by Jennie Jones
‘I need to shut the play down.’ Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it. Why had Simon disappeared halfway through Act II? ‘Call the police.’ It would take them an age to get down here, and if they weren’t needed, they could be stood down.
Cam pulled his mobile out and dialled.
Ryan realised he’d missed a lighting cue, but his niece had it covered. Ted, as the detective, was strutting around the stage, arms flailing—as directed—outraged that his character was being treated in this manner by a woman. He’d knocked the table lamp off the sideboard, as rehearsed, which meant the bulb had to go out. It did, thanks to his niece.
A pistol shot rang out in a fast, almost rhythmic blast, followed instantly by reverberation of the sound around the barn.
Ryan threw himself away from the prompt desk and onto the floor. Cam hit the ground at exactly the same time—automatic response to seven years on active deployment in a war zone.
‘Jesus,’ Cam said.
Ryan was up and on his feet, ascertaining what had happened and what was happening right now.
The horse was neighing in fear, struggling against Josh’s hold of the rein, then it reared, knocking Josh to one side.
Someone screamed.
Half the audience were on their feet, sensing danger. ‘House lights up!’ Ryan yelled to the twins. ‘Cut the music.’
A second later he was onstage.
The audience gasped as the house lights came on and the reality of what had happened started to trickle into their heads.
The actors were frozen, shock visible on their faces. Ted was shaking uncontrollably, the pistol still in his hand.
Edie had been knocked to the floor. Blood stained the white sleeve of her blouse on her left arm.
He made a fast appraisal. She’d paled considerably, her eyes were wide and her mouth open, but she was conscious. ‘Put pressure on the wound,’ he told Gem who’d rushed onstage to be with Edie.
He made for Ted. ‘It’s okay, mate,’ he said, putting a hand out for the pistol.
Ted gripped it harder, his fattened knuckles as white as his face.
‘Let it go, Ted. Give it to me.’
‘I shot her.’
‘It’s all right, Ted. Give me the gun.’
‘But I shot her.’
‘Cam,’ he called over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off Ted’s. ‘Get everyone out of here.’
While Ted shook, staring at Edie and at what he’d done, Ryan moved fast and grabbed Ted’s wrist, lifting his arm so the gun was aimed at the rafters. Before Ted had a chance to evaluate what was happening, Ryan had the weapon.
He shunted the cocking slide three times, ejecting the live cartridge in the breach. Christ, the thing had been armed all this time, with Ted wandering the stage waving it at everyone. How the hell …
He went for Edie, pushing the Glock into the waistband of his jeans and edging the people now on the stage out of his way.
‘She’s not responding!’ Gemma said, her arm around Edie who sat on the floor, stunned, and speechless for perhaps the first time in her life.
Ryan ripped open the thin material of her blouse from the cuff to the embroidered shoulder. She didn’t even wince. ‘Edie?’ he said, wanting to get a response from her as soon as possible.
The bullet had sliced through the flesh of her upper arm, although he didn’t know what damage it might have done on its trajectory.
‘Edie. You’re okay. Edie—’
She stared ahead, not hearing him. Shock had frozen her, physically and mentally.
‘Hey, Dazzlepants! Look at me!’
She inhaled as though she’d burst to the surface after being underwater for too long.
‘You’re okay, darling.’
While the audience were hustled outside, the spotlights still glaring on the commotion on stage, Cameron called out, ‘Police are on the way and I’ve asked for a doctor.’
Ethan was suddenly at Ryan’s side. ‘I’ve got her,’ Ethan said, and quickly evaluated the damage to her arm. ‘You’re lucky, Sweetpea—flesh wound. That happens to be something I can deal with even though you’re a human.’
‘Dad …’
‘Trust me, Edie. I’ve got you.’
28
For Love of the Leading Man
Who Shot the Producer had been cancelled for 48 hours until Edie had been able to persuade Ted that she didn’t hate him.
The poor man!
He’d been apoplectic on stage. Edie had grown so concerned for him that she’d torn herself away from her father’s ministrations to her bloody arm and gone to Ted and hugged him.
