“Something my mother would never wish me to repeat,” he said. “About you, as it happens. I don’t know what it is about me that makes that sexist cabrón think I’m a sexist cabrón, but there you have it.” He was watching the crowd.
I stared at him. I didn’t press him about what specifically had been said. I could find out from Trixie later.
“I don’t know if he’s the killer,” Hector went on. “But I sincerely hope so, because I would very much enjoy punching him in the face.”
“I think I’d enjoy that, too,” I said. “I mean, not you punching him in the face. Me punching him in the face.”
“We’ll flip for it,” he said. “And there…” he put his hand between my shoulder blades and gently turned me a few degrees to the right. “In the pink tweed suit, is Ingrid.”
“Oh.” She was stunning. If this were Hollywood, every director I knew would be fighting over casting her in something where the camera could linger on her cheekbones. It didn’t help that I knew she was a Stanford grad who volunteered for good causes and baked cupcakes in her spare time.
“Oh,” I repeated. “Callie’s going to want to kill her.”
Chapter 24
I stayed in the auditorium until I was sure everything was going smoothly. I knew June would speak first, welcoming the crowd and then going into her prepared talk, after which McMillan would give the keynote. The sound equipment worked without a hitch, and June’s presentation looked great on the big screen. Or, as great as a presentation on real estate could look. We’re hardly talking about An American in Paris (1951, Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron.)
Two of Callie’s camera guys were at work, one of them on the stage to June’s left and another down front, shooting her from below. I assumed the third was in the balcony for wide shots.
Stan McMillan was seated in the front row. Trixie stood in the aisle in front of him, arms crossed, not letting him out of her sight. Nothing would get by her. Of course, even if she heard him clearly confess to coldblooded murder it would never stand up in court. (“Yes, your Honor, this ghost I just happen to know heard everything.”) But at least if he did let something slip in front of her we’d know we were on the right track.
Also on the front row, seated three people down from McMillan, was Other Girlfriend Ingrid. I reminded myself that, as much reason as I had to hate McMillan, there was still every possibility that Ingrid had killed Warren because she found out he was seeing Callie. Still, since I suspected McMillan of both Warren’s murder and of setting the fire at Lisa’s café, he was the bigger target. Plus, I hated him.
Satisfied that everything was under control for the moment, I left Hector watching things and went to the lobby, where Albert had just let in the crew from the party rental company. There was another flurry of activity as I cleared away the remains of the breakfast and the hired crew put up big round tables, eight of them on the ground floor and two up on the balcony landing, with chairs for ten at each table.
Lunch hadn’t begun yet, but I started prepping the concessions stand for the mid-afternoon break which would come later. Instead of the chips and cookies that they might have had at any old hotel or conference center, we were going to serve movie-style candy and popcorn. Because “It’s movie-time fun when you plan your event at the Palace!” Which was a terrible slogan. I’d have to come up with something better if we were going to make a habit of this sort of thing.
After a while I heard the audience erupt in applause. June must have finished, and they must have liked what she said. A few minutes later I was surprised to see Sam at the top of the stairs.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She came down. “I was hoping there would still be coffee.”
“I just put a fresh pot on,” I told her. “And there are still a few doughnuts left if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head and patted her completely flat tummy. “Better not.”
“Is Marty running the projector?”
She made a face. “No need. Stan McMillan is speaking, and he doesn’t need slides to hold a crowd’s attention.” Another face. “That’s a direct quote, by the way. He loves telling you how brilliant he is.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe,” I said, thinking that I might have just found my new best friend. Sam knew McMillan, and she obviously wasn’t a fan. “What’s he like?” I asked.
She thought about it. “Rich.”
Which didn’t give me a lot to build on. “He must be good at what he does,” I tried.
“Oh, he’s good,” she agreed. “Just maybe not as good as he thinks.” The coffee was ready, and she poured herself a cup with a thoughtful look on her face. “He’s one of those guys who lets everyone around him do all the work, and he somehow winds up with the glory. Like today—June put it all together and arranged everything, and he just steps in at the eleventh hour and—there, hear that?”
A roar of laughter from the auditorium.
Sam shook her head. “He turns on the charm and gets all the credit. I don’t know why June puts up with him.”
“Have they worked together a lot?” I asked.
She didn’t get a chance to answer, because just then one of the lunchtime food trucks pulled up outside the theater and tapped their horn. I needed to go out and move the traffic cones so they could park.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t mean to keep you from everything.”
“No worries,” I told her, making my way around the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
But when I got back she was gone.
As soon as I could, I left Albert overseeing things and went up to the balcony to catch the rest of McMillan’s talk. Someone had posted a ‘Crew Only’ sign on the door but I assumed that didn’t apply to me.
Callie was sitting at the table covered with equipment at the front of the balcony. She was wearing a headset with a microphone and had monitors showing her the feeds from the three cameras. Her assistant noticed me as soon as I got near and leapt up to meet me at the end of the aisle.
