by Jessa Archer
“Finally,” Bethany said, clearly assuming I’d purposefully made her last in the lineup. I hadn’t. The list was alphabetical. But I knew it would be pointless to explain that to Bethany. She was the type of person who would simply shift to assuming I’d chosen to go in alphabetical order because I looked at the names and realized she’d be last.
I was guilty, however, of purposefully choosing her song. Since she’d made a crack about “older actresses” on my first day at SCU, I couldn’t resist asking her to sing “The Old Gray Mare.”
Bethany arched one perfectly tweezed eyebrow when I announced the selection and stared at me for several seconds, making it clear that she had gotten my little in-joke. Then she gave me a sly grin that I translated as challenge accepted. When the music began, she turned her back to the audience, shook her shapely bottom in time with the opening notes, and looked over her shoulder and began to sing.
“The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be, ain’t what she used to be, ain’t what she used to be.” Each of the first two iterations of the word ain’t were accompanied by a dramatic cock of her hips, first to the left, then to the right, and then she turned to give the audience an elaborate bump-and-grind on the third. “The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be, many long years ago.” As she continued, Bethany Tartt slowly stripped off the lightweight sweater she’d been wearing and twirled it around, tossing it toward Ben on the very last beat.
One of the guys in the back whistled enthusiastically, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl taken the most banal song on the page and turned it into a vamp number.
“Thank you, Bethany. That was a very original interpretation. And…that’s a wrap, everyone.”
“Thank God,” Bethany said. “I can go back to the dorm and get some sleep.”
I ignored her complaint and turned to the thirty-seven other actors. Most of them were students at SCU, but there were a couple of high school kids and a few older people from the community among the hopefuls. “Call backs are tomorrow afternoon at two. I’ll be posting a list of those who move on to that second round of auditions tonight by…”
I stopped and did a quick mental calculation. Melinda had a political event in New Jersey, where her husband was a state senator. She’d said she wouldn’t be able to view the auditions until after seven. Paige’s party began at the same time, but I doubted she and her friends would object if I retreated to the office for twenty minutes or so to confer with Melinda, tally up the scores, and post the list of those who made the cut.
“They should be posted by nine. And remember…even if you’re not picked for the cast, we need stage crew and other employees for the summer. Those employees will also serve as understudies, and they’ll get at least some stage time. So if you haven’t already emailed me with a list of any technical or other skills you currently have and, more importantly, an indication of those you’re willing to learn, make sure you do that as soon as possible.”
The auditorium cleared out fairly quickly. It was a nice day, and while a few of them might be heading back to the dorms for a nap, I suspected that even more were heading out to enjoy the spring sunshine.
Ben chuckled as he packed up the laptop. “I wasn’t a fan of the early audition time, either,” he said. “But it was a smart move. Holding them on a Saturday morning is an excellent way to weed out slackers.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I almost stayed in bed myself. I’ve been in the grading cave all week, trying to get caught up after the musical. But rehearsals will be on Saturday mornings for the next few weeks. If they can’t get up, get caffeinated, and belt out a song before noon, they’re not going to survive.”
We’d be squeezing in at least six hours of practice each weekend until classes wrapped up in mid-May. After that, we’d have two weeks of full-time rehearsals, and then the curtain would go up on The Legend of Lorna Dune…or Kilt by the Sea, which was written by several students in a playwriting course taught last fall by my predecessor. It would be a hectic schedule, especially for those students, mostly drama majors, who had just finished work on the spring musical. Plus there was the usual chaos of final exams, and for a few of them, graduation.
“You should stop by my house tonight if you’re not working,” I told Ben. “We’ll have plenty of food, and I’m making a chocolate ganache cake that Paige’s friend Delaney has guaranteed to be utterly sinful.” As I said this, Rebecca Whitley’s threat about having more than fifteen guests echoed in my head. But I wasn’t going to let her dictate my life. “In fact,” I added, “you should bring Dia, too. The more the merrier.”
