Final Call

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “My lips are sealed. So what about the case? Any news?”

  “Shannon’s just finishing up another interview with the theater producer, Carl Walsh, which is why I have his phone. He’s trying to get the inside scoop on everyone connected with the theater. By the way, eight years ago two of their actors did go missing on the night of an opening performance, and no one had a clue until they missed final call. The rumor was that they ran away together, but we can’t find any trace of them. No taxes filed, and none of their relatives have heard from them. Nothing. So either they ran away to another country, changed their identities, or they’re dead.”

  I knew which I thought was most likely. Though I’d seen only one glass prepared with poison eight years ago, the killer had planned two.

  “So far, only Walsh, the director, and two of the male actors were connected to the theater eight years ago,” Tracy continued, “and both those actors were basically part-time child actors. There are five actors who have been with the company six years, but most have been there less than four. Obviously, not a company that holds employees for long.”

  “Maybe there’s a connection with a relative of one of the current actors.”

  “I’m working that angle now. So far, I’ve come up with nothing. It’s hard to know where to begin. There are close to thirty actors in the company.”

  “Walsh has the most to lose by actors going missing or dying. After all, he’s the producer and the manager. Think of the revenue losses he had that night eight years ago if he didn’t have understudies.”

  “They didn’t, which was unusual in and of itself, so I’m told. I’ll be honest. I don’t like the man, but I don’t see a motive.”

  I had to agree with her on both accounts. “I may have found out something about Rosemary, but I don’t know how it ties in with the murder.” Unless Rosemary’s father had a connection to the theater company I didn’t know about. Then again, with Barry Taylor’s hatred of the profession, maybe there was a connection. He could have had an altercation with one of the actors, was trying to cover up an affair, or any number of other variations. If we could find a connection, we might have a clearer picture of the man.

  “Well, spill it,” Tracy said, shaking me from my thoughts.

  “It’s Rosemary’s father.” I outlined my conversations with Liam and Mrs. Taylor, as well as my own thoughts about Mr. Taylor. “I know it’s a long stretch, but at least it’s a lead.”

  “I’ll send someone to check out the cabin and the surrounding area. But most cabins have a lake nearby. If he is guilty and he dumped her there, we may have to wait until spring to find a body. It’s been pretty cold the last few days. If the lake is small enough, it could have frozen over.”

  Body. “I’m still hoping she’s alive.” I wanted that for the family. I liked Mr. Taylor less than I liked Carl Walsh, and I wouldn’t mind finding him guilty, but Liam and his mother had suffered enough.

  “If they find anything at the cabin, I’ll have them save it for you to read.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tracy was one of the few officers who had embraced and used my talent from the beginning. With her encouragement, I’d learned to use it better and help put bad people behind bars. Her belief in the face of Shannon’s initial skepticism was probably what had made me stick with helping the police in the first place. My willingness had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Shannon’s eyes turned my insides to liquid even back when I used to annoy the heck out of him on purpose.

  Hmm.

  “Let me know,” I said.

  “What are you going to do? I know you won’t just be sitting around.”

  “Hey, I’m at work. I gotta make a living somehow. Consulting for you guys doesn’t pay enough.”

  She laughed. “Okay, that’s what I’ll tell Shannon. He always asks.” Amusement was thick in her voice. “When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I’m hanging up now. But I want to meet this doctor—and touch some of his things.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know that I want to know.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s better to know. Remember the attorney?” But I knew what she meant. I purposely stayed away from Jake and Shannon’s belongings, even though, at least for Shannon, I really wanted to know more. I hadn’t even been to his house, which was probably for the best. I knew how he’d feel about me reading his things. Or I once did. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

  “Hey, they’re coming out now. Walsh looks like he’s in a hurry. He’s saying something about auditions. Looks upset. I’ll talk to Shannon about Rosemary, and if he needs information, he’ll call.”

  “Thanks.” I’d barely hung up when the cord of connection I felt with my sister began to thicken. I wondered if it was this way with all twins or only those with our strange talents. Of course, I’d felt it with my adoptive parents, too. She’d only ever felt it with me.

  I went around the counter and was halfway across the room when the bells above my door signaled its opening. As usual, Destiny was in Tawnia’s arms, which I quickly rectified by grabbing her. “Hey, baby, how’re you doing? Did Momma bring you for me to watch while she goes to work?”

  “The meeting was postponed until Wednesday,” Tawnia said. “But we have news, so I thought we’d come in anyway and share.”

  “It’s about Laina, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Laina Drexler Walkling, our biological grandmother.”

  Chapter 12

  Before Tawnia would tell me anything, she insisted on my updating her about the case. I would rather have kept her out of it altogether, and she must have suspected my feelings. Reluctantly, I filled her in, including my plan to return to the theater and show Mr. Taylor’s picture around.

  “Your face looks worse than yesterday,” she informed me when I’d finished. “You sure you haven’t done anything else to it? No more strange figures attacking you in the night?” She was only half kidding. Maybe that was the reason she’d insisted on the update.

