“That’s what Katya said.” She wondered what he would think if he could see Katya now. “Did you keep in touch with her?”
“No. I’ve heard she’s changed a bit.”
A bit? Much more than a bit. Perhaps Saige’s death killed a lot of Katya’s dreams. Of a life in the theatre. Of Nicky Sokolov. They were silent for a moment.
“Hey, I’m thirsty, Lacey, how about you?”
“Sure.”
They picked up cold sodas in the café and entered the majestic Kogod Courtyard at the center of the Portrait Gallery’s massive stone building. The space was always a welcome surprise, a retreat, a calm place to sit with a cup of coffee, ice cream, or even lunch. The wavy glass ceiling high above allowed the sun to shine through and kept the rain and snow out. Lacey sat on the wide edge of a cement planter and Pushkin joined her.
“I don’t mean to drag up painful memories,” Lacey said when they were settled. “I’m simply trying to write a story about a dress.”
“Just the dress? That production is a decade old. Old history, old news.”
“Are you warning me away?”
“Is that even possible?” He lifted his soda and drank deeply.
“No. I’m afraid that would only make me more interested.” She sipped on her cold root beer.
“Just like your friend Brooke, I guess.”
“We’re not quite the same.”
“I’m going to tell you something, Lacey, and then I will deny I ever said it. This is off the record. This is not for your story. This is for your safety. Your safety. Do you understand?”
She felt her eyes go wide and she took another gulp of root beer. “I do. Off the record.” But I hope Vic and Turtledove are getting all this. “Go ahead.”
“I saw something that night. After the show. Something that has always made me wonder.”
“The night Saige died?”
Pushkin nodded. He put his face in his hands. Lacey didn’t know if it was an act, but she was listening. That was her fatal flaw, she knew. She always stayed for the last act. She had to know the ending. Hopefully without becoming part of it.
“What did you see?”
He lifted his eyes and stared at the glass ceiling high above. “After the last performance, I just wanted a moment on stage alone. Don’t ask me why. I guess to breathe in the theatre, one more time. I loved it, you see.”
“A moment alone?” The big Washington attorney who had once been a dancer.
“Without all the others. Without that stupid annoying Parsnips. I stood there in the dark, and I heard something. People talking softly, behind part of the set, the castle. They didn’t realize the lights were creating silhouettes. Or they thought they were alone.”
“Were they taking that last quiet moment, like you?”
“That’s what I thought, at first. It was funny. All the actors taking their last center-stage moment, each thinking they’re alone? The ghost light was on behind them. I saw their shadows on the walls. I was waiting for them to leave, so I could have my moment. So I retreated into the darkness, where I was sure I couldn’t be seen. Then the shadows climbed the stairs to the top of the tallest platform. It was supposed to represent the tower of the castle.”
“Saige? Who was with her?”
“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know who they were. I was an accidental voyeur.”
“What did you see?” Lacey felt a terrible anxiety rise in her chest. She reached into her pocket and touched the spray bottle. “There were definitely two people?”
“Yes, and I heard, um, intimate sounds. Laughter. They were making love, up on the platform. I looked away. I knew even then that it isn’t wise to know everything in this town. That what you know can hurt you. I was embarrassed too, and I couldn’t leave without making a noise, the stage there was creaky, so I just stood there, listening. It was excruciating. I waited in the dark, waited for them to finish, stop and go away. Then I heard something fall. Something heavy. So loud it made me jump. So loud I knew it wasn’t good. After that, there was no noise, no screams. I peeked out. The shadows were gone.”
“Saige?” Lacey held her breath.
“I waited a long time before I left my hiding place. At least it seemed like a long time. Maybe only a minute. Until I heard the theatre doors open and close. Until I was sure everyone was gone. Then I crept out of the dark. Saige was lying there on the stage. She was broken, dead.”
“An accident?”
“It could have been an accident.”
“Do you think she was with Sokolov when she fell?”
