Murder in the Second Row

by Bev Robitai

  ‘Serious?’ Nathan beamed. ‘It really got them clapping? Cool! What about you – did you get that line right that was bothering you?’

  ‘Yeah, nailed it no trouble. Must have been all that practice you made me do.’

  Jessica patted Nathan on his tie-dyed shoulder and squeezed past them into the crowd, making her way to the bar where Greg passed her a glass of wine.

  ‘Have this one on me, Jessica. And I’ve got your parcel safely tucked away – let me know when you want it.’

  ‘Thanks, Greg. I’ll get it from you when Adam starts his speech.’

  The crowd gradually dwindled until just the cast, crew, and a few significant others were left in the foyer.

  Adam stepped onto the second step of the stairs and tapped his glass for quiet. Conversations quickly died away as all eyes turned towards him.

  ‘Well done, everybody – you’ve put together a fine show and from where I was sitting, the audience thought so too. I’m very proud of all of you, and I look forward to working with you again one day. Keep up the good work for the rest of the season and I wish you all the very best.’

  The whole company applauded enthusiastically.

  Howard stepped up next to Adam and shook his hand.

  ‘Thanks so much for all your help, Adam. It’s been a privilege to have you back here in Whetford, and we look forward to the next time you can join us. Keep an eye out for any productions that you think would work here, won’t you? Now, here’s just a small token from the cast and crew to remind you of the show.’

  Jessica passed him a gift-wrapped parcel which he presented to Adam. Adam carefully undid the paper and bubble-wrap to reveal a small bottle filled with a desert picture made of coloured sand. The label round the neck said “A Souvenir of Petra”.

  Adam smiled, looking impressed. He turned to Jessica. ‘Did you find this? That was very resourceful of you.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I’ve got friends in all the right places.’ And there wasn’t much you couldn’t achieve with Google and a credit card. She’d been mightily relieved when the small Jordanian gift-shop had lived up to their boast of sending their wares worldwide and she had got the pretty little bottle safely in her hand. ‘I did think of giving you a “nice maidenhairy fern” like the script says but I figured you’re away from home so much it would be a pain to look after.’

  ‘Practical as always, Jessica.’ He stepped down and gave her a quick hug. ‘Right, time to make my exit. Thanks again.’ He raised his voice. ‘Thank you everyone, you were terrific. I’ll see you next time.’

  He made his way towards the door, shaking hands and exchanging hugs as he went.

  Jessica felt a bit flat after Adam had left so decided not to stay for the rest of the opening night party, which would no doubt carry on until the wee small hours. She found Matt and Paul and told them to kick the revellers out when they wanted to get to bed. She got as far as her car then remembered to go back and reclaim her flowers from backstage.

  Just before going to bed, she went online and Googled “meanings of flowers”. Sure enough, Clara-Jane’s interpretations had been correct. And to her delight, she found that camomile apparently meant “initiative and ingenuity”. Jack scored even more points for that one. She climbed under the bedclothes with a smile on her face.

  Chapter 14

  Next morning she dressed hurriedly and walked down the road to buy the local newspaper, eager to read the review of the show. With heart thumping, she handed over the coins, grabbed the paper, and stood right outside the shop, flicking urgently through the pages until she found it. The bold headline made her gasp.

  Dated Mystery Fails to Thrill

  The real mystery is why the Regent Theatre decided to stage this antiquated Agatha Christie play when her shows are done so often and so well on television.

  That being said, the production was above average, with Director Adam Bryant drawing some strong performances from the amateur cast. Simone DuChaine kept the audience’s attention with her performance as Ida Boynton, the evil mother who rules her brood of adult step-children with an iron hand. Actors Phil and Pippa Jessop have been seen often on the Whetford stage but in this case were not playing opposite each other, instead taking the roles of Sarah King and Lennox Boynton. Stewart Parkinson made his debut as the hotel clerk and Emma Sinclair was suitably fey as Ginevra Boynton. Various somewhat dated comic characters played counterpoint to the main drama, as arrogant Lady Westerholme intimidated her companion Amabel Pryce – who, incidentally, was played in the original London production in 1945 by a young Joan Hickson who in later years gained worldwide fame portraying Miss Marple.

