Triple Threat

by Koetting, Alexis

  “Sure,” said the girl.

  Vince nodded his thanks then gestured to Jeffers and me to join him in his office.

  “OK,” he said, when Jeffers and I were seated. He remained standing, his arms crossed against his chest and the bookshelf taking on much of his weight. “Every year, on the anniversary of Avril’s death, I pay a visit to Al.”

  “Are you saying Al died on the same day as your sister?” I asked. I could see puzzlement on Jeffers’ face as well. Neither of us had put the dates together.

  Vince nodded. “Irony. Coincidence. Karma. Maybe a little bit of all three … It wasn’t a surprise. My visit. Al expected me. Like I said, I did it every year. I wanted to be sure he never forgot her.”

  “And what would you do during these visits?” Jeffers asked.

  “Nothing really. A bit of chit chat. We’d catch up. Not friendly or anything. It wasn’t like that. And it never lasted too long. Seeing me was enough to get him thinking of Avril. Of his part in her death. He was never punished for it. Not legally. This was the only way I could think of to make sure he never got away with it completely.”

  “You’ve done this every year for—”

  “Twenty-three years. Almost a life sentence.”

  “Is that why your career seems to have mirrored Al’s?” I asked. “Because it was easier to stalk him?”

  “It wasn’t stalking. I just—”

  “How did you know where he’d be every year?” I asked.

  “Sounds like stalking to me,” Jeffers chimed in.

  “We work for the same board! It’s not hard to know where people are!” Vince said.

  “And how did you come to work for the same board?” Jeffers asked. “What prompted the decision to leave acting and move into education? To relocate to this region?”

  “I didn’t—. You’re making it sound like—”

  “Because it is like!” Jeffers said.

  The two men stared at one another.

  “You know what else it sounds like to me?” Jeffers persisted. “It sounds like you gave up your whole life, your whole career to—”

  “What about Avril’s life?” Vince said, viciously. “What about the career she should have had? The things she wanted?”

  “Would she have wanted this?” Jeffers asked.

  “Okay. That’s enough,” I said. I knew Jeffers was trying to drive Vince to the edge so he’d talk, but I was worried he’d gone too far. Jeffers didn’t like Vince. He’d made no secret about that. But we couldn’t risk losing Vince. Not now. “Can we just focus on the morning Al died?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Jeffers said, after a moment.

  Vince pulled himself away from the support of the shelf and shoved his hands into his pockets. What Jeffers said had clearly hit home. His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “I got here a little after six,” he admitted. “Al was in here. He was talking to someone. A man. The door was closed. It sounded a little heated.”

  “Did you recognize the voice?” I asked.

  Vince shook his head. “It sounded like the man was crying.”

  “Could you hear what they were talking about?”

  “No. I waited for a bit. Then I heard someone coming, so I ducked around the corner.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t feel like seeing anyone.”

  “Go on.”

  “It must have been a student. Sounded young. Had a brief exchange with Al. I didn’t stick around for all of it. She was upset too. Figures Al would leave a wake of misery.”

  “Where did you go?” Jeffers asked, ignoring the dig at Macie.

  “I was getting impatient and irritated and was on my way back to my car.”

  “Did you see anyone else at the school?”

  “No.”

  “Dammit,” Jeffers said, before he could help himself. The same thought ran through my mind.

  The dejected silence in the room was broken by the sound of the students playing the Shakespearean game, Forsooth, in the studio. It had quickly become their favourite warm-up.

  “I went back though,” Vince said.

  “To … here?” I asked. “To Al’s office?”

  “When?” Jeffers asked.

  “I was on my way back to my car, but I turned around. It was coming up on six thirty. Twenty after or so.”

  “And?” Jeffers and I said in unison.

  “He was dead.”

  Chapter 24

  “At least I thought he was dead. He looked dead.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell us any of this?” Jeffers asked, getting to his feet, his voice rising. “Why is this just coming out now?”

  “It all would have come out! Everything about Avril! About me and Al! I knew what people would think,” Vince replied, matching Jeffers in volume and intensity.

  “Do you have any idea—?”

  “Shh,” I said, indicating the students on the other side of the door. “Give me a minute.”

  I went into the black box, gathered the students, and asked them to take turns performing their scenes for each other. When I returned to the office, Jeffers and Vince were exactly where I had left them, standing on opposite sides of the room, and mad as hell.

  “Let’s do this quietly,” I said.

  Jeffers resumed his seat. Vince glanced at his chair then thought better of it. I stayed somewhere in the middle in case I had to intervene.

  “Perhaps you can tell us exactly what you saw,” Jeffers said with as much calm as he could muster.

  “When I came back to the office, I didn’t hear anything. I knocked on the door. There was no answer, but I wasn’t going to let him avoid me, so I opened the door.” Vince shook his head at the memory. “He was slumped on the floor. There.”

  Vince pointed to the patch of wall next to the door to the studio, not far from where I was standing. I felt an urge to move but held my ground.

  “It was like he’d been sitting against the wall and had fallen over,” Vince explained. “I called his name. There was no response.”

