Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play

by Christy Barritt

  I stored away that information for later.

  “Do you know if she was dating anyone?”

  Mrs. Baker shook her head. “Not that I know of. But I do have an idea for you. I think Scarlet took one of the costumes home—the nun habit. She volunteered to have it altered since it was long on her. It would be a great excuse for you to stop by and see where she lives without seeming suspicious. I do believe she mentioned a roommate to me once.”

  I grinned. “I knew I liked you.”

  Mrs. Baker laughed. “Oh, Gabby. I’m so proud of you. I always knew you’d turn out well.”

  Apparently she thought being a crime scene cleaner equated to turning out well. Who was I to argue with her?

  ***

  “Stop! He’s trying to kill me!” I screamed.

  The lights in the auditorium went black.

  I held my breath, waiting to see what happened next.

  To my relief, applause broke out from the cast.

  We’d just finished Act Two, and we’d survived.

  Despite that, practice today was going worse than yesterday, and that was saying a lot.

  To make matters even uglier, Arie had shown up before practice started and she was in a mood.

  Primarily, she still wasn’t happy about me and felt like she should have had input before Paulette made the decision to bring me on. She addressed the issue in front of everyone right after we’d rehearsed Act One.

  I stared at her now, waiting for her reaction, because I was sure she’d have one.

  “I just don’t think this is going to work,” she muttered, casting a withering look my way.

  I glanced at Paulette, waiting for her to say something, but she sat there looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I had no choice but to stand up for myself since no one else was.

  “I’ll be fine in the role, Arie.” I really had no idea if I would be fine or not. I wasn’t going to tell her that, though.

  “I don’t want fine. I want great. Outstanding. Stupendous. Fine is failure.” She flung her hands in the air, probably meant to emphasize her stress but instead making her look crazy.

  I took a step back. “I think you’re overreacting.”

  That caused her to overreact even more. Her hands flung even higher, her nostrils flared, her eyes widened.

  “Overreacting? I’ve worked for years on this play and I don’t want to blow it because some half bit actress was given a starring role without my permission.”

  “Who are you calling a half bit actress?” I would have totally called myself one, but no way was I letting her say it.

  She apparently didn’t hear me. “There are no other plays out there like this!” she insisted.

  “You’re right. It’s like a mix of Phantom, Les Mis, and The Sound of Music. Nothing like any other plays at all.” I didn’t try to keep my sarcasm at bay. Arie was out of control, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “It’s nothing like those plays,” she screeched. “This is a one of a kind original.”

  The woman really thought this was going to launch her career. She also really thought she was the next great Rodger or Hammerstein, for that matter, or both of them rolled into one too-good-to-be-true package. I had no aspirations of being an actor, and even I wouldn’t want this tragedy to go onto my resume.

  She stepped closer. “If you ruin this for me, so help me …”

  Arie had no idea who she was dealing with. I’d dealt with people a lot scarier than her. I threw my shoulders back and raised my chin.

  “So help me you’ll what?” I challenged.

  Her nostrils flared. “I can make your life miserable.”

  I held up the script and dropped my head to the side. “You already have.”

  She gasped. “You’re an awful person Gabby Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is!”

  She turned on her heel and stormed away.

  When I turned around, I realized the rest of the cast had formed a semi-circle around me and appeared to be a rapt audience. And, for the second time today, they applauded for me.

  “Someone needed to say it,” Bennie muttered.

  “Everyone else was afraid of her,” one of The Shining twins said.

  “You really think this play is horrible?” Paulette asked.

  I realized what I’d said in my haste and prayed that Paulette wouldn’t be crushed. How was I going to make this better? My words too often got the best of me.

  “We’re going to make the most of what we have to work with,” Mrs. Baker said, always the voice of reason. “We’re going to put our best foot forward and make this show a success.”

  That seemed to cheer Paulette up some. She nodded and attempted to pull herself together. “We don’t have any time to waste. We need to get to work. Opening night is only ten days away.”

  I nodded. I really hoped nothing else happened between now and the opening, though.

  CHAPTER 11

  After rehearsal, I hung back to talk to Paulette and Mrs. Baker, waiting for the majority of the cast to leave.

  Everyone seemed content to linger, though, so I stepped into the hallway with a group from the chorus line. I looked over to see Bennie coming from the band room, which was where the props were temporarily being worked on until the auditorium was available again. Cast members also kept their personal belongings in there for now.

  Bennie stumbled and fell from the room, her bag hitting the floor and some sheets of large paper flying out. She scrambled to stand and gather what she’d dropped.

  I hurried toward her to help. As my fingers hit the paper, I paused. This was no ordinary paper. “This feels so soft.”

  She took it from me and smiled. “Doesn’t it? I was hoping no one would see this. I’m putting together a scrapbook of this play for Paulette.”

  That would explain the oddly sized paper. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  She nodded, shoving the sheets back in her bag with a stack of other papers. “It’s my thing. It’s just what I do.” She shrugged.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get the name Bennie?”