  “I’m fine. Bruises always look worse before they get better.” She didn’t need to know that my arm and ribs still ached from the tussle outside Rosemary’s.

  “Why don’t we go to the theater right now?” she said. “I can tell you about Laina as we drive, and I can help you once we get there.”

  I looked pointedly down at Destiny. “What if it’s not safe?”

  “It’s broad daylight, and there’s two of us. Plus all the actors. Nothing’s going to happen. Whoever killed that woman is long gone by now or at least lying low. They have no reason to do anything to us. Besides, it was a poisoning, not a shooting or something of that nature, and we aren’t going there to eat or drink. If we see anyone mixing lemonade, we’ll run for the hills.” She laughed.

  She was right. Besides which, I knew Tawnia wouldn’t leave Destiny with anyone but me or Bret—not that I blamed her. Destiny was an angel while we were holding her, but she’d reached the age where she would cry with anyone except family. A part of me also hoped Tawnia’s being at the theater might evoke another of her drawings, one that could give us some hint to where Rosemary might be.

  “It’s dead here, anyway. Jake and his sister can watch the place.” I pulled on my coat, my own once again—smelling fresh from the dryer at my apartment building—and grabbed my phone, which should have the necessary picture of Rosemary’s father before we arrived at the theater. “Let’s go tell Jake.”

  We entered the Herb Shoppe where Jake was finishing up with a customer. “We’re going for a drive,” I said. “Will you watch my shop?”

  “Sure. I’ve been kind of busy here, but Randa will be in soon. Is Thera coming in today?”

  “No.” We shared the two part-time employees, but I’d called Thera and asked her not to come in because we had no cu
stomers. The rest of us could handle any rush in the small Herb Shoppe. One thing I loved about Thera was how flexible she was about her hours. As a widow, she spent her time between my shop and her grandchildren, but I suspected she only worked at all to keep an eye on me. She’d been kind of sweet on Winter before he died and seemed to feel responsible for me, though as far as I knew, Winter had never looked at another woman in the twenty-odd years since Summer died. “You can call her if you need to.”

  “Okay. Have fun.” He paused and added in a lower voice, “Can I call you later?”

  I smiled. “Sure.” If I wasn’t fighting off black-masked attackers.

  Tawnia was silent until we got out to her car. She strapped Destiny in, while I sat in the passenger seat debating whether or not to pull on my boots. In the end, the rain hitting against the windshield convinced me. I really dislike winters. If I hadn’t had so many roots here, I’d probably have upped and moved to California or Hawaii. I wondered if Tawnia and Bret could get jobs there.

  “Where to?” Tawnia asked, pulling out her GPS.

  “No need. I have it here on the phone.”

  “Oh, cool.” She put the car in gear and pulled out into the light traffic.

  “So, what did you find out?” I prompted, unable to wait another second.

  “Laina is excited to meet us, but she wants to come to Portland. Apparently, she has other children and grandchildren, some of whom live with her, and she—well, she didn’t say it, but I got the impression she wants to meet us before she decides how much she’s going to tell her family.”

  For some reason the idea of Laina being so cautious rankled. After all, it was essentially her fault that Kendall had been raped and conceived us. “I guess she’s worried we might be kooks or have some strange gifts,” I muttered.

  “Oh, come on, Autumn. It’s not like you to be bitter.”

  I sighed. “It’s been a tough couple days, and the worst thing is that I’m really no closer to finding Rosemary.”

  “What about Mr. Taylor?”

  “Well, he has a hatred of actors, but it seems a long shot to connect him with Cheyenne’s death, and I can’t figure out how he’d be connected to the other theater poisoning eight years ago.”

  “The poisonings have to be connected with Rosemary?”

  “The timing of her disappearance and her connection with the theater say yes—I don’t believe in coincidence—but I could be wrong.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find something.” Tawnia sounded excited. Maybe now she’d understand why I couldn’t quit what I did, even when it was dangerous.

  “So when do we meet Laina?”

  “She’s coming to Portland tomorrow for something, and she’d like to stop by. Will that be okay? She’s not exactly sure of the time but in the morning after nine. Maybe we can take her to Smokey’s for lunch if she comes at eleven or so.”

  “I’ll ask Thera to cover for me. But isn’t Bret getting home tomorrow?”

  “Late, probably.” She glanced at me and then back at the road. “I can’t believe we’re finally going to get answers about our relatives.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. I mean, we each had parents who loved us. What are we really looking for?”

  “I want to know about our abilities,” I said. “I want to know why we use a part of our brains that no one else does.”

  She nodded. “That seems harmless enough. Not emotional. We should keep it that way.”

  Easy for her to say. My sister was a rock—logical, methodical, and persevering. I was none of those things.

  In a lower voice, I added, “I also want to know more about Kendall.”

  We exchanged a look. No way not to be emotional about that. For either of us.

