Setting the Stage for Murder

by Robert W. Gregg

  “I only heard about it after his death. The sheriff mentioned that somebody she was talking to had seen some of his work.”

  “Well, as I was saying, we talked. Just talked, for maybe 45 minutes. Then I said good night and took off. Fini. Or so I thought. It was early the next week when Harley suggested coffee again. It was the same routine—same place, same kind of conversation. And again, nothing really personal. He never even asked me if I was married or had kids. I chose to reciprocate and not ask him about family. By the time I left him that night I knew almost nothing about his personal life, but quite a bit about his interests. And I knew I’d been too quick to judge him. Of course I couldn’t forget how obnoxious he’d been on the stage, but there was obviously another side to the man. A real Jekyll and Hyde.”

  “I suppose there are two sides, maybe more, to all of us. But I wouldn’t have guessed it about Gerlach.”

  “Neither would I. Anyway, my story doesn’t end there, and it’s what I’m going to tell you now that has me worried. The sheriff isn’t going to be happy with me. I’m sure she’s going to suspect that there’s more to my relationship with our Gianni Schicchi than there is. And I can’t say as I’d blame her.”

  Kevin listened with a sad feeling that he knew what was coming next. No, he thought, not Redman, too.

  “I met him after rehearsal one more time. It was only a few days before he was killed. This time it wasn’t coffee. No, come to think of it, it was. But it wasn’t in Southport; it was at his house up on the hill above the lake. He said he thought I might be interested in seeing his art. And some opera memorabilia. It sounded okay, just an extension of the conversation we’d been having, a chance to see some of the things we’d been talking about.”

  Mercedes paused, taking her eyes off the sunlit bluff across the lake and looking at Kevin.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s what the sheriff will be thinking, too. But nothing happened. He was a perfect gentleman. Never even hinted that we might do anything but talk and admire the house. And it’s a fascinating place. Full of some really good prints and his own watercolors. Not to mention some neat posters from his days at the Metropolitan. And photographs. He’s a photographer, too, and a good one. It sounds funny, my saying so, but I had a really good time that evening.”

  Kevin was both relieved and worried when Mercedes came to the end of her story. She had not, if he were to believe her, become another of Gerlach’s conquests. Yet he did not know and probably would never know whether her story was true. The only person who might have told a different story about that evening at the house on the bluff was now dead. Kevin also knew that he would have to pass this information on to Carol. Mercedes would not have confided in him if she hadn’t expected him to tell the sheriff what he had heard. And do so in a way that would be supportive of her story.

  Mercedes was changing the subject, but Kevin hardly heard her. He was feeling uncomfortable about what he would have to do, what Redman wanted him to do. And why had she shared this tale of a non-affair with Harley Gerlach anyway? No one need ever have known.

  CHAPTER 16

  Mercedes Redman had taken her leave, and Kevin was about to give Carol a call to see if they might get together for dinner when he heard someone knocking at the back door. He cursed quietly under his breath.

  The man at the door was Paolo Rosetti.

  “Paolo!” he said, his voice registering the surprise he felt at the sight of the man who had wanted the part that went to Harley Gerlach. “How are you? Forgive me if I sound surprised, but I am. Surprised, that is.”

  “I should have called first,” Rosetti said, “but I was on my way back from Southport, and it’s better to talk with you in person than on the phone, yes? Is this a good time? I mean, you don’t have company, do you?”

  “No, no. It’s okay. Come on in.”

  Kevin was not in the mood to talk with Rosetti, and he was almost instantly worried that it would be hard to get rid of him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I was just about to make an important phone call. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. Deck or living room, it’s up to you. Let me make that call, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  He watched Rosetti take a seat on the deck and then went into his study and dialed the sheriff’s office.

  She sounded harassed, and he was afraid that she would beg off dinner. But whether it was because she had really missed his company or because she needed to discuss some development in the Gerlach case, she agreed to meet him. There wasn’t time to whip up a decent meal, especially with Rosetti making himself comfortable on the deck, so they decided on The Cedar Post at seven.

