Murder in the Second Row

by Bev Robitai

  ‘Hey, if it takes the heat off us, that’s great. Oops, didn’t mean that literally, but you know what I mean. I’d much rather he set fire to them than the theatre.’ She shuddered. ‘That would have been catastrophic. Even with the sprinkler system and automatic callout, the place would have been horribly damaged. Jack, could you please catch this person soon? I’ve got enough to worry about for now.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Jessica. It’s not as if I’ve got anything else to do, of course. Just organising staff on this little old homicide case I’m working on and making sure that things get done. Running daily meetings to check on progress and to ensure that all the team knows what’s going on and what direction the case is going. And doing an awful lot of reading to make sure that I’ve seen all the jobsheets and reports submitted. Of course I’ll make time. I hear and obey, oh mistress. He will not survive my burning fury.’

  She chuckled and hung up.

  Heading down to the theatre early to relieve Matt and Paul from their guard duty, she drove past Bayldon Oliver’s office to see the damage for herself. It looked serious enough to put their mall plans back for quite a while – they’d have to rebuild their own offices first. She couldn’t quite repress a grin.

  Emma Sinclair arrived at rehearsal hung over. The slim blonde actress playing Ginevra, who was supposed to further the plot by appearing volatile, emotional and enchanting, sat slumped with her head over a bucket and groaned.

  ‘What’s up?’ Terence asked her solicitously. ‘A touch of the old food-poisoning? That can be very nasty. I had the most dreadful gastro-enteritis once, had to be hospitalised from the loss of bodily fluids. The doctors said it was the worst case they’d seen, put me on an IV drip to keep me alive. I was passing blood at one stage.’

  Emma turned a paler shade of green and waved him away.

  Jessica brought her a vitamin drink and some aspirin. ‘Get these into you and sit quietly. What on earth have you been up to, Emma?’

  Emma swallowed as ordered. ‘Urgh. Got a promotion. The girls at work took me out to celebrate. Sorry. Just as well it’s only a rehearsal, eh?’

  ‘Don’t let Adam hear you say that! All right, just take it easy and do the best you can. I’ll tell him you’ve got a headache – but you’re still going to have to perform. Can you do it?’

  Emma drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Sure, no problem. I’ll be fine. Oh God.’

  ‘You’d better give the make-up ladies a bit of extra time to make you look human tonight – that’ll be a challenge for them.’

  Jessica patted her on the shoulder and went to find the next problem to deal with.

  Shane was bouncing off the walls and she kept an eye on him as she was wandering round. Excited young lads often caused mischief, wittingly or not. She had already seen Gert shoo him away from the props table with its tempting display of knives and hypodermics.

  Simone seemed to be happy with her adjusted skirt, and was sitting talking to Phil and Pippa. Jessica caught a few words as she passed by.

  ‘Of course most are just rubbish. Imagine if wearing the colours blue and yellow would really cause actors to forget lines. Perfectly absurd, especially if you then include the one that says wearing green is unlucky.’

  ‘It doesn’t leave many colours for wardrobe to choose from,’ said Pippa.

  Austin ambled in and joined the conversation. ‘You’re missing some of the best superstitions. I’ve heard them all in my time. There should be no peacock feathers inside a theatre. No real flowers, mirrors or jewellery should be used on stage.’ He turned. ‘Hey, you ladies in the make-up room! I hope you’re using a rabbit’s foot to apply the makeup! And never clean your makeup box or wear brand–new makeup on opening night.’ He turned back to the wardrobe mistress. ‘Clara-Jane, don’t ever put shoes or hats on chairs or tables inside the dressing rooms. And of course, all you actors will always leave the dressing room left foot first.’

  The actors looked at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘How are we supposed to remember all that?’ asked Phil. ‘That’s insane!’

  ‘Oh there’s more. No matter how long your wait or how boring the play, there’s to be absolutely no knitting in the wings. And never speak the last line of a play before opening night.’

  ‘Austin, you’re a fount of useless information,’ said Jessica lightly. ‘Thanks for that history lesson, now shall we get back to the present day?’

