Final Call

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  I sprinted to the back door of the theater, planning to use the gun to shoot my way in if I had to, but as usual, it was propped open with the brick. Did that mean someone was planning to return? Or was someone inside waiting for me as he—or she—might have waited for Tawnia?

  My sister had been tricked. My bet was on Vera and her boyfriend and maybe Walsh, but Grady was also high on my list. Seaver was the only one who couldn’t be responsible.

  Unless he had an accomplice.

  I ducked inside, keeping low in case someone was there. I felt relieved when the door cut out most of the light behind me and nothing as yet had moved. Not even the normal dim lights were on in this large room, and I was almost blinded. The only light came from a slice near the door and two tiny windows so caked with grime that they barely radiated a glow.

  I pulled off my boots and started forward on silent bare feet, choosing to edge my way through the prop tables and racks instead of taking the relatively clear path I’d always used before. Every now and then I squatted and listened. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  My eyes had adjusted to the dimness by the time I reached the far side of the room. I would have several new bruises from the tables, but those meant little to me in my hurry.

  Had the killer poisoned my sister? Was she even now in a closet somewhere struggling for breath? I had to find her without alerting whoever might be here. Or would the precious seconds I was taking to go unnoticed cost my sister her life?

  I nearly stumbled into Destiny’s car seat before I saw it standing sentinel to the right of the door leading to the hall, the back facing the path through the props. A baby blanket had been tossed over the top sloppily, as if whoever had done it had been in a hurry. Grabbing for the blanket, I held my breath, hoping.

  Destiny was lying inside, asleep, her tiny face reddened as though she’d cried for a long, long time. Her fists were still clenched with effort. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m here.” I went around to the front and scooped her up. She barely moved at the motion, but her pulse was strong and indicated that she had simply cried herself to sleep. She was so exhausted that even as I wrapped her in the blanket, she didn’t awaken.

  Instinct told me to run. To get out and get the baby to safety. That was what Tawnia would want me to do. But I couldn’t leave my sister. So, should I try to hide the baby and go on? Or would her cries simply alert whoever had lured my sister here?

  I decided to keep Destiny with me. She wasn’t crawling yet, and in a pinch I could find a place to hide her where rolling wouldn’t be an issue. Maybe. Whatever happened, she was a part of me, and I couldn’t leave her any more than I could leave Tawnia.

  Covering my hand with the edge of my coat to avoid imprints, I swept a few props from a table into the car seat and replaced the blanket. With any luck that would fool anyone wishing Destiny harm for at least a few minutes.

  The hallway was absolutely black, and I knew Tawnia wouldn’t have stayed in a dark theater, so someone had turned out the light after she arrived. Or she hadn’t been in a condition to object. I’ll find you, I thought.

  Wait. I was forgetting something important.

  I crept back to the car seat and, pulling off my antique rings, I slipped my hand under the blanket, touching the plastic handle. I knew there were imprints on the car seat, but they’d always been faint—feelings of satisfaction, frustration, and a number of other emotions—more from constant use than from any attachment my sister had with it. This time there was something new, something recent. Less than an hour.

  I have to get out of here. Something’s wrong. Three cars outside and those people standing around talking, but where is everyone else? Hurrying back to the outside door, only to see it opening from the outside, illuminating a figure there. Black clothes, black mask.

  “Where are you going, Juliet?” A high voice. A woman? Or simply effeminate?

  The figure came across the prop room fast. What about my Emma? I can’t let him hurt her. The black figure stumbled. Must be over the diaper bag I dropped.

  Running back the way I’d come, farther into the prop room. Reaching over to set down the car seat, as far as I could from the path through the room.

  Abruptly, the imprint cut off. Tawnia must have tossed the blanket over Destiny, trying to hide her. Had the person in black taken Tawnia far enough away that they hadn’t heard the baby’s crying?

