Bill settled back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Anything more?”
“I do have a question. There wasn’t a lot about the robberies in the Etonville Standard. I was wondering if they involved a scam selling security systems to senior citizens?”
Bill’s naturally ruddy complexion deepened to red. “Where did you hear that?” he choked out. “That information wasn’t made public.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Start talking.”
“Okay, but first . . . what’s for dessert?”
21
We’d spent the better part of an hour munching on Bill’s homemade chocolate chip cookies while I revealed the information I had accumulated: my finding Regan Digenza’s image in Lola’s food festival photographs, then my visit to Dr. Xiu based on Imogen’s conversation with her neighbor, which allowed me to help Tiffany with her back pain, which gave me access to her bedroom nightstand and a letter addressed to Tony Dickson.
“Let me get this straight.” I could see Bill trying to maintain both his patience and his equilibrium. “You lied about back pain to get access to Antonio’s medical record?”
“I was curious about his health. I thought maybe the doctor appointment was related to his heart attack. But then I found out he wasn’t in the office because of his heart. He was there because of his stomach. Like maybe he’d been ingesting something that was making him sick. Something that could have killed him eventually.”
“Why visit a Chinese herbalist? Why not an emergency room?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to have his background checked? A doctor’s office seems a little less invasive than a hospital. Especially a traditional Chinese one.”
“A lot of supposition on your part,” he said grumpily.
“It’s possible that Antonio did die of poisoning. As most of Etonville insisted. But not because of bacteria in the Windjammer’s food or drinks. Someone could have put something in whatever he ate.”
“Someone? Like a murderer,” he said carefully.
“Right.”
“For what reason?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“And then you illegally searched his belongings to find a letter—”
“The house and the bedroom belong to Lola. She was there with me and gave me permission to open the nightstand drawer.” Sort of. I knew I was beginning to sound a tad huffy.
“What did you intend to do with that information?”
“Dig into his past with his correct name and see if anything I found shed light on his death. And I think it did. Knowing he had a criminal past and was connected with Kenneth Amberlin is—”
“Which brings me to your hearing about the security-system scam. We deliberately left it out of the news report because this is still an ongoing investigation.”
“You think there might be more burglaries?” I asked.
“You know I can’t answer that,” he said firmly. “Who did you speak to? We need to know if there’s an internal leak in this case.”
“No leak.”
“So . . . ?”
I was determined not to mention Pauli’s name, just as I had not given away his email hacking skills during the investigation of Jerome Angleton’s murder. “I discovered that a cell phone has internal location tracking on the Settings app and if you follow a few prompts, you can actually find out where someone has travelled to in recent days. Or weeks. I guess it’s part of the GPS system?”
Bill’s mouth dropped an inch. “You tampered with Antonio’s cell phone?”
“Tiffany was there,” I said hastily. Technically, Tiffany was still in the tub.
“And you tracked his locations?”
“Uh, yes.”
“That’s illegal. Even the authorities have to get a warrant to search a cell phone,” he said, by now annoyed.
“Really? I didn’t know—”
“So far that’s lying, illegal searching, and tampering. And you haven’t even gotten to the Creston burglaries.”
When he put it like that, my investigation did sound borderline unlawful. “Don’t you want to know what I found in his phone?”
Bill hesitated. I knew from past events that he was a strictly-by-the-book officer, with a fanatical abhorrence of shady deals and anything that hinted of police misconduct. “Go ahead.” He must have held his nose to say that.
“I noticed that Antonio had travelled to two Bernridge addresses—one was Dr. Xiu’s—and made a couple of trips to Rumson, which I also assumed was to Brianna Kincaid. For an ex-wife she’s really torn up about his death—”
“Dodie!”
“Right. Then I saw that Antonio had been in Creston on a variety of occasions the week before his death. Even the day before his death. So I just happened to be in Creston . . .”
Bill rolled his eyes.
“And I went to this one location, 112 Terrace Road, and spoke with an elderly woman—”
“You interrogated a potential witness?” His eyes bulged.
“I didn’t interrogate anyone. In fact, Adele and I had afternoon tea. With her watchdog, Rex.”
“This Adele implicated Antonio?”
“Well, she referred to a charming man in a beret who sold her a security system. It sounded an awful lot like Antonio to me.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the snap and crackle of the dying fire. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. Wine had made me relaxed, then coffee had made me hyper, then Bill’s sharp questioning had made me defensive, and finally admitting the truth had made me relieved and ready for sleep. But Bill wasn’t through with me yet. His face was still creased with the same grimace he’d assumed half an hour ago, his muscled forearms tense, his fingers drumming on the pad he’d been writing on.
“I still don’t understand why you felt you needed to play lone wolf here. We’ve been through this before. You’re not the police department.”
My face reddened at his rebuke. “I’m a concerned citizen and you were in Creston—”
He raised a hand to halt my justification. “Suki was in the department, covering when I was out.”
I couldn’t tell him that delivering a message to his assistant with her calm demeanor and om-like personality was not the same as watching the crooked smile appear on his face as he flexed his pecs and ran a hand through his bristly hair—
“Is that right?” He tapped a pen against his pad.