  “Can I get you a beer?” Kevin asked his visitor. He’d have preferred not to make the offer, but common courtesy prevailed. And Rosetti, of course, said yes.

  “Well, now, what brings you here today?” he asked after handing Rosetti his beer.

  “The opera, Professor. The opera. I haven’t heard from you about our plans. I’m sure it’s been taking you some time to make the necessary arrangements with the college. But I have to know when we’re doing it, when we’ll be getting back to rehearsals. It won’t be too hard, but it’ll take a bit of work, don’t you think?”

  Kevin stared at the man. Had he lost his mind? Could he really believe that the opera would go on as planned if a few days late?

  He started to say what had to be said to disabuse Rosetti of the idea that the ‘Brae Loch Opera Company’ still had a future. But Paolo was just getting warmed up.

  “I know just how we do it. Do you want to hear my plan?”

  “But Paolo, we—”

  Rosetti plunged ahead, ignoring whatever it was that Kevin wanted to say.

  “I’ll be your Schicchi. You know I can do the role. I know it by heart. Mr. Goldman takes over my role as Simone, and we’re all set. Right?”

  Even though he knew that none of this was going to happen, period, Kevin found himself poking holes in Rosetti’s idea.

  “So Goldman takes your part. Then who takes Goldman’s part? Who sings Betto? And if someone else does Betto, who will sing his part? You know, Paolo, we don’t have enough people.”

  “No problem. We double up. Somebody sings two roles. Who’s to know? They’re small parts, easy to learn. What matters is Schicchi, and here I am.”

  Kevin felt a headache coming on. Paolo Rosetti was looking at Harley Gerlach’s death as his golden opportunity. He was going to get the leading role he thought he should have had from the beginning of the casting process. Everything else was incidental. All Kevin had to do was shuffle roles, tell the provost to change the dates, and hope that there was no one in the audience who would know that what he was doing was not exactly what Puccini had had in mind.

  “I wish it were that simple, Paolo. I really do. I had high hopes for this production. You know that. And we’ve worked hard at it. You and everyone else. But we can’t just dismiss the murder of our leading man as an inconvenience to be overcome, can we? I mean, things have changed. For the college, for all of us. There’s a criminal investigation going on, and it takes precedence over the opera. They’re trying to find out what happened to Harley, and here we are arguing that the show must go on.”

  “Please, Professor, I feel badly for Mr. Gerlach, just like you do. It was a terrible thing, him getting killed like that. Why not turn our opera into a kind of memorial to Mr. Gerlach?”

  It was apparent that the idea had just occurred to Rosetti. He was visibly excited.

  “That’s what we’ll do! It’ll be a memorial service. An opera as a memorial service! What a great idea. The programs can even be dedicated to him. To Harley Gerlach, in Memoriam—that’s what they’ll say.”

  Kevin listened in disbelief. Paolo Rosetti, who would have no interest in drawing attention away from his own performance as Gianni Schicchi, was proposing to pay tribute to the man who had been scheduled to sing that role.

  “That’s a very thoughtful
gesture, Paolo, but we just can’t do it. I’ve already notified the college that the opera has been cancelled. The provost would probably have cancelled it anyway. I just saved him the unpleasant duty of telling me that there wouldn’t be any opera at Brae Loch this summer.”

  But Rosetti wasn’t about to give up so easily.

  “Professor,” he began, using the title Kevin had tried so hard to persuade the company not to use. “It isn’t too late. Think of all the hours we’ve spent on it. Gianni Schicchi would be the biggest thing to happen to Crooked Lake since the flood of 1972. If you like, I can go with you and explain to the people at the college that we have to do it. I’m sure they’d understand.”

  This was a conversation—an argument, really—that had to come to an end. There would be no opera, and if Rosetti was determined to be in a funk about it, that was his problem.

