Time Out

by Suzanne Trauth

  “Dodie, I can’t believe what you’ve been up to,” Lola said when I’d finished.

  “Sorry about your pot.”

  She shrugged off my apology. “So you think Antonio was disappearing from rehearsal to go to Rumson and Bernridge?”

  “And some places in Creston. Did he ever talk about knowing anyone there?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “How long did Antonio have stomach problems? Who is Regan Digenza?”

  Lola frowned. “And what about that strange man at the theater?”

  Not to mention the note on my windshield and the car that bumped me in Rumson. We were both stumped on all angles. “So Antonio Digenza is probably Tony Dickson,” I added.

  “I never heard him use that name,” Lola said.

  “It explains why he wasn’t on the Internet until 1998. I’m going to do a little digging first thing in the morning.” I rubbed my eyes.

  “So what does all of this mean?” Lola asked, yawning.

  “I’m not sure,” I said slowly, “but I’ll bet most of this is tied to his death.”

  “Are you going to talk with Bill?”

  “Yes, when he returns full-time to Etonville.”

  “I’m so tired, I can’t keep my eyes open.” Lola dropped her head on the sofa’s armrest.

  I covered her with an afghan, washed and rinsed our glasses, and stepped out into the cool air. It was eleven thirty and most of Etonville was buttoned up for the night.

  I took the long way home from Lola’s, cruising past the town park, Georgette’s Bakery, and Snippets. I veered left onto Main and slowed down. I saw Benny turning out the lights in the Windjammer. I was tempted to stop in and check on things, but a day off was a day off. He exited by way of the back door.

  I left the restaurant in my rearview mirror and coasted by the ELT. The only light visible was a security lamp in the lobby. But then an outline moved by the old oak that stood guard over the theater’s entrance. Was it just the branches of the tree swaying in the night breeze? It was late and I was sleepy. I blinked my eyes and continued down Main Street, but on impulse, unable to let it go, I turned right onto Amber and made another quick right into the alley that ran parallel to Main and behind all of the businesses on the street. I switched off my headlights. There was no sign of Benny’s car by the Windjammer loading dock. Nor was there any activity by the Etonville Little Theatre. Still, I felt a chill from the hairs on my neck. Who would be prowling around the theater at this time of the night?

  I came to a stop by the dumpster behind Books, Books, Books—Etonville’s answer to Barnes & Noble—stuffed my cell phone into my back pocket, and got out. I shut the door carefully and took two steps. The gravel crunched under my sneakers, the only sound in the stillness of the night. Drifting clouds covered the moon for a moment and then passed, leaving a slice of light bright enough to make out the shapes of the theater and restaurant.

  I moved forward, stepping to the side of the road where a sprinkling of dirt and clods of green softened the noise of my footsteps, and sprinted to a passageway three feet wide that ran along the side of the theater and opened onto Main. The ELT rarely used this path, as it only led to the alley behind the theater and the loading dock. Scenery was generally removed by way of the rear shop-door exit.

  I paused at the corner of the building. My blood ran cold. Twenty yards away a hooded figure was crouching behind the oak tree, directing a pinpoint light into the office where Walter and Lola did business. Aside from a safe that was kept locked and held a minimal amount of cash since last spring, an old computer, and a copy/fax machine, there was little of value in the theater office.

  The figure was of medium height and medium build, but I couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman, the hood pulled low over the intruder’s face. I peeked around the corner to get a better look and my jacket scraped against the brick of the building. I froze. The individual stood and looked my way. I held my breath and leaned into the wall, making myself as flat as possible. Then the person backed away from the theater and ran down Main past the Windjammer and disappeared. I considered my options: I could get my car and try to follow, I could run after whoever was casing the theater, or I could go home and call Bill in the morning. But by the time Bill made a move on the possible attempted break-in, this person could be anywhere.

