The party pretty much broke up after that. Marty charged off into the night, Albert offered Brandon a ride home, and I cleaned up the pizza boxes and paper cups while Callie did something on her phone. I’d just put the last of the recycling in the bin when I noticed she was looking at me, her expression speculative.
“What?”
She held up her phone, the screen showing that she’d been looking at IMDb, the Internet Movie Database. “Broadway Melody of 1938,” she said. “What’s Eleanor Powell’s name?”
“Sally Lee,” I said automatically. Then I got a very bad feeling.
“Uh huh,” she said. “Just like that blogger Marty swears by. And what’s her name in Born to Dance?”
Born to Dance (1936, Eleanor Powell and Jimmy Stewart) had been one of my mother’s favorite movies. And my mother had married a man named Paige. I turned to face Callie squarely. “Her name is Nora Paige. Why do you ask?”
More speculative scrutiny. “I mean, if I was named after an Eleanor Powell character, and I found myself needing a fake name to for some reason, like, maybe to blog under, I might think it would be funny to use the name of a different Eleanor Powell character.”
“Interesting.” I gave the table a wipe with a paper towel. “Are you about ready to call it a night?”
She grinned. “Nora! You’re Sally Lee! Admit it!” She slapped the table. “Marty will die! This will literally kill him!”
I sat across from her. “Marty will never know,” I said meaningfully. “At least, not until I want him to.”
“This is too good,” Callie breathed.
I gave her a warning look. “Do you really want his head to explode?”
“It literally would,” she said. “But it would serve him right!”
“I’ll tell him eventually,” I assured her. “I’m just waiting till the time is right.” Sure, that’s what I was doing.
“Sure you are.” Her eyes were dancing. “Please just promise me one thing?”
I looked at her warily. “What?”
“Please, please, please let me be there when you tell him!”
I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no, either.
Chapter 35
The next morning it was with a full heart and a somewhat fuzzy head that I rounded the corner and saw the marquee lit up with showtimes for Broadway Melodies.
I hadn’t forgotten that Sam had been murdered in my theater, or that her killer was still on the loose. I hadn’t forgotten that McMillan had designs on the Palace and the neighborhood, designs that included burning down a business that refused to go along with his plans. I hadn’t forgotten about Warren. But standing on the pavement, with everything around me clean from yesterday’s rain, I felt a completely unwarranted optimism. Eleanor Powell would dance tonight.
My phone pinged. It was a text from June, finally.
Nora, I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’m sure you understand how difficult this has been. Let’s talk soon, okay?
I immediately wrote back.
June, I’m so glad to hear from you!
I started typing another message.
We have to talk about Cora. Do you know where she was when Sam was pushed from the balcony? Or when Warren was killed?
I was about to hit the Send button when something stopped me. The number I was using to text June was her business line. Would Cora, as her assistant, have access to it? Could she see June’s texts? If I sent that note, would it put June in danger? Or tell Cora that I was on to her?
I gritted my teeth and held the Delete key until my words were gone. It was too risky. I had to assume any text I sent June could be read and any voicemail I left her could be heard by my main suspect in Sam’s murder. So I sent June another text.
Please call as soon as you can. We need to talk. It’s about Warren and Sam.
I saw the three gray dots that told me she was replying, but then they disappeared. I held my breath, hoping the phone would ring with a call instead. Which is how Marty found me when he came out the lobby doors.
“Are you going to stand there taking selfies all day, or are you going to come in here and manage a theater?”
The phone didn’t ring. I put it in my pocket and went inside to manage a theater.
We had a pretty good turnout for the twelve fifteen. Mostly regulars, all very happy that we were open again. A few brave souls even sat in the balcony.
I’d gotten two more texts and a call from Otis Hampton during the day, and when I got another, I faced the fact that I’d eventually have to acknowledge him. So I finally responded.
Hi Otis. I know this is difficult. Trust me, I know. But I’m moving on, and I think you should do the same. There’s really nothing for us to talk about.
He answered immediately.
Trust me, there is. Please call.
I didn’t.
The two-thirty drew a slightly bigger crowd, and even included some people who weren’t eligible for the senior discount.
“I told you,” Albert winked as the last patrons went into the auditorium. “The 1940 is the best. People love Fred Astaire.”
“And Cole Porter,” I agreed. I went up to my office while the film was playing, hoping to find Trixie, but she still wasn’t back. I checked in with the PR firm and was just about to open my email when Callie burst into the room.
“Nora!”
She was completely freaked out, holding up her phone and pointing to it with wide eyes.
“What?” I immediately thought the killer had struck again. Had Cora killed June? Had McMillan gone after Cora?
“Ted!” Callie managed to say.
My heart plummeted. “What happened?” I’d been wishing all sorts of catastrophes on him, but now I was afraid. “Did Otis kill him?” Why was that my first thought?
She shook her head, her wild hair flying. “He tweeted.”
