Just in Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  “The neighbor said he had a suitcase in his hand.”

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “No. You go on. I’ll have Lola take me to the shop,” I said to his back as he strode out my front door. Things had taken a turn for the worst.

  * * * *

  “I can imagine how you feel—your boyfriend taking a powder like that,” I said to Lola quietly. We sat in a back booth in Coffee Heaven. After we trekked to Timothy’s—where I heard that my problem was a dead battery, duh, and received another mini-lecture on the age and generally worn out condition of my Chevy Metro—Lola and I decided to drown our sorrows in sugar. Hot cinnamon buns for both of us.

  “It’s not that. I’m so over the idea that Dale would have been a permanent part of my life…”

  “Still, it’s gotta hurt.”

  “It’s the show. How do we go on?” Lola asked—anxiety etched on her face.

  “Here you go ladies,” Jocelyn said, and placed our rolls on the table. She paused as if expecting a response.

  “Thanks. They look especially sweet this morning. Right Lola?”

  Lola nodded weakly and reached for a bun.

  “You gals don’t fool me,” said Jocelyn. She stuck a pencil behind one ear.

  Uh-oh. What had she seen or heard?

  “Walter was in here a half hour ago.” Jocelyn said, triumphant. “We had a nice conversation. I’ll bet he’s been talking about me. Like what a nice couple we’d make.” She positioned her hands on her hips and waited.

  Lola coughed, nearly choking on a piece of cinnamon bun, and I stared blankly at our waitress. “Sure. Walter…mentioned you the other day.” Lola gawked at me as if I was crazy. Yes, Walter mentioned Jocelyn. He asked Penny to order his dinner and have Jocelyn add extra gravy to his mashed potatoes.

  “Aha!” Jocelyn waltzed away, a happy, delusional woman in love.

  “Lola, we need to talk.”

  We wrapped the remains of our rolls in napkins and darted out of Coffee Heaven, careful to circumvent Jocelyn. I agreed to keep most of the information about Dale and the murder investigation to myself, but with Dale on the run, everything would be out in the open and grist for Etonville’s rumor mill within hours. There was, no doubt, an APB on Dale already.

  We drove to the Etonville Park and sat in Lola’s Lexus. I relayed what I knew about Dale’s business dealings with Ruby, the fact that an eyewitness had seen Dale and Ruby in a confrontation the night she died, and that Bill was attempting to search Dale’s cell phone.

  Lola stared wide-eyed. “Dale could be a killer?”

  “Nobody knows anything for sure. That’s why Bill wants to check his call record.” I held back the report about Dale’s previous professional practices—no sense in piling on.

  “But I let him into my life, into my home…” Lola cried dramatically.

  “Dale was a great guy until ten days ago. Focus on that. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about Bye, Bye, Birdie?” I asked.

  Lola yanked a fistful of her hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  “You’d better call Walter?”

  “Oh Walter! What am I going to say? How is he going to take it?” Lola moaned.

  Walter wasn’t the only one who could use a chill pill. “I’m sorry to desert you, but I need to get to the Windjammer. I’ll call you if I hear anything more. Why don’t you go home, put your feet up, have a cup of chamomile tea, and phone Walter?”

  Lola, zombie-like, put her car in gear.

  * * * *

  The dining room was set for lunch, Gillian was texting at a table by the front door, and Benny was deep into a crossword puzzle. It was the calm before the midday storm. In my back booth, I flipped through the pages of the Etonville Standard listlessly, scanning the local rag for any articles about the murder investigation. Not one. I paused on page fifteen and read my horoscope. You will have intense communications today…beware of friends with secrets. Your love life is like a roller coaster, and you are feeling stressed by too much responsibility. Let’s face it; a bubble bath would do you a world of good.

  Great.

  Benny sidled over. “On my way here, I had to stop in Lacey’s market, and I overheard the Banger sisters and the lady in frozen foods chattering away.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Our leading man taking off?” Benny asked.

  How did they find out so soon? “And we’re off to the races. Word leaked faster than usual.”

