“HP, huh?” said Jack, putting his bacon sandwich down on his plate and contemplating the mysterious bottle.
“Don’t listen to him, Jack,” said Chloe. “That stuff’s disgusting.”
“Yeah? What do you know?” said Daniel to his sister.
“Leave him be, both of you,” said Sarah coming in with a pot of coffee and putting it on the table. “Freshly brewed Jack — in your honour.”
“Appreciate that,” said Jack. He took the bottle of brown sauce, poured a little on his sandwich and ate.
He could see Daniel watching intently, waiting for a verdict.
“Interesting,” said Jack.
“Knew you’d love it,” said Daniel, grabbing his coat and bag then heading upstairs.
“Don’t forget your lunch, love,” called Sarah.
Jack watched Chloe grab a piece of toast and walk out of the room.
“Manners, Chloe — how many times—”
But she was gone again. Jack heard the front door slam and guessed that she was racing off to school.
They come … they go.
He loved this chaos though — took him back twenty years to New York, breakfasts at home, everyone flying out the door.
“Sorry Jack, she’s just—” said Sarah.
“Hey, no worries … I have a daughter, remember?”
Daniel came racing back into the kitchen.
“Football kit mum!” said Daniel.
“Where it should be,” said Sarah.
Jack watched the twelve-year-old trying to compute the notion that something might be located where it should be — then caught Sarah’s eye as he stormed back upstairs.
Sarah sat at the table and poured them both a coffee, then waited. Jack could hear Daniel slamming cupboards open and closed…
…then he heard him race down the stairs again.
“See you later Mum, bye Jack!” shouted Daniel.
And then Jack heard the front door slam and there was silence.
“So,” said Sarah, sipping her coffee. “Where were we?”
Jack pulled the morning’s paper from his jacket and handed it over.
“Page five,” he said. “You can’t miss it.”
He watched Sarah leaf through the pages, then stopped abruptly.
“Cherringham’s very own Ghostbuster — Hollywood director Jez Kramer shrugs off attack of the spooks in real-life theatre mystery,” she read.
“See the picture?” said Jack.
“Oh, very classy,” said Sarah. “Mr. Kramer himself with his head underneath his arm.”
“I suspect that’s just where your mother would like it to be, huh?”
“Her and a lot of the cast too,” said Sarah, still reading the article.
“Gets worse,” said Jack. “Someone’s even unearthed a connection between the theatre and Mabb’s Farm.”
“Brave director battles ancient curse and accidents to bring forgotten masterpiece to public attention,” read Sarah. “Maybe time to page our local mystic, Tamara, hmm?”
“Interesting spin on events.”
“And totally made up.”
“Don’t forget — it is a newspaper.”
“Listen to this — ‘“I may have won many BAFTAs,” says Jez, “but I do so believe in giving back — little theatres like Cherringham can benefit from my professional experience.”’ Yuk.”
“You see the by-line?”
“Umm… Oh. Of course. It had to be.”
“Your very own pal we saw in the restaurant — Pete Brooker.”
“Written the day before Ellie’s accident, I bet,” said Sarah, tossing the paper on to the kitchen table.
“Over a nice meal at the Old Pig and a few single malts afterwards Jez Kramer, no doubt.” said Jack.
“So — you think Kramer’s behind all this? Sabotaging his own show to get publicity?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Jack. “Those famous BAFTAs were a long time ago — and right now I’d say you’re seeing a career on the rocks.”
“But if he was behind it all — how? He’s been on stage every time there’s been an accident.”
“Maybe that’s the plan — he’s got a ready-made alibi.”
“You’re thinking he has an ally — someone in the cast pulling strings?”
“Literally,” said Jack. “Whenever an accident happens, our hero’s right there in the thick of it.”
“But Jack — everybody hates him. Why would anyone help him?”
“It’s amazing what a few hundred bucks can do to change an opinion.”
“Maybe,” said Sarah. “But what about the trapdoor yesterday? I saw him walk across it twice in the scene and nothing happened.”
Jack thought about that.
“Hmm. I gotta say that’s the one thing that doesn’t quite add up. Unless his partner-in-crime was below the stage all the time waiting for a cue to set the trap.”
“Sounds complicated,” Sarah added.
Jack nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Whoever did it had slipped two of the four bolts and left all the hinges in place.”
“So there’s no way they could predict when it would give way?”
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “It was totally random. Ellie just got unlucky because she just raced into the scene and hit the trap hard enough.”
“Wait — then it could just as easily have been Kramer?”
“Unless he avoided the spot, waiting for someone else to fall through.”“So where are we? Could Kramer really be doing all this, just for the publicity?”
“Maybe. I’m not taking our beloved director out of the frame,” said Jack. “Just thinking we need to dig a little deeper down at the theatre.”
He watched as Sarah opened up a folder that lay on the table and took out the details of the cast and crew.
“Let’s make a list,” she said. “Who’s got a motive? And who can we place at the scene of the crime?”
