“Did you accompany her home?”
Another profession nod. “Yes. I always do.”
“Did she go straight home?”
“Yes. We were alone in the limo. Mr. Cameron stayed behind. I wondered about that because the bodyguard was off that night. I suppose she thought she was safe. But—” She put the hanky to her mouth and stared into space.
“What happened when you got home?”
DuChamp took a steadying breath and gathered her thoughts. “Miss Abbey went to her room. She said she was going to take a shower and go to bed.”
“You didn’t serve her anything to eat or drink?”
“No. She dismissed me. That was…that was the last time I saw her.” Her voice broke and she dabbed her eyes again which were filling with tears. Whether real or fake, Miranda couldn’t tell.
She decided to go in another direction. “At the rehearsal, did anything happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was Ambrosia upset or anything?”
Her expression turned to one of disapproval. “She was fighting with her sister. And then she was upset about Miss Chan’s work on the food. Miss Abbey always had Miss Chan supply the cast and crew with refreshments.”
“I heard Ambrosia had a temper.”
The maid brushed at her skirt again. “Oh, she fussed about little things, but she was always good to me.”
“She never fussed at you?”
“Not really.”
“She wasn’t upset with you that night? She didn’t think your work wasn’t up to par?”
The woman squeezed the arm of her chair and stared at Miranda, eyes wide with shock and a bit of insult. “No. She was always happy with my work.”
And the woman was lying. If the singer was pitching a temper tantrum and this little thing got in the way, she’d be run over just like everybody else. So was Giselle DuChamp yet another person who might have a motive to off old Abbey? She certainly had the opportunity to give her employer the abrin-laced tea.
# # #
Next in line was a dancer who went by the name Silver.
She seemed to be in her early twenties. Tall and lean, she wore her long, rich black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her chiseled features were sharp and distinctive, her sculpted brows and lashes dark against her creamy complexion. Wearing a full body leotard and black ballet slippers, she stretched out in the chair as if the theater were her only home.
Miranda introduced herself and consulted her notepad. She didn’t know what to call the woman. “You go by Silver?”
“Yes.”
“Is that your first or last name?”
“It’s my only name.” She shrugged and made an acquiescing gesture with her hand. “Okay. My real name’s Sandra Anderson but my stage name is Silver. It’s what everyone here knows me by.”
Miranda nodded, suppressing a grimace. What was it with these fake names? Didn’t anybody want to be themselves? “Silver, then.” She forced a smile. “What was it like working with Ambrosia Dawn?”
“You want the truth?”
“Nothing but.”
She gave Miranda a knowing look. “I guess you would. Let’s see. Where should I start?” She leaned her chin back and stared up at the lights that hung overhead in the high dark ceiling.
“How about with last Tuesday night?”
“Last Tuesday night?” She smirked and put a hand dramatically to her forehead. “Oh, God. That was awful.”
“Awful how?”
She sat up and bared her teeth. “The way every night was awful. That woman was so…so full of herself. Rehearsals were a goddamn soap opera. Every night it was something. The lighting wasn’t dramatic enough. The music was too loud. It upstaged her voice. The dancing was flashier than she was.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Sounds pretty arrogant.”
An eye roll. “Arrogant is an understatement. And those melon balls! I really felt for Suzie Chan.”
Miranda leaned forward a bit. “How well did you know Suzie Chan?”
The answer came too quick and natural to be contrived. “Not very. She didn’t socialize with us dancers. I thought she was arrested.”
“She’s been released.”
“Really? How come?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Silver lounged back in the chair again. “Well, I can’t say I’d blame her for offing the bitch. Abbey treated her like dirt.”
Miranda smiled. “Did you have a reason?”
Silver frowned. “A reason for what?”
“Offing the bitch?”
“Me?” Silver stared at her with wide, dark-rimmed eyes. Slowly a smile spread across her face. She shook a finger at Miranda. “You’re really good, aren’t you?” She laughed and shook her head, making her ponytail sway. “No, Ms. Steele. I didn’t kill Ambrosia Dawn even though I might have fantasized about it a little. I don’t want to go to jail.”
“But you had reason to want to.”
“As I just explained, she was difficult to work with.” She took a breath. “Okay, Abbey and I had words a couple of times. After a few of our encounters, I thought she was going to fire me. But I didn’t care. I can always get another job. Anyway she didn’t fire me. I assumed Cameron smoothed things over with her like he always does when she threatened the staff.”
Miranda sat up straight at that revelation. “Mr. Forest handles Abbey’s employees?”
“We really aren’t Abbey’s employees. Technically we work for Cameron. He’s the one who signs us, pay us.”
That was interesting. Miranda jotted it down.
Silver wagged a finger at her. “You know, if you really want to find out what Abbey’s temper was like, you should talk to Blythe.”
“Her sister?”
“Yeah,” she smirked. “Those two have had some real brawls. Outright cat fights. It would get physical and Cameron would have to pull them apart.” She smiled a half-sheepish smile. “We used to take bets on who would slap who first.”