I’d lost the thread of his cross-examination. “Sorry?”
“I said, Lola recognized Kenneth Amberlin’s photo in the paper?”
“Yes. And when he showed up at the theater he’d identified himself as Antonio’s friend.”
I felt a chill in the room and it was only partly because the fire had completely died out. The warm, social ambiance of earlier in the evening had vanished. In its place was a stony frustration. Bill’s, because I had overstepped about a hundred bounds; mine, because he still didn’t trust my instincts.
“After-dinner drink?” he asked, more out of courtesy than enthusiasm, I guessed.
From inside my purse, my cell produced a muted ring. “Guess I should . . .” I scanned the caller ID. Lola.
Almost immediately, Bill’s cell buzzed.
“Hi, Lola,” I said. “I can’t talk now—”
“Dodie, can you come down here? Walter called the police because—”
“What?”
“Suki, what’s up?” Bill said abruptly, then listened.
I watched him exhale, his face turning grave. “Call Ralph. Yeah.”
“Lola, what’s going on?” I said quietly.
“There’s been an accident at the ELT. Not an accident, really. Penny was in the lobby and we heard her whistle—”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Bill and I said simultaneously and clicked off.
“What is it? Lola wasn’t very specific.”
He strode into the kitchen, took his weapon from a drawer, and slipped into a shoulder holster.
“Another assault. I guess your instincts about Antonio’s death might be right.”
Was there a trace of irony? “I don’t want to be right. I want to find Antonio’s killer.”
He thrust his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “Yeah? Well, be careful what you wish for.”
* * *
Ralph’s black-and-white cruiser and an EMS ambulance were already in front of the theater when Bill and I pulled up. Ralph was once more keeping the curious Etonville public from crowding near the entrance. I glanced next door at the Windjammer, where a handful of patrons craned their necks to get a look and Benny stood in the doorway. I summoned him over.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Another attack at the theater.”
“Not again. This close to the Windjammer? It’s not good for business,” he said.
“Did you hear or see anything?” I asked.
“Nada. Just the squad car and ambulance.” He ducked back into the restaurant.
I headed into the theater, where the drama had moved off the stage and into the lobby. Two EMS personnel were attending to Penny, who sat propped up against the box office door, looking even more dazed than she had been during rehearsal recently. It was an unfamiliar position for her, accustomed as she was to running the show. At the open door of the theater office, Bill spoke with Walter and Lola. Too far away to hear anything, I could still see Lola shake her head and Walter run his hands through his beard. Both of them were frazzled.
I crossed the distance between Penny and myself. I didn’t want to get in the way, but couldn’t help wondering if the same two perpetrators had attacked both of us. Unconsciously, I rubbed the back of my head where there was still a slight bump. “Penny, are you okay?”
She raised her head.
“What happened?” I asked.
“O’Dell, somebody whacked me,” she said, totally flummoxed, as if it was impossible to take down the stage manager of the ELT. She moaned as the medical technician slipped an oxygen mask on her face.
“Did you get a look? Were there two of them?”
She cocked her head to one side. “We made it to the beginning of Act Two and then Walter stopped to fix the window seat.” She mumbled something.
I bent down to hear her. “What?”
“The show’s got to open. Never cancelled a show on my watch . . .”
I was nudged aside. “Let us do our job, okay?” The EMS guys loaded Penny onto a gurney.
Bill appeared at my side. “Hey! What are you doing? Questioning victims is my responsibility. Remember?”
“I just wanted to find out what happened.”
Bill stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “It appears Penny came into the lobby to use the women’s room and when she didn’t return one of the actors came looking and found her down here.” He pointed to the space the EMS personnel had just left. “He blew her whistle and alerted everyone else.”
“She was knocked out, right?” I asked.
“Lola wasn’t sure at first. She thought Penny fell and banged her head. But Penny told her the box office door was open and when she tried to close it, someone hit her and she was out for a few minutes. When she came to, people were standing over her.”
“Just like me,” I murmured. I looked around. “Was anything taken?”
“Penny’s keys. I’m going to follow the ambulance. Ralph will check the exterior perimeter and loading dock doors. Suki will stay here and wait for the state CSI guys. Try not to bother anybody.” He walked away. “And I want to see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning,” he called out over his shoulder.
So much for an agreeable end to the evening. I slipped into the house and hunkered down in a seat to wait for Lola. I flung my bag onto the chair next to mine as Suki corralled cast members, who were over-the-top agitated and demanding answers to questions.
“Why would anyone assault Penny?”
“What is Etonville coming to?”
“Who will take over as stage manager?”
“Is Walter going to cancel the show?”
“All right, all right,” Suki said, and tried to work her calming magic. “Walter will be able to answer your questions soon.”
“I’ll bet it was a 417,” Edna announced, and shook her wig, which sat askew. “Person with a gun. It would have taken a firearm to get a drop on Penny.”
“Maybe they sneaked in through the green room,” one of the actor-cops suggested.