“Gotta love lists,” said Jack. “But don’t forget — could be more than one bad guy…”
“Okay,” said Sarah, sliding her finger down the cast list. “I’m going to take out Tony and my mum — okay?”
Jack laughed at that. “Sure.”
“Which leaves, starting at the top: Ambrose?”
“He’s certainly got a motive. But I doubt he could fix the trap door, or climb up to rig the lighting.”
“Kramer?”
“Well he’s obnoxious and ambitious enough, though in a court of law that doesn’t mean much.”
“Ellie?”
“Unlikely — but if we are talking about anyone who might possibly be a suspect, don’t rule her out. I hear she’s always short of cash—”
“You’re a suspicious man, Jack Brennan,” said Sarah. “Laura?”
“Estate agent huh? Could be a stooge. Maybe working with Andy Parkes…”
“Hey! Now you’re just getting personal. Laura’s sweet. How about Phil Nailor?”
“Hmm, our new stage bobby. Real-life farmer — so he could fix the ropes and bolts for sure. But no motive that I can see.”
“And — he wasn’t even around for the first rehearsals.”
Jack poured himself another coffee and pondered.
“Hey, I know,” said Jack. “The butler did it!”
“You mean — what’s his name, guy who works at Costco’s?”
“Ben something.”
“Ferris,” said Sarah. “Possible — but motive? I don’t think so.”
“That all the cast?”
“Save for me. Should I be on the list?”
Another laugh. “I’ll vouch for you. Hmm, okay… How about backstage?” “Well apart from you — and against my better judgement I’m likewise sticking you in the innocent pile, Jack — there’s just Todd.”
“Again, no motive I can see,” said Jack. “But he’s certainly got the expertise. The trap, the light … could be a motive we don’t know. Yet.”
“And you
like him.”
“I do,” said Jack. “But that shouldn’t get in the way.”
He watched Sarah fold up the cast and crew list.
“That’s everyone, Jack.”
“Plus our property developer.”
“Andrew Parkes,” said Sarah. “Why don’t I track him down for a little chat today?”
“Why not? Then, let’s you and I see who’s looking guilty at tonight’s rehearsal. Start asking some questions.”
“So … you not going to finish your bacon sandwich?” she said, getting up and starting to clear away.
“I think not,” said Jack helping her take the plates to the dishwasher. “No offence — but maybe next time I drop by for breakfast you hide that evil brown sauce from Daniel?”
“Let me guess — you’re a mayo man or nothing, huh?”
“You got it,” said Jack, putting on his coat. “See you tonight Sarah.”
And he headed out.
The skies looked clear, and if it didn’t rain he had plans to give the Grey Goose — the Dutch barge he lived on down on the river — the beginnings of a spring clean.
Nothing like scrubbing the decks for solving a crime…
9. Tempers Rising
Sarah was late getting to her little office overlooking the village square, but she knew her assistant Grace would have opened up and got the coffee going.
When she opened the office door though, she got a jolt of surprise: there was a man standing at her desk facing her.
For a second she thought she’d disturbed an intruder.
“Who are you?” she said instantly, looking quickly round the office for signs that Grace was there.
Then Grace came out of the little kitchen at the back looking nervous.
“Name’s Parkes,” said the man making no move to shake hands — or smile.
“Andrew Parkes?” she said, confused — why was the man she’d been planning on speaking to today here now?
“The very same.”
Grace stood motionless at the kitchen door: “Sorry, Sarah, I told him he couldn’t come in without an appointment but he wouldn’t go, just insisted and I didn’t know what—”
“That’s okay, Grace, not your fault,” said Sarah, taking off her coat and not removing her eyes from her visitor.
“This is a busy office, Mr. Parkes, how can I help you?” she said.
“Busy huh? World I live in, we start work at eight,” he said in a monotone. “Guess you city types just swan in when you feel like it?”
“As Grace told you — we usually only meet clients on an appointment basis.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a client, am I?”
“So how can we help you?” said Sarah, horribly aware of the current of aggression that marked Parkes’s every word. She looked quickly over towards Grace — her assistant looking just as concerned.
“You can start by explaining why the hell you’re slandering me all around the damn village?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Telling people I’ve been causing accidents in the theatre, hurting people, poisoning and the like,”
“What? I’ve done no such thing—”
“Sticking your nose in to my business and looking at my contracts — which are private — do you understand the meaning of private?”
Sarah for the first time in a very long time felt scared — this guy was seriously angry, she and Grace were alone up here in the office, and his whole body language was barely restrained fury…
Got to stay calm, she thought.
“Mr. Parkes, I have done none of those things, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d just calm down—”
“Don’t you bloody tell me to calm down, woman, this is my livelihood.”
Sarah nodded to Grace in a way they’d practised before — a way which meant call the police now and she was relieved to see Grace slip away into the back kitchen with her mobile.
Parkes stepped forward.
