by J. C. Eaton
Having seen Paula on two separate occasions, a year ago at Bingo and more recently at the Stardust Theater when she accused my mother of writing that bizarre note, I knew I’d recognize her. Not many women have red hair in a pageboy with straight bangs.
I leaned against the back wall and perused the tables again. It was tough to get a good look since so many backs were turned away from me. The couple on the platform finished their song and were enjoying the applause. A heavyset man thanked them and introduced the next singer, someone named Larry, who was about to sing Bobby Darin’s classic, “Mack the Knife.” I skirted past the refreshments until I reached the wall opposite the entrance. It gave me another vantage point to look for Paula. I was so intent on locating her that I didn’t realize someone was speaking to me, and I was completely taken by surprise.
“Are you waiting for your turn?” a man whispered as he walked past me.
“My turn? What? Oh no. I’m not singing.”
“You should. It’s fun. My date and I were going to sing “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease, but she’s not back yet from the ladies’ room and we’re up next. Hey, want to pitch in and sing it with me? If we lose our spot, we won’t get it back. It’s a long sign-up list.”
“I . . . uh . . . er . . . I can’t sing.”
“Can’t or too scared?”
“Both, but mostly can’t.”
“Too bad. I wish Paula would have waited a few minutes. We’ll miss our turn for sure.”
“Paula? Your date’s name is Paula?”
My Aunt Ina would have said something about the planets being lined up in all the right places, but I knew it was nothing more than coincidence. Coincidence if his Paula turned out to be the one I wanted to find. I took my chances.
“Paula Darren’s your date?”
“How did you know? Do you know her?”
“In a manner of speaking. Um, maybe I can hurry her along for you. ‘Mack the Knife’ has at least six stanzas. Maybe more. I’ll see what I can do.”
Without waiting for a response, I took off for the ladies’ room like no one’s business and kept my fingers crossed Paula was still there.
Chapter 10
As I swung the ladies’ room door open, I heard a voice. “Have they called the next number yet? ‘You’re The One That I Want’?”
“Not yet,” I shouted as I stepped inside. Judging from the open stalls, Paula Darren was the only woman in there. She was standing in front of the mirrors fixing her hair.
She paused for a second to acknowledge me and continued with her hair. “I’m supposed to be singing that number, and it’s the last thing I want to do. I told Barry, my date, that I don’t like to sing in public, but he was chomping at the bit for us to perform. I can act, mind you, but sing? Only in the shower. I’ll tell him it was really crowded in here and took longer than I thought. He’ll believe me. He’s seen some of those lines.”
“Uh-huh.”
I stood there wondering what to say next. I was sure if she got a good look at me she’d recognize me from that day in the theater. No sense pretending. I started to open my mouth when Paula continued.
“Do me a favor, would you? Can you go into the hallway and listen to hear if they’ve moved to another song? I don’t want to take a chance if Barry’s out there.”
“Sure.”
At first I didn’t hear anything, and then, like something out of a nightmare, I heard a voice that resembled chalk on a blackboard. A woman had started to sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Bonnie Tyler would be pulling her hair out.
“I think you’re okay, which is more than I can say for the audience. They’ve moved on to another song. One we should both miss.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s really bad.”
Paula had turned away from the mirror. “Say, didn’t I see you at the Stardust Theater? I did, didn’t I? You were sitting near Harriet Plunkett and her friends. Are you on one of the crews?”
She hasn’t made the full connection. I’m safe for the time being. “Uh, actually, I’m with Williams Investigations in Glendale. I was called to the theater when Miranda Lee’s body was discovered. Horrible thing. I’m sure it’s devastating for everyone involved in the play.”
So far, so good. I haven’t really lied yet.
“It’s a nightmare. No. Worse than a nightmare. People can wake up from nightmares. Poor Miranda will never wake up.”
“Did you know her well or only from the play?”
“Miranda and I were good friends. Really good friends. We’ve known each other for over a decade. I don’t know why anyone would have wanted to kill her. What have you found out? Are you working with the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department?”
“My boss is. Working with them, that is. And no, no information as of yet. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone had anything against her, would you?”
“She didn’t have any enemies, if that’s what you mean. But, well, Miranda wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with. Not that she was mean, spiteful, or vindictive, nothing like that . . . but she was kind of territorial when it came to her table at Bingo. And that sort of carried over into the play.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t just walk on the stage; it was like she had to own it. Own it and be recognized.”
“Recognized? She had the lead role.”
“She wanted to be the focal point of attention in every scene. Went so far as to adjust those stupid spotlights herself. If only she could have let it go. She’d still be here. I know for a fact she had more than one argument with those grouchy old men on the lighting crew.”