Dia Gonzalez, who was in my set-design course, had been dating Ben for the past year. In addition to putting in sixteen hours a week as my assistant, Ben pulled the occasional shift at La Costera, the restaurant owned by Dia’s parents. Bill Gonzalez had grown up on the Outer Banks and met his wife, Silvia, on a church trip to the Yucatán Peninsula when he was in college. They had three daughters. Dia was the oldest, and the youngest was in Paige’s grade at school. The family lived a few streets over and would always give me a “neighbor bonus” when Paige and I stopped by for takeout, slipping a couple of churros into our bag for dessert. La Costera was located in a strip mall, and it wasn’t exactly a romantic spot, but Travis and I had eaten there on several occasions for lunch and once for dinner. Silvia’s mole sauce was addictive.
“Wish we could,” Ben said. “But I’ve got a test to study for. And Dia’s working. In fact, she’ll probably be the one coming out to your place to set up the taco bar. By the way, I wanted to tell you that it means a lot to Dia and her parents that you’re standing by them and didn’t cancel the order. They kind of thought you might, under the circumstances.”
“Under…what circumstances?”
“Well, given that she’s your neighbor. I know you don’t like her, but…”
I stared at him, still not following.
“Wow,” Ben said. “You weren’t kidding about being in the grading cave. Rebecca Whitley accused the Gonzalezes of poisoning her dog.”
Chapter Four
“You’re kidding! She mentioned something about that this morning, but she didn’t say who she suspected. The Gonzalezes are several streets over, though. I’m surprised he wandered that far off.”
“He didn’t,” Ben said. “She’s claiming the dog snagged a burrito from the table when they were about to sit down to eat. A few minutes later, he went into convulsions. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it in the paper. That stupid reporter has been all over this story.”
“I think the paper has gone straight into the trash every day this week,” I told him. “And I skip any article with Alicia’s byline simply on principle.”
Alicia Brown had been the bane of my existence in high school, especially after I’d started dating Travis. She’d picked up right where we left off when I returned to Caratoke, by more or less accusing me of killing Professor Amundsen in order to get his job. She backed down a little after the actual killer was identified, possibly suspecting that I’d collected some blackmail material on her in the course of my investigation. I hadn’t, but I didn’t mind at all if she continued believing that, since it seemed to be keeping her at bay.
“Well,” Ben said, “to give you the summary version, your crazy next-door neighbor had to get her dog’s stomach pumped out after he took ill Sunday night. The vet said the dog had ingested something toxic. Probably rat bait, but they weren’t sure. And since he’d snatched a burrito off the table, Whitley seized on that as the only possible explanation.”
“But...they ate the food, too. Did they get sick?”
“No, but the dog is small, right? And he wolfed down half a burrito before they could get it away from him. You’d need a lot more of a toxin for it to have an effect on a full-grown person than on a ten-pound dog.”
“More like five pounds,” I said. “He’s smaller than my cat.”
“Anyway,” Ben said, “La Costera is cl
osed on Mondays. But Whitley came storming into the restaurant when they opened on Tuesday to complain that the poison must have been in the burritos Andrew bought. She said it had nearly killed the animal and that she was going to sue them for the vet bill and emotional damages. That afternoon, she wrote a scathing review on Yelp, making the same accusation.”
“How much time does she spend on that website? Did you see the review she posted for Muncey Auditorium after the musical? I don’t think she even attended a performance, and she flat-out lied. There is no obscene graffiti in any of the restrooms.”
Ben shrugged. “On a college campus, that might even be an added draw, but she’s hurting Bill and Silvia’s bottom line. They closed the restaurant down for a couple of days after the complaint, just to be on the safe side, even though Dia said there was absolutely no way it could be true. The health department jumped on the situation pretty quickly. They inspected the restaurant Wednesday morning and totally cleared the Gonzalezes. They got an A-plus rating. No sign of any contaminants, no code violations, and certainly no freakin’ rat poison. But when Dia’s dad called Mrs. Whitley to tell her the results of the investigation, that just ticked the woman off more. She showed up yesterday with a couple of friends, and they marched back and forth in front of the entrance carrying signs claiming there was poison in the food at La Costera. Business has almost totally dried up since then. Bill had to cut my hours for this weekend, which is a mixed blessing since I have that calculus exam, and—” He grimaced when he saw my expression. “And you are going to cancel the catering order now, aren’t you?”