  ‘Never speak the last line?’ said Simone. ‘I never heard such silliness. How is one supposed to rehearse a play if one can’t utter the last line? Surely it would have to be a cue for the curtain and lights?’

  Stewart came and sat down with the group. ‘What about a death in the theatre? I bet that breaks some rule, doesn’t it? Hey, maybe Tamara mentioned the name of the Scottish Play and forgot to do the turn round and spit bit?’

  Pippa giggled. ‘You mean the “Hot potatoes, officer’s drawers, Puck to make amends” routine? I thought the Blackadder writers made that one up.’

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Austin. ‘Tradition says if you mentioned That Name, you could recite a line from Hamlet, «Angels and ministers of grace defend us.» Or you had to turn round three times, spit over your left shoulder, leave the theatre and then be invited back in. Not the sort of thing you want to do when you’re due on stage at any moment.’

  Jessica caught a flicker of movement over by the kitchen. ‘Shane! Don’t even think about swinging on that sprinkler pipe!’

  Shane lowered his arms and looked sheepish.

  Jessica looked at her watch. Would it ever move round to 8pm so this lot would go onstage and get busy with the show? With everyone in full costume and make-up for the first time, excitement had risen to a new level. Jessica was looking forward to watching the show from out front to get a feel for the whole performance.

  At last Adam told Austin to call “beginners” and they filed out of the Green Room to take their places onstage. Jessica followed behind them and made her way down to the auditorium where she sat, unobtrusively, four rows back. Adam sat in the second row with his clipboard on his lap.

  The curtain went up, revealing the Boynton family seated centre stage. Emma began tearing the tissue into little bits as scripted, then suddenly pressed it to her mouth and rushed off-stage.

  Jessica moved forward and murmured to Adam.

  He grunted. ‘Hold it a moment, please. We’ll just wait for Emma to compose herself.’

  Two minutes later Emma returned and sat down, apologising weakly.

  ‘Right, from the start again, thank you,’ said Adam. ‘Curtain!’

  Worrying about Emma, Jessica was distracted for the first few minutes of the play, but then the story began to take over and she was transported to another place and time. It was the first time she had seen the whole performance instead of little bits and pieces when she was passing back and forth in the wings, or stealing a quick look from up in the box. Now the director’s vision of the action was visible to the rest of them, played up by the lighting and staging. The set looked real. Dramatic moments were highlighted by Gazza’s expertise, and the actors were convincing in their roles. The lines that had been recited night after night after night for the last few weeks suddenly took on their true meaning, and the drama sprang to life.

  Jessica smiled with satisfaction. Good old Dame Agatha’s script still had the power. It looked as if they’d got a show.

  At interval, Shane’s Mum Erica was there to hand out cups of coffee and slices of cake, which the actors tucked into happily.

  ‘It’s worth all this effort just for your fruit cake,’ said Phil, patting Erica on the shoulder. ‘So glad you could be here for the season. Pippa never has time to do any baking at home.’

  ‘I might do if you’d help out a bit more,’ said Pippa. ‘You’re not the only one who’s working full-time you know. Those domestic chores don’t go away just because we’re both here every night. When did you last empty the dishwasher or put away the laundr
y?’

  Phil took refuge behind Erica’s comfortably round figure.

  ‘Hide me, Erica! Honestly, the police interrogation was less scary than Pippa on the warpath.’

  ‘It sounds like she has a good point to me,’ said Erica. ‘You go home tonight and pull your weight, mister, or there’ll be no more fruit cake for you.’

  ‘Awwww,’ Phil whined as Pippa applauded loudly.

  The stage crew hurried in for their tea after their big scene change, grabbing coffee and cake to gulp down in the last few minutes of the break. Austin checked his watch and called for “beginners, Act Two”.

  Jessica was about to go to her seat when Matt came over to her.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but there was this woman trying to get in before. She pulled on the door-handle and rattled it so I went to check it out. It was some scrawny old boot looming in the doorway wearing a hoodie, but when she saw me she turned round and left.’