  “Did you go to him? Check for a pulse?” Jeffers asked.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t help in any way?”

  “I just left. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “How could you do that?” I asked. “Just leave him there. You could have saved him! He might have still been alive!”

  “Was he?’ Vince looked challengingly at me, then at Jeffers. Jeffers gave a small shake of his head. “Then what does it matter?”

  I opened my mouth to speak but realized there was no point in arguing.

  “The only thing going through my head was that it was all finally over,” Vince said.

  “What about all that stuff you just said about what people would think?” I asked.

  “That was later. After I’d left. After I’d had a chance to process what had happened. I knew if I came forward I’d have to explain what I was doing there. It would seem as if I had some sort of vendetta against Al—”

  “Which you did!”

  “Okay. Fine. Maybe. But—”

  “Maybe?”

  “Bella, let him talk,” Jeffers said.

  Vince sighed. “Look, I didn’t want him dead. I’ve never wished him any harm. I just thought he should have been punished and I did the only thing I could think of. I realize it sounds crazy. That I sound crazy. To have spent all these years and … given up so much … but … When I saw him lying there, I felt like I got my life back.”

  An ill-timed smattering of applause drifted in as one of the groups finished their performance.

  “Did you see anyone else? Hear anything?” Jeffers asked.

  Vince shook his head.

  “And you had no contact with the body?”

  “No.”

  “Why all the secrecy?” I asked. “Why go through the whole business of sneaking out of the gym? Why not just come here?”

  Vince gave a pathetic laugh. �
��There’s a contest.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A 30-Day Challenge. You have to show up for thirty consecutive days. I had to sign in and out, otherwise—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, unable to hide my disgust.

  Vince shrugged and looked away.

  “I think we’re done here,” Jeffers said, and stood to go. “What colour were your shorts?” he added, when he got to the door.

  “What?”

  “The shorts you wore to the gym that day? The shorts you were wearing when you came here?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It doesn’t,” Jeffers said with a sigh. “Not anymore. I’m just curious.”

  “Blue,” Vince said.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Royal blue. I bought a package of three at Walmart. $12.99. Do you need to know my size or will that suffice?”

  “I’ll leave you to your class.”

  I walked with Jeffers into the hallway.

  “You good to stay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. I’ll call you later,” I said and turned back into the office.

  “We good?” Vince asked.

  “You mean, can we continue working together?”

  He shrugged.

  “We’re never going to be friends, Vince. I find a whole lot wrong with what you’ve done. Just because I can understand it doesn’t mean I admire it. As for this class, it isn’t about either one of us. It’s about the kids. So as long as we’re straight on that, we’re good.”

  “Then let’s get out there.”

  The green room was abuzz when I walked in. Manda Rogers was standing amid a group of gushing admirers. I rolled my eyes and made my way over to where Adam and Powell had their heads together at a corner table. I could see Adam’s hands moving a mile a minute, so I knew he was excited.

  “Oh my god, Bella, have you heard?” he asked when I slid in next to him.

  “I just got here. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t even,” Adam said, breathless, handing the reins of conversation to Powell, who opened his mouth to speak but was bulldozed by Adam. “Manda and Sergei eloped!”

  “The director for Uncle Vanya?” They both nodded. “I thought she was dating … the Irish guy—what’s his name? Brian?”

  “Brennan and that was ages ago,” Adam said.

  “Ages ago? I just saw them together.”

  “Well, they’re not together anymore. Now she’s with Sergei and, evidently, they eloped last night.”

  “Where? One of those drive-thru chapels in Niagara Falls?”

  “Elope Niagara.” I had been sarcastic but Adam answered in all seriousness. “It’s a mini log cabin. Super cute. Technically, it’s in Fort Erie.”

  The Canadian side of Niagara Falls has proudly waved its flag as the “Honeymoon Capital of the World” for decades. Whether or not it was actually true, I had no idea. But there were plenty of Las Vegas-esque chapels and themed motels to support the claim. Some of them even came with Elvis.

  I looked to Powell for confirmation that this was actually happening and that I was not in the middle of a crazy dream. He nodded.

  “I’ve got to run but, oh my god, you should see the ring,” Adam said, blowing kisses to us as he gathered his things and left.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” I said.

  “You can probably see it from here.” It was the first time Powell had spoken since I’d joined them. I took it as an olive branch. Although it really should have been me to extend it.

  I glanced up at Adam, who mouthed the word “tacky” over his shoulder to us as he passed Manda’s outstretched hand.

  I laughed and asked Powell if it was really that bad.

  “It’s orange,” he said.

  “The ring?”

  “I think the official term is ‘rose gold.’”

  “Well, it will go with her hair in any case.”