“Do you need something?” she whispered.
I shook my head, whispering back “I just want to hear this guy’s talk.”
She nodded and went back to Callie, who glanced in my direction before ignoring me.
McMillan ignored the podium and stalked around the stage as he spoke, working every segment of the audience. He was in the middle of a long story that had the entire auditorium in his thrall. I looked around the crowd, who all seemed to be hanging on his every word. Except for two lone blondes in the front row. One, wearing a pink tweed suit and checking her phone, was Ingrid. The other, wearing a vintage usherette’s uniform that caught the light with its rows of bright buttons and gold braid, was Trixie. She was sitting in the seat McMillan had vacated, yawning and buffing her nails.
McMillan, I had to admit, was a good speaker. He was one part Alec Baldwin’s sales monster from Glengarry Glen Ross (1992, Baldwin, Jack Lemmon, and no women to speak of) and two parts Burt Lancaster’s charismatic con artist from The Rainmaker (1956, Lancaster and Katharine Hepburn.)
This did not seem like the kind of man who would set a fire in a bakery. On the other hand, he totally seemed like the kind of man who would have a guy on retainer for that kind of thing. Was he the kind of man who would commit his own murders? Or would he have a guy for that as well?
I hadn’t really been listening to what he was saying, so I jumped when the audience exploded in laughter and applause. McMillan was done. He put his hand to his chest in a gesture of incredibly fake modesty and jogged to the center of the stage and down the stairs as everyone stood and stretched and began ambling toward the lobby for lunch.
I knew I had to go, but I stayed just for a moment to watch McMillan. Trixie stuck with him as he shook hands and chatted with the circle that had instantly formed around him. I noticed June wasn’t part of the cir
cle. I glanced around the theater but didn’t see her or her assistant Cora.
They’d disappeared. And so, I realized, had Ingrid.
The lunch trucks were a huge success. I circulated and kept an eye on things until I was satisfied that everyone was happy and the hired crew from the party rental place had everything under control. June and her team reappeared in time to claim one of the tables up on the landing, and McMillan and his flock of acolytes took the other. Positions on the high ground had been established.
I still didn’t see Ingrid anywhere. Not in line at the trucks, or at any of the tables. I had no idea where she’d gone after talking to McMillan. I didn’t see Callie either.
I slipped up the back stairs to the breakroom, where I found Marty and Albert sharing dim sum from one of the trucks.
“Have either of you seen Callie?” I asked. I didn’t like to think of her wandering around alone when I didn’t know where Ingrid was. If she had actually killed Warren over Callie, would she go after Callie next? Did people wear pink tweed suits to commit murder?
“She’s in the balcony with the film crew,” Albert said.
“Eating tacos,” Marty concurred.
Okay. Callie was with her crew. Good. But I’d still like to know where Ingrid was.
Albert yawned, which reminded me that he was in his nineties.
“Albert, you should go home when you’ve eaten,” I told him. “I couldn’t have done this without you, but the party rental crew will clear up after lunch and Brandon will be here to help out by the afternoon break.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take you up on that,” Albert said. “I’m at a very interesting point in my project, and I’d like to be able to get back to it.”
“Are you ready to tell me what you’re working on?” I sat at the table for a moment and helped myself to a pork bun from an open container in the middle of the table. Marty watched me, then pulled the rest closer to himself.
“Not quite yet,” Albert said. “Not until I’m very sure.”
“I can’t wait,” I told him. “And thanks for coming in today. Both of you. I know it’s your day off.”
“Of course,” Albert said, while Marty grunted something and scattered crumbs.
“Have either of you seen Hector?” I asked.
“He’s the one who brought all this,” Albert gestured to the food on the table. “He was looking for you.”
“I’ll check the office.” But as I got back to the hallway a timer on my phone chirped, reminding me that the afternoon session would start in twenty minutes. I’d given myself that window to get everything ready for the afternoon’s panel discussions.
I took the lobby stairs, glancing in June’s general direction. She didn’t notice me. She was at her table on the landing, deep in conversation with Sam, while Cora hovered behind. They were the only three still at the table. McMillan’s table, by contrast, was crowded and lively with conversation, Trixie in the thick of it. She didn’t notice me either.
I found myself feeling sorry for June as I went down the stairs. She was smart and successful, worked hard and was good at her job. I knew she’d built her firm from scratch after her husband’s death had left her a young widow. But the minute McMillan had walked onto that stage, June faded into his shadow. I also hadn’t forgotten the way he’d swooped in and snagged potential-client Hector right out of her grasp. That sort of thing had to sting. Especially if he’d been doing it for years.
It occurred to me that if McMillan had been murdered instead of Warren, June would probably be my number one suspect. Probably followed by Lisa and anyone else whose property he was trying to snatch.