  Seconds of silence passed between us, and then Tawnia asked, “Did you hear the way Jake asked if he could call you?” Tawnia deepened her voice. “‘Can I call you tonight?’ Wow, he sounds like some movie star or something. How can you resist?”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe I shouldn’t. It was easy between us, and I knew I could trust him with my life and my feelings. But now that I had become so involved in finding missing people, I wanted more.

  “How far out in the boonies is this anyway?”

  I looked at the map on my phone. “We’re about five minutes away. Take a left at the next light.”

  When we arrived at the rundown theater, the front looked as dead as it had Saturday night, but the back lot was scattered with cars, presumably belonging to the actors.

  “They must be rehearsing,” I said.

  As on Saturday night, someone had left a brick to hold the prop room door open a crack. Either the last person in had forgotten to kick it out of the way, or they were still waiting for someone.

  No one was in sight, so I shucked off my boots at the door and led the way barefoot through the dimly lit prop room and down the hall. The women’s dressing room was empty, and we continued through the theater to the stage. A group of actors lounged about in the chairs behind Paxton Seaver and Carl Walsh. Everyone was staring at a young woman on the stage who was reading from a script.

  As we peeked from the side, Walsh bounced to his feet, an action that looked too agile for his round body. After leaving the police station, he must have broken speed limits to get here in time for these auditions. “No, no, no. Sorry, miss. This isn’t the part for you. Next!”

  “Who’s the chubby guy in the bad suit?” Tawnia whispered.

  “Producer and stage manager, Carl Walsh. The other guy is the director, Paxton Seaver.”

  Another applicant moved onto the stage, her hesitant steps not boding well for her chances. Beside me, my sister’s eyes gleamed as the woman started reading aloud.

  “For the Love of Juliet!” Tawnia whispered. “You didn’t tell me that was the play they were doing. It’s marvelous! I saw it five times in Nevada. I even tried out for the part of Juliet at a community theater there but lost to the director’s daughter.” She laughed softly. Destiny, intrigued with her mother’s teeth, tried to put her hand in her mouth. Tawnia grabbed her hand and grinned.

  The performance of the aspiring actress was met with utter disregard. “We’ll let you know,” Seaver said, waving the woman off the stage.

  Carl Walsh stood and faced the actors in his company behind him. “This isn’t working,” he announced. “One of you will have to do it. Vera, what about you? You could do the part justice, don’t you think?”

  Vera. The actress with the red wig who’d told me about the bad luck revolving around this play. Walsh would never convince her to do it.

  Before Vera could respond, one of the male actors I hadn’t met said, “What about them?” He pointed to me and Tawnia as we edged onto the stage.

  Walsh and Seaver turned, hopeful expressions on their faces. Seaver stood, and both men hurried over, Seaver smiling when he recognized me. “Come to try out?” he asked. “I told you you’d be good for the part.”

  Walsh harrumphed.

  I opened my mouth to say no, when Tawnia shoved Destiny into my arms. “Sure, why not? Give me a script.”

  They both stared at her and then at me, puzzlement on their faces.

  “My sister,” I explained, not hiding the irritation in my voice.

  “She wouldn’t have to wear a wig,” Seaver commented.

  Walsh rolled his eyes. “We need someone who can act at least well enough to let the others shine. You know what it means if we don’t find someone. We’ll both be looking for a new job. We need the funding.”

  Funding? This was the first I’d heard about money being involved. I knew Walsh had important relatives on Broadway, but was there more to it than their hunt for good actors? Had they been supporting him as well? Yes, that
had to be it. No wonder the small company had been able to survive all these years.

  Paxton Seaver smiled. “My director’s gut tells me we’ll be okay.” He handed Tawnia a script and indicated a marked passage. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I went down the stairs and followed the men back to the front row of seats. Taking her time, Tawnia read silently through the script. Then, with a quick nod of her head, she began to pace the stage as she spoke, unlike the previous applicant, who’d stood in one place like a frightened child. Tawnia was bold, brilliant, and someone I suddenly didn’t know.

  I stared. She’d told me about her theater experience, but it wasn’t something I’d witnessed firsthand. It belonged to her old life, before Portland, Bret, and the baby. Before she’d met me. In my untrained eyes, she was good. There were rough spots that had Seaver wincing and Walsh grimacing, but when she’d finished, they looked at each other and nodded.

  “We can make this work,” Seaver said, in a voice that only Walsh and I could hear.

  “We could still get Vera to do it, or maybe Erica.”

  “Vera’s all wrong. She’s got the witty part down but not the heart. And Erica, well, she’s too strong. We need the crowd to feel more sympathetic. This girl is likeable.”

  Walsh pursed his lips. “You’re the director.”

  “Have I ever let you down?”

  “Plenty.” The two men stared at each other in mutual dislike until I wanted to squirm.

  With a shake of his head, Seaver stood, and his voice boomed out in the quiet of the theater. “You’re hired. We start rehearsal today.”

  “Better watch her back,” someone whispered to me. I turned to see Vera, whose pretty face was drawn in a spiteful grin. “You know what happened to the last two women who took the part.”