“Who tweeted?” This was getting ridiculous. I grabbed her phone.
Ted had tweeted.
If you’re anywhere near the Bay Area tonight you need to get to the Palace Theater where my best friend Nora is showing some amazing movies. Trust me, you do not want to miss out. #filmbuffs #fomo #SanFrancisco #placetobe
I stared at Callie. “Best friend?” I must have looked as shocked as she did. “Why in the world…?”
“He has eight million followers,” Callie breathed.
I swallowed. “We better make some more popcorn.”
That evening, for the first time since I’d been there—possibly for the first time in decades—there was a line down the block from the Palace box office. When Brandon showed up with his mom, just intending to watch the movies, we got him a stool and put him to work at the espresso machine. Claire and Mike sold popcorn, drinks, and snacks as fast as they could, and Albert greeted every single filmgoer as if they were his long-lost friends.
Marty, true to form, was having none of it. “These people aren’t here to see a classic movie,” he said when I checked on him in the projection booth. He was scowling down on the crowd from the booth’s little window. “They’re just here to be part of some stupid viral Internet scene.”
“I know,” I told him. “And they all paid for the privilege. Isn’t it great?”
He snorted, which is all I could really expect.
Before I could catch my breath the six-thirty was about to start. I’d been keeping my eye out for Hector and Gabriela. He’d texted earlier to let me know they were coming. When they finally arrived, they looked around the bustling lobby in amazement.
“All these people are here for a black and white movie about a tap dancer?” he asked. I have to say that wounded me a bit.
“Not according to Marty,” I admitted. “But once they’re in the door we can make converts of at least some of them.”
“Are you sold out?” Ga
briela asked.
I blinked. “I have no idea. We’ve never had to count the customers before.”
I went with them to the back row of the auditorium, where there were gaps between the seats to allow for wheelchairs. “Let me get you some popcorn,” I said as they got settled, but Hector put his hand on my arm.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You have several thousand other things to do, yes?”
I felt the heat of his hand all the way down to my toes. He nodded and left to go back to the lobby, and I realized Gabriela was looking at me closely.
“Um…” I said, brilliantly. My mind had gone completely blank.
“I think my cousin is already one of your converts,” Gabriela said.
I could only hope so. I was fast becoming one of his.
Standing at the back of the packed house, listening to the opening strains of “Broadway Melody” over the titles, I felt tears in my eyes. This is what I’d wanted from the first day I’d come to the Palace. All these people sharing an experience together. Sharing something wonderful.
I’d have given anything for Trixie to be able to see it. I kept thinking I saw her in the crowd, just out of the corner of my eye, but then when I looked again, she wasn’t there. It was like she was a ghost or something.
And then, before I knew it, everything was over. The six-thirty, the eight-fifteen, and the ten o’clock shows had all had record-setting crowds. By the time the last of the customers had left the building it was after midnight and we were all completely drained. We were also sold out of everything but gummy bears.
Claire and Mike dutifully grabbed brooms and buckets as soon as the lights came up, and Callie had already closed down the cash registers during the final show, so it didn’t take long until we were ready to lock up.
“Callie, may I offer you a ride home?” Albert asked gallantly. It was midnight, but the ninety-something-year-old looked like he’d just gotten his second wind. “Nora? Children?”
“Children” was directed at Claire and Mike, who accepted his offer. I wanted to hang back for a bit.
“You guys all go. I want to go upstairs and check my phone. I got a million messages tonight and haven’t answered any of them.” Which normally wouldn’t have phased me, but this time not all the messages were about things I was trying to avoid.
Marty thumped down the stairs. “Well, at least that’s over,” he said.
“Until tomorrow.” I held up crossed fingers.
“Don’t kid yourself. Internet fads never last. We’ll be back down to the hardcore regulars before the week is out.”
He was probably right, but damn.
They all trailed out and I locked up behind them. I could have checked my messages from home, but I wanted to try to contact Trixie one more time.
I went up the stairs, humming “Begin the Beguine,” because Cole Porter is irresistible. I pulled my phone out of my pocket when I got to the landing. I’d turned it to silent hours ago because it seemed like everyone in the world had been texting me about Ted’s tweet.
“Trixie?” I called when I got to the hallway. “Everybody’s gone. It’s just me.” It’s possible that, as much as I thought she’d have enjoyed it, all the commotion might have been too much for her.
I glanced at my texts as I got to the office. The most recent one came up first.
I have to see you. I need your help. I’ve been in hiding. Don’t trust Cora. And don’t tell the police. I’ll come to the Palace after your last show. Please, Nora. Please help me.
It was from June.
Five minutes later I was back down in the lobby, pacing. I’d sent June a text telling her it was safe to come, then I’d turned off the lobby lights so nobody would see her approaching from the street.
I wanted to call Detective Jackson, but June had said not to. Why? My screenwriter mind went to a dozen possibilities. Maybe June had hurt Cora and was afraid of getting into trouble? Maybe Cora had some sort of connection to the police that June knew about?