“Maybe it was Nicky. And maybe not. I couldn’t tell, and Saige was always playing around. There were lots of guys around Saige. Never me, in case you were wondering. I don’t know who it was, and I don’t really want to know.”
“If it was an accident, why didn’t the person she was with tell the police?’
“A million reasons. It would cause problems.”
“If Saige fell, why didn’t she scream?” That bothered Lacey. “Not even a gasp?”
“I don’t remember hearing anything but the sound of— Of the impact.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I’ve wondered that myself. I think I was embarrassed. Confused. Shocked. It was late. I was expected at the cast party.”
Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss a great party because of a nasty little death.
“That’s awful.” Lacey must have looked shocked.
“I know. But I thought someone else would report the accident. The person who was there. Whoever it was.”
“Unless it was murder.” And maybe she didn’t scream because she was already dead when she fell? Lacey stood up. Maxim grabbed her arm and held her.
“I don’t know! I will deny everything I have just told you. You have no proof of what I’ve said.”
Except for a couple of guys listening in. Lacey said nothing. He let her arm go. There would be a bruise.
“As I said, I don’t know exactly what happened. All I know is that Saige Russell wasn’t alone when she died. And if it wasn’t an accident? People can die from knowing too much in this town.”
He let the thought hang in the air.
“Are there Russian agents involved with Kinetic Theatre?” she asked.
He looked startled. “What? Is that what Brooke says?”
“I’m asking you.”
“It would be ridiculous to answer that. If you so much as suggest that in print, I will deny every word. That I ever even talked to you. Do you hear me, Lacey?”
So much for deep background.
“I do.” She gazed at Maksym Pushkin. There wasn’t a hair out of place. He looked perfect. He used his calculatingly handsome smile on her.
“Please don’t pursue this story. For your own good.”
He grasped both of her hands in his. They shared a long silence. Lacey’s thoughts were spinning too fast to grab hold of them.
She noticed a bustle of activity in the far end of the courtyard. Among the tourists, catering staff were hauling in bars, glassware, and flowers.
“I didn’t know the courtyard here could be rented,” she said.
“Yes. It’s very convenient.”
“Have you been to parties here?”
“Quite a few. The one they’re getting ready for tonight is for my firm and our clients. I have to go back to the office, but I’ll be back here this evening.”
“What exactly does your law firm do?”
“We have a lot of international clients. Mostly private sector, from Ukraine and Russia and other Eastern European countries. We help them through the legal and financial hurdles in establishing successful business relationships in the US. It’s mostly pretty boring.”
Boring? The lion’s den of Russian oligarchs? “It must be helpful to be fluent in those languages.”
“Yes, it is. Essential, actually.” Pushkin had warned her off, but to what gain? He’d only made her more determined to come out of thi
s with the right answer. And he must have known that’s what he was doing. Why?
She spotted Will Zephron, the actor who bought the tuxedo at the theatre sale. Still working in catering, he passed Lacey with a wink, carrying an enormous glass vase with dozens of long-stemmed red roses. She smiled at him and he paused to give her a quick hug, and to eye her companion, before hurrying on, balancing his burden. More of these extravagant flower arrangements followed him. Tall tables were wrapped in burgundy cloth and tied with silver ribbons. Someone was spending a lot of money on this affair.
“You probably have some very nice appetizers,” she said to Pushkin.
“Especially if you like caviar.”
“Not particularly.”
“I must return to my office for a meeting, but I’ll be back for the reception. You’re very welcome to attend, if you like. As my guest. We can talk more. I don’t remember anything we said here this afternoon.” He smiled again.
“You must be a great lawyer, Maksym. But I don’t speak those languages. And I have places to go, people to harass.”