  Manda let out a squeal as the bridegroom entered the room. A few tables broke into applause and Powell and I dutifully followed suit when Manda’s gaze landed on us. Her smile was radiant and Sergei looked at her adoringly. I pitied him. He was an attractive man at the height of his career. A mainstay of the Vakhtangov Theatre in Moscow, Sergei caught the attention of the world stage when his production of Pushkin’s Boris Godunov was given an invitation to play Lincoln Center in New York, and from there, his career skyrocketed. That the Shaw Festival had been able to woo him to Niagara-on-the-Lake to direct Uncle Vanya was a theatrical coup that had international tongues wagging.

  “So does this mean she’s moving to Russia?” I asked, a little too eagerly.

  Powell laughed. “Can you imagine?”

  “I can’t,” I said, looking at Sergei’s beaming face. This was not going to end well. “Listen,” I continued, “about the other day …”

  “I’m sorry I flew off the handle.”

  “No, I’m sorry! I—”

  “My relationship with Al has always been very … private. So when you said—”

  “And that’s why I thought it might be easier to talk to me than the police. But it wasn’t my place. I shouldn’t have pushed. I feel awful.”

  “Don’t. It’s fine. Really,” he said and squeezed my hand gently.

  “Since we’re on the subject, do you mind if I ask you another question?”

  He smiled wryly. “Go ahead.”

  I took a quick glance around the room. Manda was still holding court with Sergei by her side, but the throng of well-wishers had thinned considerably.

  I lowered my voice and leaned into Powell. “Would you be able to tell me where you and Al were that last time you were together? When he called things off?”

  He hesitated. “Would that help?”

  “It might.”

  “You can’t tell me anything more, can you?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back with his arms across his chest. “The Millcroft Inn.” I shook my head. “It’s in Caledon. About two hours away.”

  “And when was this?”

  “First weekend in February.”

  “That was shortly before he died!”

  Powell nodded. “A week.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you’d been together as late as that.”

  A few quick blinks did away with the tears that had formed in Powell’s eyes. However one might classify their relationship, Powell and Al had shared something meaningful.

  “Thank you,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  I picked up my phone and texted Jeffers. He responded almost immediately, You’re a goddess, Samuel. Then followed it with, You and Doc come for dinner tonight.

  “You coming?” Powell asked, gathering his things.

  We had a run-through of Cabaret. Our last in the rehearsal hall. We were scheduled to move onto the stage and a full set after this, which would present a whole new world of issues: choreography would likely have to be respaced, set pieces would require new negotiation, and backstage traffic would result in countless bruises. And then there was the always problematic addition of stairs and doors. Stage managers always tape out the footprint of the set on the floor of the rehearsal hall, carefully indicating the direction in which doors open and close and defining steps as close to scale as possible. But despite their best efforts, actors all turn into superheroes, capable of walking through closed doors and climbing a staircase in a single bound. Then the set arrives, and they revert to toddlers, as if seeing such things for the first time.

  “Powell,” I said, my hand on his forearm, “I promise to keep you out of it as best I can.”

  “Just get whoever did this.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do.”

  “Honey, we should go here,” Aria Jeffers said, as she scrolled through the Millcroft Inn’s website. “Look, there’s a hot springs! Remember when we were in Banff? You loved the hot springs.” She looked to
Paul and me, “Andre and I went for a friend’s wedding and he almost missed the ceremony because he wouldn’t get out of the pool.”

  “That must be new,” Paul said.

  “You’ve been there?” I asked.

  “Years ago. It was lovely. Fantastic food.”

  “How can you even think of food right now?” Jeffers asked, patting his stomach.

  Aria had made an amazing turkey casserole that we’d devoured before settling our very full selves in the Jeffers’ living room. Jeffers and Aria were sitting together on the sofa and Paul and I occupied the two other chairs that made up the set. An image of Paul and Laura sprang to mind. Which was ridiculous in itself, as I had no idea what Laura had looked like. In my mind’s eye, she was perfect in all the places I had flaws and then some.

  “Oh, the food does look good,” Aria squealed. “Venison strip loin, butter-poached monkfish …”

  “Yes, and a forty-seven-dollar puréed beef tenderloin for the baby,” Jeffers said.

  “We wouldn’t bring the baby,” Aria said to her husband. “That’s the whole point. We could leave the baby with my parents. Have some time. Just the two of us. Remember what that was like?”

  As if on cue, the baby monitor sounded. Aria moved the computer to Jeffers’ lap with a wistful sigh and gave his knee a loving squeeze before excusing herself to check on their son.

  “So.” Jeffers said, hitting keys on the laptop.

  “If you guys are going to talk business,” Paul said, “why don’t I take care of the dishes?”

  “Thanks, man,” Jeffers said. “We won’t be too long. And, hey, can you take the crumble out of the oven?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Paul gave me a wink and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “The manager of the inn sent over the guest list from the weekend Al and Powell were there. I have one of the guys running the names.” I joined Jeffers on the sofa and looked at the screen. Other than P Avery, none of the names jumped out at me.

  “You know, most of these reservations were made and paid for by one person. P Avery, two guests; A Armstrong, two guests; Ralph Carmichael, four guests. There’s no way of knowing who the guests are. Al’s name isn’t there. And maybe one of these guests is the person we’re looking for. You’re going to interview all these people?”