  “I suppose we could kick this around for the rest of the afternoon,” Kevin said, “but the decision has been made. I know you’re disappointed. So am I. But it’s over. So let’s try to forget it, and in the meanwhile hope that the sheriff nails whoever killed Harley—and put an end to the opera by doing so.”

  Kevin quickly changed the subject before Rosetti could think of some other way to keep his dream alive.

  “We all need a break. The sheriff says you took time off the other afternoon to go fishing. Not a bad idea. Maybe we all should go fishing. Put the opera business behind us.”

  He had not even thought of it as a way to test Rosetti’s claim that he had spent the afternoon of Gerlach’s murder fishing. It was just something that had come to mind as he tried to bring the discussion of Gianni Schicchi to an end. But Paolo didn’t say a word, and the shadow that came over his face made it clearer than words that he was not about to discuss fishing.

  Two minutes later he was gone. There was still a chill in the air.

  _____

  It was 7:30 and Carol was toying with her salad as she recounted what she and her staff had been doing.

  “It’s been mostly about checking up on what your people were up to that afternoon. Most of their stories sounded straightforward. But I couldn’t just take them at their word. It’s not easy. You don’t want to start asking family and neighbors whether so and so was where he says he was. That gives the impression that you think they’re lying, or shading the truth, when we have no reason to believe that they are. Anyway, it’s delicate work. Takes diplomacy.”

  “So have you learned anything? Anybody give you a phony story?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. One of the members of the orchestra—name’s June Neary—said she’d remembered doing something she hadn’t mentioned to Bridges. But it doesn’t sound important. So no, things look pretty much as they did when we left Brae Loch the night of the murder.”

  “Then I guess I’m the one who’s got news. I’ve had two interesting conversations that I think you’ll want to hear about. Especially one with Mercedes Redman. It doesn’t have anything to do with what she was doing or where on Tuesday afternoon. But it’s important. At least I think it is.”

  “Redman? Your second in command?”

  “Right. She drove over from Ithaca to see me today. I was surprised to hear from her, but she made it sound as if she had to talk with me, and not over the phone. To make a long story short, she told me that she had been into some kind of relationship with Gerlach and that she hadn’t told you about it.”

  “No she didn’t,” Carol said, sounding as if this might indeed be important news.

  “Without ever saying so, she seemed to want me to be the one to tell you about it. You know, she was confiding in me as a colleague, which I guess was easier than confessing to you that she had lied about how well she knew Gerlach.”

  Carol shook her head.

  “Another notch in Gerlach’s belt, is it? First Myers, then Mrs. Conklin, now Redman. I hope we don’t find he’d also been bedding that young Merriman girl.”

  “It’s not like that,” Kevin said. “At least that’s not what Mercedes told me. The way she tells it, they just talked, drank coffee, got to know each other better. Oh, and he invited her up to his house to see his etchings. Sorry. All kidding aside, she said he seemed like a nice guy, not at all the boor and the drunk he was at rehearsals. She was very complimentary of his talents, not just as a musician, but as a painter and photographer, too. Her picture of him doesn’t match mine, but I don’t think she’s someone who’d be easily fooled. Unless, that is, she’s still lying. That they really were having an affair.”

  “I wouldn’t discount that possibility,” Carol said. “But why would she unburden herself to you like that?”

  “Probably because she figured that someone knew and that somehow the fact that she had spent time with him would come out. It’s called preemption.”

  “But what does this relationship—whether it’s romantic or platonic—have to do with Gerlach’s death?”

  “Who knows. I guess that’s for you to find out. Or us. After all, I created the situation where Gerlach and these other people in his life all came together, so I ought to be involved in trying to untangle things. Agreed?”

  “I don’t think it would matter if I didn’t agree, Kevin. You couldn’t stay out of this investigation even if you wanted to, and you don’t want to. Besides, you know these people better than I do. I’ll welcome your help.”