“Are you saying you think—”
“That one of them did it? No. She also got into it with both directors, Ellowina and Cliff. And my take is, there was something weird about her and Cliff, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. He probably knew how to push her buttons, that’s all. Once he accused her of negligence because she moved Randolph’s skis, well, not Randolph’s. The character he’s playing. Sergeant Trotter. Anyway, Cliff claimed someone could have tripped over them and gotten seriously injured.”
“It must not have been too pleasant around the set.”
“It wasn’t, but it wasn’t all Miranda’s fault, either. I really hope whoever killed her gets caught.”
“Yes. Of course. That goes without saying. I’m very sorry for your loss. Ten years is a long time to have been friends with someone. Did you meet her here in Arizona?”
“Seemed like yesterday. We both bought our homes around the same time. We had a lot in common. I’m a retired ER nurse, and she was a floor nurse for a rehabilitation hospital in Phoenix. We were also both recently divorced, although Miranda never wanted to talk about that. Poor Miranda. We had a small memorial service for her. Just a few of her friends. She was cremated and the remains sent to her niece in Rhode Island. That’s her only surviving relative, as far as I know. I imagine the niece will have the remains buried in Rhode Island since that’s where Miranda was from. Oh my gosh. I’ve been in here forever. Barry is going to pitch a fit. I’d better get going.”
“Well, it was nice talking with you. Good luck with the karaoke.”
“Ugh.”
Paula raced out the door as I stood in front of the mirror. Seconds later, two women dressed as if they had been working the rodeo circuit walked in. I said hello and made my exit. It was eight-forty when I started my car and headed back to Vistancia. I made a mental note to keep a low profile around my mother and her friends while they were at rehearsals, lest Paula discover the truth about me. And the fact Williams Investigations wasn’t officially investigating.
When I got home, the red light was flashing on my phone. I pushed the button and waited for the message.
“Phee, we’re having breakfast at Bagels ’N More tomorrow morning at ten. Cliff called a rehearsal for one-thirty. Shirley thinks Miranda’s ghost is in the theater. Come to breakfast. Oh, I also left you a voice mail on your ce
ll. Turn that thing back on, will you?”
Wonderful. A ghost. Miranda’s ghost. That was the last thing I needed to think about before I went to sleep.
Since I didn’t have anything major on my schedule for Saturday morning, I decided to take my mother up on her offer and meet the Booked 4 Murder ladies at their regular spot. I figured if I could sift through the rumors, gossip, and innuendos, I might be able to hone in on something important pertaining to Miranda’s death.
* * *
I could see the giant banner plastered across the building as I pulled into the packed parking lot the next morning. The sign read WELCOME BACK SNOWBIRDS, and I groaned. It would be frenzy time in there, and I was right. Every table was full, and the waitresses seemed to be bouncing from one table to the next.
Somehow my mother had managed to commandeer the large table in the middle of the room for her group. All six of them, including her. I wove around the smaller tables until I finally arrived and took a seat next to Shirley, who was in the middle of a conversation with Lucinda.
“I don’t like salty lox.”
“Then don’t order it.”
“Hi, everyone,” I said as I made myself comfortable and reached for a menu. “How’s the play going, or shouldn’t I ask?”
Shirley moved the menu away from her eyes and looked up. “Miranda’s ghost is haunting the theater. Didn’t your mother tell you about it?”
“Sort of. She left a general message on my phone last night.”
“Well, I’ll give you more than a general message. Let me tell you, that evil woman’s spirit never left the Stardust Theater. She’s not going to rest in her grave until the killer’s found.”
“Shirley’s right,” Cecilia said. “That theater needs to be cleansed, and I don’t mean spraying a bottle of Lysol everywhere.”
I looked from face to face and they all seemed to concur with Cecilia. Well, almost all of them.
My mother was engrossed in studying the menu and only looked up once; she directed her comment to me. “Spit it out. What do you think?”
“Me? I don’t even know what’s going on. Why do you think the place is haunted all of a sudden?”
Before anyone could say a word, the waitress appeared and cleared her throat. “I know. I know. Separate checks. What’s it going to be, ladies?”
I jumped right in, ordering bacon, egg, and cheese on a plain bagel, hoping everyone else would be as quick. They weren’t. I fought hard not to bite my lip as the questions began.
“How fresh is the tuna salad?”
“How salty is the lox today?”
“Are they still putting egg in the potato salad?”
After what seemed like a millennium, the waitress took the orders and headed for the kitchen. At least we’d managed to keep it simple as far as coffees were concerned.
As I poured half-and-half into my cup, I went back to my original question. “What makes all of you think the place is haunted?”
Louise gave Shirley a poke in the arm and whispered, “Tell her.”
