Death by Eggnog

by Alex Erickson

  Dean studied me a long time before saying, “I don’t see you as his type.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, I mean that as a compliment. Robert seems . . . shallow.”

  “That, he is. But that doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry yourself over it too much. Everyone gets what they deserve one way or the other.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Dean shrugged, removed a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his face. While it was cold outside, and the heating unit wasn’t all that great, it did get pretty hot onstage with the lights beating down on you.

  “Chuck treated people poorly. He caused trouble and then blamed it on others to amuse himself. Look where it got him.” He spread his hands. “And then you have this Robert guy, who thinks he’s better than every other guy on the planet. I’m sure he’s hurt a few women in his time.” He gave me a meaningful look. “And look where it’s gotten him.”

  “But if he didn’t commit the crime . . .”

  “I’m sure he’s guilty of something,” Dean said. “The police will take care of it. You shouldn’t worry yourself over something that’s really not worth your time.” The door opened as Lawrence returned. “I’d better finish up before he pops a gasket.” He gave me a brief smile and then hurried to the back for more props.

  Practice went on from there, and much to Lawrence’s dismay, it didn’t get much better than the first act. No one’s mind was on acting, least of all mine. I kept sneaking glances at Randy and Lawrence, both of whom seemed distracted in their own right.

  Mercifully, it all ended well before our usual quitting time. Lawrence threw a disgusted hand in the air and demanded we all leave. Nearly everyone made a beeline for the back to get changed, thankful we wouldn’t have to embarrass ourselves any longer.

  I changed quickly and then lingered in the back, hoping Randy would appear, but apparently, he decided to leave, still fully dressed as Santa. I hadn’t seen him go, but if he’d left while I was changing, I wouldn’t have.

  With a frustrated sigh, I headed for the door. I stopped when I heard muffled voices coming from the front. Curious, I crept to the closed stage curtains and parted them just enough so I could peek out.

  Randy and Lawrence stood huddled together in the aisle, talking briskly amongst themselves. The crew was gone, including Violet and Zander, leaving just the three of us inside the building. Lawrence was animated, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to make his point. Randy just stood there, shaking his head, white ball on the end of his Santa hat bouncing.

  I needed to get closer. While I could hear their voices, I couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. I was pretty sure the conversation had to do with me and what I’d said to Lawrence earlier.

  But there was nowhere for me to go that wouldn’t get me caught. The stage was clear of all but the flats and a few props. The two men were too far up the aisle for me to hear. Even if I tried to sneak around the side of the stage, I would be too far away to make out anything.

  Randy said something then and pointed toward the lobby. Lawrence nodded, and together, they headed that way. I waited until they were gone, checked to make sure I was indeed alone, and then, knowing I was taking a risk that could put me in a lot of hot water, I followed after them.

  21

  Snow crunched underfoot as I followed after the coconspirators. Neither Randy nor Lawrence acted as if they were concerned about being followed. They’d likely thought they’d had the theatre to themselves so their conversation and brisk walk in the cold had gone unobserved. They hadn’t stopped their animated discussion since they’d left the theatre, and to my eyes, it appeared Lawrence wasn’t happy. He kept gesturing wildly, nearly smacking Randy upside the head twice in his agitation.

  Sometime during practice, it had started snowing again and had yet to stop. It came down in a fluffy haze that obscured the streetlights and made it harder to see, which was probably good for me. If one of them were to look back, they might mistake me for a common pedestrian, though there was hardly anyone out, thanks to the snow. Only an occasional car coasted down the road, often well below the speed limit. It was good to see I wasn’t the only one who was overly cautious when driving in this stuff.

  I could think of only one reason why the two of them would be out together on a night like this. I’d rattled Lawrence. He’d tried to play innocent, and had done a convincing job at the end making me believe I was on the wrong track, but this solidified my belief that both Randy and Lawrence had something to do with the investment that had likely gotten Chuck killed.

  I slowed my pace as a new thought hit me. If I’d rattled Lawrence enough that he and Randy were sneaking off to have a little pow-wow, there was a good chance the topic of their conversation might be me, as in, “How do we get rid of that pesky woman?” sort of thing.

  My mind immediately conjured worst case scenarios, such as knowing I was following them and were leading me away so they could dispose of me elsewhere, for example.

  Determined, I continued on, squinting against the falling snow. I wouldn’t let fear control me. There were no abandoned warehouses in Pine Hills, no big lakes within walking distance they could drop me in—even if they weren’t all frozen over. And while I hadn’t told anyone where I was going, I was pretty sure it would be easy enough to figure out what had happened to me if I were to suddenly come up missing.

  Or at least I hoped it would be.

  We hadn’t been walking long before Randy motioned for Lawrence to stop. I did the same, moving to stand behind a streetlight, which did little to conceal me, but might make them overlook me if they did a quick perusal. My toes were frozen, as were my fingers and nose, but I refused to dance in place or rub my hands together lest I draw unwanted attention my way.

