by J. C. Eaton
“I spray it in their eyes, step out of my heels, and run. I can still get around. What do you think, Herb? You’re a man. Wouldn’t this stop you?”
“What does my being a man have anything to do with this? And no, though it might annoy me. And it might really set off a deranged murderer.”
“Is that what we have? A deranged murderer in our cast or crew! Oh Lordy! Harriet! Where’s that list? Phee, you need to pay attention.”
I chewed the crust from my pepperoni pizza slice and took a swallow of water. Like it or not, “the list” was going to be delivered to me as if it was a court-ordered mandate. I decided to sit quietly and continue to eat pizza while my mother spewed out a series of names, locations, and unrelated information that she and the ladies had somehow deemed vital to their cause. I lost count after the first three names.
“Stanley Krumpmeyer, broadcasting club, meets at seven AM in the men’s club building on Meeker Boulevard.”
“Gordon Web, has a small orange Pomeranian. Probably frequents the small dog park. Check with Cindy Dolton.”
“Chuck Mitchenson, goes to Cecilia’s church . . .”
Two slices of pizza and one bottled water later, I’d heard the entire list. Heard it. Not processed it. The women were looking at me as if they expected a categorical response to each of the names. Instead, I shook my head. “I’ll be happy to deliver that to the sheriff’s department on my way home.”
Herb stood, reached for another piece of pizza and laughed. “They don’t want the sheriff’s department, cutie. They want you to poke around and see what you can find.”
“For the zillionth time, I’m not an—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Big deal. You work for one. Or is it two, now? Seems like a slam dunk to me.”
My mother wasn’t about to have Herb Garrett get the last word. “You’re not getting off so easy yourself, Herb. How long have you been playing cards with those men? A year? Three years? How much do you really know about them? If I were you, I’d be asking a little more than who has the next piece of meld!”
Herb started to say something, but my mother cut him off and turned back to me.
“If you haven’t noticed, Phee, all of us are petrified. I, for one, don’t want to be looking over my shoulder when I’m squeezing fruit at the supermarket or wondering if someone broke into my car and is lying on the backseat waiting to put a choke hold on my neck. If we wait for those deputies to figure out who killed Miranda, one of us could be face down on the catwalk draped in Shirley’s latest tunic.”
At the word “tunic,” Shirley gasped. “God help me! Don’t you be saying that, Harriet.”
“Calm down. I need to get my point across to my daughter. All we’re asking, Phee, is for you to poke around in your free time and . . . well . . . you know . . . talk with people, figure out who had a motive. Obviously someone had the opportunity, or Miranda would still be alive bossing everyone around. And as for means? I don’t really know what that is so don’t worry about it.”
I was all but screaming at this point. “We don’t even know if she was murdered. She might have been the clumsiest person to go up on that catwalk. Why don’t we wait until we know for sure?”
Shirley gasped again. This time louder. “Heavens! If I look up in that theater and see one of my beautiful pieces of clothing clinging to another dead body, I swear I don’t know what I’ll do.”
I got up from my chair, took the list from my mother, and muttered six regrettable words before heading home for the night. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 7
“Does she think I’m certifiable or what?” I asked.
It was the next morning, and I was adamant Marshall needed to see the list my mother and her friends had prepared for me. Augusta was on the phone with a client, but I intended to show her the names once she was done with the call. I thrust the paper in front of Marshall before he could say anything.
“Look at this note! Would you look at this note? It says ‘You’ll find Cindy Dolton at the dog park every morning at six. Plenty of time to get the lowdown on Gordon Web before you have to be at work.’ At six in the morning all I want to do is have a cup of coffee. Oh my gosh. You must think I’m an awful whiner.”
“Nah. I know you better, and I also know you’ll probably wind up tracking down some of your mother’s so-called suspects because you won’t want to disappoint her.”