  The staging was generally suited to the era, although the garishly red rocks of the desert set were unnatural and a constant distraction in Acts Two and Three.

  Patrons might consider bringing cushions to augment the austere seating, and will need to be prepared for both heat and cold. The Regent Theatre society is to be commended for keeping the old building operating, but one has to wonder how much longer they can resist the tide of progress.

  Appointment with Death runs nightly at 8pm until September 18.

  Jessica felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Steadily increasing waves of anger crashed over her with every feverish re-reading of the weak yet damning review. Her pulse raced, sweat broke out on her face, and she felt sick. She crushed the paper into a tube and beat it to a pulp against a streetlight pole, then kicked the pole hard for good measure.

  Her middle toe broke with the impact.

  As she was teetering on one leg gasping with pain, her phone rang. She fumbled it out of her pocket, saw Jack’s name and decided he was worth answering despite her distress.

  ‘Yeah, hi,’ she managed to grind out, grabbing the pole for support.

  ‘Jessica? Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ There was enough hint of tears in her voice for him to respond instantly.

  ‘Where are you? Home? I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  She told him where she was, and was overwhelmingly glad to see him pull up next to her less than four minutes later. He leaped out of the car and came to her side, a reassuring smile not quite hiding the anxiety in his eyes. He helped steady her and opened the passenger door for her to sit down. Once they were both in the car, he took her hand.

  ‘Well Miss Jones, would you like to make a statement? What happened exactly?’

  She barked a shaky laugh. ‘Well, yer honour, I was proceeding in a westerly direction along King Street when I was viciously assaulted by a passing streetlight pole, resulting in the loss of the ability to walk. This assault was subsequent to a previous intellectual mugging by the author of a rather ill-considered piece of drivel masquerading as a theatrical review.’

  Jack considered this for a while. ‘Bad crit, huh?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So you kicked a pole?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  He leant over and held out his hand for her foot, unlacing her running shoe and easing it off as gently as possible. He felt each toe in turn, stopping immediately when she gasped as he touched the middle one.

  ‘Hm. Take off your other shoe.’

  ‘But I didn’t hurt that foot – it’s fine, really.’

  ‘Take off your other shoe, Jessica.’

  She obeyed, sighing heavily. ‘There, happy now?’

  He checked her feet side by side.

  ‘Does that sore toe look a little bit shorter to you?’

  She studied her two middle toes. ‘Yes,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘I suppose that means it’s broken, does it?’

  ‘Right, it’s off to the emergency room for you, missy. We’ll get it set and splinted and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Can we stop at the reviewer’s place on the way?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ll probably break my hand when I punch his lights out and it wou
ld save making a second trip.’

  He levelled a severe look at her, and she subsided, head hanging.

  ‘Just one thing before we go, Jack – could you buy me another newspaper, please? I’m going to need a copy of the review to plan what to say to the cast and crew.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘They’re going to be devastated.’

  As they waited in the hospital’s emergency room, Jack read the offending review. He looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘It doesn’t look that bad to me. It says the production was above average. What are you worrying about?’

  She laughed sadly. ‘I know how they’ll interpret it, you see. They’ll only see the negatives. “The amateur cast” and “somewhat dated” and “garish unnatural set”. We hang on every word of these damn things because it’s the only feedback we get other than general applause. And it’s stupidly important because it can make or break bookings. A lot of people wait to read the crit before deciding to book, and if it’s a lacklustre pile of tosh like this one, they probably won’t bother to go to the show at all. I hope to God the radio guy is nicer to us. He certainly looked more cheerful on the night.’