That was ridiculous. June had said “the police” but she hadn’t said “Marty’s boyfriend the detective.” I was deep into a message to Jackson when I heard a sound coming from the auditorium. A sound I recognized. It was the screen going up.
“What the…”
“Nora!” I looked up. Trixie was skipping down the stairs. “Oh, Nora, it was wonderful! Why, I haven’t seen that many people here in I don’t know how long! Gee, how’d you do it? What—”
“Trixie, you were here?”
“’Course I was here. Where else would I be?” Which was a question for greater philosophical thinkers than myself.
“I didn’t see you. I mean, I thought I saw you, but—”
“Oh, well. With that many people around I kind of just popped in and out, you know?”
No, I didn’t know, but we didn’t have time for that right then. Someone was in the auditorium. Someone had raised the screen.
“Trixie, stick with me,” I said. “Something’s going on.”
Her eyes grew wide and she nodded, following me to the auditorium doors.
When I opened them, I saw the stage lights were glowing, the screen was up, and there was a figure sprawled on the stage near the gaping trap door. June stood over the figure, her clothes dirty and torn. She looked up when she heard the door.
“Nora!” she yelled. “Thank God you’re here! Cora tried to kill me!”
Chapter 36
The figure on the floor, Cora, moaned and moved. June took a step back, holding something in her hand.
“Hurry!” she called. “I need your help tying her up!”
I raced down the aisle and up the stairs.
“Nora!” Trixie called, following me.
“June, what happened? Where have you been?”
The usually-elegant realtor brushed her disheveled hair from her face. “Cora killed Sam,” she said. “She’s been holding me captive.” She spoke quickly, babbling, as I took in the sight of Cora, bruised and semiconscious, at her feet.
“She closed down the office,” June said. “She used my email to send everyone but me a note telling them not to come in, and then she attacked me when I got to work.”
June looked feverish. Her eyes kept darting back to the prone figure of Cora, who again moaned and moved. June had been a prisoner somewhere in the office when I’d knocked on her door the day before.
They were both near the hole in the stage that Brandon had fallen through. Dangerously close. And the orange traffic cones I’d place at the four corners of the trap were no protection from its edge.
“Nora, it’s her!” Trixie said urgently.
“I know,” I murmured, only half paying attention because I’d just registered that something was out of place. The wrappings for the rental furniture, the ones Brandon had never fetched from the back of the stage before he fell, were now piled next to the trap.
“Cora was going to burn down the Palace,” June said, frantic. “She was going to leave me in here to die. Thank God I was able to get free and text you. Here, help me tie her up.” She kicked the pile of wrappings toward me. The pile of straps and much-used padded blankets that looked greasy and incredibly flammable.
“Nora, that’s the real estate lady who went into the balcony with Sam!” Trixie said.
“I know,” I said, not caring if June heard me. “Don’t worry. I’m going to—”
“No!” Trixie stepped in front of me as I was about to pick up a strap. “Not her! Her!” She pointed at June. “She’s the one I saw go into the balcony!”
I froze. June, focused on me, seemed to sense something had changed.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” June and Trixie both yelled at the same time.
Then I saw what June held in her hand. A lighter.
Co
ra moaned again and tried to sit up. “Don’t move!” I told her. If she rolled over on her side, she could plummet through the trap.
I met June’s eyes. She knew I knew.
Trixie stood between us, her arms stretched out in either direction, as if she could hold us both back. She swiveled her head from June to me. “Nora?” Her voice was uncertain. She didn’t know what to do. I didn’t either.
“Why did you do it, June? Why did you kill Warren and Sam?”
She looked at me for a moment, as if trying to make up her mind. Probably about whether to kill me now or kill me later.
I swallowed. “I thought Cora was the killer. I thought she and McMillan were working together.”
June barked a laugh. “Cora? Please. She was just doing what Stan and I told her to do.” Her eyes narrowed on me. “You thought he was the big bad mastermind, didn’t you? You thought he was the one buying up the neighborhood. I could tell the minute you met him. You gave him all the credit. Well he wasn’t. I am. I’m the one in charge of the whole thing.”
“In charge?” I echoed. “You killed two people.”
“Not because I wanted to!” she shouted. “I didn’t have a choice. Warren never should have been at that bar that night. He never should have seen Cora and Stan together. He had only himself to blame!”
“Nora,” Trixie whispered. “What should I do?”
But there was nothing she could do. I shook my head.
“Warren thought you’d freak out when he told you he saw them,” I said to June. “He thought Cora was going behind your back to work with your competition.”
“She was just our intermediary,” June said. “Our carrier pigeon. I’m not stupid enough to use texts or emails that could leave a record. So I used her.” She looked down at Cora with disdain. “She hated Stan. All I had to do is tell her I was going to set him up for a fall and she did anything I told her to.”
Murder in the Balcony Page 24