  Jessica shrugged. ‘OK, thanks Matt. Might have been a parent or grandparent of one of the young ones coming to give them a ride home, maybe, and realised it was too early. They’ll be back later I expect. Thanks for keeping a lookout.’

  She hurried back to her seat and was just in time to see the curtain rise on the Petra set, revealing Nathan’s beautifully painted red rocks, lit with an intense colour wash from Gazza’s lighting. She grinned to see Simone sitting in her “American idol” position up by the cave as the other actors entered from the marquee downstage on prompt side. The twisted plot developed steadily, and Jessica felt a surge of satisfaction that the next night an audience would be sharing the experience. She couldn’t wait to see their response to the show.

  Friday’s bookings were looking good, but that was to be expected when all the complimentary tickets they’d handed out to cast and crew were for opening night. It was the best way of ensuring that the critics saw an almost full house, and had the added benefit of a supportive audience who were involved with the show or performers in some way. The box plan for Saturday night’s show was looking pretty thin so far, but with word-of-mouth and a good review, she hoped that the seats would fill up quite rapidly.

  On stage, the characters of Raymond and Sarah embraced and kissed. Jessica felt hot blood rising to her face in the darkness as she remembered the steamy session of passion with Jack on her sofa. It had been quite a while since she’d let herself go so freely, and she hoped her enthusiastic response hadn’t scared him away. She snorted. He was a guy, for God’s sake – of course it hadn’t! She put her hands on her cheeks to quell the heat radiating off them. Perhaps she’d better stop thinking about his hard body pressing down on hers, his hot wet kisses, the devastatingly erotic way his fingers had touched her. It was all she could do to stop herself from whimpering with desire. She took a few deep breaths to calm her thoughts and forced her attention back to the stage, where the last few scenes progressed smoothly towards the happy ending. The curtain fell and she applauded heartily.

  Adam called for the curtain to go up again and bounded onto the stage to arrange how the cast members were to take their bows. After two quick runs to practise that, they sat down in the first couple of rows to hear his final notes on their performances.

  The stage crew struck the Petra set and put up the hotel set ready for the next performance. Gazza checked his lights. Backstage, Gert put all the props back in place on the props table. Clara-Jane hastily sewed a new button on where Phil had lost one off his trousers. The make-up ladies replenished their supplies. Erica put the food away and wisely padlocked the fridge.

  Once Adam had finished with the cast, Jessica checked that there was nothing else needed.

  ‘Nothing at all, thank you Jessica,’ he said, blue eyes sparkling warmly as he smiled down at her. ‘You’ve done an excellent job, as I knew you would. Try to keep this lot on the straight and narrow after I’ve gone, will you?’

  She was unhappily reminded that he’d be leaving town on Sunday once the season had started. She’d miss his calm authority round the place. With Adam gone, the next person in charge of the show was Austin as stage manager, and he wasn’t somebody she’d willingly trust in a crisis.

  ‘We’ll all miss you, Adam, it’s been great having you here again. What’s your next project going to be?’

  ‘A musical for a change – I’m reviving Carousel for the Hastings Music Society. After that I’ll take a break and work on something of my own for a while.’

  ‘Something we can premiere here for you?’

  ‘We’ll have to see how it goes. There’s a still quite lot of work to do on it yet. Right, I’m off – see you tomorrow night Jessica. Let’s hope we get a good house.’

  He clasped her warmly on the shoulder and walked swiftly towards the door. Just before leaving, Jessica pushed the season clock hand round to “Opening Night”.

  Next morning her alarm clock dragged her awake at a desperately early hour. She hauled herself out of bed and avoided looking in the mirror, knowing that no good could come of it. The only redeeming feature of her early morning disturbance was that she was appearing on radio rather than in any of the visible media, so the shadows under her eyes wouldn’t matter. She cursed Nick for getting himself arrested. He should have been doing all this publicity stuff. What sort of idiot left his DNA lying around to be found on a crime scene? It wasn’t as if he could put the “Shaggers Shield” on his mantelpiece – there wasn’t an actual trophy. In fact, most of the people who vied for it kept their attempts secret. Just knowing they’d done it was enough.