  “So it’s true?” Benny looked startled.

  “Yep.”

  “Why would he…?” A light bulb went on, his eyes narrowed. “Is Dale running away from the police?”

  “I don’t know—and neither does anyone in Etonville.” I felt exhausted and it was only eleven a.m.

  “Okay,” Benny said. “But that won’t stop them from spreading gossip.”

  I heaved myself out of the booth. “You got that right.”

  Henry’s homemade chicken noodle soup might have been just what the culinary doctor ordered, or would have been if customers took the time to taste it. Instead, theories about Dale and his vanishing act ricocheted around the room leaving patrons disinterested in Henry’s lunch specials. Feeling unusually competitive, he had outdone himself today: fish tacos with cilantro and jalapeno and pounded steak sandwiches with mushrooms and onions. Henry wanted to make up for missing one day this week.

  I moved around the dining room, eavesdropping on conversations.

  “Bye, Bye, Birdie will go bye-bye.”

  “Good thing we saw it last weekend. Even if it did rain on the last half.”

  “I heard Dale Undershot was in the Mafia.”

  “I heard he skipped town to avoid child support.”

  “That’s what the ELT gets for working with outsiders like the Creston Players.”

  Geez. The town’s inner daffy was working overtime. When I couldn’t listen any further, I escaped to the kitchen. Henry’s silent grouchiness would be a pleasant reprieve.

  “Do-dee!” Wilson caught me off-guard and delivered a whopping embrace.

  “Oops! Hi Wilson!”

  He beamed and returned to chopping peppers and spinach for tonight’s special—angel hair pasta and chicken—while Henry prepped his chicken breasts and gave me the eyeball. He would never truly understand Wilson, the sweetness, the smiling, cheerful demeanor, the singing of show tunes and tapping his toes while sautéing onions…Wilson drove Henry crazy, but he had to admit that his young sous chef was talented, amiable, and—my mind stuttered. OMG! Wilson was always singing and dancing, Wilson knew the entire score to Bye, Bye, Birdie, and Wilson claimed he had memorized the choreography from watching a single performance. What was I thinking? Could this possibly work? I stole a peek at Henry wielding a cleaver as he split the breasts and cut the meat from the bones. How in the world would I convince him of this latest stunt, even if Lola agreed? Wilson, I was certain, would be more than willing. I’d been involved in some fairly outlandish capers during my time in Etonville, but what I was about to suggest might have been one of the wackiest.

  “Henry, could I speak with you?” I asked politely.

  He looked up, cleaver in mid-swing. “Go ahead.”

  I inclined my head toward Wilson. “In the pantry?”

  Henry frowned. “Now?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  * * * *

  “I know it’s a bit unconventional…” I said to Lola, whose eyes were bugging out of her head.

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

  We sat in her Lexus, which she parked outside the Etonville Little Theatre. “As I see it, you have two choices. You either cancel the show, lose box office, disappoint potential audience members, and alienate actors from both theaters. Or…”

  “Replace Dale wit
h the Windjammer’s sous chef from Haiti who’s never been on a stage but knows the show by heart. Hmm.” She leaned back against the headrest. “I’ll have to persuade Walter.”

  “You have five hours til curtain,” I said hurriedly.

  “I’m amazed Henry was willing to let Wilson go.”

  “It took some manipulation of his ego…having the restaurant to himself, becoming the town hero when the news breaks…We called Enrico and his cousin. Extra hands. When we get the delivery of snack boxes and drinks to the park, the Windjammer will be off the hook and Henry can concentrate on dinner,” I said.

  “And Wilson?”

  “Thrilled and terrified. You’re going to need to run through his scenes and dances and… whatever.”

  “You’re sure he can sing the role?” Lola asked.

  “Absolutely.” I crossed my fingers. Having Wilson in Bye, Bye, Birdie was an act of daring without a safety net: there was no margin for error.

  Lola hesitated for a second. “Let’s do it! I’ll talk with Walter, have Penny contact the cast for an early call, and give Chrystal a heads up. Luckily, Wilson and Dale are about the same size.”