  My bare feet padded softly over the wood floor but still sounded loud in my ear. The theater was cold, the heat obviously off. I wished I dared call out for Tawnia, but that would alert whoever was with her.

  The women’s dressing room was first on my list of places to search, but nothing inside stirred, and the connection with my sister hadn’t thickened.

  Again I debated leaving Destiny, perhaps inside one of the larger cupboards, but I decided against it. I cradled her in my left arm, leaving my right hand free for the gun. I’d sworn to myself and Shannon that I could never use the gun on a person, but all that had changed, now that my sister and my niece were in danger.

  I went on, peeking inside every room as I passed. I didn’t have time to check the closets—yet.

  The door to the backstage was open, and I headed in that direction. One look through the curtains and I’d be able to see if anyone was on stage or in the seats. The term backstage door was a little deceptive, since it really led to the right side of the stage. There was another matching door on the left side.

  “So,” a high voice was saying as I crept through the darkness. “Are you going to drink, or should I go find that baby of yours and give her a sip first?”

  Fear crawled across my shoulders. I knew that voice, and it wasn’t the actor Lucas with the high-pitched voice. There was no denying the bitter, sarcastic tone. And now that I’d recognized it, I believed it was also the voice from both Cheyenne’s imprints. And from Tawnia’s.

  Erica Tibble.

  What I didn’t understand was her motive.

  “What’s going to stop you from doing something to her even if I do drink it?” Tawnia asked.

  “Well, you have a point there.”

  Inching up to the curtain that blocked me from view of the stage, I peered through the gap and saw a slender figure dressed in black, a knit ski mask over her face and matching gloves. The way she walked was all woman, and even with a coat partially obscuring her figure, I didn’t believe she was the same person who’d attacked me in the prop room Saturday night. In fact, I’d seen her moments before in costume, and there hadn’t been enough time for her to change. So why the pretense? Why the mask? Even Tawnia had to guess who she was.

  My sister sat on a wooden chair, a solid, old-fashioned chair that had likely been a prop for decades. Each of her arms was tied to an armrest, and her waist and feet were tied as well. I could tell by the stiffness of her back that she was frightened, but she wasn’t groveling, and I knew she hoped to talk her way out. The chair was positioned in front of a table that held a single glass full of yellow liquid and a fake lantern running on batteries.

  “Even if I have to shove this lemonade down your throat, you’ll still get enough to kill you.” Erica paced around Tawnia’s chair. “But it would be easier if you’d swallow. Easier for both of us. Faster for you in the end.”

  “I’m not staying in the play,” Tawnia said. “I’ve told you that. That’s what I came to tell Seaver today. I only came in the first place to help my sister with the investigation.”

  “Your sister.” Derision laced Erica’s voice. “It’s because of her I had to do this. Sooner or later she was going to run into something I’d left imprints on.”

  “What do you know about imprints?” I could hear the defense in my sister’s voice and a strength that made me proud.

  Good for you, I thought.

  “I saw the way she was touching everything—i
t was obvious she was more than she let on. And you’d be surprised how much your average uniformed cop will tell you when you turn on the charm.” She struck a dramatic pose with her hand to her heart. “Then there’s the Internet. The police have kept it remarkably quiet, but there’s still a journalist or two that got it right. Turns out, there’s even a picture that looks just like you and your twin when they talk about an unnamed source. So I’ve been following your sister and talking to people. I even followed her to Rosemary’s parents’ house and chatted with Rosemary’s brother after she left. I pretended my car broke down and that I needed to use their phone. He didn’t even recognize me from when he came to the theater—I was in costume when he came. Sweet kid, though rather too trusting, if you ask me. Anyway, your sister is why I had to get rid of this glass, pretend someone else stole it. Of course, I brought it back especially for you today.”

  “You faked the break-in?” Tawnia asked.

  Erica laughed. “I’m an actress and a good one. I can fool anyone. It was easy enough to get the information about the person who attacked your sister. Everyone wanted to believe it was the same person.”