  She checked her watch. ‘I want to be home to record the radio review on the Arts programme at noon. They’ve been advertising all week that the show review will be on so it might generate quite a bit of interest. If it’s good and I can play it to the gang at the theatre tonight it should reverse some of the damage this one’s done.’ She smacked the newspaper glumly. ‘That is, assuming it’s any better.’

  ‘Don’t look so miserable! I’m sure you’ll get a glowing report.’

  ‘You’re probably right. It would be a cruel blow if both the critics happened to be cruel uncultured clods.’ She grinned. ‘Thanks, Jack – you’re good at making me feel better.’

  Jack’s pager beeped and he checked it, looking suddenly concerned. ‘Sorry, Jessica, something’s come up and I’m going to have to leave you here. Have you got enough cash for a taxi home?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll call Gazza or Howard to give me a ride once they’ve fixed my poor toe. You take off if duty calls.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Thanks for dashing to my rescue.’

  He bent down and kissed her lightly. ‘Any time. I’ll call you later to hear what the doctor has to say.’

  Once Jessica had finally been seen by the emergency doctor and patched up, she called Howard.

  ‘Hey, remember last year when you cut yourself on the saw and I took you to emergency? I’m there myself right now and calling in the favour. Would you possibly pick me up here and give me a ride home please?’

  Howard cheerfully collected her, drove her home and helped her inside. Her broken toe had been set and taped firmly to the one next to it so she didn’t need a cast, but she couldn’t put any weight on it. He settled her on the couch and put ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel onto her foot to keep the swelling down. At her insistence, he set up the radio to record the Arts programme before making them both a restorative cup of tea.

  ‘Nice flowers, Jessica. Who’s your secret admirer? That policeman chappie again, is it?’

  She couldn’t help blushing. ‘Yeah, Jack Matherson, just one of the cops on the investigation. Hey look Howard, it’s almost noon. The Arts review will be on any minute.’

  The song that was playing at 11.58am finished, there was a brief station identification, then another song started. Jessica frowned.

  ‘That’s odd. My clock’s right, isn’t it? That song won’t finish by 12, they’ll have to cut it off.’

  They listened, checking their watches. Noon passed with no pause in the music. The song finished, but there was no time check, just a station ID again and a new song. Howard and Jessica looked at each other.

  ‘That is odd,’ said Howard. ‘I’ve never heard that happen before. I might just give them a ring and find out what’s going on.’ He checked the number in the local directory and punched it in. While he waited, he pulled faces at Jessica, pretending to respond to unheard conversation. After a few minutes he gave up.

  ‘Nothing. No answer at all. Not even an answer machine, which is really strange. I might just drive down there and check it out, if it’s OK to leave you like this?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, go ahead. Just call me and let me know as soon as you find anything out. If they can’t broadcast for some reason, could you ask if you can get a transcript of the review at least – it might help.’

  Howard drove away with the promise of reporting back with whatever news he found.

  He phoned twenty minutes later.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, Jessica. There’s been a bomb threat at the radio station and the whole place is evacuated and cordoned off. Your friend Jack Matherson is here overseeing a whole squad of police chaps and they’re checking out a suspicious package that was left in the foyer.’

  ‘Holy shit, really? No wonder normal programming was interrupted! Hey, Jack’s not being heroic and doing anything dangerous, is he?’

  ‘No, there’s some chap in heavy protective gear standing here with a bunch of equipment and a little wheeled robot. Hang on a sec.’

  There was a pause while she heard a muffled conversation, then he was back on the line.

  ‘Sounds like they’re going to get the package out in the open and blow it up as a precaution. We’re all being moved back to halfway up Church Street. I’ll call you back.’

  Jessica waited in a fury of impatience. She would have paced if she’d been able. After ten more minutes she was ready to attempt to drive with one foot just to find out what was happening. Her phone rang and she snatched it up.

  ‘Jessica , Jack here. How are you? Did you get back from the emergency room all right?’

