"Where did you plan to get your cast?"
"The Theater Department." I figured Glenn Fenkell could help me find some actors who were looking for a short but juicy role.
Professor Tucker removed his glasses. "I suggest you try the theater company on Biltmore Street. The actors are older, more experienced, and always looking to hone their skills till their big break comes along."
I cocked a brow. "I didn't know you were so into the local theater scene." As though I would have known such.
"I'm not really," he said almost apologetically. "Because they are a nonprofit group, I contribute to help keep them afloat, along with some other local organizations."
So you have a vested interest in finding the actors work, even if you're not getting paid, I thought.
"I see. Well, I'd be happy to check it out and tell them you recommended their services."
He nodded and rose. "Keep me posted on your progress."
"I will."
* * *
That evening, I went to Elliot's house for dinner. He lived on the other side of campus from my condo.
Elliot proved to be quite the chef, one of many reasons I liked him. He'd prepared breaded pork chops with sautéed onions, rice pilaf, and a salad.
"So where's this reenactment going to take place?" Elliot asked.
"I plan to rent a house for a month, assuming that's the minimum time they would allow. I'd like to find a setting reasonably similar to the one where Marilyn Sheppard died."
"I have a friend who's renting out his house for a year while teaching in Stockholm. Last I knew, it was still unoccupied. It might be just what you're looking for, if you're not too picky. I could give him a call if you're interested. I'm sure the rental agency that's handling the property wouldn't make a fuss about a one month rental if Parker agrees."
"Yes, please call him," I said, anxious to get started. "I'm sure it will work."
"Will do. And if there's anything you need for authenticity let me know."
I smiled, forgetting for a moment that Elliot was not only a history professor but a history buff. I wasn't, but did want some sense of historical accuracy for my reenactment.
* * *
The Biltmore Theater Company was located in a one-time warehouse. A production was underway when I went in. I immediately recognized the actress in a period costume and heavy makeup as the woman who had approached Glenn at the library yesterday. I presumed it was his wife.
I also recognized the young woman who suddenly burst into theatrics as the girl at the library from whom I checked out my books.
One big happy family.
A tall, dark-haired man in his thirties approached me. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. My name's Madsen Vensetta. I'm a doctoral student at Everly and—"
"Say no more," he cut me off. "Harrison Tucker said you might drop by. I'm Jason Weiss, the director of this stage show."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weiss."
"Same here, Ms. Vensetta." We shook hands. "I understand you're looking for a few good men and women to volunteer their services for your school project."
"Actually, I just need one woman and two men. And I can probably pay a small amount for their services."
"Don't worry about that. Harrison's already taken care of it."
I wasn't sure how to interpret that. Apparently, other than being my advisor and independent study professor, Harrison Tucker was putting his money where his mouth was. Something told me there was a bit more to it than goodwill. Maybe he would seek payment from me in the form of grading the papers of his undergrad students.
Or maybe he just wanted me to deliver one hell of a true crime revisit.
"Could I talk to some of the actors about it?"
"Sure." Jason suddenly yelled, "Stop everyone!"
They did, right on cue.
"This is Ms. Vensetta—"
"Madsen," I said, preferring not to be too formal.
"Madsen has plans to reenact a famous murder case for her independent study. She's looking for a woman and two men to volunteer. Any takers?"
I thought Harrison had already taken care of it. Or was his contribution being misdirected?
"I'll do it." The striking woman from the library stepped off the stage and walked up to me. "I'm Camelia Fenkell."
"You must be Professor Fenkell's wife," I said while thinking she would be a suitable Marilyn Sheppard.
Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Glenn?"
"Not very well. I took his course last semester. We ran into each other at the library yesterday. Then I saw you there and put two and two together."
"Well, it's nice to know at least one student acquainted with my husband actually has a brain."
I grinned at her obvious dig toward some of his younger female students. "I'd like to think I have a working brain inside my head."
A soft smile played on her lips. "Are you the Madsen who Elliot Arness is dating?"
I reacted with the same surprise she had that I knew Glenn. "Yes, I am. How do you and Elliot know each other?" I was merely curious and hoped it didn't come across as jealously. Aside from trusting Elliot, Camelia was married, even if Glenn appeared to have a wandering eye.
"We both work in the History Department," Camelia said innocuously. "He's mentioned you from time to time."
"I see." I felt flattered that Elliot thought enough of what we had to mention me by name to his colleagues. Another sign that things were headed in the right direction in our relationship.
"Anyone else interested?" Jason asked, intruding upon my thoughts.
"Yeah, I'm in," said a man in his forties with thick salt and pepper hair. He came over to me. "My name's Victor Hawthorn, but everyone calls me Vic."
"Then Vic it is." I shook his hand.
I looked to my left and saw a man approaching who hadn't been on stage and wasn't in costume.
"I'll give it a go."
"Uh, I don't think you're exactly what she had in mind," Jason said with a snicker. "She's looking for actors."
"So I'm just a lowly production assistant," he spat sarcastically. "Every great actor has to begin somewhere. I'm game, unless you have someone better and more expensive in mind."
