I filled coffee cups and cleared tables as Gillian and Carmen ran from the kitchen to the dining room. Benny’s forehead was moist, a testament to his hard work.
“Can I freshen up your coffee?” I asked the Banger sisters.
They bobbed their heads in unison.
“Dodie, we’re so excited, don’t you know,” said one sister.
“Our first musical!” said the other.
“Keep your fingers crossed on the weather tonight,” I said.
They raised their chins defiantly. “Neither rain nor snow will stop the swift completion of our appointed rounds,” they said in unison.
Snow? “That’s the motto of the post office. You know, mailmen?”
“Yes. Our performance is like a special delivery.” They beamed.
“Right.” I zoomed off before I had to think about it. I plunked down on a stool at the bar.
“Seltzer?” Benny asked filling glasses from the soda taps.
“Sure.” I tallied checks, sipped my drink, and scanned the dining room. Though all of the tables and booths were full, the waiting line had dwindled. “It’s like the town came out of the woodwork.”
“They’re not so hot on Henry’s cold cucumber soup,” Benny said.
“Or Wilson’s Haitian quiche,” I added.
“I’d say the jury is out on both items.” Benny looked at the customers busily eating. “This was a burgers-and-fries day.”
Benny was right. Folks were avoiding the specials and ordering the tried and true standbys. As long as they were ordering something…
“Hi.”
I looked up into Bill’s usually dazzling blue eyes, which were now cloudy. “Hi yourself. You hungry? I can recommend the soup or quiche, though neither is selling out—”
“Can we…?” He angled his head in the direction of my back booth.
A little isolation wouldn’t be so bad. Benny followed us to my booth, writing up Bill’s takeout order.
“What’s with the mystery?” I asked.
Bill lowered his voice. “We got a search warrant to dump Ruby’s computer.”
I didn’t like his concerned expression. “And?”
“Nothing much in her email, but she had an Excel spreadsheet in her documents,” he said.
“That’s all? I have budget spreadsheets for work and home, though trying to keep myself on a monthly budget hasn’t exactly been an easy job—”
“Dodie!” Bill said hoarsely.
I blinked at the abruptness of his interruption.
“Ruby had a list of entries and dates,” Bill said, his voice tight.
“What kind of entries?” I asked slowly.
“Payments. A thousand dollars a month.”
“Where would Ruby get that kind of money? Social security?”
“No. That check was direct-deposited into her bank account.” Bill stopped. “By each entry were the initials DU and a check mark. First notation was a year ago and the last entry was May.”
“DU.” I wondered. “Could it be Dale Undershot?”
“It’s a distinct possibility. Unless there’s another DU in her life.”
“Maybe Dale was her financial advisor and she was receiving monthly checks from her portfolio,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t look convinced,” I said. “Did you ask Dale about Ruby’s investments?”
“He didn’t have much to say, and definitely didn’t volunteer any information about Ruby’s financial situation.”
Did the spat during the technical rehearsal have any connection to the spreadsheet entries?
Bill studied my expression. “What?”
“What?”
“I know that look. What occurred to you?”
“I was thinking about their argument in the theater the other night,” I said. “And Dale’s quick temper. I guess you’ll have to speak with Dale again?”
“ASAP.”
“Could it wait until after tonight’s performance? I mean, there’s no show tomorrow, and the cast has some days off before next weekend. Plenty of time to grill him then,” I pleaded. “You don’t know for certain that he was involved with anything illegal.”
“Dodie, it’s a murder investigation. The wheels of justice are moving forward.”
My heart sank as Lola walked in the door of the Windjammer. Bill followed my eyes and muttered, “Keep this to yourself until I can sort it out.”
“Got it.” I gestured to Lola to join us.
“Hi Bill,” Lola said and flipped her blond hair off her face. “Nice job last night.”
Bill smiled sheepishly. “I have to admit it was fun. Even running around the stage getting wet.”
“Bit by the acting bug,” I teased. “Onstage drama suits you.”
“I get enough offstage drama in Etonville,” he said wryly. “Take my seat, Lola. I’m heading back to work.” He slid out of the booth. “See you tonight.”
Lola watched Bill stride to the register and pay for his lunch. “He gets hunkier by the day.” She settled onto the bench.
“So, what was with this morning?” I asked.
Lola looked stricken. “Dodie, I’m sorry I had to play that little charade. I was about to tell Dale you were joining us when he said he needed to speak to me in private and he was so serious that I couldn’t tell him I’d invited you. Did you get the information you wanted?”
“Yeah. He apparently doesn’t know anything about Ruby’s background.” I eased into my next question. “What was so important he had to see you privately?” I asked casually.
“I’m not sure. He talked about his company and gaining the trust of his clients and then you arrived. After you left, he continued on about how he’d never want me to think he was taking advantage of me or anyone, and I said I trusted him completely and would never entertain the thought that he might be…oh, I don’t know, dishonest?”
Gillian brought Lola a cup of coffee and she smiled her thanks.
“And then what?”
“His cell rang and he checked the caller ID and said he had to take it and he’d call me later. He just got up and left the café. It was the strangest thing,” Lola said.