“Undoubtedly.” He reached out and took her arm gently. He rubbed the spot that was beginning to bruise. “I’m sorry. Be careful, Lacey. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
He released her and turned and walked away. She sat back down, feeling shaky. She finished her root beer and watched the party preparations, mentally adding up the costs of the décor and caterers. She came up with the grand sum of Yowza! Those Russians were rich, very rich. By her accounting, Maksym Pushkin must be rich too. He was certainly telling the truth about one thing: This paid better than being a dancer.
He had warned her away from the red dress story. Warned off a reporter. Never a smart thing to do. A good lawyer should know better than to even try that. So had he made up the story to see how she would react? Or was it true? Pushkin said he was at the theatre the night Saige died. If he was there when her body fell, was it because he was involved as more than a bystander? Perhaps he was the one up on the platform with Saige?
Something moving at a rapid pace caught her eye. Gareth Cameron? The Kinetic Theatre crowd was feeling like a very small private club. Their sad-sack playwright cruised past, wearing the same outfit she’d seen him in last, with the addition of a preppy blazer. Shabby, but raffish.
“Gareth, what are you doing here?”
“Smithsonian?” He stopped suddenly and considered her. “I could ask you the same thing. You seem to be everywhere I turn. I’m here to seek inspiration and edify my soul with art. And food.”
“You’re here for this Russian shindig?”
“I’m early. I heard there was free food. And until my fortunes reverse, I rely on the kindness of strangers. And their free party snacks.”
“But you have a new hit show. The Turn of the Screw. Right?”
“Yes, but you know what they say about the theatre. ‘You can make a killing, but not a living’? So I try to take advantage of these little grants in aid to the arts. Maksym told me there would be plenty of appetizers.”
“I’m sure they can afford it.”
“Absolutely. And some of the lawyers at my trade association will be here. They’ll think I’m working overtime. Win-win.”
She couldn’t blame him. She enjoyed seeing people with too much money spend it on lavish parties for party crashers. Too bad she wasn’t dressed for a party. And she had work to do.
“Gareth, I wanted to ask you something. Did you go to the cast party for The Masque?”
“The cast party? I made an appearance, after we did some quick TV thing, Maksym and Yuri and I, but it was a blur for me. You have to understand, the entire experience was an overload of emotions. It was, after all, my first play.”
“I heard Saige never made it that night.”
“Are you still on about her? I mean, why? She’s not worth it. But to answer your question, no, she didn’t show up. I was relieved there’d be no diva moments from her that night. We hated each other by that time. I think everybody hated her.”
“Enough to throw her off a platform?”
“What are you talking about? Come on, these are actors. They don’t actually do anything.” He shook his head as if to clear it of the thought. “It was a shock to find out the next day that she’d died in that bizarre accident. I’ve often wondered if it really was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Suicide, of course. Perhaps she finally realized what a bad actress she was and decided to go out at the height of her career. It wasn’t going to get any better than it was that night. She’d never get a decent role again.” He plucked a leaf from the nearest plant. “I would have made sure of that. She’d practically ruined my play. It was a hit in spite of her. The problem as I see it? Taking a swan dive off that stage set would hardly be a reliable way to kill yourself. Typical Saige, doing it wrong. I guess it worked though, and it did have a nice dramatic touch. One of her few really dramatic moments, I have to give her that. If it was suicide.”
“You never wondered if someone engineered her accident?”
He frowned and crushed the leaf between his long fingers. “Funny, I didn’t. I suppose I never thought she was important enough for someone to murder, dramatically speaking.”
“You hated her.”
“Obviously, but it wasn’t exactly a grand passion. I had better things to do.”
“Like putting the moves on Katya?”
“Katya? Please! I was interested in Yuri! I thought you knew.”
“Really? Did you get anywhere with him?”
“Sadly, no. Yuri is in love with Yuri. And the theatre. Although he had a minor thing for Katya. And at one time I thought he had a thing for Saige, because why else would he have cast her as the Red Death, I mean, really, anybody could see she was hopeless, although she looked great in that red dress, and another thing about—”
Gareth Cameron was still rattling on, waiting for the “free” appetizers to arrive, when Lacey gathered her things and hopped down off her perch on the planter.