“I’m the only builder round here putting up houses for the people who live in this village — right? People who put in a day’s graft. Social housing, not bloody galleries or fancy shops or theatres so people from London like you can rip us off and put up prices, and you — you — you’ve got the cheek to start investigating my business? You — and that bloody Yank who should go back where he came from — you two, all you’ve done round here is cause trouble—”
“Mr. Parkes! We have not investigated your business and I am not slandering you. I was told about your deal with the Cherringham Players — and it is public knowledge. All I am trying to do is find out who is causing trouble at the theatre — now if people are saying you stand to gain if the place fails that is not a rumour I have started—”
But Sarah could see nothing was going to stop him.
He started to advance towards her and instinctively she stepped back.
“You’d better watch yourself, little miss detective, I’ve got powerful friends round here, just you see.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me.”
Parkes was really close now, his breathing fast, his words hissing at her: “One word from me and I could get you closed down — running a detective agency, where’s your planning permission for that, eh? You mention my name once more, or I hear you’ve been asking about me and I’ll—”
“What exactly will you do then, Andy?” came a man’s voice from the door. “I’m interested to hear this. Go on. Tell me…”
Sarah turned to see Alan Rivers, the local policeman, his big frame filling the space, his uniform suddenly so reassuring.
Sarah saw Parkes take in the situation and step back.
“All right, Alan?” he said, still breathing heavily.
“Had a complaint there was a disturbance up here,” said Alan calmly, but Sarah could see he meant business.
“No disturbance,” said Parkes. “Just — a little disagreement.”
“That right, Sarah?” said the policeman.
Sarah took a deep breath. The moment seemed frozen as she realised nobody quite knew what to do next.
“Mr. Parkes was just going,” she said.
She watched Parkes shake his head.
“Yeah, I’m going. But don’t you forget what I said.”
At the door he stopped, still blocked by Alan.
“You’re in my way — officer.”
Sarah saw Alan look to her, but she shook her head. Alan stepped to one side and Parkes disappeared down the stairs.
Sarah stepped back and sat against one of the desks. Grace hurried over from the corner of the office and the two hugged each other in relief.
“Jeez,” said Sarah. “What the hell just happened then?”
“What a bastard,” said Grace.
“You all right, Sarah?” said Alan, coming over.
“I am, now you’re here,” she said. “How come you were so quick?”
“I was just over the road in Costco’s when Grace called,” he said.
“Grace, sweetheart — you were brilliant,” said Sarah.
“I was terrified,” said Grace. “But you looked so cool!”
“That might be how I looked,” said Sarah. “It wasn’t how I felt.”
“You want to stay clear of Parkes,” said Alan. “I knew him at school. He fights dirty.”
“Tell me about it,” said Sarah.
“Who fancies a tea?” said Grace. “Alan — you staying for one?”
“Sure.”
Sarah watched Grace head to the kitchen then turned to Alan.
“Do you think he’s going to come back?”
“No, not now he knows I’m involved,” said Alan.
“He did threaten me, you know — or at least, he threatened the business,” said Sarah.
“Well, that’s something you probably should take seriously,” said Alan. “He’s got the Parish Council wrapped round his finger and people tend to do what he wants.”
“Why?” said Sarah.<
br />
“He brings work and money into the village. Lot of people rely on him.”
“When you say he fights dirty…?”
“We’ve never pinned anything on him.”
“But?”
“Off the record — I think he uses other people to do his house-keeping, if you know what I mean.”
“Got it. So we should be careful.”
“If you and Jack are sniffing round his business, then yes, Sarah. You should be very careful indeed.”
Grace returned with a tray and started pouring the teas.
And Sarah thought to herself how dangerous her little detecting side-line could be…
10. The Purloined Pearl
Jack stood off stage right, which he noted, looking out to the theatre, was on his left.
Something important to remember — as the actors gathered in the centre of the main set, the drawing room of the Blake Manor House.
Jez clapped his hands as if summoning school children.
“All right, people — circle around. A few notes before we run through this big party scene.”
The actors gathered closer to Jez.
“You all know your marks. Todd has reassured me that the trap door is secure so — no more tumbles down that rabbit hole.”
“Thank God for that,” Ellie said. “My bum couldn’t stand another crash landing.”
The actors laughed but Jez didn’t even respond, Jack saw.
“Hopefully — we’re done with accidents and can focus on the play because we all know—”
Ambrose Goode grunted and finished the sentence.
“The play’s the thing.”
Again Jez paused.
“Precisely. So then, any questions before we begin?” Kramer didn’t give more than a second for a response to that. “Okay then, places — and we begin!”
The actors went to their appointed spots on the drawing room set.
Todd came beside him. “Okay to just watch?” Jack asked the stage manager.
“Until we do the light change at the end of the scene — but for now, enjoy.”
And together they watched the Cherringham residents morph into highly dramatic characters from a century ago.
*
Ambrose Goode walked away from the fireplace, a ‘brandy’ in his hand.
“A toast to all who join us on this auspicious occasion.”
Cherringham--Playing Dead Page 5