Death by Eggnog

by Alex Erickson

  “How are you holding up?” Lawrence asked, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. He actually looked concerned, which was a surprise considering he hadn’t seemed to care about anything but the quality of the play during practice. “You look rattled.”

  “I am,” I admitted. “But I’m okay now. Sorry I messed up so badly.”

  “No, I understand.” He sighed. “I realize I can be a bear when it comes to practices sometimes. Directing a play like this is stressful, and I let it get to me. Everyone wants it to be perfect. I need to keep my reputation sterling so when I . . .” He glanced past me before giving me a meaningful look. “I can’t put on a dud if I want people to follow me.”

  “If you want me to step aside, I will,” I said. I was surprised to find I didn’t want to be cut from the play. Going in, I was sure I’d hate every minute of it, but practice wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I liked most of the people, even if many of them weren’t all that fond of me. And while singing and dancing wasn’t exactly my forte, I was slowly getting the hang of it and enjoying myself.

  “No, nothing like that,” Lawrence said with yet another reassuring squeeze. “Keep practicing at home, and I’m sure you’ll have the hang of things by opening night.” I could almost hear the “I hope” in his voice.

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised him.

  He smiled as the lights overhead dimmed. “You’d better get changed before we lock up for the night. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lawrence patted my shoulder once more and then turned to head up into the booth to finish the shutdown.

  Feeling marginally better, I headed for the back. Most everyone was already gone, having rushed through changing to get out of there. I didn’t mind since I wasn’t a big fan of the dressing room arrangements. I preferred having the room to myself, though it made for a somewhat creepy experience, especially after what had happened. Behind me, I could hear the lights shutting off and the occasional thump as something was moved on the stage. Otherwise, it was a quiet walk back toward the hall leading to the dressing rooms.

  What am I going to do about Robert? I wondered as I paused at the men’s side. The police tape was loose, torn on one side, as if someone had been sneaking a look recently. I rested my hand on the door, wishing I could just divine what had happened by touch and put it all behind me. Buchannan had likely charged Robert with Chuck’s murder by now. I wished I had more proof that he wasn’t the doer, but I had nothing but speculation.

  I started to turn away when the storage room door opened and Dean stepped out, a long, pointed screwdriver in hand. He saw me and froze.

  Panic zinged through me. We were alone together back here. Even if I screamed, there was no certainty Lawrence would hear me from the booth. Chances were good he’d already sent Violet and Zander home.

  “Hi,” I said, eyeing the screwdriver. “I thought everyone was gone.”

  Dean’s lips pressed together in a firm white line. I could almost see the calculation behind his eyes, the anger. Even his knuckles were popping white on the screwdriver. All it would take is one quick motion, and he could jam it through my eye.

  I took a nervous step back.

  “Wait,” he said, all the anger draining out of him at once. “I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes. “Please, just wait.”

  I hesitated. This was the perfect chance to run, very well might be my only chance.

  But what if he was about to confess? The pressure could be getting to him, making his life miserable. If I stayed, he might let it all out, just to be done with it.

  “Did you kill him?” I asked, knowing the smart thing to do would have been to remain silent, but needing to know anyway.

  “No,” Dean said, opening his eyes. “A part of me wanted to, but I couldn’t. I’m getting better at controlling it, you know? The anger.”

  I glanced at the screwdriver again, not so sure he did.

  He looked down at it and smiled. “A screw came loose on one of the flats. I was going to tighten it before I left.” He tossed the screwdriver aside. It clanked on the floor and rolled to a stop against the men’s dressing room door.

  “Okay,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I didn’t stoop to pick up the screwdriver, but I edged a little closer to it just in case he came at me. “Do you know what happened?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I did.” He looked at his palm, at the red welt there. “Chuck was always pushing me, trying to make me snap. He found out about . . .” He trailed off, frowned.

  “About what, Dean?”

  He sighed, seemed to cave in on himself. “He saw me go to my doctor one day.” A slight pause. “My therapist.”

  “You have a therapist?”

  Dean nodded, refused to meet my eye. “I used to get into fights over stupid things all the time. Someone would bump into me on a busy street and I’d retaliate as if they’d done it on purpose. I lashed out constantly, couldn’t help myself. It eventually landed me in jail and a judge decided I needed to talk it out, I guess.” He smiled, sadly. “My therapist told me to try out for a part in the play, saying it would give me something to focus my mind on, a sort of outlet for my anger. I thought she was crazy, but tried out anyway. I didn’t get a part, but was asked to do crew. I liked it enough, I stayed on for the last couple of productions. It can be stressful, sure, but it keeps my mind busy.”

  “And then Chuck started harassing you.”

  He nodded. “He wanted to see how far he could push me. Let me tell you, I wanted to . . .” He balled his hand into a fist a moment before relaxing. “But I held off. I’m getting better. I sometimes have to fight to keep from screaming, but I haven’t lashed out at anyone for months now.”

  I considered him a long minute while he fidgeted with his hands. He looked genuine, and honestly, I wanted him to be innocent. I liked the guy when he wasn’t getting angry at me. And he was taking steps to improve himself, which was something you couldn’t say for a lot of people.

