Murder at St. Winifred's Academy

by J. D. Griffo

Tambra went on to explain that that was precisely why she decided to audition. A self-described theatre nerd since childhood, she performed in shows all throughout high school and college, but stopped when she enrolled in the police academy to concentrate on her studies. Police work, even in a small town, was serious business, and she needed to bring some laughter back into her life.

  “And because Vinny is too scared to get on stage,” Tambra said, “he gets to live vicariously through me.”

  Alberta knew Tambra was being facetious, but she was still concerned by her comment.

  “That man needs to get a social life,” Alberta declared. “I’m starting to worry about him.”

  An impish smile grew on Tambra’s face and Alberta knew there was a secret underneath, dying to be revealed.

  “What do you know about Vinny that I don’t know?” Alberta demanded more than asked.

  As Tambra hedged to avoid responding, she was saved by a pair of fellow members of her acting troupe: Nola and a young man neither Alberta nor Sloan recognized. Tambra, on the other hand, recognized the group’s entrance as a means for her quick exit.

  “Excuse me,” Tambra said. “I need to talk to my director about my character’s motivation.”

  “Hi, everyone,” Nola announced, approaching the couple. “I wanted to introduce you to our leading man, Kip Flanigan. He’s going to play Mortimer Brewster, the part Cary Grant played in the movie. Now please excuse me as I attend to a spill backstage. A producer’s work is never done!”

  Alberta and Sloan introduced themselves, and before Kip could reply, they launched into a discussion of the young man and acted as if he had joined Nola on cleanup duty.

  “I don’t think he looks like Cary Grant, do you, Sloan?” Alberta asked.

  “No, he hasn’t got the floppy ears,” Sloan replied. “Freddy looks more like Cary Grant than he does.”

  “He does look like someone, though,” Alberta said.

  “Tony Perkins,” Sloan replied.

  “You think so?”

  “Yes, squint your eyes.”

  Alberta squinted and then squealed, “Oh yes, I see it. He does look like Tony Perkins.”

  “From that Psycho movie,” Sloan clarified.

  “That was such a scary movie,” Alberta declared. “And the fact that he resembles Tony Perkins will work perfectly in this play, won’t it? Like Bruno said, it’s a comedy, but it’s all about murder.”

  “That’s true,” Sloan agreed.

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  They were so engrossed in their own conversation that when Kip spoke, they were startled.

  “Mortimer is practically the only one in the play who isn’t a murderer,” Kip explained. “He’s trying to stop everyone from killing people, not the other way around.”

  Now that they heard Kip speak, they immediately changed their opinion about which former movie star he took after.

  “He is Cary Grant!” Alberta exclaimed. “He sounds just like him.”

  “The same high-pitched voice,” Sloan said. “A bit clipped and almost frantic. Are you British?”

  “No,” Kip replied. “I’m from the Boston area.”

  “That’s in New England, which is close enough,” Alberta said.

  Through their joint interrogation they uncovered some facts about Kip. He’d recently moved to the area and was a real estate lawyer who, like Bruno and Tambra, had a lifelong passion for the performing arts. He had been looking to become part of a community theatre and jumped at the chance to audition for the Tranquility Players when he saw the notice posted in the New Jersey theatre group he belonged to on Facebook.

  Without knowing anything about his acting ability and comedic skills, it was easy to see why Johnny had cast Kip in the lead. He had a certain presence. It wasn’t commanding, it was comfortable. At five eleven and roughly 175 pounds, Kip didn’t cut an imposing figure, and his dark brown hair, green eyes, soft features, and fair complexion worked well together, but weren’t striking. Kip was good-looking in a preppy, schoolboy way and not the dreamboat Bruno was. Women in the audience would think they could be his girlfriend and men in the audience would think they could get a beer with him. It was an important quality a director looked for if he wanted his audience to care about what happened to his leading man.

  Alberta was curious to know what Kip thought of the play’s leading lady.

  “Are you excited to meet Missy Michaels?” Alberta asked.