He’d been shaking like a willow branch in a summer storm.
She’d covered Ted in blood by that time—and Magdalena fainted, with a loud thump.
That upset Dapple-Dancer more than the gunshot. She’d been neighing and stomping while Josh tried to get her under control in order to lead her outside. But when Magdalena hit the floor Dapple-Dancer charged across the stage—thankfully jumping cleanly over Magdalena’s prostrate body.
Everybody scattered. Chairs were overturned in the auditorium as people scrambled to get out, but the theatre reviewer from the Sydney Morning Herald stepped forwards and was joined by a director from ABC Television. Together they stood in the horse’s path, arms stretched wide, so Dapple-Dancer halted—totally confused, the poor darling. Once Josh got the horse under control, Ryan, Cameron and Tony ushered everybody outside safely, ensuring nobody left before the police arrived.
Her father had his hands full with all of Edie’s fainting, shaking, blood-splattered cast members. But Viv stepped up with her crutches and hobbled onstage to tend to Magdalena.
Even now, ten days later, Edie was still exhausted from it all. Although her wound was healing nicely and it didn’t give her any pain.
She gave a heartfelt sigh and peered out the dining-room window at Burra Burra Lane, amazed that the sun still shone on her after everything that had happened, and how it might turn out to be something far more spectacular than a week’s successful run of Who Shot the Producer.
Not only had the director from the ABC helped with the horse, he’d also approached her with an incredible offer. She still had some negotiation to go through before she accepted the proposal though. There’d need to be a town meeting for a start. She had no intention of going ahead until all thirteen members of the Swallow’s Fall Community Spirit town committee had given their thoughts on the idea. But what an amazing opportunity! Totally out of the blue.
‘Here you are, Sweetpea,’ Sammy said, interrupting her musings when she put a mug of coffee and a plate down in front of Edie. ‘Eat that cake—it’s your favourite.’ Her mum was still fussing over her, plying her with hugs, smiles, a few tears, and chocolate cake with pink icing and strawberry jam filling.
Edie sipped her coffee and made a mental note of one more thing she had to do—apologise to Zenda from Bombala. The woman had been right all along. Edie the producer was shot by the detective. Who’d have thought! The man in her life was there—Ryan had come onstage in a heartbeat! And the man who’d handled the gun was Simon. He had been going to the toilet a lot and it was down to nerves. But not the stage-fright kind. First off, he’d snuck to the props table while the audience took their seats and swapped the fake gun in Grandy Morelly’s old toolbelt for a real one.
Ryan had already done his props checks by this time so he hadn’t seen the exchange.
Edie had thought Simon looked a bit strained when he’d done his first scene at the start of Act II, and at one point, at the part where Ted as the detective demanded the groom hand over the toolbelt, she’d thought Simon had forgotten his lines. He’d gripped the toolbelt, staring at Edie, mouth open, face sweating.
Edie had almost started to sweat herself. She’d turned upstage and given Simon a what are you doing? frown.
The sweat had poured from Simon’s forehead. His hands were shaking, his eyes glassy.
Ted, who must
have also realised Simon had forgotten his lines, saved the moment by swooping across the stage, grabbing the toolbelt off him, pulling out the gun—and then stalling, as though he too had dried.
Fortunately, Magdalena, who knew everyone’s lines backwards, stepped up in character and the scene continued. Simon snapped out of whatever his problem was, although he’d spoken his lines a little fast and looked like he couldn’t wait to get offstage.
Before his second entrance, he’d gone to the toilet again and scarpered out the window.
By which point, Ted was about to unknowingly shoot Edie as he brandished the real gun.
Vince had chased Simon and caught him about five kilometres out of town, overtaking his vehicle and penning him in at a bend in the road. Simon had cried. ‘Blubbered like a baby,’ Vince had told them. Eventually the police had arrived and done their thing. But poor Simon. What he must have gone through!
His only family were his aging parents, and his father was showing signs of dementia. They coped on a very small pension. Simon had been giving them most of his income but it wasn’t enough for the medical bills, so he’d been pilfering bits and pieces of expensive saddlery and so forth for nearly a year and selling it on the quiet.
