“I can’t find the cue sheets. Ruby must have left them somewhere else,” Lola said, frustrated.
A light bulb went on. “I didn’t see anything that looked like a bunch of papers in her car—but maybe Bill has them.”
“That makes sense. Could you ask him?”
“I’ll text him now.” My fingers went to work on my cell phone. “You know, it’s strange. Not a single picture in here. I’m thinking of my great aunt Maureen. By the time she was Ruby’s age, family photos decorated every surface of her home. Where are Ruby’s?”
Lola ran her finger over the edge of a bookshelf. “Who knows? I heard she was from the Midwest.”
“Indiana, I’m betting.” I pulled out a history of the state and showed Lola.
“I suppose the police will try to contact her family. If she has any.”
I replaced the book and, shoved to the back of the shelf, I noticed a worn binding that covered a fat sheaf of pages. A thick rubber band held everything together. “What’s this?”
Lola crossed to my side and watched as I withdrew a scrapbook, eight by ten, apparently jammed full of newspaper clippings and memorabilia. “Ruby’s?” Lola asked.
I lifted off the rubber band and opened the cover. In block print were the words Ruby Passonata. “I’d love to see what’s in here.”
“Nikolas will be back any minute,” Lola said apprehensively.
“Maybe I could borrow it. I don’t think Nikolas would mind, and it doesn’t look as if any immediate family members are racing to Creston to collect her things.”
Lola bit her lip. “I suppose we could say we’re using the scrapbook to write a dedication to Ruby in the program.”
“That’s a lovely idea!” I jammed the book into my bag as Nikolas knocked softly on the door.
“Missus? I must lock up now.”
We joined him in the hallway. “Is someone coming to remove Ruby’s things?” I asked.
Nikolas motioned his uncertainty. “The police…they say they are looking. I don’t know.”
He seemed dejected. Maybe one of only a few who would miss Ruby.
4
Lola wound her way out of Creston while I texted Benny to alert him that I might be running late. He texted back: Be prepared…Cheney Bros. missing asparagus. Henry second thoughts on tonight’s contest winner.
I’d been going toe-to-toe with Cheney Brothers food delivery service for two years over orders missing items. I wanted to replace them with another company, but Henry had a long history with them. Anyway, he hated change: new staff, new specials, a new son-in-law…
“I think, for the moment, we should keep the scrapbook to ourselves,” I said.
“I agree. Although it’s not like anyone would care,” Lola said and scooted onto State Route 53.
“Timothy thinks Ruby’s exhaust system was defective. That the carbon monoxide leaked into the engine and then into the interior of her car.”
Lola’s eyes widened. “What? Didn’t she die from a stroke or something?”
Ooops… “Lola, you have to keep that to yourself until the official word is out. I don’t want Bill to think I’m speaking out of turn.”
“Mum’s the word. Carbon monoxide? Don’t you have to be in a closed garage or something to die that way?” she asked.
“Not if there’s a problem with the exhaust.”
“Speaking of Bill…”
Lola’s eyes twinkled and I might have blushed a bit. I wasn’t used to having everyone check in on my love life. Sometimes I yearned for the anonymity of my Jersey Shore days. “All good.”
“And your summer vacation?”
“Negotiating. That camping thing is a big deal for him,” I said.
“We went camping once. Tom and I.”
Tom was Lola’s husband who had died years ago. Long before I came to Etonville. “You did? You never mentioned that.”
“He claimed he had a thing for the outdoors, but the weekend was a fiasco. I fell out of a canoe, Tom burned dinner on the camp stove, and we both ended up with poison ivy.” She winced at the memory. “My advice? Keep negotiating.”
Lola and I chitchatted during the rest of the trip to Etonville, but in the back of my mind Ruby’s life competed for my attention. My powers of invention went to work. What did Ruby do, besides work with the Creston Players? Did she have a circle of friends outside the theater? Not that the Players were very friendly with her. What about her background? Family? How long had she lived alone? The questions piled up, and I gently pushed them aside as Lola approached the Windjammer.
“So you’ll be at the park tonight for the tech rehearsal?” she asked.
“Right. Benny’s closing the restaurant and I want to check out the picnic area where we’re setting up the food stand.” A previous attempt to supply homemade concessions for an ELT production backfired when a murder investigation waylaid the opening. Not to worry, I told myself. This time we were only selling drinks and snack boxes—also provided by Cheney Brothers. I hopped out of the Lexus. “See you later.”
Lola waved and drove off. I swung my bag over my shoulder. It was heavier now that it contained Ruby’s scrapbook. I was dying to dig into it—maybe during my break this afternoon.
“Good thing you’re back,” Benny said, greeting me at the Windjammer door.
“That bad?” I asked quietly. Customers had begun to wander in and tables were filling up.
Benny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You better check it out ASAP.”
I hurried to the kitchen. “Mmmm. What smells so good in here?”
Wilson flashed his wide, wide smile, abandoned his knife on the cutting board—where he was preparing vegetables for tonight’s special: curried squash and eggs with raita salad—and put his arms out to grab me. “Do-dee!”
At the stove, Henry brandished his soup ladle.