“Too bad we don’t have real weapons,” the other cop said and snickered.
Abby grumped and yanked off her cape. “I don’t care how they did it or how they got in here. I just want to know if rehearsal is over for the night.”
“I’m outta here,” Romeo said and stripped off a suit jacket.
Suki left to join the CSI team. Several other actors began to remove costume pieces and Chrystal was scurrying from person to person to retrieve accessories. “Careful with the clothing!” she cried and snatched hats and gloves and coats before they could be dumped unceremoniously on theater seats.
“Is this about Antonio?” Tiffany stood in the aisle. “I overheard Lola tell Walter that you thought your attackers were looking for something in the theater and that it probably was related to him.”
Now that most of my theories and undercover work were out in the open, I knew I had to tread lightly. “Well, it makes sense that both assaults are connected. And of course they both happened after Antonio’s death.” Whatever that meant.
“I talked with the chief,” Tiffany said.
“Good,” I said noncommittally. “The test results will tell us a lot.”
“Like if he was murdered?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
Tiffany crossed her arms, staring at me defiantly. “’Course, if I had found out he’d been married a second time and didn’t tell me, I’d have murdered him myself.” She trounced off.
Carlyle appeared and announced that, despite the commotion with Penny, he was giving notes in the green room. Where had he been during all of the excitement? The actors—some of whom were halfway out the door—dragged themselves back onstage.
“Leave your costumes in the dressing rooms!” Chrystal shouted above the hubbub. She had an armful of fabric and a handful of hats.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“Thank you, Dodie. I’ve got to get these to wardrobe.”
“Where’s your crew?” I asked and took half her load.
She narrowed her eyes. “Community theater! One had to babysit her grandkids, one had to study for a test, and one had a hot date.”
We walked through the green room to the wardrobe closet behind the stage. Carlyle was holding forth while the cast looked tired and bored and barely paid attention. Without Penny blowing her whistle, ELT discipline was in a sorry state.
I watched as Chrystal hung up clothes on racks and stacked accessories on shelves.
“Were you in the house tonight when Penny got attacked?”
Chrystal shook her head. “I was downstairs hot-gluing Walter’s pants. He keeps ripping the inseam.” She put one of Abby’s dresses on a hanger. “But I told Lola we should start locking the front door during rehearsals. Anybody can just walk in, you know.”
Especially now that someone had Penny’s keys.
Chrystal grimaced. “The theater is getting to be an unsafe place. I hope this doesn’t delay the opening. I have a four-week rental agreement on these.” She gestured toward the racks of period clothing. “I don’t have the budget to keep them any longer.”
I patted her back. “I’m sure the show will go on. On time.”
“I’m not staying in the costume shop by myself again tonight. I’m too freaked out,” she said.
Chrystal walked off. I peered down the hallway that led away from the wardrobe storage and past the dressing rooms. To my right was the door to the green room, where I could still hear Carlyle drone on about “cheating out” and “upstaging your scene partner
” while actors gathered their belongings and prepared to leave. Aside from Tiffany there was no reason for Carlyle to hang around anymore. Or was there? He had been Antonio’s confidant and close friend. He seemed genuinely surprised by my big reveal at the café in Creston. But what if he knew more than he was letting on? He had placed the warning note on my windshield.
Chrystal was right. Anyone could walk into the theater off the street. Like Antonio’s friend Kenneth Amberlin and Penny’s attacker. And whoever came after me had been looking to get into the theater. What was in the ELT that connected all three incidents? I decided to check out the back entrance to the theater to make sure it was secure. I knew Bill had assigned that task to Ralph, but still . . .
At the end of the hallway was a large set of double doors that allowed access from the stage to the scene shop, which in turn provided an exit to the loading dock. There was a bit of light from the green room that spilled into the hallway, as well as a security light on the wall by the wardrobe storage. But the shop doors were open; the last person out had neglected to close them. Next to the doors was the wall switch for the overhead fluorescents. I flipped it on and light flooded the inside of the scene shop, where the scents of drying paint and sawdust filled my nostrils.
I eased past the workbench in the middle of the room, careful to avoid bumping into several flats leaning against the tool cage. There were two exits from the shop to the loading dock: a roll-up steel contraption, large enough to permit the removal of scenery, and a secondary standard door. The padlock on the roll-up door was secure and the dead bolt on the second door was thrown. I opened the door and cool night air wafted in. I stepped onto the loading dock. There was no padlock; the hasp and metal loop were empty. I came inside and had just chucked the dead bolt back into place when the fluorescents went dark. A soft click by the hallway door sounded like a deafening boom in the stillness of the scene shop.
“Walter? Carlyle?” I yelled.
Goose bumps rose on my arms. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the shapes of various machines. I’d been in the scene shop enough to know the drill press was to my right, the large circular table saw to my left, and straight ahead was the tool cage where Walter and JC stored the hammers and screwdrivers at the end of each work session. A bank of windows on the far wall permitted enough moonlight to throw each construction device into spectral relief. Ghosts inhabiting a metal graveyard.
Time Out Page 19