Murder Takes Center Stage

by Tracy D. Comstock

  Annabeth kept her eyes riveted on the action on the stage, but she whispered back, "She was in a snit about Bodley being late. She went out to try to call him again. At least out there, no one can see her making a scene."

  Emily agreed but found Sapphira's absence odd as Jeweliah was about to perform one of her biggest scenes in the first act. She mentioned as much to Tad and her dad when they came to sit beside her, but they didn't seem concerned. "When has Sapphira ever put her daughter's needs above her own?" Tad asked quietly.

  While the thought broke her heart, Emily focused on the performance instead. Tad reached over and squeezed her hand, sensing her sadness. In the darkness of the auditorium, Emily squeezed his hand back, not letting go. She was once again overcome with thankfulness to have Tad by her side. She had to do a better job of showing him how much he meant to her. For now, though, they had a play to put on, and although yet another mishap at rehearsals had originally put the students off their stride, they were doing a fabulous job. Jeweliah had particularly shown great improvement, and Emily turned to compliment Annabeth on the girl's blossoming talent.

  Annabeth beamed. "She does much better when her mom's not watching. Her big screaming scene is coming up," she added, moving to the edge of her seat. Emily noticed her dad doing the same thing. She shot him a quizzical look and he mouthed Door at her. He was still worried about how the dummy would function when the door on the stage was opened. She found herself unconsciously holding her own breath as Ryken, playing Wadsworth, reached for the knob and yanked.

  The door swung inward, and the dummy toppled through, just as it was designed to work. Emily let out a sigh of relief and then found herself grinning widely when Jeweliah, as Mrs. Peacock, let loose with the most realistic-sounding scream yet. Emily marveled at how natural and truly frightened she appeared. The dummy was also exceptionally well done. She hadn't seen the finished product, but she had seen Annabeth working on it at various stages. The dummy was dressed in a black suit and white, button-down shirt. The height and weight mimicked that of a grown man, and the very natural-appearing dark hair was mussed.

  "Annabeth, you could make a real career out of dummy design," Emily said to her but received no response. Looking over at the woman beside her, Emily noted that her mouth and eyes were wide open, her breath coming in short pants. On stage, all action slowly ground to a halt as Jeweliah screamed again and backed away from the dummy representing Mr. Boddy. A trickle of unease began to work its way into Emily's belly, but when Tad and her dad both jumped to their feet and rushed the stage, pure panic exploded, sending her heart racing.

  Before she could move from her seat, Ryken yelled hoarsely, "It's–it's–it's not a dummy!"

  Feeling as if the entire room was spinning around her, Emily stumbled to her feet and groped her way to the edge of the stage. Not a dummy? What did Ryken mean? She leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at the still figure. The hair, the features, the clothes…they all looked very familiar. Mr. Boddy the dummy was to be dressed similarly, only he was to be wearing time-period-appropriate, black-and-white spats. The figure on the stage floor was wearing black loafers. She let her gaze travel from his shoe tips up, and her breath caught in her throat.

  The dummy had a rope around his neck! The missing rope. But Mr. Boddy wasn't supposed to be killed with a rope. In the play, he was supposed to be hit over the head with the candlestick. There! She noticed a trickle of blood on his collar. That was how Annabeth was directed to stage the dummy. Only there was an awful lot of blood. Emily felt her knees give way. She slid bonelessly to the floor, oblivious to the rush of people around her as the parents in the audience realized the same thing she just had. Ryken was right. This was no dummy.

  "Stand back," Tad was yelling from where he had vaulted onto the stage. He herded people back from the body, and as Emily turned so that she could see him, the ringing in her ears almost preventing her from hearing his next words, she saw him reach out and gingerly place two fingers on the figure's throat. He looked up at Ray, who had joined him on the stage, and Emily could see the truth in his eyes. "Call 9-1-1," he said.