I put up my hands in a defensive gesture and sidestepped Wilson’s embrace. Henry stared darkly into his soup pot. “I guess we’re not serving the cream of asparagus. I’ll call Cheney Brothers and get the order here for tomorrow. Escarole and white bean soup is a good replacement,” I said optimistically.
Henry grunted. I could understand his second-guessing his decision for tonight’s winner. I felt the curried squash might be a trifle experimental for Etonville’s taste. Unfortunately, he’d chosen the winner last week—when he’d been in a euphoric mood because business was brisk, customers were complimentary, and Wilson hadn’t dropped anything for several hours. Now he was living with his decision. I patted Henry’s arm. “It will all work out.” Huh? “I’m sure people will love the squash and eggs.”
Wilson beamed. Didn’t anything get that guy down?
* * * *
Henry’s grilled three-cheese sandwiches—a staple at the Windjammer—sold like hotcakes and his soup special was holding its own, except for three or four peevish customers.
“Today’s soup special was supposed to be cream of asparagus,” said one of the Banger sisters.
“We had a slight problem with the vegetable delivery,” I said apologetically.
“We like cream of asparagus soup,” said the other sister. They waited expectantly for me to respond.
“That’s nice.” I moved on.
“Dodie, what’s with all of the white food?” asked Vernon, Mildred’s husband.
White food?
“Vernon, let Dodie alone. Can’t you see she’s busy?”
He ignored Mildred. “Last night it was white veal stew, today it’s white bean soup—”
Mildred tsked. “Next time I’m leaving you home.”
“What?” Vernon asked and cranked up his hearing aids.
I moved around the dining room, gauging the gastronomic satisfaction level of Etonville’s citizens. I’d say about a three on a five-point scale today. Wait un
til they taste tested the contest winner tonight…Yikes!
I rang up Edna’s take-out order for the Etonville Police Department—tuna salad, grilled cheese, and Henry’s special burger for Bill. He was crazy about them. “Busy over there today?’
Edna tucked stray hairs into her bun and leaned in. “Well, something’s up,” she said knowingly.
“Yeah?” I handed her change for the two twenties. “The chief’s been in and out three times, had Suki on the line to the Creston police, and didn’t bother ordering anything when I made my run to Coffee Heaven.”
“Sounds like something is up. Any idea what?” Edna was usually good for police chatter.
“It could be something simple like an 11-25 or 11-54…but I’m thinking it’s more a 10-29.”
Edna loved her codes, no doubt about it, and I’d become so accustomed to speaking to her in police shorthand that I recognized some of them. “10-29? That’s a ‘subject wanted.’”
She tucked the change into her purse. “Yep. 10-29F.”
A felony. What was going on? I’d have to wait to hear from Bill.
“Gotta scoot.” Edna dashed off.
* * * *
I went behind the counter to take a breather and drew myself a seltzer. I kept one eye on the dining room and the other on my cell. Lola texted asking if I’d heard from Bill about Ruby’s cue sheets.
A polite voice interrupted my messaging. “Could I have a menu, please?”
I glanced up and saw the friendly face of Alex, the musical director. He sat down on a barstool. “Of course.” I handed him the laminated card and a glass of ice water. “The soup special is escarole and white bean, but we’re also featuring our grilled three cheese sandwich. People love it.”
He pondered available choices, then, brushing light brown hair off his forehead. “I’ll take the special. I hear the chef is a master at creating soups and chowders.”
“Good choice.” I wrote up his order and handed it to Gillian, who headed to the kitchen. “We haven’t formally met. I’m—”
“Dodie. Yes, I know. I’ve seen you at rehearsals, and here of course. I’m—”
“Alex. Ditto on seeing you.” He put out his hand and I took it. His courtesy was old world, but nice. “I hear you’re taking over Ruby’s place at the piano,” I said gently.
His affable features clouded over, his dark eyes dimmed. “It’s awful. I’ll miss her.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Were you…close?”
“We weren’t what you’d call close. We’d run into each other at the Players theater, maybe coaching an actor, or doing incidental music for a show, but this was the first musical we worked on together. Ruby’d been with the Creston Players for ten years. I’m new this year. I’ve been doing musical direction for them since last September.” He hesitated. “Ruby was a memorable person.”
“I’d say.”
“She had her own way of doing things, that’s for sure.” Alex took a sip of water.
“She could read a score and then do it from memory,” I said. “That’s amazing.”
“Exactly. I’ve only met one other person in my life who could do that,” he said.
“Good thing you know the score so well. Now that you’re playing the show and conducting.”
“It’s fine. I’ve done it before. I wish Lola had found Ruby’s cue sheets from Monday night’s rehearsal. Tonight’s tech would be so much easier,” Alex said.
“We looked all over Ruby’s apartment. Not that there was much to search. She lived simply,” I said.
“You searched her place? I imagine lots of stuff there. Magazines, dusty books, and old picture albums.”
“Not this apartment. Tidy and clean.”
Alex looked surprised. “Well, knowing Ruby, she stuck the sheets somewhere and forgot about them.”
Gillian set his soup in front of him. “Enjoy,” she said.