  Randy put a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder, spoke to him for a good thirty seconds, before pointing toward the church where Rita held the writers’ group meetings—you know, the ones I’d been missing as of late. Lawrence replied with a sharp shake of his head. Randy continued to talk before, finally, Lawrence sighed, nodded, and they turned to head to the church.

  Surprised, I followed after. I’d expected them to lead me to a dark alley or some other sinister location where dark dealings and murders could be planned. But a church? I seriously doubted the two of them were heading inside to pray for forgiveness.

  I caught the heavy door just as it was about to close. I peeked inside to find both Lawrence and Randy at the top of the stairs, moving toward the room where the meetings were usually held. Randy’s stride was confident as he disappeared inside. Lawrence, on the other hand, looked like a rabbit ready to bolt. Was it the church itself? Or was something else going on that made him nervous?

  I waited until they were both well out of sight before I slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me. I took the stairs carefully, knowing exactly where to step to avoid the groans and creaks that went along with any old building. I reached the top of the stairs, somehow not drawing attention despite the few missteps I’d made, and moved to stand by the doors, just out of sight.

  “Well?” Lawrence asked, clearly impatient.

  “Well what?”

  “This is pointless. You know my feelings on this woman.”

  “I also know how important this is to you, to the both of us.” There was a dull smack, which I imagined was Randy slapping Lawrence’s back. “Everything is moving along smoothly now. We just need a little extra cash to make it happen.”

  I edged closer, wanting to see the two men. I peered around the corner, ready to jump back if they were looking this way, but they weren’t. Randy was standing in the middle of the room, his back to me. Lawrence was pacing in front of him, rubbing at his temples, eyes to the floor.

  “Why here?” he said. “She could have come to us.”

  “You know that wouldn’t have worked,” Randy said. He ran a hand through his beard and flicked the wat
er he’d pulled from it to the floor. “People would have started asking questions. Where would we be then? All it would take is one person finding out and then he would know. You know what would happen then.”

  Lawrence glanced up to scowl at Randy. I slunk back into the shadows, mind racing. Who were they talking about? And what?

  “This better not backfire on us,” Lawrence said. “This is my life we’re talking about. I’m taking a huge risk here.”

  “We all are.”

  The two men fell silent, leaving me to contemplate what to do. It was obvious they were meeting someone, but who? As far as I knew, Brad was the only other person who knew about Chuck’s investment, and he was definitely not a she. Could he be the he they referenced, though? The one they didn’t want to find out about the secret meeting?

  A creeping dread oozed into me then. Hadn’t I asked Trisha about whether or not she knew about an investment opportunity? She’d denied it, but what if that wasn’t the case? She’d known Brad since they were in school together. Could he have let something slip to her about the investment, and she killed Chuck, deciding to go to Lawrence and Randy about it instead? Now, with me poking around and asking about it, I was a problem and perhaps they were afraid I’d tell Brad about what I’d learned.

  I mentally went back over everything I knew about Trisha, which was admittedly little. She was dating Robert. She didn’t believe he killed Chuck, stating the two of them were together at the time, a story Robert had corroborated.

  But what if they’d both lied to protect themselves. I doubted Robert knew anything about the investment, or Chuck’s murder for that matter. Trisha could have left him for a few minutes, claiming she needed to go to the bathroom, killed Chuck, and then led Robert to the body. She might not have realized how panicked he’d get, thinking he’d call for help. She decided to go with the flow, figuring that if Robert was accused of the murder, then no one would look at her as anything more than lucky to be alive.

  But if she was involved, why not bring Brad into the fold? Was it because of their past? Or did she not trust him to follow through with it?

  I shook my head and frowned. I was finding it hard to believe Trisha could have anything to do with the murder. Not only was the evidence flimsy and circumstantial, but she didn’t seem the type. I mean, she’d come to me to look into the case to help Robert. She had to know that I would discover something.

  A sound downstairs brought my attention back to the here and now. The door clicked and groaned as it opened.

  Panic flared through me then. If I stayed where I was, Trisha, or whoever was coming in, would surely see me. If it was the killer, then I would be in some serious trouble. If it wasn’t, I’d still have a lot of explaining to do, such as why I was lurking outside where Randy and Lawrence were waiting. They’d quickly realize I’d followed them and I was sure they wouldn’t take too kindly to my actions.

  I spun and quickly, but quietly, opened the door across the hall. I slipped inside, careful to close the door behind me so it wouldn’t make any noise. I was in a small conference room; the same room, in fact, that Chief Patricia Dalton had pulled me into when I’d first come to town so she could give me her son’s phone number.

  Now, that had been an uncomfortable conversation.

  I pressed my ear to the door, determined not to let memories derail me from the task at hand. I listened, breath held, hoping that this secret meeting would be the break I needed in solving Chuck’s murder. My phone was in my purse, which was in my car, back at the theatre, so I couldn’t call Paul right away if it was.

  The stairs creaked loudly as the newcomer ascended them. He or she reached the top of the stairs and stamped both feet on the floor, as if just now trying to shake away the snow instead of doing it downstairs where there was a mat.

  “Well, my Lordy Lou, it’s coming down hard out there!”