Two days before opening night, Simon had been contacted on his mobile by a man called Hanger—the police were keeping very quiet on this man’s identity—who blackmailed him. Simon was told that if he didn’t take a real gun that was being delivered to his hut at Josh’s stables, and shoot Edie Granger the first chance he got, his parents wouldn’t live to see the end of the week. So Simon agreed to shoot Edie onstage at the opening of Act II.
Edie didn’t blame him—what was a person to do when one’s aging and only family members’ lives were at stake? He later told the police that he couldn’t have killed her. He was going to aim for her foot but in the end, he couldn’t even do that.
So poor old Ted with his trigger-happy finger had been in charge of a real, armed gun.
Thank God it had been Edie who had got accidentally shot and not somebody else.
Edie wasn’t sure what was going to happen to Simon, but he’d certainly be charged with theft and probably a lot more. Neither was she sure what would happen to his parents, but she had sent them the money Simon earned from the play and added a bit of her own, and Ryan had put his share in too. Then Ted did the same, and Magdalena, and then the whole town had a whip-round so in the end, they’d sent Simon’s parents over four thousand dollars.
As for Marcus . . .
Australian detectives were contacting the police in California, keen to interview Marcus and discuss the possibility that one of his lawyers had charged this Hanger person to persuade Simon to kill Edie on Marcus’s say-so.
Marcus would get out of this one too, Edie had no doubt. Especially as even Ryan and Vince and Cameron didn’t have any exact intel on Hanger, let alone the police. But at least everybody knew his reputation was suspect. More compensation, if not yet a satisfactory conclusion. Five of his writers at Buchanan Strike Productions had left. With any luck, they’d all go, as well as his accountants and all his secretaries. Alana would have to ruin her manicure and do the filing.
Ryan had been wonderful these last ten days, if a little detached. He’d made sure she had everything she needed and that the play ran smoothly, but they hadn’t talked about themselves, only what had happened.
He’d called her darling that night. ‘You’re okay, darling.’
She pulled her brow into a frown. Or had he said, ‘Hey, Dazzlepants!’
‘So what will you do about the ABC?’ Sammy asked, sitting at the table next to Edie.
Edie smiled. ‘Ask Ted to hold a meeting.’
Sammy grinned. ‘I think he’ll do anything you want him to these days.’
To convince Ted she didn’t blame him for shooting her, she’d had to follow him around all the next day. She walked down Main Street with him, her good arm tucked in his, allowing everybody to see that they were still firm friends. Her injured arm was a bit sore, but Ryan and her father had driven her to the hospital in Cooma and the doctors said the wound wasn’t bad and she didn’t even have to wear a sling. And she was a trooper. Plus the painkillers helped, so she’d told Ted, ‘This show must go on.’
She had lunch with him in Kookaburra’s, and bought him donuts from his girls’ grocer’s store. She’d even helped him on his ice-cream round. He’d taught her how to scoop a single and a double, and how to ring up the old till in the back of the van. She’d had a great afternoon and ended up telling him she might need to ask him for a job—this was before the ABC had contacted her.
Ted had laughed so loud at the notion of Edie Granger working for him in his ice-cream van that he’d relaxed immediately. He’d told her once again how sorry he was, and Edie had explained for hopefully the last time that it wasn’t his fault. Then she’d made him laugh again by saying she was just glad he didn’t have a good aim.
So the play had gone on, with Edie’s arm bandaged and hidden from view in a brand new long-sleeved blouse that Kate Knight had made for her, and Who Shot the Producer had been a smash hit for Swallow’s Fall and the district.
‘What time do you want us over at Kookaburra’s tonight?’ Sammy asked.
‘About six.’ Edie was putting on an after-show party for everyone who’d helped to make Who Shot the Producer a success. Her agent had been in touch again too. He was the one who’d leaked her mobile number to the press. Now he wanted to represent her again because of the amazing offer she’d had from the ABC, but she’d told him where to shove it.
‘Will you and Ryan get to the party early?’ Sammy asked.