  She yanked a brush through her hair, applied the minimum of make-up, and headed for the radio station to appear on the breakfast show. Brad Bannerman, the morning show DJ, was unbearably cheerful, waving her into the studio to take a seat while he finished a traffic report and set a series of ads running. Jessica was glad to see the theatre’s publicity notes on the desk in front of him, suggesting that he’d taken the time to acquaint himself with the details of the show. He outfitted her with headphones, gave her a quick smile, and plopped back into his swivel chair just as the ads finished.

  ‘Hey, this is Brad The Man Bannerman and we’re back with Wake Up Whetford! In the studio this morning we have Jessica Jones from the Regent Theatre here to talk about their latest production “Appointment with Death”. Hi, Jessica, nice to have you with us. Tell me, was the murder of Tamara Fitzpatrick really a publicity stunt? One that went … horribly wrong?’

  Jessica’s jaw dropped. The gears in her head spun frantically then managed to engage with her mouth. ‘No, Brad, it wasn’t. Of course not! Tamara’s death was a shock to us all, and an absolute tragedy for her parents, Bruce and Ruth. She was a real person, Brad, not a means of gaining ratings.’

  She thought that would put him in his place but to her astonishment he was unabashed. ‘But you’d have to admit that all the publicity will help your production, wouldn’t you? Especially as the show you’re staging is a murder story.’

  ‘We’ve been getting all kinds of publicity lately, Brad. I’m sure your listeners are aware of the developers who are threatening to replace the theatre with a shopping mall – as if we need yet another mall instead of a hundred and thirty year old heritage building.’

  ‘You feel quite strongly about those developers, don’t you Jessica?’

  She was way ahead of him this time.

  ‘I do, Brad, but not enough to set their office on fire, if that was your next question.’

  He grinned at her and winked. She looked for something heavy to throw at him.

  ‘So, Appointment with Death – a vintage Agatha Christie?’

  What, was he co-operating now? About time. She sighed with relief.

  ‘Er, that’s right. A real thriller, with one of Dame Agatha’s twistiest endings.’

  ‘Indeed yes. I bet you’d hate me to give that away on air, wouldn’t you?’

  Jessica’s throat constricted. She glared at him and growled a reply into her microphone.

 
‘If anybody listening out there would like to bring me a rope, a revolver or a lead pipe right now, I’d really appreciate it. And Jack, if you’re hearing this, it’s justifiable homicide, right?’

  ‘No need for that, Jessica,’ Brad laughed. ‘I’m not giving anything away except a double ticket for opening night to the first five people who phone in now. You’ll have to go and see the show for yourselves, folks. Bookings are open right now, and the show runs from tonight until September the 18th at the Regent Theatre. And be listening to this station tomorrow for our review of the opening night performance in The Arts at Noon. And to Bruce and Ruth Fitzpatrick, our very deepest sympathy for the loss of your daughter Tamara. Thanks for coming in, Jessica. Now, the time is 7.15 and it’s back to the music with Police and their big hit “Murder by Numbers” from 1983.’

  He flicked a switch and came round the desk to take Jessica’s headphones. She gaped at him, lost for words.

  ‘I think that went pretty well, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Should get people talking about the show, and that’s the aim of the exercise after all.’

  ‘I guess so,’ she said faintly. ‘I just wasn’t expecting to field such curly questions this early in the morning.’

  ‘This is showbiz, Jessie-baby. Gotta jump on that train and ride it all the way.’

  She let herself out of the sound booth and escaped with relief, promising herself a large takeaway coffee as a reward. Although, on reflection, perhaps she would have coped better if she’d had the coffee before the interview.

  Her cell phone rang, vibrating her bag against her thigh.

  ‘Hi Jessica, how’s it going?’ asked Jack, a laugh in his voice.