“Marshall, I—”
“Hey, I understand. That group of women in the book club may be a bit eccentric, but they’ve got a right to be alarmed. From what those deputies told me yesterday, the first responders were all but placing bets it was murder.”
“So you think I should take this list seriously and start asking around?”
“Only if you stick to high profile places with plenty of visibility, and if anything makes you feel the least bit uneasy, get the heck out.”
“My God! Now you’re sounding like my mother. Next thing I know you’ll be reusing paper plates.”
“Whoa. That was unfair.”
I figured it was time to change the subject, so I asked about Nate. “Any idea when he’ll be back from Tucson?”
“Maybe the end of the week. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get a jump on my next case. I’ll catch you later today.”
Today was Wednesday. I had no intention of throwing myself into another one of my mother’s wild goose chases, especially one in which the goose could have my neck. Still, having a conversation with Cindy Dolton in the dog park wasn’t that onerous. I figured I’d get up early the next day and get it over with.
Cindy was the owner of a small white dog named Bundles and an acquaintance of my mother’s. I’d met her over a year ago when rumors of a book curse circulated around the community. She knew just about everyone in the dog park, so if there was anything at all remotely suspicious about Gordon Web, Cindy would be able to tell me.
* * *
As it turned out, it wasn’t until Friday that I had the chance to catch up with her. I was swamped at work with invoices and the monthly billing. Having a second investigator, even one I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of, meant more work for me. I had to double check on his direct deposit, make sure our health insurance company added him, and verify his employment with the company that handled our business insurance. Little things, but time consuming when continuously placed on hold.
My mother called me the night before Cindy and I spoke to let me know the new director, Cliff Edwards, had arranged for a full cast read-through on Saturday at the social hall. No crew. Only the cast. Apparently, he didn’t want anyone to forget their lines, and he certainly didn’t want to lose the momentum.
“Do you have any idea when they’ll let you back into the Stardust Theater, Mom?”
“According to Cliff, who spoke with the sheriff’s department, we should have the all clear by Tuesday.”
“That’s good, I suppose. I mean, all things considered, you didn’t lose too much time.”
“Oh, we lost time all right, and now it’ll mean longer rehearsals since the calendar was already in place. It would have been awful if the Footlighters had to change the date. Too many conflicts with other performances.”
“Other performances? You mean to tell me there’s more than one play going on?”
For a brief second, I wondered if someone was trying to sabotage the play and it went too far.
“No. Performances. The square dancers, the yodeling club, the Jazzy Tappers—”
“I get it. I get it. Spare me the entire list.”
“Speaking of lists, did you get started? Did you talk to Cindy? What did you find out about Gordon?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll see Cindy tomorrow morning if I can keep my eyelids open.”
“Cindy knows more people than just the ones from the dog park. Read her the entire list and see what she has to say.”
Yes, that’s exactly what I intend to do at six in the morning. “Uh-huh.”
“Cecilia in
tends to sprinkle holy water in the theater when they open it back up for us. Can you imagine?”
“If that makes her feel better, Mom, then what’s the harm?”
“Because the next thing you know, Shirley will be armed with an arsenal of Lysol and she’ll be spraying that all over.”
“Good grief. Miranda Lee was probably strangled or electrocuted from the wiring. She didn’t die of the Bubonic Plague.”
“Shirley doesn’t believe in taking chances.”
“What about you? Are you okay with it? Going back inside the theater, I mean?”
“Of course not. For all I know I could be sitting next to the murderer. That’s why the book club ladies and I came up with the buddy system.”
“Buddy system? Like in summer camp?”
“Exactly. No one goes anywhere in that building alone. I don’t care if it means changing seats to another row during rehearsal or using the restroom. We go in pairs or we don’t go at all. Cliff Edwards will have to deal with it.”
“Yeah, I suppose he will.”
“Call me, Phee, if you find out anything.”
“Same here. And stop worrying. Whoever murdered Miranda, and I’m not saying she was murdered, but if she was, then whoever did it had a motive.”