“That is strange.” I had to bite my lip to keep Bill’s findings from spilling out of my mouth. “Was he trying to tell you something?”
Lola shrugged. “I have no idea. Anyway, I’m going to go to the park later this afternoon to meet with Walter so I’ll see him there.” Lola fiddled with a teaspoon on the rim of her saucer. “You know, Dale has been moody and withdrawn ever since they discovered Ruby’s death wasn’t an accident. He wasn’t close to her. They were barely acquaintances.”
“Was he her financial advisor?” I asked.
“Why would Ruby need a financial advisor?” Lola asked skeptically. “Where would she get enough money to need advising?”
Where indeed.
“The stress of the weather getting to Dale?” I asked.
“Whatever it is, I hope he shapes up soon. We have a show to run.”
* * * *
Usually, Etonville Little Theatre reserved curtain speeches for opening night when Walter dramatically took the stage, often in costume, and delivered commentary on the upcoming season or an appeal for donations. He’d quote Shakespeare, or some other famous writer, and end with sweeping gestures to a sometimes-confused audience. Walter saved his eulogies for actual funeral services. He’d delivered two of them in the past two years. Either his ego needed a massaging, or the Xanax was making him way too chill, but at the last minute Walter decided to eulogize Ruby at tonight’s performance. Ruby…whom he pretty much disliked.
“I know. Ruby drove him crazy,” Penny chuckled.
“Penny,” I said sweetly, “Could you please stay out of my head for the night?” I had no des
ire for Swami Penny to read my thoughts on Dale.
“O’Dell, you kill me.” She tapped a pencil against her clipboard. “This is going to put us behind schedule,” she said importantly.
“Maybe Walter will only speak for several minutes.” I was attempting optimism. “After all, this is a co-production. Someone from the Creston Players should deliver the speech. Dale?”
Penny pushed her glasses up a notch on her nose. “Walter is the real artistic director around here—”
“Actually, that would be Lola—”
“—and Dale is a temporary artistic director for the Creston Players. Anyway, Dale might choke up. He and Ruby were…” Penny crossed two fingers to indicate the intimacy of their friendship.
“They were? What makes you say that?” I asked.
Penny sighed patiently. “O’Dell, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m the PM. Got to keep eyes and ears on the ground. Ever seen anything get by me?”
“Uh, well…”
“I know.” Penny cackled.
“What did your ears and eyes tell you about Ruby and Dale?”
“Until she…uh…you know…”
“Died? Go on,” I said.
“She and Dale used to meet backstage before rehearsal. One night he had his arm around her.” Penny gave me a knowing look.
“What did they talk about?”
Penny straightened her back, adding an inch to her five foot two height. “I don’t eavesdrop on actors backstage unless I have to deliver a message or something. It would be unprofessional.”
“Right. But I’m sure you had to give them a message from time to time. After all, you are the PM,” I said.
Penny squinted at me. “O’Dell, are you yanking my chain?”
“Who me? No!”
“Well, one time I heard them talking about financial stuff. Deposits, payments, debts. It was all pretty hush-hush,” she said.
I’ll bet.
“He’s a financial wizard,” Penny said. “He can’t be blasting stock tips over the loud speaker.”
“I guess not.”
“Penny!” Walter whined from the stage. “I can’t find my notes for the curtain speech!”
“I’m on it,” she said. “Keep that info out of your bonnet,” she called over her shoulder.
I saluted Penny as she hurried away. Dale and Ruby having a backstage tête-à-tête concerning financial matters. Interesting…
* * * *
The weather was holding nicely at seven thirty, with light clouds scudding across the bluish-gray expanse of sky. The sellout crowd had availed themselves of the snack boxes and drinks from the concession stand where Gillian was on duty, happily texting and Instagramming photos of herself at work.
I planned to see the show underway, and then sneak out. I’d return at the end of Act Two to pick up the cash bag for the nightly deposit and see Bill perform without the rain. The illumination onstage dimmed and a spotlight hit Walter as he marched forcefully to center stage. His favorite place. He was looking the part of the suave director: seersucker suit, white shirt, an ascot around his neck. The audience took this as a sign that the show was beginning and settled in, cutting off conversations and shushing one another.
Walter waited, one hand in a jacket pocket, the other resting on his chest. He wore his funeral expression: Life is short and we’ve lost another member of our theater family. Unfortunately, I had come to identify his memorial bearing.
“Dear friends…I come to you tonight not as the director of our little play…”
I heard a few titters from the offstage area where the teenagers gathered.
“…but as a colleague and collaborator of our currently deceased accompanist.” He waited to let interest build. “Ruby Passonata.”
A hush fell over the crowd.
“She departed from us much too soon…” he said mournfully as if Ruby’s passing were all her own idea and not the result of murder. “But we are left with fond memories of her nimble fingers plying her trade at the piano.”