  I stepped around the corner and peered down Main again. The street was empty except for a lone pickup truck that rattled past the theater. What if the person had cut down a side street and vanished into a backyard, or hopped in a getaway vehicle that had been stashed several blocks over, or had a companion waiting somewhere?

  I felt vulnerable on foot, but in my Metro I could scour the streets off Main and look for any sign of the prowler. I spun on my heel to dash to my car. An explosion of light blinded me. It took a moment before I realized what it was. Someone was deliberately shining a powerful utility flashlight in my face. I raised my hands to block the light and felt a thud from behind. A heavy object connected with the back of my head and a burst of colors detonated in my brain. I saw stars. And then black. I crumpled to the ground, my last thought, There were two of them.

  16

  “Ow!” I jerked backward in response to the Emergency Medical Services technician dabbing at the back of my head with a cotton swab and alcohol. I had a minor cut but a good-sized lump. “They must have used a crowbar on me.”

  “Probably something blunt,” the EMS guy said, then handed me an ice pack. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and be checked out for a concussion?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, sitting on the back end of the ambulance.

  I was out cold for a minute; when I came to, I had a tremendous headache but managed to call 911. Officer Ostrowski was on duty and he sent the EMS. Since Bill became police chief, Ralph was usually assigned crowd control in crisis situations. But without a crowd on Main Street at midnight in Etonville, Ralph was taking it easy, leaning against his cruiser, texting.

  A second black-and-white careened around the corner of Amber and Main, did a wide U-turn, and pulled to a stop, lights flashing. Bill slammed his door shut and walked briskly to the ambulance. Ralph snapped to attention.

  “What do we have here?” he asked Ralph but stared straight at me.

  “Hit on the head and blacked out.”

  Bill knelt down, his eyes level with mine. “What happened?” His voice was businesslike, but his face was all concern.

  “I was driving home from Lola’s and I saw a person trying to break in to the theater.”

  “You actually saw someone?” he asked.

  “Not at first . . .”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I saw a shadow by the oak tree,” I said and pointed toward the theater entrance. “I thought maybe I should check it out, so I drove around the corner and came down the alley—”

  “You pursued a perpetrator?”

  “Not exactly pursue . . .”

  Bill frowned. “By yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I just wanted to see if it was really a person I saw.” I ignored the implication that I had no business investigating a possible break-in alone at that hour. “I walked down the alley—”

  “You got out of your car . . .” He exhaled noisily.

  “That’s when I saw that the shadow was a person. I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female. It was wearing a hoodie pulled down low over the face.”

  Bill waited for me to go on.

  “He or she was shining a flashlight into the ELT office. But when I moved to get a better look, I guess whoever it was saw me and ran off. I turned down the alley to go back to my car when this huge light blinded me. And then I got hit from behind.” I removed the ice from the back of my head and tentatively touched the goose egg. It was a whopper. “So there were two of them,” I said, hoping that was a helpful piece of information.

  “Did you get a look at either face?”

  I shook my head. “
The light was too bright.”

  Bill rose and scanned the area. “I think you should go to St. Anthony’s.”

  St. Anthony’s was the area hospital in Creston that featured a trauma center. “I’m okay.”

  “That’s an order,” he said brusquely.

  “Good thing it’s the middle of the night and no one’s awake. Otherwise Etonville’s gossip mill would be having a field day,” I mused.

  Bill wasn’t buying my attempt to make light of my escapade. “Ralph will follow the ambulance and see you get home afterwards.” He nodded at Ralph, who clapped his cap on his head and hopped into his vehicle. “And tomorrow I’d like to have a little talk if you’re up to it.”

  His eyes had dark circles under them—long nights in Creston? But they still cut through me like a hot knife through butter. I was definitely up to it.