Miranda couldn’t keep her brows from rising. She made another note in her book, trying not to draw conclusions too fast, though her mind was racing to them like an out of control freight train. “Do you know the reason for these…altercations?”
Silver lifted her palms as if the reason was obvious. “Blythe is ambitious. She’s always been jealous of Abbey. Before Abbey took her on Blythe was a two-bit singer in a string of dives. She’s got a good voice, but for some reason her career never took off. When she came to work for Abbey, she hoped her sister would let her do some numbers in the show. But Abbey wasn’t about to share the limelight. She relegated Blythe to offstage jobs and raked her over the coals when things didn’t suit her just right. Just like the rest of it. Only Blythe fought back. I would have left if I were her. But I guess she couldn’t go back to her nothing of a career. I guess she felt kind of trapped.”
Miranda tapped her pen on her pad. If Silver realized the implication she’d just made, she didn’t show it.
“I know she’s grieving over her sister, but part of her has to be happy.”
“Because she won’t get yelled at anymore?”
“Because she’ll have what she wants now.”
Miranda felt her pulse quicken. “What do you mean, Silver?”
“I guess you didn’t hear. Cameron announced it just before you and the police came in. The show’s going on as planned. Blythe is taking over for her sister.”
Miranda nodded as if the dancer had just made a comment about the weather. But her mind was racing even faster. “Thank you, Silver,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Miranda’s next two interviewees were stagehands who worked with props and lighting. They knew about the melon balls and the fights with the staff and the fights between the sisters, but they mostly kept out of the temperamental diva’s way. They couldn’t add anything Miranda didn’t already know.
She stepped out into the
hallway to get a drink, mull over what she’d learned so far and let Scott percolate a little bit more. After about a five-minute break, she returned for her real target.
Forcing back any shark-like expression that might show on her face, Miranda watched the bodyguard settle into the interview chair with a cavalier ease. The muscles under his knit black top were more defined close up. He was in really good shape. His gelled blond crew cut gleamed under the lights. As did his ultra-white teeth.
He crossed his ankle over one knee and folded his hands in his lap. “What would you like to know, Ms. Steele? I’m more than happy to help in your investigation.”
She just bet he was. Start slow, Miranda told herself. “In what capacity were you employed by Ambrosia Dawn, Mr. Scott?”
“I was one of her bodyguards. But I’m employed by Entertainment Security. Mr. Forest contracts us through my company.” He shot her a charming lover-boy grin. Little did he know she was married to the ultimate charmer. She knew all the tricks.
“Us?”
“There are two of us. Tony Harris is the other one. We take turns. Or, we did.”
“I see. What exactly did your bodyguard job consist of, Mr. Scott?”
“I’d pick Ms. Ambrosia up at her home whenever she needed an escort and accompany her to wherever she needed to go. Restaurants, shopping, things like that.”
“And rehearsals?”
“Yes, rehearsals as well.”
“And in that capacity were you at the rehearsal this Tuesday night?”
He seemed surprised at the question. “No, ma’am. I was out of town.”
Miranda acted surprised in turn. “Oh? Where did you go?”
“I’d rather not say.” His smile deepened.
He was definitely the God’s gift type. All flash and arrogance and me, me, me. The type of guy she used to love taking down in a bar. Just to show him a woman could best him.
Miranda gave him her own version of a smile. One with a little bite in it. “Did you have another job there?”
She watched the muscled chords in his neck strain. “I’d rather not say. It’s personal.”
“Mr. Scott, this is a murder investigation.”
The lover-boy smile fell. He stared down at his thumbs, which he was twirling. Biding time while he thought up a good story? At last he raised his gaze again. “I was in Kingman, Arizona, seeing an old girlfriend of mine.”
Another one? Jeez. Miranda decided not to go down that path. “I understand you had a relationship with Suzie Chan.”
He seemed surprised that she knew that. “I—yeah, a few months ago.”
“She said you were fuck buddies. Is that true?”
His blond brows shot up at the blunt expression, and then he chuckled, putting a finger under his nose. “Oh, that Suzie. She’s such a wild one. She can mince an onion but she never minces words.”
Miranda scowled at the bad joke. “I also understand you were in London with the show recently?”
He turned up his palms. “Whatever the contract demands.”
“And you were almost fired there because of your relationship with Ms. Chan?”
He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “Not really. Like I said, I work for Entertainment Security and Mr. Forest handles the contracts. He wouldn’t have let me go. Besides, Suzie and I were about to break up anyway.”
“Not because of Ambrosia’s threat?”
He made a pfft sound. “Of course not. She was just having one of her hissy fits. She never scared me.”
“But you came to Ms. Chan’s defense. You had words with Ambrosia.”
Miranda watched his jaw clench as he studied her carefully. Apparently it had just dawned on him that she knew a lot more than he’d thought.
“I just didn’t like the way Suzie was being treated.”
“What about the way she treated the rest of the employees?”
He locked eyes with her. He had to realize the other employees would have talked by now. He grunted out a breath. “Okay, Ms. Steele. The woman was a total bitch. Is that what you want me to say?”