  ‘Yes yes, I’m fine.’ She yelled into the phone. ‘What’s happened at the radio station? Has anything blown up? You haven’t lost any vital parts, have you? Will they get back on air any time soon?’

  ‘Everything is under control,’ he said calmly, ‘except you. Sit back and I’ll tell you what’s going on so you don’t blow a gasket.’

  She sat on her sofa, all her attention focused on his warm voice in her ear.

  ‘The station got a phone call at 9.30 this morning warning them that there was a bomb on the premises. They evacuated and called us. A bomb squad guy flew in with a small robot which he sent in to check out a laptop bag that had been left beside a couch in the foyer. It brought it out to detonate in a cleared area. The bag blew open, there was no explosive inside.’

  ‘So it was just a hoax?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Something in his voice raised goosebumps on her neck.

  ‘It was something relevant, wasn’t it Jack? What was in the bag?’

  ‘Rather a lot of confetti, now. But before we blew it up it would have been a number of sheets of religious quotes on purple notepaper.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Exactly. I think, Jessica, that your nutter is expanding his sphere of influence. I hope to hell we can get enough evidence from this incident to track him down and prevent any more like it.’

  ‘Amen to that.’

  Shortly after she’d finished the call with Jack, her phone rang again. Howard was on the line with a smile in his voice.

  ‘Did your policeman friend just call you, by any chance?’

  ‘Yeah, how did you know?’

  ‘I was watching his face from across the road here. He went all soft instead of being The Man in Authority controlling the scene. I could tell it wasn’t an official call.’

  ‘Did he really?’

  ‘Yes he really did!’ he said, mimicking her delighted tone. ‘I think he likes you! Ooh, Jessie, perhaps he’ll ask you to the senior prom!’

  ‘Shut up, Howard! Don’t make me report you to MaryAnn. What’s going on at the radio station now? Are they going back inside yet? Will they get back on air?’

  ‘Just as soon as they get the all clear and that should be pretty much right away. But I’m afraid they’re going to carry
on with their scheduled programming. The Arts programme won’t play. I spoke to the head guy and he said they’d try to play the review on next Saturday’s show.’

  ‘AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!! That’s no freaking use at all! Did you tell him that?’

  ‘Jessica, the poor guy had just stared death in the face and almost had his entire workplace explode around him. The problems of the Regent Theatre don’t amount to a hill of beans as far as he’s concerned.’

  ‘Well they should,’ she said sulkily. ‘We’re his customers, aren’t we? Oh all right, you have a point. I’ll just try to figure out some other way of getting publicity. I could do a media release about how successful opening night was and send it to the paper, I suppose. They ought to have the decency to print it after dumping all over us with the crit. Did you get the radio station transcript at least? Is it better than that crap in the paper? Cool, bring it in tonight. Ooh, I just thought, we should probably put Matt and Paul on full security alert if this mad zealot’s going round threatening to blow things up. I’ll give them a call. Bye.’

  For the rest of the day she lay on the sofa, foot elevated as in the approved R.I.C.E. treatment, racking her brain for other ways to boost the show’s publicity. She managed to write a brief spiel about opening night and emailed it to the paper, signing herself as promotions manager in the hopes of sounding authoritative. After that she was stumped.

  By the time she was due to head for the theatre late in the afternoon, she had a full jotter page of suggestions, but most were heavily crossed out. Her swollen toe had subsided enough for her to slip on a canvas sneaker, but she was relieved when Howard showed up to give her a ride. He passed her the radio review transcript and she grabbed it eagerly.

  ‘Right, let’s see how Mr Brad The Man Bannerman liked our show.

  For any performer, there’s just nothing like the excitement of a live show in front of an audience. Whether you’re in a radio studio or on a stage, everything you say is heard instantly, no second chances, no re-takes. It gives live theatre an edge that movies and TV shows lack – the chance for an audience to be almost a part of the action.