  True. Both Dale and Wilson shared the same tall, robust physique. We high-fived and I gave Lola a hug for good luck. I smiled my phony grin, the one I reserved for those times when I might be in over my head. This just had to work.

  Word about tonight’s performance went viral as soon as we notified the cast. There was a cyclone of commotion as Wilson and I ran between the Windjammer and the theater. At the theater, Lola and Walter rehearsed the “Albert” scenes and songs before the chef-now-actor transferred to the park. Everyone forgot Dale completely. I tried to maintain some semblance of order, as Enrico and Carmen arrived to help with the dinner rush. I coordinated the shipping of the snack boxes to the park via the Windjammer vehicle and Pauli, who was tickled pink at the prospect of driving a full-sized van.

  “Like, I got this,” he said, twirling the keys on their chain.

  “I trust you Pauli. But take it easy,” I requested.

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Some cast members will be at the park, ready to unload.”

  He smirked and saluted me. “Got it, boss.”

  I controlled the urge to ruffle his hair, which he would not have appreciated. He climbed aboard and I waved good-bye.

  Benny shook his head. “I’d love to catch the scene at the park tonight. Wilson…who woulda’ thought?”

  “I’ll cover for you tomorrow night and you can see for yourself,” I said.

  “Game on for the ELT.”

  17

  “Step, turn, step, step, slide, step, turn.” Walter demonstrated a dance move for Wilson who stood by patiently, and then repeated Walter’s instructions perfectly— even better than Walter. When he opened his mouth to sing, Lola’s dropped open too.

  “I had no idea,” Lola whispered as Wilson sang “Put on a Happy Face” with a Haitian accent.

  “He’s been serenading us at the Windjammer for weeks. Think he’ll be okay?” I asked.

  “Better than okay.” Lola squeezed my shoulders. “Thanks for this.”

  “What about the lines?” I asked anxiously.

  “We read through most of his scenes. He seems to have a good grasp on the story. Anyway, he can improvise or work script in hand,” Lola said, ever the theater professional.

  “I’m glad the show can go on.”

  “Lola, love, can you join us?” Walter motioned to Lola, and she dashed to the stage.

  Walter had been adamant about not including a non-actor in his musical, insisting he could step in for Dale and play Lola’s love interest. As if. Lola put her foot down. Wilson was a natural, she said, and anyway, audiences love to root for the understudy. Walter wasn’t entirely convinced, but Lola persuaded him that non-traditional casting would put the ELT on the map.

  “Yep. It’ll put us on the map, all right.” Out of nowhere, Penny was standing beside me.

  “Penny! Get out of my mind! I can’t take it!”

  “O’Dell, you gotta learn to chill,” she said and swaggered down the theater aisle.

  She was right. I plopped into a theater seat as my cell binged. It was a text from Bill: will be late to park tonight but will make my entrance. No mention of any progress in the search for Dale. Never mind, I had enough on my plate to keep my brain occupied. The Windjammer’s dinner rush and Ruby’s harassment of Otto, and maybe his family, that resulted in a restraining order. What was her modus operandi? She may have hassled Otto over a number of years. So…Letters? Phone calls? Stalking? Following him around—

  Edna appeared beside me. “That’s one heckuva voice.” She stood in the aisle watching Wilson sing a duet with Lola. “When I got the call to come in, I thought it was a 10-0.” She winked at me. “That’s ‘Caution!’ I figured Walter was taking over Dale’s role.” She grimaced. “But this…oh my. So much better!”

  Abby appeared next to Edna. “What the…? Wilson? He’s filling in for Dale? He’s supposed to be my son?” she sputtered.

  Edna confronted her. “Simmer down Abby. This production was a potential Code 30—”

  That was a trauma case.

  “—before Wilson got involved.”

  The Banger sisters waddled down the aisle and stopped when they realized what they were seeing. “Wilson is joining our show? He will be such fun!” said one.

  “We love him,” said the other.