  Kip hesitated before he answered. “I know everyone’s really pumped to have her in the show, and according to Google, she was pretty famous a long time ago, but I hate to admit this and please don’t tell anyone, I’ve never heard of her before.”

  “You sound like my granddaughter, Jinx,” Alberta said, laughing. “She has no idea who Missy is either.”

  “Jinx is the reporter who’s going to do a piece on the show, right?” Kip asked.

  “Yes, she’s the star reporter of The Upper Sussex Herald,” Alberta declared.

  Kip thought for a moment and then replied, “She realizes the shortcut for that is TUSH, right?”

  “Yes, but don’t ever say that in front of Jinx’s editor,” Sloan warned.

  “As long as you guys don’t tell anyone I never heard of Missy before,” Kip said.

  “Your secret’s safe with us,” Alberta said.

  From the stage, with Johnny by her side, Nola spoke into a microphone so her voice would be heard over the din of conversation and asked the entire cast to join her onstage. Kip, Bruno, Tambra, Helen, Father Sal, and the rest of the members of the company did as they were told and assembled behind their producer and director. As with most community theatre ensembles, it was a motley, if not joyful, crew.

  “Che cast intrigante di personaggi,” Alberta whispered in Sloan’s ear.

  He attempted to translate, but knew he’d get it wrong. “You think they have character?”

  “Yes, of course, but what I said was, ‘What an intriguing cast of characters,”’ Alberta corrected.

  “They do look like a fun group,” Sloan said.

  With the most important member of that group missing.

  “In a few short days Missy Michaels will arrive,” Nola announced. “And then the most exciting period in the history of the Tranquility Players will begin!”

  She had no idea that it would also be the most notorious.

  CHAPTER 6

  Una sorpresa prima della sorpresa.

  The days leading up to the movie legend’s arrival were a bit of a blur. All throughout Tranquility, in the coffee shops, the liquor store, even the roadside fruit and vegetable markets, the conversation inevitably led to Missy Michaels. The star was making her presence known before setting one foot on Tranquility soil.

  Those who remembered the child actress told stories about how they imagined themselves living out Daisy’s pampered lifestyle. Being catered to by servants, having unlimited funds to buy whatever their hearts desired, and jet-setting from one glamorous location to the other. Of course, no one mentioned that her coveted life was the result of the deaths of her parents in a fiery plane crash, but such ugly truths would tarnish the memory. No, Daisy and Missy were seen as beacons of hope and not the results of tragedy that they were.

  Not only was Missy Michaels the topic of every conversation, it also seemed that she was the reason behind everyone’s latest jobs. Jinx had already published one article focusing on the comebacks of both Missy and the Tranquility Players, which would be the first in a series, with the highlight being the exclusive interview she would have with the star herself. Helen, Father Sal, and several other members of the community were in the cast, Sanjay and his staff at the Tranquility Arms were preparing to make Missy’s stay with them as memorable as her movies, and Joyce and Sloan were spearheading the marketing and publicity efforts for the upcoming production. One of the few people who found themselves without a Missy-oriented task to complete was Alberta.

  Despite being relegated to
bystander and not participant, Alberta didn’t feel left out or snubbed; she regaled in her new position. She might have been on the outside looking in, but that didn’t mean she’d be letting everyone else have all the fun. Alberta had spent most of her life watching the world pass her by, but since she moved to Tranquility, she had become an active member of that world. She wasn’t going to let that change any time soon.

  Through the front glass doors, Alberta could see Joyce and Sloan sitting on folding chairs near the box office in the lobby of the theatre at St. Winifred’s. They were looking through papers and files that were scattered along a rectangular, black-lacquer table with a classic Chinese design of interlocking boxes running the length of the underside of the surface. Joyce and Sloan were so engrossed in their work, they didn’t hear Alberta enter until she knocked on the glass door. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Alberta, what a pleasant surprise,” Sloan said.

  “Have you gotten the theatre bug too?” Joyce asked. “Or are you still having flashbacks from the last time you were onstage?”

  “Berta!” Sloan cried. “You never said you’d been onstage.”