  “Just something my parents started calling me. It’s similar to my real name—Bonnie. My mom used to say Dad would talk baby language and say Bonnie Bonnie Bennie Boo. Who knows? Regardless, it stuck.” She heaved her bag back onto her shoulder.

  “What do you do, Bennie, when you’re not acting?” I asked both because I wanted to know and because I had to start socializing with the cast if I was going to get any answers. This wasn’t my normal assignment where it was okay to rub people the wrong way. Being undercover, I needed to be in people’s good graces. I hadn’t done a good job with that so far.

  She gripped the bag and shifted. “I mostly do odd jobs for my older brother. He’s a mechanic, handyman, and entrepreneur. I’ve always wanted to be an actress, but my parents always told me I’d never make any money and I’d be poor for the rest of my life. But I lost my parents four years ago and it kind of derailed my already derailed life. I’ve been floundering around ever since then.”

  Boy, could I ever relate to that. “I’m sorry to hear that Bennie.”

  She nodded. “Me, too. We just recently started going through their things. It took us a while, but we were hoping to get closure.”

  There was that concept again. Closure. Maybe that’s what I needed in my life.

  She studied me a minute. “You know, you’re one of the nicer people here. I’m sorry about Scarlet, but I’m glad you’re with us now.”

  Just then, one of The Shining Twins shrieked. “What’s that?”

  I glanced over and saw them standing at the main hallway, just beyond the music wing. They pointed to something on the floor.

  I hurried toward them, praying it wasn’t another trail of gasoline. Instead, I saw wet footprints leading down the hall.

  Just as apprehension started to fill me, a cool wind swept through the space.

  “This place is haunted!” one of the twins whispered.r />
  I looked back to see her grab another girl’s arm. They looked honestly terrified.

  “I’m sure this is nothing, guys,” I told them.

  They weren’t moving, so I guessed that meant I was going first. I began following the trail. In order to dispel the emotions that caused so much fear, I tried to focus on logic.

  Those footprints weren’t all that large, so I didn’t think they were from a man. As my foot came down beside one of the footprints, I saw they were only slightly bigger than my own.

  The strides between steps easily matched mine, which led me to believe that this person was approximately my height.

  As I reached the main corridor, the lights above me flickered. The main lighting had been turned off in favor of energy conserving lighting that was used in the hallway for rehearsals and such. It expelled a fluorescent purple glow that reminded me of the bug zapping lights from my childhood.

  The footprints led to the girls’ bathroom.

  I heard the gaggle of girls behind me gasp.

  “What now?” one of The Shining twins asked.

  I pushed my shoulders back. “Now we go and check out what happened.”

  “We’ll wait here,” the twins muttered together.

  I wanted to say, “Call the police if I’m not out in three minutes.” But I kept those thoughts silent and instead said, “I’ll check it out.”

  I couldn’t deny that my hands were trembling as I reached the doorway. This was just silly. I didn’t believe in ghosts. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this.

  I pulled the door open and water cascaded into the hallway. What in the world?

  I reached for the light switch, and as it flickered on, I saw that water covered the floor. It was everywhere, probably a couple of inches deep. Steam hung heavy in the air, making it hard to see anything in front of me.

  I took a few more steps inside and noticed the water gushing from the toilets. All the sinks were on, streaming hot liquid.

  I surveyed the room, looking for a sign of what had happened. The bathroom had not looked like this earlier. This had been done on purpose.

  Even stranger: Why did the wet footprints lead to the bathroom and not away from it?

  I stepped through the fog to the sinks to turn them off. That’s when I saw the message written in blood-red lipstick on the mirror.

  I’ll get you, my pretty.

  Chills raced over my skin and I ran back into the hallway.

  As soon as the ladies there saw my expression, they huddled together and gasped. Without words, they knew that something scary had happened in that bathroom.

  So much for not alarming anyone.

  CHAPTER 12

  First thing in the morning, I stopped by Scarlet’s apartment, armed with a box of muffins and the excuse Mrs. Baker had given me about the costume.

  Scarlet didn’t live terribly far away from me. In the same area, actually—a neighborhood called Ghent. She lived closer than I did to Old Dominion University, in an old brick building that probably had eight units inside. It may have even been a dorm at one time, I guessed, based on some Greek letters that had been artfully arranged within the design of the bricks above the front door.

  I knocked on the door and waited patiently to see if anyone would answer. I didn’t have high hopes, but sometimes luck was on my side. Today was one of those remarkable days.

  The door opened partly, and a woman peered out of the crack with suspicion in her gaze.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Gabby. I’m with the community theater group in Virginia Beach. I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” her voice cracked.

  “I know it’s not much, but I brought these for you.” I handed her the muffins. “I didn’t know if you’d feel like cooking, with everything that’s happened and all.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, but she seemed to be holding herself together okay. I decided to gently bring up the nun habit, praying that my words sounded compassionate.

