Murder in the Second Row

by Bev Robitai

  Gazza interrupted him. ‘Sorry, Mr President, but there’s one more thing before that. For all your assistance with the show, both as President and construction manager, I felt you deserved a small token of our esteem. I’d like to present you with these.’ From behind his back, he brought out a bunch of large carpenter’s pencils, gift-wrapped with a red ribbon. The entire stage crew cracked up in laughter. Howard accepted the pencils gravely.

  ‘Thank you, Gazza. I shall cherish these, and will try not to lose them before the next production.’ He tossed them to MaryAnn who fielded them neatly. ‘Now they’re in safe hands, let’s get back to the Paddle nominations. For the benefit of newcomers to the society, the Golden Paddle is awarded to the person who makes the worst mistake that is noticeable by the audience. Actors who forget their lines, lighting cues that are late, sound effects in the wrong places – all the things that leave fellow performers up the creek without a paddle. And the nominees are…’

  Jessica’s attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure on the other side of the room. Jack Matherson had just slipped in through the stage door. She felt her face flushing with pleasure and surprise as her heart-rate seemed to double. His eyes swept around the room and settled on her with a warmth she could almost feel. She would have loved to go and greet him but the press of people in the Green Room meant that she’d have to wait until the speeches were over.

  Unexpectedly, she heard Howard mention her name and her attention snapped back to his speech. She was a nominee? For the Paddle?

  ‘What? Why? What did I do?’

  ‘I’m afraid the noise of the office door being broken down was clearly heard in the circle seats. A true professional would have let herself be stabbed quietly for the good of the show,’ proclaimed Howard, to delighted laughter from the others. Jessica shook her head in good-natured denial.

  But she didn’t win the trophy. Erica took the award for her mis-timed phone-call, and bore it away with good grace.

  ‘I do think you deserve some sort of reward for all your dedication though, Jessica,’ said Howard, ‘so we have a little presentation for you. These are domestic airline tickets to a destination of your choice. Jack, would you like to do the honours?’

  As Jessica gaped, Jack came forward, took the envelope that Howard handed him and beckoned her to the front of the crowd. When she reached him, quailing at being the subject of so much attention, he shook her hand politely and presented her with the envelope. Then he grabbed her in a passionate embrace and kissed her senseless while the crowd cheered and applauded.

  Once the formal stuff was over and party was in full swing, she pulled Jack upstairs to the Rose Room.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming tonight, you rat? But I’m so glad you did!’

  ‘Well, when the president of the Regent Theatre issues a personal invitation, who am I to turn it down?’ He sat back on the battered couch a little wearily. ‘Besides, it’s a nice antidote to what I was doing today. We went through the Fitzpatricks’ house. What a nightmare. Tamara’s mother was a deeply disturbed woman,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘When we searched her room we found piles of religious quotes that would make your hair stand on end. Warm family sentiments like “Suppose a man has a stubborn, rebellious son who will not obey his father or mother, even though they discipline him. Then all the men of the town must stone him to death.” It was pretty chilling stuff. And the clincher was “All who curse their father or mother must be put to death”, just as you heard her saying up on the roof. I’m afraid Tamara must have offended her mother once too often and paid the price.’

  ‘That’s just appalling,’ she said indignantly. ‘How can people possibly take the scriptures that seriously? I mean, there’s a lot of interesting stuff in the Bible, but you wouldn’t treat it as gospel.’

  He smiled. ‘Nice line. I’m afraid there are plenty of people who twist it to justify their own peculiar ideas though. But that’s enough of all that,’ he said, giving her a hug. ‘It’s making you sad. How about we get away from the serious stuff now? There’s a party going on out there you know.’

  She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Are you all that keen to drink and dance with a bunch of people you hardly know?’

  ‘No, not really.’ He paused. ‘Actually, I’ve got a better idea.’ His eyes lit with a wicked glint. ‘You know this old building pretty well don’t you – where’s a nice secluded place where a chap might take a girl to try out for The Shield?’

  She stood up purposefully and took his hand. ‘Come with me, Detective Senior Sergeant Matherson.’

  ‘I fully intend to, Ms Jones.’

  THE END

  To see what’s happening at the ‘real’ theatre that these stories are based on, go to the Theatre Royal page on Facebook. There are photos of the dear old place as she used to be before the recent refurbishments.