  Tawnia sighed. “Look, you can walk away. You can be long gone before the police get here. I left my sister a message, and it’s only a matter of time before they show up.”

  “Then we’d better hurry. Because it is too late to stop now. I tried to convince them. I tried to tell my father we needed to do another play, one where I could finally have the lead role. That lying, cheating sneak owes me that much.”

  Father? Who was she talking about? There weren’t many at the theater who had influence over what plays the company chose.

  “You won’t get away with this!” Tawnia said. “This isn’t like Cheyenne’s murder. This time everyone will know it was you.”

  “It’ll be my grand performance before I disappear off stage and go somewhere to raise my new baby girl.”

  “Your baby girl?” Tawnia sounded as outraged as I felt.

  “Oh yes, I’ve been planning this ever since I first saw her.” Erica pulled off her mask and leaned down, one hand on each of Tawnia’s arms. A large amulet swung back and forth on a thin necklace at her throat. “Take a good look,” she said. “I’ll be the best mother to your baby. Don’t worry. And in exchange, she’ll make the perfect cover my new life. I’ve been preparing for this for a long time. Father dear has trusted me with the accounting, and it’s been easy enough to skim off the top. It’s always been easy to fool him. He’s so afraid his wife will find out about me.”

  She had to be talking about Walsh. Was he really her father? I remembered her comments about his being a womanizer the night we’d discovered the murder. I’d suspected she had firsthand experience, but not this kind of experience. If she was really his daughter, no wonder she’d dared say those things.

  “It’ll be a whole new life, and I’ll be a good mommy. Not like mine, who was stupid to put her trust in a man like my father. He never cared for her, only his wife’s money.” She gave an uncharacteristic giggle as she pushed away from Tawnia’s chair. “Guess I put a crimp in his plans. It’ll all come out now. Everything he wanted to hide. She’ll leave him for sure, and he’ll lose everything.”

  I had no doubt she was more intelligent than Walsh—and probably most of the other actors in the company, but another thing was also clear: Erica’s hold on reality had completely snapped. She’d passed the line of carefully planned murders and had become careless, erratic. That made her more dangerous. Her sense of self-preservation would no longer prevent her from doing whatever her crazy mind told her was necessary.

  I spied a light switch and leapt for it, hoping to make Erica flee with the sudden brightness. Nothing but a soft click. So, she’d disabled the electricity. Maybe that also explained the cold.

  Erica picked up the lemonade. Even from where I stood, I could see the glass was a twin to the other I’d read. She’d had it all along, faking the intruder in the kitchen to cover her tracks.

  “Bottoms up, Mommy dearest,” Erica sang.

  “I had nothing to do with any of this!” Tawnia shouted.

  “Oh, I know.” Erica sounded almost sympathetic. “But if you hadn’t shown up and agreed to be Juliet, I would have won the fight to do the other play, and I would have been on my way to Broadway, despite my father’s attempt to keep me here where he could control me.” She snorted. “As if. The guy’s an idiot. I don’t know what my mother saw in him.” She paused, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “Besides, if your sister hadn’t interfered, no one would have connected Rosemary’s disappearance with Cheyenne, and I would have had time to get rid of Cheyenne before anyone found her. It would have been another mystery.”

  She was too close to my sister now for my comfort. I had to act. Yet shooting her wasn’t an option. Tawnia was between us, and Erica was leaning forward to give her the poison, not offering me enough of a target. I wasn’t that confident of my shooting ability, natural talent or no. Not to mention that I had the use of only one hand.

  “If you have a beef with me,” I said, raising my voice so it would carry, “take it up with me, not my sister. Or are you too much of a coward?”

  I’d hoped to startle her enough to make her drop the poison—hopefully not on my sister—but Erica only froze for a brief second before setting the glass down gently on the table. “Ah, Autumn, you joined our party.”

  “Run!” shouted Tawnia. “Get Emma out of here! She’s in the prop room!”