“No,” I told him. “I’m not going to cancel.”
That was true. I’d have felt guilty if I canceled this late, and I didn’t want to add to the frenzy of bad publicity. But I was worried about backlash from parents of the kids attending the party if they discovered I’d fed their kids food that was mentioned in the Clarion as being potentially tainted with rat poison.
“I’m not canceling,” I repeated. “I trust Dia’s family far more than I do Mrs. Whitley. She accuses me of trying to kill Leo all the time, just because I once threatened to sic Attila on him if he didn’t stay in his yard.”
Ben gave me a half smile. “From what you’ve said about your cat, though, that probably could be construed as a death threat.”
He had a point. Attila had numerous battle scars, mostly from encounters with neighborhood dogs, according to my mother. I thought it was a safe bet that the dogs he’d tangled with had walked away with a few scars of their own.
“I feel sorry for the dog more than anything else,” I told Ben. “Yes, Leo is kind of obnoxious, but he seems to really want to get away from her. He keeps trying to escape.”
“Sounds a bit like Andrew,” Ben said.
I could tell from Ben’s expression that he meant not just the part about Andrew Whitley wanting to escape from his overbearing mother, but also the part about him being obnoxious. While I liked Andrew, I could see why some people might find him a bit grating. I also suspected his relationship with his mother was creating some major psychological issues. Not that I could really talk on that front. I’d had a very good relationship with my mom, but for some unknown reason, I was still seeing her ghost. Maybe I had a few issues of my own.
“At least he managed to miss all of the drama from his mama,” Ben said. “He’s at debate team nationals this week. Dia said his mom had actually planned on flying with Andrew out to Utah for the tournament. She’d offered to be an official chaperone and was appalled when Professor Acuff told her that college students were adults and didn’t need to have parents along as chaperones. Andrew had still been worried she’d follow him out there. Then her dog got sick, and she had to stay home.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t lock Andrew in his room.”
Ben shrugged. “She probably considered it. But she really wants Andrew to be a lawyer, like her dad was. Dia says he needs stuff like debate team on his law school application. Getting in will be an uphill battle after flunking out of his first college.”
The running joke among locals is that the SC in SCU doesn’t really stand for Southern Coastal, but rather for Second Chance. Most of the students at SCU have flunked out of at least one other school.
“It sounds like Dia knows Andrew pretty well.”
Ben must have noted the hesitation in my voice, because he smiled ruefully. “Yeah. They were kind of seeing each other for a while, before Mrs. Whitley found out and made it clear that she didn’t consider Dia to be good enough for her darling boy. And Dia also wised up to the fact that Andrew is so fixated on not losing his inheritance that he’ll probably still be living with his mom and doing her bidding when he’s fifty. Dia said she wanted someone who understands that money isn’t everything.” He grinned. “Which is lucky for me, I guess, since I’m usually broke. It’s more like money isn’t anything. I’m really glad the Playhouse job will be starting soon, because I doubt Dia’s parents will be able to give me many hours for the next few weeks. I just hope they’re able to keep the place running until this blows over. And that it doesn’t scare away the tourists once the season starts.”
“Did the Clarion print anything about the restaurant getting a clean bill of health?”
“Sure,” Ben said. “On page eleven or whatever, hidden between the city council minutes and an ad for a used car lot. You know how that goes. That first headline is the only thing people remember.”
I nodded. The Clarion story Alicia had written about me when I returned from Caratoke bore the headline “D-List Celebrity to Fill Vacancy at SCU.” That one would likely stick in quite a few memories.