  “Do you think Chuck was killed because of how he treated people?” I asked.

  “I wish I could tell you,” he said. “I saw him go to the back, but was so busy making sure everything was set up right, I didn’t pay attention to who else might have gone in after him.” He paused. “Well, I’m pretty sure I saw one of the elves hurrying by at one point, but I can’t be sure who it was. I didn’t look up; only heard the bells.”

  That fit with Robert, aside from the fact he’d taken off his elf shoes and had left before the body was found. So, who else was there? Trisha? Brad? Or did someone else have a reason to off Chuck, one I had yet to discover.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you. I was upset you were asking me questions like you thought I was guilty. I’ve tried really hard to be a good person and to have my integrity questioned, it got to me.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want to know who killed Chuck, and I’ll do whatever it takes to find out before someone else gets hurt.”

  “I hope you figure it out,” Dean said. “I’m going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He slid past me and headed for the door, leaving the screwdriver, and the loose screw, behind.

  I waited until I heard the sound of the cast door closing before I moved to the women’s dressing room. I slipped inside, mind whirling. With Dean’s admission, I found I was down yet another suspect, leaving very few options. I was starting to think Robert very well might be the killer.

  The dressing room was empty, as expected. I moved to the women’s side and sagged down into a chair. Asia’s speaker was sitting there, silent, and I kind of wished she was here to play music. My mood was down in the dumps, a stark contrast to how the evening had started.

  I quickly got changed and put on my coat. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I should have taken a closer look at Trisha. Could the easiest of explanations be the most l
ikely? I mean, Chuck had just hit on her mere minutes before his death. She could have snapped and Robert could be covering for her. It looked like I might have to start poking into her life.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the prospects. It would make me look like a jaded ex, snooping around, looking for a reason to get the current fling into trouble.

  I started for the dressing room door, just as it opened. I paused, thinking Lawrence was coming back to make sure the lights were off, but it wasn’t Lawrence who stepped inside.

  “Oh, hi, Greg. I thought everyone was already gone. Asia left a little bit ago.”

  Greg stood there, motionless, for a good couple of seconds before closing the door behind him. He didn’t move out of the way.

  “I’m not here for Asia,” he said.

  It was then I noticed the screwdriver in his hand.

  “Um, Greg?” I asked, taking a step back. “What’s going on?”

  “You had to keep pushing, didn’t you?” he said. “I heard you talking to that crewman.” He said it like a curse. “You’re still poking around, getting into everyone’s business.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, knowing playing dumb wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

  “Don’t you?” Greg smiled. “You are a lot like Chuck in many ways, you know that, right? He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and you can’t keep your mouth closed.”

  I would have been offended if I wasn’t so scared. “You killed him,” I said.

  “He deserved to die for what he did.”

  “For putting tacks in your shoes?” I guessed.

  Greg laughed. It sounded half-crazed. “That was nothing compared to what he did to Asia.”

  “He wouldn’t keep his hands off her.”

  A sneer contorted his smile. “I could have dealt with it if he would have done that, but no, he wouldn’t even touch her! He picked on me, chased after all the women but the only one who mattered.” His face reddened.

  “You love her,” I said, realizing it almost immediately.

  “She’s the moon and stars.” Greg’s eyes moved heavenward for an instant before settling back on me. “And he didn’t see that. He pretended like she didn’t even exist.”

  “So you killed him.” It seemed like a pretty weak excuse for murder. I mean, I’d be angrier if some other woman was chasing after the man of my dreams, not if she left him alone.

  “I didn’t mean to.” For an instant, he looked embarrassed by his actions. “But when I went to confront him about how he was treating Asia, he said she wasn’t worth his time! He put her down, said she couldn’t act. I couldn’t let that slide.”

  “So you snapped.”

  “It was impulse.” He looked at the screwdriver in his hand, fingers tightening. “He turned his back on me like I didn’t matter. The knife was sitting there. I don’t even know whose it was, or why it was there. I grabbed it and before I could think about what I was doing . . .”

  “You stabbed him.”

  “It should have ended there,” Greg said. “Chuck wasn’t a good person. No one misses him. Randy is a better Santa anyway. I’ve helped this production.”

  Sounded like rationalization to me, but I didn’t say that. “You did what you thought was right,” I said. “If you let me go, I won’t say anything. You’re right, everyone is happier now.” I forced a smile. My heart was beating so hard, I could feel it pulsing in my lips.

  “I wish I could believe you,” he said. “But you can’t be trusted.”

  “Greg, think about what you are doing. Would Asia want this?”

  “I have thought about it,” he said. “She would be heartbroken if you were to turn me in to the cops. I can’t let that happen.”

  His shoulders squared and he looked me dead in the eye.

  “I’m sorry about this, Krissy,” he said. “But you are going to have to die.”

  26

  Greg advanced on me, screwdriver in his hand looking as menacing as a butcher knife. I scuttled back, but there was nowhere for me to go.

  “Please,” I begged. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “But I have to.”

