Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “And it became an even longer shot when Geoff’s score got junked,” Hugh said.

  Talia nodded. “But the Donnelly Group was enthusiastic, and Felicity raised a bunch of money that day, but next thing we heard Jethro was revising the score and they were recasting Jennie. Geoff was crushed. I mean, I don’t know how much he let on to you, but he really was. I was, too. Marjorie Moody was always a character singing the opera arias, and Geoff got Felicity to let me play her. So I agreed to do it in return for my Equity card.”

  “I can relate.” Isobel gave Hugh a triumphant look. “And then what happened?”

  “Well, it looked for a while like the show might be kind of good.”

  Delphi stifled a squawk.

  “On what planet?” Isobel asked incredulously.

  “It was a quality cast. Say what you will about her, Arden had star power. You guys are so good and you weren’t even playing big roles, and Chris has the right energy. This was at the beginning. I was excited.” She sighed. “Maybe I just wanted it to be good.”

  “I can relate,” Hugh said, returning a look to Isobel.

  “Anyway, I said something along those lines to Geoff, and he blew up at me. He said no way was this show going to succeed without him.” Talia took a deep breath. “He asked me if I would help him sabotage it, and I said no.”

  “So he enlisted another ex-girlfriend,” Isobel said. “One so mousy and unprepossessing nobody would ever suspect her.”

  “Heather,” Talia confirmed. “He never cared about her, but she mooned around after him like he was Beethoven. I think sometimes he preferred her adulation to my challenging him on musical matters. Our bond is based on mutual talent. With Heather, he could pretend he was special.”

  “You knew what Heather was up to?”

  Talia sighed. “Yeah. When I refused, he said fine, no problem, he was sure Heather would be willing to help. I was sure, too, so I put it out of my mind and tried to stay out of the way. First the masking fell, and then the thing with the coffee happened.” She blushed a bit. “You all know how sick I was. That pissed me off. That’s why I let slip to you guys that it might be Geoff. I told him you can’t hurt people trying to bring down the show.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “You had your chance, and you chose not to help. Sorry if you were collateral damage.”

  “Harsh.”

  Talia sighed again. “Harsher still, he and Heather got back together. And I have to admit, I was jealous. When you saw us in the store, he was giving me the chance to help him out again, and this time I did, but I made him promise to dump Heather. We bought the shrimp that day, and then he and I were able to sneak back into the theater early the next morning because Heather had made him a set of keys.”

  “Why did you even bother with the shrimp after Arden was dead? If that wasn’t going to kill the show, the shrimp wasn’t.”

  Talia couldn’t resist a smile. “That’s where you’re wrong. The shrimp did shut down the show, albeit temporarily.” She sobered. “Besides, at that point we didn’t know Arden had been murdered. If we’d known that, we never would have done it. At least I wouldn’t have.”

  Isobel leaned forward. “I don’t think you killed Arden any more than I did, and I don’t see Heather going that far either, but how can you be certain Geoff didn’t?”

  Talia’s face whitened. “He wanted the show to fail, but he wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “How well do you know him? How well do we really know anyone? What about Oliver?”

  Isobel could feel Hugh’s disapproving gaze on her, but she kept her eyes trained on Talia and saw doubt play across her delicate features.

  “But don’t you think the person who killed Arden is the same person who killed Thomas?”

  “Yes, of course,” Isobel said.

  Talia looked palpably relieved. “I know who killed Thomas. I saw him.”

  “What? Who?”

  Talia shrank back into her chair. “I’m not sure if I should say.”

  “I’m not sure if you’re being coy or if you’re legitimately scared, but I don’t care,” Isobel said. “Let me put it this way. Geoff is figuring pretty high on our list of suspects right now. If you can provide a credible alternative, I suggest you do. Otherwise, my next phone call is to Detective Dillon. About all of it.”

  “Fine.” Talia clasped her hands in her lap and steeled herself. “It was Chris.”