“Do you know if the police are investigating?” I asked, thinking about the squad car next door that morning. Normally, I’d have gotten at least some clue about all of this from Travis, but we’d only talked a few times since he left for the conference in Raleigh.
“They may be getting involved soon,” Ben said. “Mr. Gonzalez was reluctant to file harassment charges. He felt that would only keep the story fresh in people’s minds. Might even get that stupid reporter going again. But after Whitley’s stunt with the picket signs yesterday, he said he was going to tell her to back off or he’d have no choice.”
“Well, that probably explains the police showing up next door this morning,” I said. “Her daughter made it sound like someone had levied a death threat against the woman. But then, dramatic overstatement is pretty much par for the course with Rebecca Whitley.”
“Oh, Dia’s mom would be perfectly happy to wring the woman’s neck at this point. She said as much when they were picketing the place. Bill had to pull her back inside the restaurant. She was in tears, shaking her fist at them, and yelling something in Spanish. But hopefully Mrs. Whitley will back off. Dia feels bad about the whole situation. She’s pretty sure the woman would have already dropped it by now if not for the whole thing between her and Andrew.”
“Based on my experience with Mrs. Whitley, Dia is probably right,” I told him as we headed toward the back of the theater. “But the good news is that she’s easily distracted by a new outrage. By the time Paige’s party ends tonight, she’ll probably be locked onto the goal of dragging me before the HOA board for violating community bylaws and noise ordinances. Maybe La Costera and the Gonzalez family will drop off her radar.”
I pushed open one side of the swinging door that led into the lobby just as Bethany was pushing through the other side. My shoulder bumped hers. I apologized and then said, “Did you need something, Bethany? We were just about to lock up.”
“I forgot my script,” she said, ducking into the aisle in the back where she’d been sitting during the auditions. “Although I don’t know why I’m bothering. It’s not like you’re going to cast me this time, either.”
“What do you mean I won’t cast you this time, either?” I asked. “If you’re referring to Arsenic!, you didn’t even show up for the auditions. I assumed you wanted to do tech for that show.”<
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“Seriously? No one ever wants to do the tech jobs.” Bethany stopped, glancing at Ben. “Well, except for people like Ben.”
He snorted. “Gee, thanks, Bethany.”
“You know what I mean. Although I can’t say I understand why you’re even majoring in theater. I mean, if you want to be a manager, why not manage something that will make money? You’re never going to get rich with a theater degree.”
Ben laughed out loud. “Well, you’re not wrong on that point.”
I assumed that he’d launch into a defense of technical theater, which requires every bit as much artistic skill and talent as the onstage roles, but maybe he realized that arguing with Bethany was a waste of time.
“As for me not showing up,” Bethany continued, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, “auditions were held two weeks after Jerry’s service. You could at least have waited a decent interval before asking us to go back into Muncey Auditorium. I was still upset. And I knew you wouldn’t cast me anyway, so what was the point?”
I hadn’t had much choice on the dates for Arsenic! Both the audition and rehearsal schedule had been set before I even took the job at SCU. But I wasn’t going to justify myself to her.
“Well, I guess we’ll never know if you’d have been cast, will we?”
Bethany stared at me angrily for a second, then flounced off. She was kind of right, though. I wasn’t exactly inclined to cast her now. I probably would have been even more reluctant six weeks ago. Yes, she was talented. But did I want to deal with her attitude all summer?
No. I did not. Trouble has always had a way of finding me all on its own. Why send it an engraved invitation?
Chapter Five
I left the Playhouse a little after noon, making a quick stop at the grocery store so that I could grab avocados and a few other items we’d forgotten during our main party-prep shopping expedition earlier in the week. The only avocados in stock were hard as rocks, and the stuff the store carried in the refrigerator case was gross. So I grabbed the other things we needed and put the bags in the car. La Costera was in the shopping center across the street, so I decided to walk over and see if they could add guacamole to the other items included in the taco bar.