He leaned over the bowl and inhaled. “Mmm. This is special.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tonight,” I said.
“You’ll be at the tech rehearsal?”
“I need to scope out the picnic area. We’re doing pre-show concessions,” I said and handed Alex salt and pepper shakers.
“Let’s cross our fingers it doesn’t rain,” Alex said and dipped his spoon into the white beans.
“Right.” I smiled and moved off to ring up an order.
* * * *
I collapsed into my back booth with a tuna salad. I hadn’t been off my feet for four hours. Good for the Windjammer bank balance, bad for my arches. I kicked off my sandals, massaged my instep, and rested my head against the seat back. What I wouldn’t give for an hour to myself. I was eager to peek at Ruby’s scrapbook. What had she saved over the years? My mother kept mementoes of me and my brother Andy: baby shoes, locks of hair, pictures, report cards, newspaper clippings from my seventh grade spelling bee and Andy’s soccer tournaments. On rainy days, Mom and I would pull the box off the shelf in her bedroom closet, and pore over its contents. I loved reliving my young past.
“We need to talk.”
My head jerked upward. Bill’s mesmerizing eyes fixed on me intently. “What did I do?” I asked, like a kid caught with one hand in the cookie jar.
He slid onto the bench next to me, placing his cap on the table and leaving the spikes of his brush cut poking up in different directions.
Wow! Bill was getting a little intimate for the Windjammer and Etonville. Did he have something on his mind?
“Sorry to crowd you.”
Guess not.
“I need to keep this quiet,” he said.
My heart thumped. Did whatever “this” was have anything to do with Edna’s referring to a 10-29F earlier?
“I had Timothy take another look at Ruby’s exhaust system and he didn’t find anything unusual.” Bill looked agitated.
“That makes sense two ways,” I said. “First of all, it sounds like it’s easy enough for carbon monoxide to leak into the car and second, I like Timothy a lot, but mechanically speaking he’s never been the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Now if—”
“Dodie!” Bill rasped.
“What?”
“I wasn’t completely satisfied so I had the state police give the engine a second look...go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“And?”
Bill peeked over his shoulder, taking in the near-empty dining room. “This is why I need your discretion. The state guys found a hairline crack between the manifold and the tail pipe connection. It wasn’t caused by a bad repair job or rusting.”
My stomach churned. “What are you saying?”
“Someone with a detailed knowledge of car mechanics cut a thin gap in the pipe so that fumes could leak out.”
“Ruby was…?” The words stuck in my throat.
“Murdered,” he said grimly.
Who? Why?
Bill watched the questions march across my face. “I know.”
“Who would want to kill a senior citizen who didn’t even live in Etonville? Her apartment was downright Spartan—hardly a trace of her personal life,” I said.
“How do you know what her apartment looks like?” he asked. His eyebrows knitted together in a quizzical frown.
I related Lola’s and my trip to Creston this morning.
“Her place is part of the criminal investigation now,” Bill said. “You need to stay clear of it.”
“We never found what we were looking for but I did—”
Bill’s cell rang, and he held up a hand. “Yes?” He listened, his head dipping. “Okay. Keep me posted.” He clicked off. “I have to go.”
“Would you like some takeout?”
He shook his head. “What I would like, the reason I came here…” He hesitated. “I’d like your help with something. Stric
tly on the QT,” he advised.
Yes! Bill was finally appreciating my investigative instincts.
“Because there’s really no one else I can ask.”
Right.
“Ruby was new to Etonville. She was in town because of the show. It wasn’t a random act of violence. Someone planned this and knew what they were doing,” he said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“People connected to Bye, Bye, Birdie are now persons of interest. I’d like someone to keep track of them while the show is in production. Let me know if you see anyone acting squirrelly.”
I was growing accustomed to the community theater life. Many folks from both Etonville and Creston acted squirrelly.
“After the news about her murder breaks, in the next twenty-four hours, someone might give something away, make a mistake,” Bill said.
“Okay. I’ll be around most nights with the pre-show concessions. But when Bye, Bye, Birdie closes and the Creston gang goes home, the opportunity for group surveillance will be over,” I said.
“I know. More reason to stay on top of them now.” Bill squeezed out of the booth, grabbed his cap. “I’ll check in with you later. Keep Ruby’s murder quiet for now—even from Lola. By the way, there were no papers with musical notes on them in Ruby’s car. Sorry.” He left.
My tuna salad had wilted along with my fervor for the food contest. Poor Ruby. She was a tad grouchy and could throw an insult around with the best of them, but murder? Who would want to do away with the crusty old gal who sneaked out for a smoke and a slug between wisecracks? My mind whirled, bouncing from one thought to another. I felt flattered that Bill had asked me to keep an eye on the cast and crew, but at this point in the production process there was usually so much chaos that it would be impossible to keep track of everyone. Besides, it was hard to believe that someone working on Bye, Bye, Birdie had it in for Ruby. For once it had appeared that the opening of an ELT show would run smoothly. That horse was out of the barn. Etonville would be beside itself when news of the murder broke…
I lugged myself out of my seat to face Henry’s paranoia about curried squash and eggs with raita salad.
Just in Time Page 5