  Delphi gasped, Sunil made a “hunh” sound, and Hugh exclaimed, “Chris?” but Isobel remained silent. If Talia was telling the truth, Isobel was spending most of the show alone onstage with a murderer. Anything could happen—had already happened—in full view of the audience, and she would be powerless to protect herself.

  “You don’t believe me,” Talia said when Isobel didn’t respond. “It was right at the top of act two, during the chorus bit, before the seaside concert scene. I had ducked into the bathroom offstage left to check my makeup. When I took my place in the wings, I saw Chris off to the side, near the alley door. He looked a little wild. He was tucking his shirttail into his pants, and there was a splotch of blood on it.”

  “Wait, you didn’t actually see him kill Thomas?” Isobel asked.

  “Well, no. I never left the building. But he must have just come back inside after having done it.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “At the time, I didn’t know about Thomas, so I put it out of my head. Then we went onstage.”

  “Did you tell anyone else?” Isobel asked.

  Talia shook her head. “I didn’t, because of the other stuff. I was afraid that would all come out somehow. My involvement. And Geoff’s.”

  “And Heather’s,” Delphi added.

  “I don’t give a shit about Heather,” Talia said hotly. “If she hadn’t gotten her claws back into Geoff, I wouldn’t be involved at all. And he’s only using her. He and I have something special.”

  Isobel resisted the temptation to roll her eyes and instead cast her mind back to the night Thomas was murdered.

  “I don’t remember anything off about Chris. It was my second performance, and he was pretty attentive. Not distracted or anything.”

  “All that means is he’s able to compartmentalize,” Talia said.

  “He didn’t the night Arden was killed,” Hugh said. “I was watching him from the pit. He looked completely freaked out when she collapsed.”

  “He would have to, wouldn’t he?” Isobel pointed out. “He was in full view of the audience. If he’d been all ‘oh, yeah, dead soprano, no biggie,’ people would have pinned it on him immediately. Don’t forget, he’s an excellent actor.”

  “And he killed Thomas because…?” Sunil asked.

  Isobel turned to him. “Because Thomas figured out how Arden was killed.”

  “Which was how?” Talia asked.

  “Remember she sat on an exposed wire during tech?”

  “Yeah, but Thomas fixed it.”

  “Someone unfixed it and dipped it in pure nicotine. Pretty effective way to deliver a fast-acting poison.”

  Talia blanched. “What? How?”

  “Chris must have gotten the idea when she complained about it during tech,” Sunil said. “You told us Chris and Arden used to be engaged. Do you know what happened between them?”

  “No, but whatever it was, it ended badly.”

  “Obviously,” Delphi said.

  Talia shot her a look. “I mean before this.”

  “How did you even hear about them? Did Chris tell you? Arden?”

  “Marissa told me. She may know more. You’d have to ask her.”

  “Dillon brought Chris in for questioning but didn’t keep him,” Isobel said. “I wonder why.”

  “Not enough evidence, probably,” Sunil said.

  “I wonder…” Isobel began.

  Sunil jumped suddenly, and like a ripple effect, the others started in response.

  “What the hell?” Delphi yelped.

 
“Sorry, my phone buzzed.” He pulled it from his pocket, and a curious expression took over his face.

  “What is it?” Isobel asked.

  “A text from Kelly.” Sunil looked up. “Chris is sick, and Ezra vetoed Jethro. I’m on as Sousa tonight.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  “THANKS FOR GETTING back to me, Detective. Finally.” Isobel muttered this last bit after she hung up. She set her phone down on the dressing room table.

  “What did he say?” Delphi asked.

  “He reiterated that they have no physical evidence linking Chris to the murders.”

  “What about the blood on his shirt?”

  Isobel examined herself in the mirror and swept more blush onto her cheekbones. “Traces at best. You know wardrobe has to wash shirts after every show.”

  “They can’t bring him in for more questioning?” Delphi persisted.

  “Not without evidence.”

  “I don’t think he’s sick. I think he’s gone.” When Isobel didn’t respond, Delphi asked, “Don’t you?”

  “I’m not convinced.”

  “But you think Talia’s telling the truth?”