  I sucked in a breath. Rita? What was she doing here?

  I opened the door a crack and peeked out, not sure I believed what my ears were telling me. Sure enough, Rita Jablonski was heading for the meeting room. Her head and shoulders were covered in snow. Did she know what she was walking in on? There was no way she could be a part of any of this.

  Could she?

  “Ms. Jablonski,” Lawrence said, voice tight. “We’re here as you requested. I do hope you make it quick.”

  Wait. Rita had asked them there? Had she buried the hatchet with Lawrence, just like he had with Randy? I mean, these three people, together, in a secret meeting. It made no sense.

  All three moved deeper into the room, so all I could hear was Rita’s muffled voice. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, though I could imagine it had a lot to do with how inconvenienced she was and so on.

  But there was one thing I was sure of—this had nothing to do with Chuck’s murder.

  Discarding stealth, I pushed open the door and marched for the meeting room. Rita was standing with Randy and Lawrence in a loose circle. She was babbling about the cold, much to both men’s annoyance. She saw me as I entered, and while surprised, she didn’t seem upset by my appearance.

  “Krissy?” she asked. “What on earth are you doing here this late? The meeting isn’t until Tuesday.”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.

  Both Randy and Lawrence spun to face me. Both were red in the face, though Randy’s made him look more like Santa, while Lawrence simply looked angry.

  “Why, I was meeting with these two gentlemen about an investment opportunity,” she said.

  I sucked in a shocked breath. “You knew?” I said. I couldn’t believe Rita might actually be involved in a murder plot, all for some extra cash.

  “It’s not what you think,” Lawrence said.

  “Oh, really?” I asked. “And what do I think?”

  “How about, it’s none of your business,” Randy said, stepping forward.

  “She’s probably heard everything already,” Lawrence said. “Probably followed us here.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” I said, though in reality, I had no idea what was really going on here. “But I think it best if you explain yourselves now before the cops get here.” And if they thought I’d already called them, then maybe it would forestall them from coming at me with a knife.

  “The cops?” Rita asked. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  Randy smiled. He seemed genuinely amused. “She thinks we’re up to something illegal.” He laughed.

  “I . . .” Rita looked confused for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, dear, but we’re just having a nice little chat about the possibility of opening up a new, improved community theatre.”

  Both Randy and Lawrence nodded.

  I looked at them in confusion. “A new theatre?”

  “What else would we be talking about?” Rita asked with a laugh.

  “I tire of the same old problems,” Lawrence said, seeming resigned to the fact I’d found out. “I’ve been pushing for a new rigging system for years, and you saw the sound board. It’s a mess. It only works half the time, and don’t get me started on the lighting.” He sighed. “I’ve asked Kenneth to put some funds toward repairs, but it always ends up in his pocket instead.” His jaw grew tight. “If you want to know about something illegal, look into Kenneth Purdy.”

  I was dumbfounded. A new theatre? It kept going through my head, as if it was the strangest thing I’d ever heard. “But . . . but you two hate each other,” I said, indicating Lawrence and Rita.

  “Pah!” She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s water under the bridge.”

  Lawrence snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Sewage water, maybe.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Will someone please explain this to me?” I was having trouble understanding why they’d met in the church, instead of just doing it in the theatre or at a restaurant somewhere. “Why did you come here?”
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  “I asked them to meet me here,” Rita said.

  “Kenneth had been hanging around lately,” Lawrence added. “You saw him. He’s been coming around after hours as well. I think he knows something is up.”

  “The church seemed like a perfectly good place to talk financials,” Rita said.

  “Financials? Are you . . . ?”

  “Ms. Jablonski has agreed to help fund a new theatre,” Randy put in. “I inherited an empty lot a few years ago, but couldn’t afford to build anything on it. When Lawrence started talking about opening his own theatre, I started making calls. Things looked like they were going to fall through when, well . . .” He blushed.

  “But why all the secrecy?” I asked. This whole thing felt like they were making a mountain out of a molehill. I mean, I commended them for wanting a better theatre and taking steps to make it happen, but all the cloak and dagger for this?

  “I told you,” Lawrence said. “Kenneth Purdy would make a move to block us from moving forward with the project if he knew. He has friends in the city council who would back him. It’s already going to be a challenge to get approval without someone finding out.”

  “We figured if we went about it quietly, we’d get the ball rolling before he and his friends were any the wiser,” Randy added. “By then, it would be too late.”

  “It’s really simple, dear,” Rita said.

  I was at a loss for words. They were wanting to open a new and improved theatre? “Did Chuck find out about your plans?” I asked, trying to fit the murder in somehow.

  “Chuck?” Lawrence made a disgusted sound. “Casting him as Santa was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my theatre career. The man was untrustworthy at the best of times. I never would have told him of my plans.”

  “So . . . ?” I stared at them, hoping someone would say something that would make more sense.

  “No one here killed him,” Randy said. “While I’m happy to resume my duties as Santa”—he puffed his chest out at this—“Chuck’s death has made everything far more difficult. With all the snooping and questions floating around, we’ve had to be more careful with what we say and where we say it.”