  Sighing deeply and pointing a stern finger at Joyce, Alberta replied, “It was a very long time ago.”

  “It sounds like a juicy story,” Sloan said. “And I want to hear every word of it.”

  Bristling at the memory, Alberta nonetheless complied. “In second grade at St. Ann’s I played Mary in a Nativity play and dropped Baby Jesus right before the Three Wise Men showed up.”

  “Please tell me they didn’t cast a real baby in the role,” Sloan said.

  “Dio mio, no, thank God!” Alberta exclaimed, making the sign of the cross. “But the doll’s head popped off and rolled right off the stage and landed at the feet of Monsignor Valdaccini.”

  “It’s become known as the headless Jesus story,” Joyce explained.

  “My performance got me in so much trouble with Sister Margaret that it soured me from ever wanting to perform in another show again,” Alberta declared.

  “You’re welcome to sit in the dark of the theatre with the rest of us anytime,” Sloan said.

  Ignoring his flirtatious comment, Alberta wanted to know why they weren’t sitting in the theatre and had made their office in the lobby.

  “Nola and her stage crew are getting ready to build the set so there’s going to be a lot of noise and activity inside,” Sloan said. “We thought it best to sit out here to do our work.”

  “Looks like you’re working in style,” Alberta remarked. “That’s a lovely table.”

  “Nola said it was from an old production of Flower Drum Song,” Joyce explained. “I swiped it from their prop closet.”

  “Where’s that?” Alberta asked.

  “In the stage right wing space,” Joyce answered.

  “That’s off the right side of the stage?” Alberta asked.

  “Yes, you’re getting the hang of theatre lingo,” Sloan said. “Just remember that when you’re standing onstage, stage right is to your right and stage left is to your left.”

  “But when you’re sitting in the audience,” Joyce continued, “stage right becomes audience left and stage left becomes audience right.”

  “Which is completely logical,” Sloan said. “And downstage is in front of you when you’re onstage.”

  “And upstage is behind you,” Joyce added. “It’s really very simple.”

  “I feel like I’ve just watched Baby Jesus’s head roll off into the sunset all over again,” Alberta joked, thoroughly confused by the lecture.

  “Don’t worry, by opening night all this jargon will be part of your vocabulary,” Sloan said.

  “Let’s get through Friday night first,” Joyce said.

  “That’s when Missy arrives, right?” Alberta asked.

  “Yes, and Nola’s decided to throw a party in her honor to welcome Missy to our little hamlet,” Sloan explained.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Alberta said. “I have a lasagna in the freezer I can defrost.”

  “Uh-oh,” Joyce said.

  “Uh-oh what?” Alberta asked. “What’s wrong with my lasagna?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with your lasagna, you know I love it,” Joyce confirmed. “But I don’t love what Sloan said.”

  “What did I say?” Sloan asked.

  “The name of the play you’re not supposed to say,” Joyce said.

  Sloan took a moment to replay his words in his head and understood Joyce’s confusion.

  “Hamlet?”

  “Yes,” Joyce said. “Isn’t there a superstition that if you say Hamlet in a theatre it brings bad luck?”

  “No,” Sloan said. “You can say Hamlet, but you can’t say Macbeth.”

  “Sorry,” Joyce said. “I got my Shakespeare mixed up.”

  “Sloan, watch your mouth!” Alberta cried. “You just said the word you’re not supposed to say.”

  “Macbeth?” Sloan repeated.

  “Now you’ve said it twice,” Alberta replied.

  “Don’t be silly,” Sloan said. “Arsenic and Old Lace is a fun little comedy about little old ladies who commit random murder. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Alberta and Joyce looked at each other, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. They knew from experience that no matter the situation, anything and everything could go wrong, but they didn’t want to smother Sloan’s optimistic spirit. A perfectly timed text from Father Sal allowed them to change the subject.

  “He wants us all to be at my place at eight tonight,” Alberta said, reading the text.

  “Why?” Joyce asked. “Did something already go wrong thanks to Sloan’s slip of the tongue?”

  “It’s only a superstition,” Sloan protested.