I sized up his almost brutish appearance and bushy blond hair, reminiscent of the man Sam Sheppard claimed murdered his wife.
"I think you're perfect for the part, Mister..."
"Darren Baker."
"Well then, Darren, I guess we're all set as far as cast."
"So whose murder are we recreating?" Vic asked.
"I think her name was Marilyn Sheppard," I heard a familiar female voice say.
I turned and saw the library clerk. "Looks like we meet again."
"Looks like it. I'm Tatum Douglas."
"Hi, Tatum."
"So that's why you checked out a load of books about a woman who was killed by her doctor husband in the 1950s. You want it to happen all over again."
"Not exactly," I said. "And for the record, the victim's husband was acquitted of her murder."
"Then who did it?" Tatum challenged.
I looked at Darren and thought about the man Sam Sheppard was unable to prove killed his wife till the day he died.
Turning back to Tatum, I said, "That might remain a mystery forever. As for my reenactment, we'll just have to wait and see who the killer turns out to be, won't we?"
She sneered, glancing at Camelia and Jason. "Yeah, guess we will. By the way, I'm available as an understudy."
I smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. But this isn't exactly a major production, so I really don't think I'll need anyone else."
I could see the disappointment on her face and wasn't quite sure why, since the work would only be for a few days at best. Was she trying to prove something to someone?
"You bastard!" blared a woman's voice from the other side of the theater.
We all looked in her direction and saw a thirty-something petite brunette barreling toward us at full s
peed.
When she reached our group, the woman ignored us and glared at Jason. "Is it true?"
Jason's face showed little expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Are you having an affair?"
He frowned. "Don't be ridiculous."
She curled a lip. "For once in your life, tell me the truth. Are you cheating on me or not?"
"Really, Sharon, now is not the time—"
"Now is the perfect time—right here in front of your friends who may not see you as the asshole you are."
"You've been drinking."
"Yes, I had a couple of drinks," she admitted. "So what! I needed them to give me the courage to face you..." Her eyes were now riveted on Camelia. "...and your little whore here!"
Camelia grimaced. "You think that—"
"Don't play innocent with me, bitch! You think I don't know what's been going on between you and Jason? Well, I do. And I'm warning you to stay the hell away from him—or else!"
"That's enough!" Jason's mouth was a straight line. "We'll talk about this at home. Come on."
He grabbed Sharon's arm and began to walk away, ignoring her protests.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Jason's wife," Darren answered.
"Looks like he's got some major kissing up to do," remarked Vic.
"Yeah, but with who?" Tatum gave Camelia a dirty look.
Camelia continued to play the innocent part. "I honestly have no idea what she's talking about. The woman's obviously deranged."
I doubted that very much. Having experienced infidelity firsthand, I would hardly dismiss such claims. A woman was usually the first to know when her husband was cheating, but the last to come to terms with it.
Made me wonder what it said about Camelia's marriage to Glenn Fenkell. Or vice versa.
At least Elliot and I were happily single again, though involved. I decided that having no legal binding forcing us to stay in line probably made the difference in terms of our commitment to each other.
* * *
"Sounds like there's some real drama within your little acting group," Elliot said as we met for lunch at a wonderful seafood restaurant called Soldad's Place.
I'd filled him in on my somewhat colorful cast of characters, including his colleague Camelia Fenkell, though the most colorful appeared to be those on the sidelines. Elliot seemed to take it all in stride.
"Guess that's show biz," I said dryly, and dipped a fried shrimp into sauce.
"Do you think Camelia and Jason are really involved?"
"Do you?" I returned the question. "I think you're in a better position than I am to know what Camelia's capable of."
Elliot remained unflappable. "Not really. I only know the lady on a professional level. What goes on in her personal life is a mystery to me."
I had no reason to believe otherwise. "I just thought that since you mentioned me to her, she might have—"
"Let me in on her sexual liaisons outside the marriage," Elliot finished. "I don't think so." He paused. "So what do your gut instincts tell you about this alleged affair?"
I pondered the notion, feeling foolish for expecting Elliot to be privy to gossip. "I don't know," I admitted. "Jason certainly denied it and so did Camelia."
Elliot snickered. "Did you honestly expect a full confession in front of a group of nosey onlookers?"
"I suppose not. But if they are involved, there's a lot of cheating going on between the various parties. I don't know Glenn all that well, but I get the impression he still cares for his wife."
"Maybe he does or maybe not as much as you think." Elliot forked several ranch fries. "Just keep your eye on the ball here, Madsen. You don't want to get involved in any domestic triangles. Do you?"
"No, I don't." I put his mind at ease. "Only where it concerns my independent study. The triangle between Marilyn and Sam Sheppard and an assailant is enough for me. And that brings me to where the reenactment will take place. Did you get a chance to talk to your friend yet?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. Parker was completely agreeable to the idea of renting his house to you for a month, especially after I told him about the murder mystery you were undertaking. He's real big on whodunits."
"That's great!" I sipped my lemonade. "So when can I take a look at it?"
