was standing directly in front of the door.

  “If you let her know we’re in here,” Kyle said so quietly I could barely make out the words, “I’ll kill you before she has a chance to open the door.”

  As he spoke, he yanked me more tightly against him. The sudden movement caused me to lose my balance, and my foot struck something hard.

  I immediately realized what it was. The fog machine.

  I suddenly had an idea. Even though I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, I maneuvered my foot around the edge, trying to find the switch Sunny had told me she’d flipped accidentally. That meant it couldn’t be that difficult to turn on….

  “Stop fidgeting!” Kyle insisted.

  “I have a cramp in my leg,” I whispered back.

  Hoping he’d buy my excuse, I made a few more attempts at flicking on the switch. I finally felt something move, but I still couldn’t be sure I’d succeeded. Not without turning on the light and crouching down to get a better look.

  And even if I could, that would completely ruin my plan.

  Please work, I thought, clamping my eyes shut. Outside, I could hear footsteps moving away from the props closet. Sunny was still in the backstage area, wandering around. If only she would stay nearby…

  It seemed as if Kyle and I stood in that closet forever. I could hear his rasping breaths in my ear and could smell his sweat. He must have been getting tired of holding the knife at my throat, because he rested his arm on my shoulder.

  While I’d pretty much lost my sense of time, I figured at least five minutes must have passed since the time I fiddled with the fog machine. Suddenly, even in the dim light, I could make out wisps of white smoke wafting along the bottom of the closet. I held my breath, hoping for it to thicken, hoping for the billows of fog to start drifting underneath the door.

  “Oh, my God!” Sunny cried. “Fire!”

  “Fire!” I repeated in a breathy voice. “Look, the closet’s on fire! Kyle, we have to get out of here!”

  As I’d hoped, the word fire worked like magic. My captor reacted automatically, flinging open the closet door.

  In fact, his instinct for survival seemed to make him forget all about me. He pushed me aside and dashed out of the closet. As I followed right behind him, I suddenly heard an earsplitting clanging that reverberated through the entire building.

  I spotted Sunny standing at the end of the hall, her hand still poised above the fire alarm.

  “Grab him!” I cried, yelling over the loud noise. “He killed Simon!”

  Sunny didn’t stop to ask questions. Instead, she sprinted after him. As I ran into the wings, I saw that she’d almost caught up with him as they neared the edge of the stage. Wh
en he jumped off, my heart sank.

  She lost him! I thought miserably.

  Instead, she leaped on him from above, falling onto his back and grabbing him around the neck.

  “What the—!” he cried, nearly toppling over.

  I took advantage of his surprise by following suit. I jumped off the stage, then swooped down and wrapped my arms around his knees. The two of us were too much for him, and he crumpled to the floor.

  Sunny couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but between her weight and mine, we managed to hold him down. As she straddled him, she pulled off the leather belt she wore with her black jeans and did an impressive job of tying his hands behind his back. Then, using my belt, we tied his feet, looping the leather around one of the seats to limit his mobility.

  “See, Jessie?” she said proudly as the two of us sat side by side, me on his back and her on his butt. “I really am good at helping out.”

  “You can certainly think on your feet,” I agreed, still trying to catch my breath. “I guess you and I make a pretty good team.”

  “So what about my idea?” she asked. “You know, about me working for you? Or at least giving it a try?”

  I had to smile. “Now that I’ve seen how good you are in a crisis,” I replied, “maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

  It took under eight minutes for the fire department to arrive. Still sitting side by side on Kyle to hold him down, Sunny and I exchanged relieved glances as we heard the sound of sirens right outside the building. Seconds later, we heard yelling and the stomping of feet.

  “Back here!” I yelled to the firefighters who had tromped into the lobby. “There’s no fire, but we need your help!”

  The two firefighters in black raincoats and boots who found us looked both relieved and surprised at the same time.

  “What’s going on here?” one of them demanded. “There’s no fire?”

  “It’s a long story,” I told him. “But right now, we’re desperate for your assistance. This man is a murderer, and he’s about to be arrested. If you can find a way to get Lieutenant Anthony Falcone on the phone, he’ll send somebody down here as fast as he can.”