  “Feel free to walk under a ladder on Friday the 13th after a black cat cuts you off,” Joyce said.

  “Aha! You’ve proven my point!” Sloan exclaimed. “Lola’s a black cat and she’s never brought anyone bad luck.”

  “Lola has a white stripe over her left eye,” Alberta corrected him. “She’s not all black.”

  “I give up,” Sloan said, throwing up his hands and sitting back in his chair.

  “We’re only teasing you, Sloan,” Joyce said. “But to be on the safe side, let’s talk less about Shakespeare and more about Father Sal. Why does he want us all to meet tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Alberta said. “He only said that he has una sorpresa prima della sorpresa.”

  “A surprise before the surprise?” Sloan questioned. “What kind of surprise?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Alberta replied, “I guess we’ll find out tonight at eight.”

  * * *

  By ten after eight that night they were still in the dark as to what kind of surprise Father Sal had in store for them because Father Sal still hadn’t arrived. They were going to have to hold the proverbial curtain until the star made his entrance.

  By 8:20 Father Sal was still a no-show and they were ready to give the star the hook.

  “I say we give him five more minutes and then we eat,” Vinny suggested.

  “We’ve waited long enough,” Helen said. “Berta, take the manicotti out of the oven, I’m starving.”

  Naturally, when Sal asked that they meet at Alberta’s for a surprise, she’d whipped up a quick meal of fried meatballs, roasted vegetables, a bowl of macaroni, and manicotti. The usual array of breads, cheese, and olives was already spread out on the kitchen table and the invited guests had been nibbling, but not enough to satisfy their hunger. They had learned that when they went to Alberta’s house, the only thing they were required to bring was a hearty appetite. Helen might have been the only one to express her desire to ignore etiquette and eat before the guest of honor showed up, but the rest of the group had no problem standing in a line behind her with plate in hand, ready to receive a homecooked meal.

  Alberta doled out healthy portions to Helen, Jinx, Joyce, Freddy, Sloan, and Vinny. She even cut up a meatball
and poured some gravy over it for Lola. The cat was meowing so loudly they didn’t hear Father Sal come in through the front door until he was standing with them in the kitchen.

  “I can’t believe you started to eat without me,” he declared.

  “I can’t believe you’re half an hour late,” Helen said. “Hold on a second, yes, I can. I forgot the Rosary Club nicknamed you Nine Fifteen Sal.”

  “Why’d they call him that, Aunt Helen?” Jinx asked.

  “Because when he presided over nine o’clock mass, it always started at nine fifteen,” Helen explained.

  “Getting your vestments to fall just the right way can be tricky,” Sal said.

  “You want to know what else is tricky, Sal?” Vinny asked.

  “What would that be, Vincenzo?” Sal replied.

  “Leaving us in the dark all day long and then making us wait on pins and needles to find out what this surprise of yours is,” Vinny said. “Now tell us or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

  Sal waved one hand in the air to dismiss Vinny’s empty threat, and with the other he dropped a small bag on the table. “Herein lies your surprise.”

  Reading the name on the bag, Joyce replied, “I think the surprise is on you, Sal. Tranquility Video and Electronic Repair closed up about fifteen years ago.”

  “I was the first one in line when they announced they were having their out-of-business sale,” Sal said. “That’s where I picked up this bit of movie history.”

  What he took out from the bag was the holy grail for any Missy Michaels fan. It was the DVD collection of all fourteen Daisy Greenfield movies.

  “We are going to have ourselves a movie marathon!” Sal exclaimed.

  Naturally, they started with Daisy Greenfield: Orphaned Heiress, the first movie in the series that marked the silver screen debut of the then seven-year-old Missy Michaels. They all knew the basic plot of the movie, even Jinx and Freddy, who had never seen any of the films in the series before, so no one was surprised when Teddy received a telegram announcing that her son and his wife were killed in a plane crash on their way back from their ski vacation in Switzerland. What they didn’t expect was how devastated they would be by the news. And it was all thanks to Inga Schumacher’s riveting performance.