  “Besides, the Etonville Little Theatre needs more diversity in its casting. And Abby, you can pretend that you spent some time in Haiti before you moved to the United States,” said the first sister.

  “Gimme a break,” Abby groused and moved on.

  “Come on ladies, let’s check in with Penny.” Edna grasped each sister by an arm and leaned in to mutter. “Got a 10-36 for you. See me later.” Edna escorted the ladies to the green room.

  10-36? Was that weather and road advice or a stray animal? I couldn’t keep up with Edna’s codes.

  As the rest of the cast assembled—shocked at Dale’s replacement, but equally stunned by Wilson’s singing and dancing skills—Penny ran to and fro, Walter flapped his arms dramatically, and Lola wrung her hands. Whew…it was going to be a close call, but it looked as though the co-production of Bye, Bye, Birdie would not be a Code 30 after all.

  Penny announced that a run-through of Act One would commence in five minutes. That was all the cast and crew had time for if they were going to make it to the park by seven o’clock for the curtain. I supposed that if Wilson made it through Act One, the audience would be more forgiving if he stumbled some in Act Two.

  I located Wilson in the green room, script in hand, repeating lines to himself, his concentration fierce. Was it too much to ask of him? “Break a leg tonight, Wilson. You’re going to be great,” I said, hoping to encourage him.

  I needn’t have worried. In the midst of a theatrical crisis, with the whole show riding on his performance, Wilson was his optimistic self. “Do-dee, I am so excited. I can do this. And…” he winked, “…I will not break my leg!”

  I texted Benny that I would stop by the Windjammer in a second.

  “I understand we have you to thank for our new cast member.” Alex paused on his way back from a break.

  “Wilson does a bit of singing around the restaurant, and he loves musicals. Memorized show tunes as a kid. Serendipity I guess.” I smiled at the musical director.

  “Serendipity. Yes. Lot of things in life are like that,” he said.

  “Will you be happy when the show closes?”

  “Mixed feelings always. You miss the performing and the camaraderie, but I’m leaving this area next week.”

  “You are? What will the Players do? Losing Ruby and then you,” I asked.

  He laughed heartily. “They’ll get by. Looks
like they will have to do without Dale too.”

  “So you heard too.”

  “He always plays fast and loose. I guess it caught up with him,” Alex said.

  “You know Dale pretty well?” I had no idea.

  Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets. “As I told Chief Thompson, I know what I hear through the grapevine. But the word on the street…no pun intended…is that Dale had some…unethical investment issues.”

  “That would be reason enough to skip town,” I said.

  “True. If that was the reason. Nice talking to you, but I’ve got two minutes until Penny discharges her whistle,” said Alex.

  “Go! You don’t want to be late.”

  The Creston Players were going to miss him whether he thought so or not. Alex was the most levelheaded member of the group as far as I could tell. Penny’s blast signaled it was time to get the rehearsal underway. Alex finished the overture, and Lola and Wilson made their first entrance. I held my breath, but even I was pleasantly surprised. Lola, a true pro, took Wilson in hand. She walked him through the scene, improvising when necessary, covering when he missed a line, encouraging him when he hesitated. He wasn’t Dale; but he was capable and when he belted his first number, the rest of the cast looked on in amazement. And applauded! I relaxed, but only a bit.

  Benny texted that Henry was agitated because he thought the delivery service had screwed up. Be right there, I texted in return. I intended to see the Windjammer, and Henry, through the dinner service, and report to the park for Act Two. In exchange for releasing Wilson from the kitchen, I agreed to staff the concession stand with ELT folks which left Gillian and Carmen in the dining room tonight. I hurried quietly out of the theater and ran next door.

  I’d barely walked in when Henry burst into the dining room. “I’m missing ten pounds of pasta!”

  “Bottom shelf of the pantry. I rearranged things to create more space,” I said and trailed him to the storage.

  Henry wiped his forehead. “I like the way everything was arranged before. I like knowing where I can find things.”

  He didn’t like change of any kind.

  “I know.”