“And you were tired of her behavior.”
“Everyone was tired of it.”
“But you decided to do something about it.”
“I—” He stared at her with his watery baby blues, his mouth half open. “What?” he laughed. “Are you saying you think I killed her? You’ve got to be joking.”
“You look pretty fit, Mr. Scott. How much can you bench press?”
He frowned in confusion. “Me? Oh, two-fifty on a good day.”
A lot more than the weight of a dead singer. “You had opportunity, motive, and means. You knew where she lived. You knew her personal habits. You were alone with her.”
He put both feet on the floor and leaned toward her with a tad of defiance. “No, I wasn’t. The driver was always in the limo. I sat up front with him.”
“And at her home?”
He raised his hands as his complexion grew red. He was losing it. “There were always servants. Besides like I said, I was out of town Tuesday night.”
“Were you really?”
His eyes flashed. A bit of anger, a bit of alarm in them. “Yes, you can talk to my old girlfriend if you want. I’ll give you her number.” He gestured to her notepad.
Miranda tore off a page, handed him her pen and let him jot it down.
But was it his old girlfriend or someone who would conveniently give Scott an alibi? She’d find out later. “One more thing, Mr. Scott.”
“Anything.” He handed back the pen and paper.
Miranda waited a beat and crossed her legs, taking the casual position now. “What are you doing here tonight?”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Ambrosia Dawn doesn’t exactly need a bodyguard anymore.”
“Oh,” He glanced over his shoulder as if he were thinking up a reason on the fly. “Mr. Cameron asked me to come. He wants to speak to me about our arrangement. Maybe he wants me to work for Ms. Star now.”
“Seems to me that you’re already guarding Ms. Star’s body.”
“What?”
Miranda shut her notepad with a snap and rose. She’d leave the rest for the police interview. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Scott. If we have any further questions, someone from Metro will be in touch with you.” She extended a hand.
Surprised that the interview had ended so suddenly, Scott got to his feet. He shook her hand—it was a pretty limp shake for a bodyguard. Then he recovered and laughed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town?”
“I was just about to say that.” She turned and left him standing there.
As she stepped into the theater again and hunted for O’Toole, Miranda wasn’t sure whose idea it was, or if it was Blythe or Giselle who Scottie boy had helped out the night Ambrosia Dawn was murdered, but she was pretty sure the bodyguard had had a hand in it.
She found the sergeant talking to one of his men at the end of the center aisle. It wasn’t long before Ralston and Parker joined them. They waited for the officers to finish up and then O’Toole dismissed everyone involved with the show.
As they headed back up the aisle on their way to the police station to compare notes, Cameron Forest’s crew took their places on stage to start what they’d come here for. Another rehearsal.
The band started to play and music filled the air. Miranda stopped in the aisle and turned to watch a moment.
The golden curtain parted to reveal a tall staircase at the center of the stage, dancers moving all around it. And at the very top Blythe Star appeared.
Wearing the standard rehearsal black, she began to sing and slowly descend the staircase. The dancers moved gracefully around her in time to the music. The background singers provided a chorus behind her. They might have drowned out a lesser singer but Blythe’s voice was almost as powerful as her sister’s.
And what was she singing? “All Eyes on Me
.”
Arms outstretched, she looked deliriously happy. She had wanted to be her sister and now she was.
Pursing her lips, Miranda took in the sight and reconsidered her previous conclusion. That sure looked like motive to her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Things are getting too hot. Too damn hot. How am I supposed to cope? How am I supposed to deal with this?
My heart races. My stomach is churning. I feel sick.
I reach for the prescription bottle on the table. My hand shakes. I stop. No. I can’t use drugs. They’d only numb my brain and I have to think. I have to figure this out. But I’m crying again. I just can’t stop the damn tears. My heart is breaking.
Oh, Abbey. Why? If only you hadn’t been so hotheaded, so mean. If only you hadn’t been such a bitch, none of this would have happened.
But you were what you were.
We all accepted you and loved you. We loved you just as you were so maybe it was all of our faults. Even so, you’ll live on in our hearts forever. That’s what you really wanted, wasn’t it?
I wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my trembling hand. I manage to pull myself together. I’m calmer now. I can handle things. I’ll figure out something.
Don’t worry, Abbey dear. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Now there were three guest chairs in Sergeant O’Toole’s office and the tiny space was really getting hot and cramped.
For the next few hours, Miranda, Parker, Ralston and O’Toole poured over all the findings from the interviews, studying and comparing each one, combing them for clues. The conclusion wasn’t exactly news.
Everyone on the staff had a reason to want Ambrosia Dawn dead.
Ralston had interviewed the woman who rubbed oil over the vic backstage during costume changes, and another woman who helped dress her. Then she talked to a third woman who was in charge of Ambrosia’s blush. After that a lighting guy and a sound guy.
All of them had witnessed Abbey’s temper tantrums. All of them had been on the receiving end of one at one time or another. Everyone knew about Suzie Chan and the melon balls. Two of them knew about Suzie and Scott. Nobody knew Scott was seeing anyone else.
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