As soon as I got off the phone, I felt guilty for telling a white lie. Even though I did it so my mother wouldn’t worry. Like those high-strung book club women, I had the same creepy feeling that maybe we were dealing with a serial killer, and maybe the note, “AND THEN THERE WERE NONE,” was his or her way of getting the real show started.
* * *
Like clockwork, Cindy was at the dog park Friday morning at six. I was sitting under the yellow awning holding a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts Dark Roast. The misters were on full blast because the three ladies sitting next to me insisted they’d pass out if there was no moisture in the air.
The second Bundles came through the gate, I got up and headed straight for Cindy.
“Hi! Good Morning! I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Harriet Plunkett’s daughter, Phee.”
“Oh no. Not another book curse?”
“No. Nothing like that. Murder. Um . . . possibly murder. I’m not really sure.”
Cindy was about to say something to me when all of a sudden she whipped her head the other way and yelled, “Get away from that black and white dog, Bundles! Now! Mommy said NOW!”
Then she turned back to me. “That black and white terrier pees on the other dogs. Two nights ago he came sniffing around my Bundles and next thing you know, he peed all over him. I had to rush home and give poor Bundles a bath. Let me tell you, I was not happy. Not at all. Uh . . . what was it you were saying? Something about murder?”
“I can’t say for certain it was murder. But one of the cast members in the Footlighters’ play was found dead in the theater a few days ago.”
“Miranda Lee, right? You couldn’t get within five feet of her table at Bingo. I knew it had to be something suspicious. I just knew it. Everyone was keeping it hush-hush like she had a heart attack or stroke or something. In fact, it was in this morning’s paper, but all it said was that a deceased person was found in the Stardust Theater. Heck, I gloss over that stuff all the time. Gee, you think she was murdered? Harriet thinks she was murdered?”
“Let’s put it this way, the sheriff’s deputies are investigating, but my mother doesn’t want to take any chances, what with her being in the play and all. She asked me to see what I could find out about the other cast and crew members and thought you might know one of them.”
“Oh my God! A real killer could be in that play. Or in this dog park! Near my Bundles! Who? Who does she think it is?”
“She doesn’t. She and her book club friends made up a list of names. Here, see for yourself.”
I took the list out of my bag and handed it to Cindy. Her gaze went up and down the paper as if it were the menu from Cracker Barrel.
“Hmm . . . I know three of these people. Gordon Web has a purebred, orange Pomeranian named Creamsicle Boy, Bill Sanders has a scruffy, tan-and-white mutt named Kramer, and Miranda Lee used to own a Chinese Crested Hairless dog that went by the name of Lady Lee. That was at least four years ago. The poor dog was on its last legs then.”
“Do you know if Miranda had any problems with Gordon or Bill?”
Cindy tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. “Bill gave her a wide berth and Gordon wouldn’t give her the time of day. Other than bringing their dogs to the park, they had nothing to do with each other. I really don’t think either of those men could be your killer. I mean, why wait all this time to murder someone? Miranda was as obnoxious four years ago as she was four days ago.”
“Um. It’s a possible murder. Possible. Her body was found on the catwalk above the stage. She could have tripped on something and gotten tangled up in the cords.”
Cindy shook her head. “Miranda didn’t trip. I could all but guarantee it. Miranda Lee was a former nurse. They’re trained to be steady on their feet. Especially if they’re carrying syringes or tubes or any of that stuff.”
“How do you know that? About her being a nurse?”
“Sweetie, you’d be surprised what we learn by sitting here in the dog park. The dogs may be wagging their tails, but their owners are wagging their mouths. Listen, if I hear anything, I’ll call your mother.”
I thanked her and started for the gate just as I heard someone yell, “POOP ALERT! POOP ALERT BY THE WATER FOUNTAIN!”