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theatre-Royal-Nelson/326764620668391

  All characters in this publication are fictitious, with the exception of ‘Howard Daniels’ who was given the opportunity to be a character in the book by his wife. Many of the events (other than the murder) actually happened and are part of my fond memories of messing about backstage at the Theatre Royal.

  Acknowledgements

  To all those who toil tirelessly in theatres everywhere, especially the past and present members of Nelson Repertory Theatre Inc. and the Theatre Royal Trust. I’ve borrowed many of your finer attributes for the most likeable characters in this book. The nasty ones are of course entirely fictional. (And remember, I had to save some good characters for future books.) The story is made up but the setting is the real old Theatre Royal just as she was before the latest refurbishments, with all her quirky little nooks and crannies.

  Special thanks are due to my old colleague Phil for advice on police procedures, and to Ken for some of the technical theatre stuff. Any inaccuracies are entirely your fault and have nothing to do with me, right?

  To the members of the Michael King Writers Centre writing group, thanks for putting up with the monthly instalments of the manuscript; your support was invaluable.

  What’s that darling? Yes, of course you’re getting a mention.

  Long live the Theatre Royal!

  ***

  Follow my Facebook page at ‘Bev Robitai, writer’. I post (irregular) updates on my progress with writing and publishing there, along with juicy snippets that take my fancy from the world of words.

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  Look out for these books

  Body on the Stage (the next theatre mystery).

  Dennis Dempster is fat, lonely, and dissatisfied with his life, but things are about to change. He joins a theatre group that’s staging a production of Ladies Night, full of male strippers, muscles and buff bodies. Suddenly fitness becomes a new option. In the course of his transformation he finds new friends, new purpose and a new love. And then he finds a dead body.

  Join your favourite characters back in the Regent Theatre with this second story in the Theatre Mystery series. Jessica and Gazza are on hand to guide newcomer Dennis Dempster around the theatre, but he’s in even more foreign territory when he gets to the gym. Lucky he has Cathy, the gym owner, on hand to look after him.

  Sunstrike (post-apocalyptic crime)

  Sunstrike follows the life of Averie, an ordinary woman in suburbia, when solar flares destroy the world's electricity supply. As society comes to terms with the
loss of transport, communications, and food supplies, Averie picks up some useful survival tips and a teenage companion who is not what he seems. With no outside help, she is forced to investigate a number of suspicious deaths using old methods of detection.

  Sunstrike: The Journey Home (post-apocalyptic adventure)

  Bradley Brown knows how to make the most of life. At 22, he is living the dream working as a dive instructor at a luxury resort in Bali. But his carefree lifestyle ends when the island’s electricity goes dead. After several days it becomes apparent this is no ordinary power outage. A massive solar storm has wiped out electrical technology across the globe, leaving Bradley stranded a very long way from home.

  His thoughts turn to his widowed mother back in New Zealand. Completely out of contact and worried she may need his help, he sets off on a long and difficult journey using any means of transport available. The world is different now; he faces unexpected dangers and treachery, growing up a little more with each new setback.

  Will Bradley make it across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand, and will he be ready for what he finds when he gets home?

  Eye for an Eye (light thriller)

  It’s a long way from her home on a quiet farm in the Marlborough Sounds to the bustle of downtown Toronto, but Robyn Taylor is a fearless and practical woman who can turn her hand to anything, including some very inventive punishments when necessary. When she discovers that Colwyn Symons has defrauded her family of thousands of dollars, leading to her father’s death, she has to take action. His enjoyment of the high-rolling lifestyle in the big city will come to an abrupt end if she can only get her hands on him.

  Mike Kent, a Canadian insurance investigator, persuades Robyn to help gather evidence that will put an end to Colwyn’s continuing frauds, but both of them underestimate Colwyn’s cold-blooded greed. When she faces kidnapping and attempted murder, Robyn’s survival skills are severely tested.

  A Reassuring Guide to Self Publishing (non-fiction)

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  If you have ideas for the next theatre story, do subscribe to my newsletter at this link http://eepurl.com/baLhIb and let me know. Sarah Taylor has suggested Little Shop of Horrors for the next show to use and I’m currently having fun tinkering with plot and characters. That big plant is going to be SO mean!