  Isobel turned her head to one side, squinted, and then examined the other side. “I think she’s telling the truth about what she saw, but she didn’t witness the actual murder. Don’t you think it’s possible Chris went out there and simply discovered the body?”

  “Why would he have gone out there?”

  “Same reason we did. To retrieve the photo.”

  “During the show, though?”

  Isobel stood and removed her act one costume from the rack. “I didn’t think so at first, but on the other hand, when better? He’s offstage at the top of act two when the ensemble is on. He knelt down to see if Thomas was alive and got blood on his shirt. If you bashed someone on the head, you’d be spattered with blood. It wouldn’t be a splotch on your shirttail.”

  “That’s a good point.” Delphi positioned her bonnet atop her pile of curls and skewered it with a lethal-looking hatpin. “If it wasn’t Chris, then who was it?”

  “Talia will defend him until the cows come home, and I’m sure Heather will too, but my money’s on Geoff. He wanted to shut down the show, and as Talia pointed out, Arden’s death didn’t do the trick. It didn’t even make a difference when foul play was discovered. It took a cache of rotting shrimp to get Felicity to cancel, and that was only for one night.”

  “How would he have known about the loose wire on the bustle? Nobody saw him around during tech.”

  “He heard about it from Talia or Heather. Or Oliver. He asks, ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Oh, Arden is a total diva, she was bitching about sitting on a wire,’ and the light bulb goes off.’” Isobel smoothed her bodice. “I’m going to go warm up.”

  “You’re not nervous about tonight?”

  Isobel laughed. “I think yesterday put the fear of God into Sunil. Haven’t you noticed him cramming Sousa every spare moment he has? Besides, I’m betting he always knew a lot more of it than he was letting on.”

  “I didn’t mean Sunil. Aren’t you afraid Geoff will try something else?”

  Isobel paused with her hand on the doorknob. “He doesn’t need to right now. The shrimp did its thing, and with Chris out, that’s more trouble afoot. Events have overtaken him, so I think he’ll lie low. At this point, he knows the show is in trouble. In fact,” she added cheerily, “I’d say tonight is probably the one night we can count on a smooth sail.”

  Isobel let the door close gently on Delphi’s worried features, and as she hurried down the hall and into the stairwell, she tried to convince herself that she meant what she’d said. Logically, it made sense, but privately she shared Delphi’s sense of unease. What Talia was missing, and Heather probably was too, was the fact that Geoff had set them up brilliantly. Their pranks were easily traceable to them, and they could swear up and down that Geoff was behind them, but with the astonishing lack of physical evidence, it would be hard to prove that one or both of them hadn’t killed Arden and Thomas. Who knew what Geoff had up his sleeve that would implicate both Heather and Talia? Possibly some DNA evidence he could plant somewhere.

  Isobel opened the door onto the third floor and found the rehearsal studio empty, as it always was this time of night. She shut the door behind her and flicked on the light. Humming softly, she made her way to the piano and gave herself a starting pitch for her scales. As she warmed up, she continued to ponder the situation. There really was no reason for Geoff to cause mischief tonight. Word had gotten around yesterday that Sunil wasn’t ready, and as far as anyone knew, he might not be any more ready now. The police investigation clearly wasn’t progressing. Isobel wondered if they had any suspects at all. Maybe instead of suggesting they bring Chris back, she should have urged Dillon to bring Geoff in.

  She was an idiot. That was far and away the most sensible thing to do. If nothing else, it would ensure they would all stay safe tonight with Geoff off the premises. She mentally smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner and reached instinctively for her phone, but she’d left it in her dressing room. The clock over the door said seven forty-five. She still had time to call if she was willing to abandon her warm-up.

  “Mi-mi-mi-miiiii—okay, that’s good.”

  She lowered the lid over the keys, which she always did even though nobody else ever bothered, and shut off the light behind her. As she turned toward the stairwell, she realized voices were coming from one of the other, smaller studios. The studios were pretty soundproof, but whoever was in there hadn’t closed the door all the way. As she drew closer, she realized it was Ezra and Jethro.