‘Probably. I want to make sure Olivia understands I’m paying full price for the bar tab and all the food.’ The Bradfords had offered to give her a heavy discount, but she didn’t want that. Edie Granger was capable and she could pay her own way. Or she’d be able to, once she’d completed the negotiations with the ABC.
‘It’s going to be a wonderful evening,’ Sammy said. ‘Is Ryan looking forward to it?’
Edie smiled for an answer. She hadn’t told her parents that she and Ryan weren’t exactly on speaking terms. But nobody noticed—they were all too busy with the police, then the play, and that had only just ended. Ryan had stuck by her side until Simon had spoken up and admitted his part in it all. He still ran her into town and so forth. And he was still in the house, although he’d moved into the small back bedroom again.
It was as though the silent misunderstanding—she preferred that word to argument—had been strung out so far and so wide that ne’er the twain would meet on middle ground.
She was going to change that tonight. It gave her heart a boost. Late this afternoon, before the party, it would be just Edie and Ryan at Jindalee House and she was going to make sure everything was sorted between them.
Luck had to be on her side every which way now, didn’t it?
An hour later she was strolling across the paddocks between Burra Burra Lane and Jindalee Lane. Everything felt so amazing. The tufts of grass beneath her feet, the warbling of the birds, the rustle of the gum trees. It was like she had a new lease on life.
She climbed the cross-gate, steadied herself for a few seconds on top, the way she used to when she was a child, showing off her balancing skills, then jumped off and landed on the soft grass.
She could do this every day from now on, if she wanted to. She might ask Ted if he’d consider her for the committee. She’d best ask now because it could take up to two years to make a final decision. Edie was good at making decisions these days, and she wasn’t looking back.
She hadn’t told Ryan about the ABC—she’d only just told her mum. Neither had she told him she was staying in Swallow’s Fall for good, or for as long as he wanted to stay. If he wanted her. And if he wanted to open his retreat here, then she’d like to give him half of Jindalee House. She’d have enough money soon to pay her parents back, and she was going to insist they take it.
It was the perfect scenario for everyone. The house had seven bedrooms, there was plenty of space and the kitchen was large and airy and comfy. Ryan could run his retreat and Edie would still have the barn.
The Little Theatre on Jindalee Lane.
It sounded so good. Plenty of her acting community had been in touch and told her that if she was keeping her little playhouse open, they’d be thrilled to come down and do a show.
It all depended on if Ryan wanted her.
Later today, before they left for Kookaburra’s, she’d ask if they could talk and she’d explain her thoughts and feelings about no longer wanting to be Edie Granger under the spotlight, but Edie Granger the ordinary woman. Well, maybe not too ordinary. She was, after all, fairly talented. It would be a shame to let that go to waste. She’d already sold the script for Who Shot the Producer a dozen times, and she had daily email requests from heaps of small theatres all over the country that also wanted to buy it. They’d read the reviews the play had received, which were pretty good on the whole, plus there was the national notoriety of the producer actually getting shot.
Don Dunn from the Sydney Morning Herald, who’d helped stop Dapple-Dancer from stampeding the crowd, had called and asked if she was going to write another play in a similar vein.
She did have an idea, as it happened. Two or three ideas and she was desperate to tell Ryan all her wonderful news. But first, she’d have to try to persuade him to stay and see if they could pick up their relationship as it was before she’d ruined it by telling him she wanted time out.
She had to tell him that she planned to do everything in her power to make him fall in love with her—even if he laughed, which was possible if she managed to get him into a good mood. The thought made her smile. Ryan’s laughter was delicious. It didn’t happen as often as one of his slow, dreamy smiles but that’s just who he was. A solid, caring, ex-Special Forces gorgeous guy. The guy she wanted to fall in love with her more than she wanted anything else in the world.
She’d have to explain that she hadn’t shunned him but only wanted to put things on hold in order to deal with the myriad indecisions she’d been facing, and that she hadn’t wanted to hurt him if it turned out the theatre and the cities were actually what she needed most. It seemed ludicrous now to think she’d ever had a problem making her choice.