  Pinching herself hard to bring herself out of shock, Emily struggled to her feet and moved to the students trickling off the stage, directing them to the auditorium lobby. Many were sobbing, clinging to their friends or parents for support. Others were grim faced and silent. And some, like Ryken, who was holding onto Jeweliah, looked distinctly green. Once the last student and parent had exited the auditorium doors, Emily turned to watch Susan and Mrs. Lowe approach the stage. Sapphira was tagging along behind them, and Emily wondered where she had come from. With a shake of her head and a deep breath, she mounted the stairs to the stage. Ray was hanging up his phone, having gotten through to dispatch to send both the police and an ambulance. He stopped her at the top of the stairs, trying to get her and the other three women to wait out front with the others.

  "Dad, I'm responsible here," Emily argued. "What happened? Who is that?" The figure was still lying facedown, the blood staining his collar now pooling around his torso.

  Ray looked her directly in the eyes and said calmly, "It's James Bodley. He's been shot."

  Emily pushed past him to see for herself. From this angle, she could just make out part of the man's profile, but if she needed any further proof, Sapphira's shattering cry did it. "James?" she shrieked. Ray reached for her but was too late. With a low moan, Sapphira collapsed in a heap, fainting dead away.

  Those remaining on the stage looked down at Sapphira as if unsure how to help her. Emily knelt beside her, patting her cheeks lightly. She looked up at Tad beseechingly. "How can this be happening? Bodley was shot? The kids were saying this play is cursed, and I'm afraid I'm starting to believe them!" She started crying, her tears falling onto Sapphira's still face. As the woman started to stir, they heard the sound of approaching sirens.

  Within minutes, the medical and police personnel were filing into the auditorium. Emily watched the students and parents in the lobby jostling to get a glimpse at what was happening inside as the doors were held open and two EMTs rushed in with a stretcher. The police detective that Emily had gotten to know the previous school year, the one she and her friends had dubbed Gangly Arms due to his excessively long arms on his skinny frame but whose real name was Detective Welks, entered next.

  The tall man looked stern as he joined Emily and the others on stage, helping Sapphira to stand as she gained consciousness. The distraught woman took one look at Bodley's lifeless body lying on the stage floor and burst into tears. Ms. Lowe helped her to the back of the auditorium after Gangly Arms cautioned them not to leave the premises, but Susan stayed rooted on the stage next to her husband and daughter. Gangly Arms took a hard look at Emily and asked, "Are you alright?" When she nodded shakily, the detectives addressed the others. "What happened here?"

  Slowly, with several stops by Gangly Arms as he jotted notes, the whole story of the school's production of Clue and the mishaps that had occurred, culminating in the death of Bodley, came pouring out. Emily's hands shook, and her legs felt as if they were about to give out on her, but she held Tad's hand and stood firm. She found herself fervently praying that this was all just a nightmare she would soon wake from, and that feeling only intensified as Gangly Arms turned to give her a decidedly irritated look. In fact, he looked downright mad, and she jumped as a boom of thunder shook the auditorium. A storm was once again raging outside. The lights flickered for just an instant, and panic gripped Emily once again. No way on God's green earth did she want to be stuck in the dark on a stage where a dead body lay.

  Gangly Arms flicked on the flashlight hanging off his belt, as if preparing for that eventuality, and then he asked with an icy calm, "And why, Ms. Taylor, is this the first I am hearing of any of these incidents?" The way he emphasized that last word made Emily cringe. In light of the death of Bodley, she was wondering if things she had brushed off as mere unfortunate happenings were much more sinister in nature than
she had originally believed.

  Still, she had had no reason to believe that someone would seriously want to harm Bodley. Standing a little straighter, she said, "The night that Bodley cut his hand appeared to be a harmless prank, where someone switched the props. Then, when Bodley and Violet got sick, we all believed they were struck with a flu bug. Tonight, yes, Destiny tripped on the stairs, but a prop could've been mislaid. There is no way we could have known that all of these incidents—" Now she stressed the word herself. "—were anything dangerous enough to involve the police. Do people routinely call you when they fall ill at a public event?" She knew she was pushing the envelope here, but she was understandably rattled. Not only was she in charge of this production, she was also responsible for all of those students currently stuck in the lobby. The thought that she could have put any of them in harm's way was unthinkable. But as she watched the paramedics, now in no hurry whatsoever, load Bodley's body, encased in a black shroud, onto a gurney for removal from the stage, she realized she had been responsible for his safety too. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit down hard on it.