  Kevin reached across the table and took Carol’s hand.

  “Now that that’s settled, let me tell you about my other visit from a member of the Gianni Schicchi cast. It was Rosetti, and he dropped by not long after Mercedes had left. It was a busy day at the cottage. Anyway, he came to argue the case for going ahead with the opera. The way he saw it, it would be no big problem. He’d take over Gerlach’s role, we’d shuffle a couple of parts, and voilà, the show would go on. And believe me, he was tenacious. I had to tell him that I’d already made my decision and notified the college. He was not in a good mood when he left.”

  “Sounds like a lot of chutzpa to me,” Carol said. “Did he really think he could step into another role in the opera at the last minute, just like that?”

  “Rosetti doesn’t lack for self-confidence. And the truth of the matter is, I think he could have done it. I’d bet he knows the part, and he’d told me from the beginning that he should have been my Gianni Schicchi. If he’s a suspect in Gerlach’s murder, it’d probably be because eliminating Harley would let him take over the lead and be the star of the production.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very realistic motive,” Carol said. “More like the plot of an old Hollywood movie or Broadway musical—the leading lady can’t go on and the understudy gets her big chance and becomes an overnight star.”

  “I know, but you don’t really know Paolo.”

  Nor do I, Kevin said to himself. In fact, I don’t really know any of the people I recruited for my opera.

  CHAPTER 17

  The last thing they had discussed over dinner at The Cedar Post the night before had been Officer Grieves report on his trip to Gerlach’s house on the bluff and his conversation with the neighbor with the telescope. Grieves had only been looking for evidence of Gerlach’s plans for the day he was killed, and Carol had decided that a more thorough search of the house was in order. She hadn’t been sure just what she would be looking for, but there might be something that would shed more light on why somebody wanted him dead. While she was at it, she’d pay Mr. Farris, the voyeuristic neighbor, a visit. And she’d take Kevin with her. Given his greater familiarity with Gerlach, he might spot something the importance of which would escape her.

  Carol was to have picked Kevin up at nine, but as it turned out, they had to postpone the trip for a few hours. The reason was that Doc Crawford, Cumberland County’s medical examiner, called Carol—got her out of bed at an early hour in fact—to tell her that he’d completed the autopsy on Gerlach. Her initial reaction was to defer a meeting with him until afternoon. After all, it had
been clear that Gerlach had been strangled to death, and the time of death was not in much doubt. But the medical examiner had been insistent that they get together right away, so she called Kevin and rescheduled their trip to the bluff for after lunch.

  Doc Crawford confirmed what she had assumed: strangulation was indeed the cause of Gerlach’s death. This laid to rest the possibility that it was something else that had done him in, with the piano wire, a red herring, wrapped around his neck only after he was dead. And he had died, as the paramedic had suggested, sometime after two o’clock in the afternoon of the scheduled dress rehearsal.

  The reason Crawford had wanted to see the sheriff earlier than later that day had more to do with his own schedule than with any surprise findings from the autopsy. But he did want her to know what Gerlach had had for lunch on the day he died, just in case that information might tell her where he had eaten. She doubted that it was important, but made a note of the fact that it had been spaghetti and meatballs. Moreover, he had washed it down with lots of alcohol, enough in fact that he would have been drunk or close to it when he crawled into the bed on the stage of Wayne Hall.

  When Carol picked Kevin up at the cottage for the trip over to Gerlach’s place on the bluff, she was no longer thinking about the autopsy report. It had told her nothing she didn’t already know, except that he apparently liked Italian food. Paolo Rosetti would have been pleased with his rival’s choice for his final meal.

  _____

  It was a grey day, but the rain which had been forecast had not yet started to fall. The drive along the crest of the bluff was pleasant in spite of the overcast skies, and they talked more about their love of the lake and its lightly used back roads than they did about the case they were investigating.