  “I know why you’re still here,” Jethro said. “You’re not going to leave until you’ve finished what you came to do.”

  “I’m here because there are more revisions to be made on this deeply flawed piece of material,” Ezra responded. There was an iron edge in his voice that Isobel had never heard before.

  “You can’t fool me. I know what you’re really trying to do.”

  “Then you know I don’t intend to stop now,” Ezra countered.

  Isobel heard furious footsteps pounding toward the door, and she looked around for someplace to hide. She darted into the costume shop and stood behind the door, panting. Ezra. Her initial impulse to question him stemmed from her desire to dismiss him as a suspect, but she’d been distracted by her conversation with Marissa. Now she was glad she had avoided a run-in with him. It seemed he would stop at nothing to make sure the show died a quiet death in Albany, no matter who else had to die with it. A noise in the costume shop made her jump, bringing her back to reality, and she realized it was seven fifty. She lurched into the hallway—and ran smack into Jethro.

  “Isobel! What are you doing up here?”

  “I, uh…I’m warming up.”

  His eyes narrowed. “In the costume shop?”

  “Oh! No, I needed a safety pin.”

  “Did you find one?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You’d better get downstairs. It’s almost places.”

  Jethro gave a curious glance behind Isobel and then closed the door to the costume shop. She followed him to the stairwell, and they proceeded down in silence.

  At the theater level, Jethro rested his hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, it was always you. Arden was never anything but a publicity draw. That’s why I kept harping on your Emma. I wanted the rest of the creative team to see that your natural qualities were better used elsewhere.” He smiled goonily at her through his flop of ginger hair and opened the stage door for her.

  “Um, thanks. I think,” she said.

  Kelly flew at her. “Where have you been? I called places, and nobody knew where you were.”

  “Sorry, I went upstairs to warm up. I was watching the time.”

  Kelly turned to Jethro. “And you’re not supposed to be backstage after half hour.”

  “Yes, you’ve all made that clear.”
Jethro winked at Isobel and retreated.

  “Come on,” Kelly said, hustling Isobel into the wings. “There’s enough weirdness tonight without you disappearing on me.”

  There was no time for Isobel to ask what Kelly meant, but in principle, she agreed.

  FORTY

  SUNIL FELT HIS FIRST performance as Sousa warranted a repeat of his opening night ritual, but going out to the alley seemed like bad karma, even though the crime scene tape had been removed. He briefly considered going upstairs to look for an empty rehearsal room like Isobel did, but he didn’t relish the idea of wandering around the building where he couldn’t hear the monitor. He let the wardrobe mistress fuss with his costume a bit longer—Chris had a huskier frame—but as soon as Kelly called five, he grabbed his script, now dog-eared, and left his dressing room in search of solitude. He ran into Hugh, who was coming up the stairs from the pit.

  “You okay?” Hugh asked.

  “A little nervous,” Sunil admitted. “I want to grab a few moments for myself. I think I’ll go downstairs.”

  “You’re going to be great. Remember to watch me coming out of the ritard at the end of ‘The Washington Post.’”

  Sunil continued down to the vom. That was the perfect spot. No actors or stagehands, just the comforting cacophony of the musicians warming up on the other side of the wall.

  “Like spirits beyond the veil,” Sunil muttered to himself. As soon as he said it, he felt his skin crawl. Jewish superstition. It was inbred, the flame fanned further by his mother, whose lengthy rites to keep away the evil eye had first spawned the idea of an opening night ritual.

  “Get a grip,” he told himself. “This is no time to freak yourself out for no reason.”

  Chairs and a few old set pieces were stacked against the wall. He stood next to them and closed his eyes, praying silently. His standard message combined English, Hindi, and Hebrew, and the familiar words flowed through his head, calming him. His stomach unclenched, his shoulders lowered, and his jaw released. Even if he didn’t turn in the kind of slick performance Isobel gave her first time out, he was at least confident that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. Maybe he would even be good. Despite his misgivings about the piece, his actor’s ego started to kick in, and he felt a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of being the star.