  I feigned to the right, hoping Greg would leap that way, but he held his ground. He was between me and the door, though he had yet to charge me. There was still some resistance to murder going on in his head somewhere. I could see it in his eyes.

  But I doubted the sane, reasonable side would win out. Letting me go now would end up putting him in prison since I would go straight to the police. He knew that, just as much as I did.

  Greg stopped a yard away. His shoulders were hunched, his breathing quick. I could almost hear him ramping himself up to stab me. When he’d killed Chuck, he’d already been worked up, and if what he said was true, it had been an impulse. This, however, wasn’t.

  “Think about what you’re doing,” I said, in a vain attempt to get him to see reason. “It’s only going to make things worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, raising the hand with the screwdriver up over his head.

  The door opened then, causing Greg’s head to swivel that way.

  “Sorry,” Brad said, hurrying inside. “I forgot my . . .” He trailed off as he took in the scene. His eyes widened as they moved from me to Greg and the screwdriver. “What’s going on?” He licked his lips, took a step back. “I, um . . .”

  “Help me,” I whispered, afraid to speak normally out of fear it would draw Greg’s attention back my way.

  Brad stood there, seemingly frozen in indecision. On one hand, he wanted to be the hero who saved the girl from the crazy man. On the other hand, the screwdriver did look pretty pointy poised as it was. If he charged Greg now, it could very well end up jammed through his chest instead of mine.

  I could almost see the thoughts working through his head. Instead of waiting for him to make up his mind, I used the distraction he provided me to take a quick look around at my surroundings. There was a roll of duct tape in the corner and a hairbrush on a chair nearby, which would be of little help. The costumes weren’t going to shield me either. I supposed I could try to use one to grab Greg’s arm and tangle him up like they do in the movies, but I had no idea how to do that. More likely, I’d end up getting wrapped in it myself.

  And then I noted the small, cylindrical black shape sitting right where it’s been for the last couple of days. Asia’s speaker. I took a quick step to the side, which drew Greg’s gaze briefly before he turned to face Brad once more.

  “I’m sorry,” Brad said, raising both hands. “I’ve got to go.” And like a coward, he ripped open the door and fled. So much for his tough guy image.

  But his flight did have one advantage; Greg’s attention was on him, not me.

  I ducked down, snatched up Asia’s speaker, and as Greg’s head started to turn back my way, I reared back and swung it at his head with all my might. The speaker, while high quality, cracked on impact, but it did the job. Greg staggered backward and tripped over his own two feet. I didn’t wait to see if he was unconscious or not, however. I leapt over his legs and ran for the door, calling after Brad as I went.

  Brad had just reached the cast entrance as I burst through the door. I called his name, but he didn’t so much as glance back as he vanished outside.

  “Thanks a lot!” I shouted after him as the theatre fell dark. Greg was already moving behind me, making a weird growling sound as he scrambled to his feet. I hesitated, vaguely noting the men’s room door was open, before making a move to the cast door, hoping Lawrence might still be around—which, of course, he wasn’t. The delay cost me.

  “Come back here!” Greg shouted, bursting out of the dressing room, red-faced and angry.

  I ran for the cast door then, but I was too slow. Greg came roaring at my heels. If I continued straight on, he’d catch me before I ever opened the door. The floor was damp with melted snow from Brad’s return. I used it to my advantage and took a hard left, just as Greg reac
hed for me. His feet skidded out from beneath him and he went down hard.

  Of course, now I wasn’t headed for the exit.

  I rushed up the stage, paused a heartbeat to take stock of the dark room, and then, hearing Greg’s thundering footsteps, I leapt down and ducked behind the seats.

  Greg’s shoes squeaked as he came to a stop on the stage. I was too afraid to peek out to see what he was doing, but I was pretty sure he was standing there, squinting into the gloom. There were gaps between the seats, and there was something sticky on the floor where I knelt. I was counting on the darkness to keep me hidden, but for how long?

  “I know you’re still there,” Greg said, jumping from the stage. “Lawrence keeps the doors locked at night. You can’t escape.”

  I bit my lip to keep from speaking up. Greg had to know it was over. Brad might have run, leaving me to face a killer on my own, but I doubted he’d be such a coward as not to go to the police. Paul could be on his way even now. If I could stay hidden until then, I’d be saved.

  But what if Brad didn’t have a cell phone? It could be twenty minutes before the police got here. By then, Greg could check down every aisle, peer beneath every seat. I couldn’t just sit here and wait to be saved.

  “Come on out,” Greg said, moving to the first aisle. “We can talk about it.”

  Yeah right, I thought. The moment I popped my head up over the seats would be the moment he tried to pierce my skull with his screwdriver.

  Greg’s shoes creaked as he moved to the next aisle, putting him one away from where I hid. Slowly, I slid toward the far end. My hands stuck to the floor and made a peeling sound that sounded as loud as a scream to my ears.

  Greg went completely still, as did I. I held my breath, afraid to so much as breathe lest I draw his attention.

  “I can hear you,” Greg said in a sing-song voice.