I ducked out of there before someone decided to hand me a clean-up bag. It was six-thirty, and that meant I’d get to the office two hours early. Two hours that I desperately needed to catch up. It felt as if I was constantly being pulled away with my mother’s phone calls, not to mention the entire half day I lost when Miranda’s body was discovered.
Marshall had left a message saying he would be in Phoenix, and Nate was still working in Tucson. I had the entire place to myself and was able to send out invoices without feeling rushed and reconcile some accounts without hurrying through them.
Augusta arrived at nine. The second she walked through the door, she headed straight for my office. “I think Marshall likes you, Phee. And I don’t mean in the everyday sense of the word.”
“Whoa! What brought that on? And do you really think so? Because that would really complicate matters. On the one hand, I’d love to be dating him, but, on the other, if things don’t work out, it would be really awkward around here. Really awkward. My God, Augusta. I just used the word ‘really’ four times. I’m worse than a fourteen-year-old. I’m even speaking like one.”
“You’re even blushing like one. No use worrying about it. See what happens. If it’s meant to work out, it will. Well? How did your encounter at the dog park go?”
“Let’s put it this way, the Federal Bureau of Investigation agents are amateurs in the intelligence business compared to the folks who hang out there. If Miranda Lee really was murdered, the dog park people will know about it way before the authorities.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll all have to hide from my mother.”
Chapter 8
It was back to routine the following week. That meant work for me and taking advantage of the last days of the late summer weather by going swimming at night. I had made a few friends in my community and having a social life meant more than eating at Bagels ’N More with my mother’s book club ladies.
As far as the play was concerned, the cast and crew returned to the Stardust Theater and picked up where they left off, with a few exceptions—Sue Ellen Blair was now playing the role of Mollie Ralston, a sheriff’s deputy was in the building for all rehearsals, and my mother’s new protocol of being with a buddy at all times was put into effect immediately. I imagined she’d nagged the new director into it until he acquiesced.
Four days went by without a hitch. Then the deputy on duty delivered the official news to the cast and crew. He made it clear Miranda Lee’s death was rule
d a homicide. It was one in the afternoon, and I was in the middle of printing out a spreadsheet when Augusta poked her head in my office.
“Your mother’s on the line, Phee. She’s yelling, ‘It was murder! It was murder!’ I think you’d better take this call.”
I picked up the receiver and took a breath. “Hi, Mom, Augusta told me—”
“We knew it! We knew it all along, Phee. None of us are safe. The only way we’ll be safe is if we know for sure it was a designated murder.”
“A designated murder? You mean like a designated driver? What do you mean?”
“I mean a single, premeditated murder meant to murder one person and one person only, not some lunatic out to bump off the entire cast and crew. We can only pray that the culprit wanted to knock off Miranda Lee, and only Miranda Lee. How are you coming along with that list I gave you? Have you narrowed down the suspects?”
“Um . . . well . . . I’m working on it.”
“What have you found out so far?”
It was a good thing I was on the phone and not talking face-to-face with my mother. She’d see me biting my lip, and she’d know I wasn’t exactly tackling her list in a timely fashion. Or any fashion for that matter.
“Cindy Dolton gave me some information. I’m looking into it.”
“Well, keep looking. And while you’re at it, you might try talking to Sue Ellen Blair. It would look suspicious if one of us started grilling her.”
“It’s going to look even more suspicious if, out of the blue, someone who has absolutely nothing to do with the play suddenly starts pumping her for information.”
“It’s not out of the blue. You’re with an investigative agency. You can slip into one of the rehearsals and ask her a few pivotal questions.”
“Don’t tell me. You’ve written those down as well as the list. Look, I’m sure if there are any pivotal questions to be asked, the deputies have already done so.”
“Not the kind of questions I have. I want to know that woman’s theatrical ambitions. She may have been bawling her eyes out on the day of the murder, but all that tells me is Sue Ellen Blair might be a better actress than any of us could imagine. Maybe she wanted the role of Mollie Ralston so badly she was willing to murder for it.”