  “I hate to sound insensitive, but I also need to pick up one of the costumes from the play. I heard Scarlet brought it here.”

  She continued to eye me. “What’s your name again?”

  “Gabby. We’ve never met. I actually don’t live far away. Right across from The Grounds coffeehouse, if you know where that is.”

  That seemed to gain her trust some because she nudged the door a little farther open. “I’ll see if I can find something. I guess you can wait inside.”

  I smiled softly. “Thank you.”

  I stepped inside. The apartment was nothing fancy: a futon served as a couch, there were various theater posters—The Lion King, Phantom, and Mamma Mia!—on the walls and a glass top table, wicker and slightly dated, in the dining room. It looked like a typical college student’s place.

  “I’m Marjorie,” she said.

  I got my first good look at her. Marjorie had long blonde hair with tight spiral curls cascading down her back. She was dancer thin, but had a smattering of acne across her fair skin.

  I wondered if she was always so untrusting or if something had caused her to be this way. More specifically, if something related to Scarlet’s death had caused it.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked, standing on an island of tile right in front of the door.

  She shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

  I saw several used tissues on the end table, and I knew she’d been having a hard time. My heart softened.

  “How long were you guys roommates?”

  She walked over to the breakfast bar and began putting away dishes from the sink. “Since freshman year. We hit it off and moved out of the dorms and into this place instead. I can’t believe she’s not coming back.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Marjorie.”

  She paused, plate in hand. “Who would do this to her?”

  “I guess you have no idea?”

  She shook her head, putting the plate down and bracing herself against the counter. “No idea.”

  I decided to take a gamble. I was supposed to remain low key and undercover. But maybe I could push a little harder without raising suspicions. “Marjorie, would you mind telling me a little about Scarlet?”

  “What do you want to know?” She drew in a deep breath and resumed drying and putting the dishes away.

  I propped my hip against the wall. “Why in the world would someone want to kill her?”

  She eyed me from across the room. “I thought you were an actress?”

  I forced my shoulders to relax and reminded myself not to sound too anxious. “I am. But I worry that the crime is targeted at the play more than it was Scarlet. Now I’m in her old role, and my gut just feels unsettled. Does that make sense?”

  She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah, it does. I don’t know why she was murdered, to tell you the truth. But I told the police this, and I’ll tell you, too. I overheard her arguing with someone four nights ago. I was in my bedroom and the voices drifted up toward my window. I tried to look out and see what was going on, but they must have been standing just around the corner. I couldn’t see them.”

  My pulse spiked. “Was she arguing with a man or woman?”

  “A woman.”

  A casserole dish and plate clattered together, causing my nerves to tighten.

  “Could you make out anything they said?”

  “No, I couldn’t. It just sounded heated.” She rose on tiptoes to put the plates onto a high shelf.

  Though I wanted her full attention, I understood her need to feel normal, to stay busy in order to create a barrier between herself and reality. “Did you ask her about it?”

  “I did. She said I shouldn’t worry. She also said everything would be working itself out soon.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “I thought so, too. Scarlet was passionate about life and a little eccentric at times. She was smart and savvy, and knew what she wanted in life
. Nothing held her back.”

  “What did she want to do for a living?”

  “Oh, she wanted to make it all the way to Broadway. She thought this play would be her best chance. At least her starting chance. She was giving it her all and then some.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  Her lips twisted. “I don’t know. She was talking to this guy. He was Hispanic. Maybe from Mexico? I’m not sure. She only brought him around once.”

  Roberto? “Did he play soccer, by chance?”

  She pursed her lips. “Now that you mention it, I think he did play. I’m not really sure. Their whole relationship seemed kind of hush hush.”

  “Name?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. They texted a lot.”

  At least this was something. I’d take something over nothing.

  “Thank you, Marjorie.”

  She nodded sadly, pausing by the sink. “I guess you want the dress.”

  “That would be great.”

  Marjorie walked into a room down the hallway but quickly appeared again with a frown on her face. “I know that costume was in Scarlet’s room. I just saw it on her bed yesterday.”

  I tensed. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s gone now.”

  ***

  “Isn’t it a shame all these donuts are being wasted? Certainly it wouldn’t be that bad if we just had one,” Clarice said as we prepped the bullet-pocked walls at a local donut shop where, after hours, the owner and two employees had been shot. The place was a mess and had just been released by the police. We were going to get as much done here today as possible, but I had a feeling this would turn into a two day job.

  I stared at her. “You want to eat donuts from a crime scene?”

  “A donut is a donut. It’s not like they got their holes from a gun during a gang fight.”

  I paused. “Don’t touch the donuts, Clarice.”

  Although, now that she’d put the idea in my head, I was salivating for one of the caramel covered pastries that were in plain view. I could practically taste their sugary goodness, the gooey glaze and the airy pastry.

  Stop it, Gabby!

  “I bet one of those police officers who worked the scene snagged some. You know how they love their donuts.”