  I was already moving but not to the prop room. I angled around the back of the stage behind a huge white screen the theater used for projecting. If I could make it to the other side, I might be able to jump Erica. I’d have to find a place to hide the baby, though. But where was it safe to quickly hide a three-month-old from a maniac?

  I stumbled into a prop, and Erica laughed. “Little hard to find your way in the dark, isn’t it, sister dear?”

  I wasn’t the only one moving. By the time I got around to the other side of the stage, Erica had disappeared. She wasn’t gone, though.

  “Autumn, Autumn,” she called from somewhere behind the curtains, “give it up. I have a gun, you know. How else do you think I convinced your sister to sit in that chair? Walsh keeps it locked up in his office, and you know I have access to the keys. I don’t like guns—they’re so messy and noisy. Impersonal. But I’ll make an exception for you. You really should come out because I won’t hesitate to shoot your sister. You know, I would have liked a sister. If my mother could ever have gotten her life together, I might have had one. I had two brothers, but brothers just aren’t the same.”

  I had to do something to draw her fire, if she really had a gun. Tawnia was helpless tied to that chair, yet with my precious cargo, I was every bit as helpless.

  Then I saw it. An oversized magazine rack, a prop that might work. I needed something Destiny couldn’t roll out of and something sturdy enough to pull a cover over so Erica wouldn’t find her. Shoving the Ruger back into my pocket, I grabbed the rack and carried it to the rear of the stage, placing it behind a solid-looking end table. Solid enough to stop a stray bullet—I hoped.

  Please don’t wake up. I grabbed a dress from a chair, threw it into the rack, and gently laid Destiny inside, patting her briefly as she stirred. Now what for the top? Not something the baby could pull in on herself if she awoke. I mentally kicked myself for not leaving her in the car seat back in the prop room.

  There. A piece of cardboard that was a fake grate to a fake fireplace. That would do nicely, especially if I shoved the chair up against the edge.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Erica said in singsong. “You have thirty seconds.”

  I hurried to the side of the stage and moved the curtain to distract her, diving away as a bullet whizzed overhead. She really did have a gun, with a silencer attached, which meant t
hat even if there was someone in the nearby buildings, they wouldn’t hear a thing.

  Gritting my teeth in resolution, I pulled out my Ruger.

  Chapter 18

  Shooting my gun might alert neighbors, but it would also give away my hand and possibly cause Erica to shoot Tawnia right away. A shot would likely wake Destiny as well, placing her in danger. I had to get Erica away from the stage area.

  “Why wouldn’t Walsh want you to go to Broadway?” I called, inching toward the left stage door, keeping low to the ground, just in case. “If you’re really his daughter.” This time she didn’t let off a bullet, which made my knees weak with relief.

  Erica laughed. “He was terrified his affair with my mother would come out. She was only twenty when she had me, and she couldn’t make it without his help. She eventually OD’d, you know, and I blame him. I’ve always blamed him. If his wife found out, she’d cut him off, and he wouldn’t be able to use her aunt on Broadway to find decent actors.”

  “The aunt on Broadway is hers, not his?” From the importance he’d projected, I never would have guessed.

  “Oh, yeah. He doesn’t like to tell people that. But I know. I know all about Daddy dearest. I have since I was little. Mother told me about him, even took me to see him once. He was thin back then but still as ugly as he is now. Even after seeing me, he barely gave her any money. He threatened her, though. I remember that.”

  “You were adopted. They were good people, weren’t they? Why would you care about a jerk like Walsh?”

  “Because he killed my mother. Because acting’s in my blood. Because he deserves to pay.”

  I couldn’t see her, but her voice was coming closer. At least that meant her focus wasn’t entirely on Tawnia. In the dark, neither of us could be accurate about shooting the other, so we were on equal ground—or would be if hadn’t been for Tawnia. She was a prime target tied in the middle of the stage, framed by the lantern.