  * * *

  Bill stayed behind in Etonville to survey the crime scene, such as it was, while I was trundled off in the ambulance to Creston. By 3:00 a.m. St. Anthony’s had discharged me, a neurological exam and CT scan indicating no concussion, just a good whack on my skull that would require aspirin and ice for twenty-four hours. We picked up my Metro in the alley behind the theater and Ralph followed me home, only too happy to be released from babysitting; he had more important things to attend to like an early breakfast at the Donut Hole out on the highway. I climbed into bed, yanked the covers over my still-pounding head, and swore I would not be able to sleep.

  I was snoring in ten minutes.

  I dreamt I was wading in a mudslide of gooey brown muck. My legs weighed a ton and each time I tried to lift one, I fell backwards, mud wrestling with myself. A muffled ringing nipped at my consciousness and tugged at my eyelids, glued shut from lack of sleep. I twisted onto my side and flinched. The pain at the back of my head reminded me of the ELT intruder, the thump on my noggin, Bill stooping in the moonlight to look gently into my eyes—

  The ringing was persistent, originating from the pocket of my jeans. I covered my head with a pillow, hoping the sound would die; no such luck. I crawled to the foot of the bed and snatched my jeans off the floor where I had dropped them. “Hello?” I croaked. My alarm clock read seven thirty.

  “Dodie? Thank God you’re alive!”

  “Hi, Lola.”

  “What were you doing chasing a criminal down Main Street at two a.m.?” she asked breathlessly.

  The Etonville rumor machine always generously embellished whatever hint of a story it came across. “I didn’t chase anyone and it was midnight, not—”

  “I heard they hit you with the butt of a gun,” she said.

  “A gun? Who said they had a gun? It was probably just a—”

  “Does it hurt much? I can come and stay with you today,” she offered.

  “I’m not bedridden. Just hungry. Let’s meet at Coffee Heaven in an hour. I’m moving kind of slowly.”

  I clicked off and dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water cascade off my head and face and back. As I became more alert, last night’s events created a sharper image on my radar screen. Someone wanted something from the theater. And that twosome also wanted to discourage me. After all, why come back to assault me when they could have easily sped off and left Etonville in the dust? The attack had to be a warning of some sort.

  I washed and conditioned my hair tentatively, lest I irritate the swelling, and brushed out my auburn strands. I hesitated over my wardrobe. I needed to stop by the police station to talk with Bill after breakfast. I knew he would be scrutinizing me and my every word. There was nothing wrong with taking advantage of his extreme focus; my stretchy crimson sweater and skinny black jeans might help hold his attention. I scooped up my leather jacket and sunglasses to ward off the bright glare of the morning sun. It was going to be a clear, bracing fall day in the upper fifties.

  Etonville was its usual morning self. Citizens strolling up and down Main, shops opening their doors to customers, light traffic cruising the streets. It was difficult to dredge up the incident that had resulted in my trip to the emergency room.

  Coffee Heaven was full of patrons when I opened the door and the welcome-bells jingled. As if on cue, every head turned and stared at me, first in amazement, then in curiosity. Before anyone could intercept me and inquire about my health, I ducked into the booth where Lola was waiting, fiddling with her camera. Customers watched me sit before setting the place atwitter with who-knew-what latest story on my demise.

  “Here you go, hon,” Jocelyn said and placed a caramel macchiato on the table. She leaned into me. “Etonville is becoming a hotbed of criminal activity.”

  “Thanks, Jocelyn. It’s not that bad—”

  “The Banger sisters think someone tried to rob them,” she said knowingly.

  “They think?”

  “They can’t remember where they put their jewelry. It might have been stolen.” She walked away to wait on a customer.

  “This town,” I said, laughing, then wincing at the throbbing that started again.

  Lola’s eyes were wide.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You don’t look too bad,” she said. “I mean for someone attacked only hours ago.”

  “It was only a knock on my head.”

  “And a trip to St. Anthony’s,” she added. “What were they doing at the theater?”

  I shrugged. “I only saw someone looking in the window with a flashlight.”

  “Walter thinks it might have something to do with the show.”

  “What would make anyone break in over Arsenic and Old Lace?” I asked.