  Following her gaze, Gangly Arms replied, "No, people do not call us because they fall ill. But I believe Mr. Bodley's current condition cannot be construed as an accident or a prank. He was murdered, Ms. Taylor." She flinched as if he had physically struck her, and his voice softened. "We need to get the names and addresses, as well as brief statements, from the parents in the lobby. If the students are of legal age, or with their parents, we will talk to them too. Otherwise, we will have to set up appointments to take their statements. I assume they know that Mr. Bodley is deceased." It was more of a statement than a question, but Tad nodded anyway. Straightening his shoulders, Gangly Arms turned to Emily and said, "I'll follow you out to the lobby so that you can say a few words to the student's first. Please do not answer any questions about his manner of death. That will remain confidential for now."

  Emily nodded wearily. She felt more than saw Tad and her parents behind her and drew strength from their solid, reassuring presence. Tucking her hair behind her ears and taking a deep breath, she headed for the lobby. Pausing before she reached the auditorium doors, she turned to Gangly Arms and asked, "The students won't have to see him removed, will they?" Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat.

  "No, that won't be necessary. We'll use the back entrance." Emily nodded, grateful for small favors, and reached for the door handle. She gripped hard when Tad's hand covered hers.

  She breathed a prayer for the right words and stepped through the doors. Silence immediately descended over the tense group, and Emily was relieved to see Helen making her way toward her side. Emily turned to her mom in silent question, and her mom nodded. Susan had called Helen to be here for the kids. They would take some comfort in the presence of their familiar counselor in the face of such devastating events.

  Before Emily could say a word, Ryken stepped forward, his pale face pinched with worry as he asked, "He's dead, isn't he, Ms. Taylor?" When she nodded without speaking, he continued, "Was it Mr. Bodley? How did he die?"

  "I'm afraid it is Mr. Bodley, and yes, he is deceased," she told Ryken, feeling her heart conscript at the juxtaposition of his chiseled features hinting at the man he was becoming combined with the troubled, scared eyes hinting at the boy he had been. She purposely did not answer his second question, taking a page out of Gangly Arms' book of how to avoid revealing information.

  She addressed the whole group now. "The police are going to need to take everyone's names and addresses, making appointments to take your fuller statements when you can be with your parents. Once you have given the necessary information, I encourage you all to head home for the night. Ms. Burning is here for anyone who wishes to speak to her, as am I. I am so truly sorry for what you have experienced here tonight. You know I'm here for you all, whatever you need." When her voice broke, Gangly Arms stepped forward and herded all those in the lobby into a line.

  Emily noted that Violet, Annabeth, Mr. Greenbalm, and Ms. Lowe were all huddled together toward the back of the line. Mr. Greenbalm and Ms. Lowe both stood quietly, arms crossed, while Annabeth and Violet whispered urgently, shooting concerned looks to the corner where Emily now saw Sapphira huddled on the floor, Jeweliah's long blonde hair concealing Sapphira's face as she stroked her mother's heaving back and whispered soothing words in her ear. Looking outside at the dark night, the rain blurring the lights from the parking lot, a part of Emily wished she could dash out into the silent, chilly night and forget any of this had ever happened. She would do anything to protect her students from such horror as they had witnessed here tonight, but she hadn't been there for them this time. She hadn't reported a single incident surrounding the play, and now she asked, was it because of her negligence that a man had lost his life and her students were sure to suffer nightmares in the weeks to come?

  Her eyes as blurred by her tears as the tall windows in the lobby were by the rain, she turned when she heard someone calling her name, but she didn't recognize who it was until Lyndsey touched her arm. The girl asked again, "Ms. Taylor, what about the play? What will happen now? Will we still perform tomorrow night?"

  Emily turned to Helen, wondering how best to answer the question. "I've called both Superintendent Johnson and Principal Matthews…" The older woman had begun answering when a long wail from the corner where Sapphira still sat interrupted her.