The concessions stand was swamped. I’d planned to grab a few bottles of water to bring to the stage for the panelists, but I didn’t want to fight my way through the crowd. Instead I crossed the lobby and took the employee stairs down to the basement. We had a few cases of water in a storeroom.
I was just rounding a corner when I crashed into someone coming the other direction. A beautiful blonde someone, in heels and a pink suit.
Ingrid.
“I’m so sorry!” we both yelped at the same time.
“What are you doing down here?” I asked.
“I got turned around when I came out of the ladies’ room.”
The ladies’ room was on the other side of the basement. Maybe she was lost, but I chose to believe that fate had put her in my path.
“You’re Ingrid Barnes, aren’t you? You’ll be speaking on the panel this afternoon.”
She seemed a little spooked at that. “Who are you?” She took a step back.
“Nora. Nora Paige. I manage the Palace.”
She put her hand on her chest, as if to still a racing heart. “Oh. Cool. Can you point me to—”
“I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you,” I said. Although I couldn’t exactly come straight out and ask if she’d killed Warren in a fit of jealous rage. “Um, I heard about you and Warren—”
At Warren’s name she went on full alert again, backing up another step, the color draining from her face. This time she looked beyond spooked. She looked scared to death.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just meant to say, I heard you were dating Warren and I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She held up both hands, as if I were trying to rob her. “Look, Warren and I were totally casual. I’m really sorry if he lied to you, but that has nothing to do with me. Please leave me alone.” She started to back away.
“No! Wait—I wasn’t seeing Warren!”
She stopped.
“I mean, someone who works here was, but it wasn’t me. Look, I’m not—” I took a calming breath. “I’m not accusing you of anything.” Yet. “I’m not angry. I just want to talk.”
She gave me a hard look. “You swear?”
“Has someone been harassing you?”
She shook her head. “I really need to get back upstairs.”
I held my hand up. “Sure. No problem. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Which was true, but I did want to get her to talk. “It’s just, all we’ve heard about Warren is rumors. I was just going to ask when you saw him last. If you knew what happened.”
And maybe if she’d killed him because she found out about Callie. That’s all.
Her shoulders came down a bit. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy. It’s just been so crazy. Everyone on social media has lost their minds.”
“I get it,” I said. “It must be terrible.”
“I mean, as if I wasn’t already guilty enough,” she said.
My heart leapt. Guilty? Was she confessing?
“I could have done something, you know? If I’d stayed.” Her voice cracked.
“Stayed where? At the bar?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t go to the bar. I was working late. I told Warren to text me when he was ready to leave, and I met up with him out on the street while he was waiting for his rideshare.”
I tried to keep my jaw from dropping. She was confessing! She’d been with him that night!
“You went home with him?” I asked.
She wiped at her eyes, looking up. “If I hadn’t had that damn Pilates class the next morning I might have been there. I might have been able to do something. Or maybe, if they’d seen two people instead of one hungover guy…”
“Wait.” She was sounding like Callie. This wasn’t a killer’s guilt. It was a survivor’s. “You’re saying you left Warren the next morning and he was fine?”
She sniffed and nodded. “I left a little after five, to make my six o’clock class.”
I blinked. “So you don’t know what happened? Did you see anything…suspicious?”
She shook her head. “I heard Warren lock the door behind me and I went to my class. Then I got pissed at him when he didn’t return my texts for t
wo days.” She looked at me. “Then the police told me what happened.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said automatically. And I meant it. It really didn’t seem like she was lying.
“So am I.” She sniffed again. “Look, I think I’d better check my makeup before that damn panel. Can you point me back to the ladies’ room?”
“Sure.” I grabbed the waters I’d come down for and took her back through the maze of halls, trying to wrap my mind around what she’d told me.
If Other Girlfriend Ingrid didn’t kill Warren, that left me with one prime suspect.
And he was upstairs right now.
Callie and her team must have finished their tacos, because they were gathered on the stage when I got there, looking at the video displays on each other’s cameras and murmuring things about the lighting. I was dying to tell her about Ingrid, but not until we were alone. I called a warning to them before raising the giant screen. They all stood away from it and watched as it rose slowly to reveal the chairs and backdrop behind it.
Which is why none of us were facing the balcony when we heard the scream and the sharp, sickening thump that ended it.
Chapter 25
Trixie!
That was my first thought as I turned around and tried to make sense of what I saw.
A woman’s body. Blonde hair and a gray suit. An impossible position, lying across the seats just below the balcony railing.
Someone screamed. I think it was Callie’s sound ninja. Then one of the cameramen dropped his equipment and vaulted down the stairs and I suddenly understood what had happened.
“Call 911,” I yelled for the second time in twenty-four hours. I ran down the stairs from the stage.
The auditorium door opened and one of the realtors stuck his head in. “What—”
“Stay out!” I ordered him. “Call an ambulance!”
Movie Palace Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 39