  “Sabotage. Someone trying to disrupt the opening,” she said. “He doesn’t trust that new theater in Creston.”

  “Walter actually thinks someone would knock me out because they wanted to upstage—no pun intended—the ELT?”

  “It is a little far-fetched, isn’t it?” She bit into a slice of whole wheat toast.

  “I have a meeting with Bill today. I’m going to tell him everything, starting with the food festival.”

  Lola picked up her camera. “Speaking of which, I am way behind on these pictures. I’ve been going through them all morning.” She flipped through photos of actors posing with festival-goers, pausing to shake her head. “Some of them are fine, others not so good. But I guess I need to email or text all of them. I didn’t realize how many pictures I took. Over a hundred.” Lola studied her work. “Here’s the Banger sisters with Walter, and Mildred and her husband Vernon with Edna, and two cute young girls with Romeo.”

  I held out my hand and she turned over the camera. I swiped picture after picture. They were nice shots and everyone looked to be having a fun time, at least before Antonio’s death. “You might need to photoshop some of these.”

  “Why?”

  “Look here.” I showed her a snapshot. “Abby’s boyfriend walked into the frame and made a face behind her shot with Jocelyn.”

  “Oh, that Jim. He’s such a big kid. I’ve never done photoshopping.”

  “Pauli can show you. He eliminated a delivery guy out of a shot he took for the Windjammer website.”

  “Are there many like that?” Lola asked.

  I swiped a few more pictures. “Not really. Just some people wandering in the background.” I stopped swiping. “Can you enlarge this photo?” I showed Lola a picture of the two policemen characters with Honey. She was supposed to be manning the cookie and pretzel booth, but obviously had taken a break.

  “Sure.” Lola zoomed in on the shot and handed it back.

  “I think that’s Regan Digenza in the background.”

  “Regan Digenza?”

  “The woman in green from the funeral. But I don’t remember seeing her at the festival.”

  Lola studied the photo. “I remember taking this. Honey said she had to hurry up and get back to her booth, so I was working fast. It was middle of the afternoon just as the crowd was peaking.”

  “Can you text it to me?” I asked.

  Lo
la struck the screen a few times. “Done.”

  * * *

  When I’d dug my cell phone out of my jeans this morning, I came across the envelope addressed to Anthony Dickson that I’d stuffed in my pocket earlier in the evening. I needed to surf the Internet on my break to get some answers on Antonio’s identity, so I’d stowed my laptop in my bag; but first I had an hour before I had to get to the Windjammer, time enough to meet with Bill as requested.

  I said good-bye to Lola and strolled to the Etonville Municipal Building, musing over the latest development: Why was Regan at the food festival and what exactly was her relationship to Antonio?

  I was happy to see the chief’s parking space occupied. Despite the off-and-on headache, I was feeling pretty perky. I might be close to discovering Antonio’s backstory and I had a meeting with Bill. I opened the door to the building, imagining his blue eyes and crooked smile as he hovered over me, anxious about any lingering consequences from last evening. I would reassure him that I was fine, only a little tired, and maybe—

  “Hey, Dodie! You had quite a night! A 240.”

  I assumed that was the code for an assault. “Hi, Edna. Is the chief in?” I was eager to bypass small talk.

  “In a meeting.” She checked the wall clock. “It should be over soon. He has an event to attend in Creston.”

  “Oh.” I tried to hide my disappointment.

  “Haven’t you seen the paper?” She whipped a copy of this morning’s Etonville Standard out of her bag and placed it on the counter. The front page headline was a splash of large type: CRESTON THIEVERY THWARTED. Under the heading was a set of photographs—no doubt the perps. I glanced at the story about the recent thefts and the Special Crimes Unit established with the help of Etonville’s own Police Chief Bill Thompson.

  “Wow. They caught them!”

  “Yep, 487.”

  “That would be . . . ?”

  “Grand theft.” She lowered her voice. “They couldn’t have done it without the chief.”