  The woman pushed up from the floor, leaning heavily on her stricken-looking daughter. "Who cares about this stupid play?" Sapphira shrieked at Lyndsey. "My Jamie is dead! Don't you get that? Someone shot my beloved Jamie!"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A shocked gasp went through the crowd. "Shot?" Emily heard more than one person question. So much for keeping the method of murder under wraps.

  Helen and Gangly Arms both rushed to Sapphira's side, while Emily wrapped a protective arm around a stricken-looking Lyndsey. "Um, Mrs. Jones," Gangly Arms said quietly, "it would be best if we took you and your daughter's statements privately." But the hysterical woman was in no mood to be calmed. She continued to sob and rant while Jeweliah stood helplessly by her side, muttering calming sounds in her mother's ear.

  Helen wrapped an arm around both Jeweliah and Sapphira and spoke softly to Gangly Arms. "Maybe it would be best if I drove these two home, Detective. I can stay with them until someone can come and take their statement." After some deliberation, Gangly Arms nodded, and Helen hurried the two Joneses out the door and to her own vehicle, assuring Emily that both Superintendent Jones and Principal Matthews would be there soon.

  Once the dramatics of Sapphira were removed, the detectives were able to get the students and their parents quickly sorted so they could start taking statements. Gangly Arms took Susan, Ray, Tad, and Emily back into the auditorium to take down a timeline of the night's events. He then called in both Violet and Mr. Greenbalm to discuss the night both Bodley and Violet fell ill. Violet was matter of fact and serious, reiterating that she had never been as sick as she had been that night. She said that as there was no reason for her to think of foul play, she doubted any tests had been run on the contents they had pumped from her stomach. The medical team had just been focused on stopping Violet's vomiting and rehydrating her. Despite her calm demeanor, Mr. Greenbalm acted decidedly nervous as he talked with Gangly Arms. Emily watched him swipe at the sweat on his brow, despite the cool temperature of the auditorium, and his voice was pitched much higher than normal. She wondered if it was just the idea of talking to the cops in general that made him nervous or if he had some more sinister reason to be afraid. Could he have tried to poison Bodley?

  When Gangly Arms turned from Mr. Greenbalm to ask who else had tried his pastries the night Bodley and Violet fell ill, every hand in the room went up. Gangly Arms frowned and made a notation in his small notebook. Mr. Greenbalm's sweaty face turned a truly frightening ashen color, and he appeared to be trembling. Tad noticed and asked him if he was feeling alright, but he shrugged off Tad's
concern, saying the heat of the room was getting to him. Emily and Tad exchanged a look, and she pulled her teal-blue duster more snugly around herself, indicating that she found the room anything but warm. She tried to casually make her way closer to Mr. Greenbalm to ask him some questions of her own, but as soon as Gangly Arms told the others they were free to go, the man shot out of the room like he'd been given a reprieve from death row. Emily watched him go, concerned at his behavior, but her thoughts took a different tack when Superintendent Johnson and Principal Matthews entered the auditorium. Neither man was smiling, and the grim set of Principal Matthews' rounded shoulders let her know that they were in for some unpleasant news.

  "Emily, Tad, Detective," Principal Matthews began, "I see you've let the students and their parents go for the night. Thank you." The man frowned at Emily, and she found it difficult to meet his gaze. She should have gone and talked to him about the, well, for lack of a better term, she would call them mishaps, that had occurred during rehearsals. Now he was being caught off guard and was decidedly not happy about it. But while her principal was a strict, yet kind man, Superintendent Johnson had missed out on the kind gene.

  "What were you thinking, Ms. Taylor?" the rotund, bald man began. "Clearly, something was not right at rehearsals, and yet, you wait until someone actually murders one of our alumni before we hear anything of this?"

  Tad cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Superintendent Johnson, really, we had no reason to link these events at rehearsals as being connected and especially not as being maliciously directed at Mr. Bodley. It is only now in hindsight that we can see a connection." He paused. "You must realize this?" He phrased this as a question, but there was steel in his tone. He would not tolerate seeing Emily railroaded by anyone, even his own boss.