"Right after we're done here. I already phoned the property management company and a rental agent will meet us over there at two-thirty."
I smiled. "As usual, it looks like you're right on top of things."
"Anything for you." He touched my hand affectionately.
"I'll remember that," I teased.
Elliot rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."
* * *
The aging colonial house was two stories and located near the ocean. I knew the Sheppard's two-story suburban home in Cleveland was lakefront, so I considered this a good start in my re-creation.
We were greeted at the door by the rental agent. He was tall and lanky with dark brown choppy hair that had blond highlights.
"Luther Pickford."
Elliot and I gave our names and shook hands with him. His hand was wet, and I tried not to imagine under what circumstances as I dried my hand on my jeans.
"So you folks are lookin' to rent the place for a month, are you?"
"I am," I told him, not wanting him to draw the wrong conclusions. "Elliot's here as my friend."
Luther gave me a sidelong glance. "Okay then. I guess I'm s'pposed to give you the grand tour, huh?"
"That would be nice."
He made a noise that was a cross between a snort and a chuckle. "Follow me, people."
We did. I whispered to Elliot, "I'm sure glad he isn't going to be my neighbor, even if I won't be living here."
Elliot grinned. "He is pretty creepy. But Parker trusted the rental agency, so it looks like you'll have to as well."
I resigned myself to that, even if my instincts told me to remain cautious where it concerned Luther Pickford.
The inside of the house itself was simple enough. It was sparsely furnished and had a stuffy feel to it, making me want to open all the windows.
A leather sofa sat in the living room. I imagined this was where Victor Hawthorn would park himself as Sam Sheppard, pretending to sleep when Camelia Fenkell in the role of Marilyn Sheppard would be accosted by her killer upstairs.
"Is there a back door?" I asked.
Luther scratched his cheek. "Yeah. Why? You plannin' to throw some loud parties back there and git your neighbors all riled up?"
"No. I'd just like to see if there's another escape route in case the front door is inaccessible for some reason."
In fact, I knew the alleged perpetrator, as told by Sam Sheppard, had made his getaway through the back door, and I wanted to make this reenactment as accurate as possible.
We were led through a thin hall to a door. It went to a small flight of stairs, ending with a back door. I turned the knob to make sure it opened easily, which it did.
Next we went upstairs and looked at the three bedrooms. They were brightly painted and not especially large. Only one of them had a bed.
Guess this will have to be where the murder takes place, I thought.
The stairwell leading to the second floor had squeaked when we came up. It was loud enough for a light sleeper to be alerted that someone was coming. Too bad Marilyn Sheppard hadn't had the benefit of such or it might have saved her life.
"So you want the house or what?" Luther asked anxiously.
Elliot peered at him. "Can you give us a moment?"
"Yeah, no problem. I'll be downstairs."
Once he left, Elliot asked, "You sure you wouldn't be better off just staging this murder scenario in the school auditorium?"
It certainly would have been easier and cheaper, but I wanted to be more creative than that. And I wasn't about to let a weird rental agent scare me off.
"I think I would like to rent the place. It's not like I'll be
here alone. The actors and videographer will be here. And you're certainly welcome, too."
"Thanks, but I'll sit this one out. Have to work on my novel. Of course, if you need me for anything, give me a buzz anytime."
"I'll do that."
I didn't expect to have to make that call, not wanting to abuse the privilege of his kindheartedness and companionship.
I filled out the paperwork Luther had brought with him. Since Elliot had personally vouched for my reliability and honesty with his friend Parker, the credit check was waived, and I was allowed to rent the house for a month.
I decided right then that after the reenactment was finished in a couple of days, I would use the house as a place to relax and freshen up after long walks by the ocean, since I had the place for a full month.
Now that I had secured a crime scene and actors, using what I'd learned from my course on theater production and screenwriting, I intended to write a short script re-creating the tragic events that occurred on July 4th more than fifty years ago.
Only this time, the ending would produce a different suspect right from the start. And, hopefully, would result in my passing the independent study with flying colors.
* * *
That night, after reading up on more details of the Marilyn Sheppard murder, I wrote a script I felt conveyed the atmosphere of the actual crime. The added scene, of course, was the what-if of a bushy-haired intruder as the killer.
I made copies to distribute to the members of the cast. We were all to meet at the house the next day at noon for a dress rehearsal and Q and A, along with a friend from the theater department, Peter Nagle, who would videotape it and later help me edit before presenting the final product to Professor Tucker.
Too wired to sleep, I got up in the middle of the night and made myself a cup of green tea. I had a mind to go over to Elliot's and snuggle up beside him in bed. But I had learned the hard way that he wasn't too big on surprises, even if it benefited him equally.
I decided to drive to the rental house, where I could go over the script once more in an atmosphere that would be most apropos.
* * *
Twenty minutes later as I pulled into the driveway, I noted a vehicle parked down the street beside a cluster of pine trees. It struck me as odd only because there were no houses on either side to associate it with. Maybe the driver had car problems or decided to stop and get some sleep before heading elsewhere.
Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) Page 18