I wondered what Ruby would make of Walter’s describing her work at the piano, considering she thought of him as a “horse’s patoot.” Walter went on to define Ruby’s character—gracious and warm, more titters; work ethic—considerate of her coworkers, I swore I heard a snort from Penny’s stage manager’s box; and love of the theater. Really? How could someone who had the career Ruby had, give it all up to find herself accompanying voice lessons and playing the piano for a community theater. Even one as good as the Creston Players. A rustling from the seats suggested folks were getting restless. From my vantage point near the refreshment stall, I could see part of the curtained, offstage area where Lola was shaking her head and, I imagined, rolling her eyes. I watched Lola and didn’t notice the silence on stage. Walter was still, head bowed, the audience leaning forward in their seats. Was he finished? Had he lost his place? Was he overcome with emotion?
With a jerk, Walter lifted his head, and thrust his arms wide. “Tonight, we dedicate this performance of Bye, Bye, Birdie to one of our flock who has flown away. ‘Good night sweet princess, and flights of angels wing thee to thy rest.’”
I sincerely hoped Shakespeare hadn’t tuned in tonight. He’d be appalled to hear Walter editing Hamlet. Audience members applauded enthusiastically, probably as much for the end of Walter’s speech as for Ruby. The stage went black; Alex lifted his hand to signal the combo for the start of the overture. The music vaulted into the park.
I had about two hours before Bill made his entrance; plenty of time to go home and do some digging on Ruby’s life in Indiana. The last rays of the sun were sinking behind the houses that outlined the park, leaving a wash of color as remnants of the day’s light stole away.
Streets around town were empty, with several houses lit up. Either everyone had gone to bed early or Bye, Bye, Birdie had crushed the box office tonight. That would make Lola happy. Financial security for the Etonville Little Theatre for another year. Financial security reminded me of Ruby’s Excel spreadsheet. Dale was a financial advisor, an authority according to Penny. Had his and Ruby’s relationship included his fiscal expertise?
I pulled into my driveway and ran into the house. There was no time to waste. In order to find missing persons in the past, I had used the Internet’s White Pages. I set myself up at the kitchen table with my laptop and a glass of chardonnay—way more comfortable than sitting in the park, fending off the mosquitos, and desperately hoping that the weather held.
I entered Ruby’s name, assuming that something would pop. Her Creston address appeared, but there was nothing for Indiana. Though her parents would no doubt be deceased, I input both Edward and April and found nothing in Indiana, though there was an April Passonata in Denver, Colorado and several other Passonatas scattered around the country. I called information for the Greenburg, Indiana area, and requested phone numbers for any Passonata still living there. There were only three numbers, all of them located outside the town of Greenburg. I left a message at one, the second had been disconnected, and the third belonged to Ruby’s third cousin. He had not seen or heard about her in decades. James Passonata knew about Ruby’s musical prowess from his father’s side of the family, but he was twenty years younger than Ruby, and had met her only once when he was a child. He wondered why I asked. I had no idea if word of Ruby’s death had reached Greenburg, and I didn’t want to tread on the toes of the investigative work undertaken by the police department. I rambled on about how I’d met her in New Jersey at a local community theater, what a talent she was, and how much I appreciated speaking with him. Then I ended the call. After an hour of burrowing into Ruby’s background, I learned practically nothing—only that she had a third cousin in Indiana who couldn’t remember her.
I leaned back in the seat and sipped my wine. It was time to call in the big guns. I texted Pauli: Got a job for you. Call
me. I had seen Pauli earlier at the park taking production pictures of the cast and crew before the performance. He was no doubt hanging around, tailing Janice or the athlete actor from Creston. My cell rang.
“Uh, like, you need something?” Pauli whispered.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“Like, watching the show. Janice is on again in a minute.”
“Got it. Anyway, could you help me think outside the digital box?”
“Like what?” he asked eagerly.
I loved his Internet enthusiasm. “I want to do some research into Ruby Passonata.”
“The piano player, right?”
“Right.”
“Like, you’re going after her murderer?” he whispered softly.
“Nothing like that. I’m curious about her background.”
“Oh,” Pauli said, disappointed.
“Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Uh-oh. Gotta bounce. Janice is on.”
“I’ll text you in the morning.”
Pauli clicked off. I had about twenty minutes before I had to return to the park. I typed Dale Undershot into my computer’s search engine to see what would show up. Apparently, Undershot was an unusual name because, aside from our Dale, there was one other individual with that name and he was a dog trainer who lived in Manchester, England. Dale had a LinkedIn profile, a Facebook page, and a Twitter account. His profile described the services provided by Undershot Financial, such as wealth management, planning for retirement, investment options—stocks, bonds, and mutual funds—and annuities and insurance. Dale was a one-stop shop for anyone looking to broaden his or her financial understanding and security. What aspects of his business did Ruby utilize? It was a challenge to visualize her healthy bank account and steady investment income. Her lifestyle felt like a square peg in a round hole. What exactly was her lifestyle? What did she do away from Creston Players productions?
My cell binged. It was Gillian, antsy because the show was ending and wanting to know when I was returning to close out the cash box. I downed the rest of my wine, grabbed my bag, and headed back to Bye, Bye, Birdie.
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