The theatre, Lacey thought. Just one big happy family.
CHAPTER 39
Gregor Kepelov was waiting for Lacey as she exited the G Street doors of the Portrait Gallery.
It was impossible to miss that car: Marie’s ancient purple Gremlin, which unbelievably was still on the road. His cowboy hat and Hawaiian shirt were equally outrageous. He grinned his lopsided grin, but he didn’t speak until she was in the car with the door shut. He took off before she had a chance to put her seat belt on.
“I could have taken the Metro, you know.”
“Not while Gregor Kepelov is on the job. Actors can be pushed off platforms! Reporters can be pushed in front of subway cars!”
She had ridden with Gregor before. It was a frightening excursion. Who knew an old purple Gremlin could go so fast? Securing the shoulder harness and locking the side door, Lacey also made sure the phone in her pocket was turned off. At a red light, a man on the street stopped and slid his sunglasses to the top of his head to peer at the Gremlin.
“Gregor. Isn’t this car a little too noticeable?”
“But of course it is. No one would suspect a man of Kepelov’s capabilities would drive a purple Gremlin.” He pulled into traffic between two taxis. “I drive in plain sight.”
“You were listening in this afternoon,” she said.
“Every word. It was my turn. Victor’s too.”
“What did you think?”
“A man who tries to warn you off does not know Lacey Smithsonian.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with the actress’s death?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you think he’s a spy?”
“This one? Could be. Very slick. Like they say, spy from Central Casting. But if he wanted to hurt you, he would already do it.”
“Gregor, Marie said you could be a target.”
“Occupational hazard when one defects to the West as I did. That was many ye
ars ago.”
“There are a lot of dead Russians lately.”
“What? Are you keeping count?” He hit the accelerator on a yellow light, barely missing an oncoming city bus.
“No, but Brooke is.”
“All of natural causes, I am sure. After all, poisons are natural. And heart attack when pushed out of window, also very natural. Hitting the sidewalk at a hundred kilometers per hour would give anyone a heart attack.”
It was a grim joke. Lacey held on tight to the passenger grab handle as he took a corner at a ridiculous speed.
“Please be careful. These are dangerous times. Like these streets.”
He glanced over at her and grinned again. “See what good friends we are becoming? You care about the safety of Gregor Kepelov?”
“Yes! You’re driving! So please get us both to The Eye in one piece,” she said. First, however, she insisted Kepelov stop at a CVS, where she purchased the largest bottle of Maalox she could find. A gift for her editor. She also bought two chocolate bars, one for herself and one for her driver.
“Good stuff, Godiva.” He tucked the chocolate away, stepped on the gas and sped her to The Eye Street Observer, narrowly missing a D.C. police car.
IT WAS QUIET IN THE newsroom. About half of the reporters had managed to slip away early. Even on a Friday afternoon in the summer, escaping before deadline these days was an impressive feat. Obviously, certain deals had been cut among Lacey’s coworkers to cover each other’s beats.
Young denizens of the District lived for the weekend. After work on summer Fridays, they raced to their group beach houses in Rehoboth, Delaware, or Ocean City, Maryland. Their favorite beach bars with their umbrella cocktails were at least three hours away in weekend beach traffic, dodging road construction and Delaware state troopers. Beachgoers watched the clock, counted the minutes, and worked themselves into an exhausted lather. Lacey was not one of those frazzled beach people.
Relaxing can be so stressful.
But news was a tossed salad on Friday. Government agencies often waited until after the big media’s deadlines to dump unfavorable news, such as the economy tanking, healthcare legislation collapsing, or investigations into Russian espionage, hoping it would be forgotten or buried in the Saturday papers. Which, they hoped, no one would read. Because they were at the beach. Therefore, smart news teams were now on the Friday late-breaking-news watch. Generally, the fashion beat was not part of that news watch. Today was different.
The Masque of the Red Dress Page 32