“Fine, fine, Louise. I don’t need any prompting. Three days ago I walked into the costume room and what did I find? Mollie Ralston’s costume wadded up in the middle of the floor. That was the role Miranda was playing until . . . well, you know. Anyway, I had to iron that brown wool skirt and press the beige cardigan to get rid of the wrinkles. And the blouse. The white blouse was filthy. I had to throw it in the wash. Everyone else’s costumes were still in the closet on hangers, where they should be.”
“Um, did you ask Sue Ellen if she knew anything about it?”
“Of course. That was the first thing I did. Poor girl took one look at her costume on the floor and started crying.”
“It doesn’t sound like anything supernatural to me. Sounds like something a flesh and blood person did for some inane reason.”
“That’s not the only thing. You tell her, Myrna. You saw it. It happened during the act two rehearsal.”
“What happened during act two?” my mother shouted. “How come no one told me? My character’s not in act two. What did I miss?”
Myrna put both elbows on the table, clasped her hands, and put them under her chin before speaking.
“We were midway through act two when the lights started flickering. At first I didn’t think anything about it since the guys are always adjusting them, but then, out of nowhere, this really weird shadow appeared in the projection booth. Cliff stopped the rehearsal to ask who was up there, but no one was. None of those lights should have been on because it wasn’t a technical rehearsal. Cast only. The lighting crew wasn’t even there that afternoon.”
“Well, someone was there,” I said. “And I’ll wager anything it wasn’t Miranda’s ghost.”
Louise reached across the table to grab another napkin. “There’s other stuff, too, Phee. I’ve been going to plays and movies in that theater for years and the temperature is always the same. Lukewarm. Not anymore. Sometimes the blower comes on by itself and gusts of cold air are everywhere.”
“Look, all of this has a logical explanation, I’m sure of it. Hasn’t the director spoken with the maintenance department for the rec centers?”
Some of the women shrugged, while others shook their heads.
I was about to suggest someone call the maintenance department when something dawned on me. If the ladies were so preoccupied with the idea that Miranda’s ghost was in the theater, then they wouldn’t attribute the bizarre activities to something more sinister. It could very well be that the killer was doing those things to throw them off. But why? If all he or she wanted to do was kill Miranda Lee, then there was no need for this charade. Unless . . . oh my gosh! What if my mom was right and it was a serial killer?
“Phee! Phee! Move your arm out of the way. The waitress is trying to put the plates down.”
I was so engrossed I hadn’t noticed our food being served. My mother, however, was right on top of things, as usual. All conversation ceased as breakfast was being served. The women were eyeballing their plates with more scrutiny than the county food inspector. Then, without warning, they began a new conversation that reminded me of a television game show. “I should have ordered the—fill in the blank—instead.”
Only a few words escaped their mouths amid the chomps, crunches, and chews.
We were almost done eating when my mother leaned back in her chair to stretch. “Look! There’s Herb with Kevin. Maybe one of them can tell us what’s going on with the lighting. We’ve got two extra seats at this table. Let’s call them over.”
The men were seated in the far left corner.
“Mother, do we have—”
Too late. My mother stood, waved her arm, and motioned for Herb to join us. Seconds later, the two men took seats at our table.
“Hey, gorgeous ladies! Good timing. We were just getting up from the table when we saw you. Looks like all of you have eaten, too. So, what’s new?”
“You tell me, Herb,” my mother said. “Aren’t you the least bit worried about all the goings on at the theater? You know . . . the lights going on and off, the temperature, the shadow . . . the . . .”
I could tell Kevin was trying hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. “Electrical glitches, that’s all. And as for the temperature fluctuations, that old thermostat probably needs to be recalibrated or replaced.”
My mother wouldn’t give up. “What about finding the Mollie Ralston costume piled up on the floor? That’s no glitch. What about that, Kevin?”
The guy shrugged. “No, I’d say that was someone who was pissed off. Maybe sweet, little Sue Ellen Blair isn’t as nice as everyone seems to think, and she rubbed someone the wrong way. Look, all of this crapola is just that—nonsense. But there’s one thing that’s really starting to get on my nerves, and when I figure out who’s responsible, they’re going to get an earful from me. Unless, of course, Bill gets to them first.”
The look on my mother’s face was priceless. She was dying to know the rest
. “What are you talking about?”
“That stinkin’ perfume Miranda Lee always wore. It’s permeating the catwalks and making me gag.”
Shirley just about swooned in her chair. “Lordy, oh Lordy! I knew it. I knew it. Temperature fluctuations and calibrations my sweet patootie! It’s Miranda Lee. Come back to haunt all of us until we can put her soul to rest.”
At that moment, I waved my hand in the air and yelled, “Check, please!”
Chapter 11
While the waitress was busy doling out the checks, I took that opportunity to get everyone’s attention.
“Hold on. Before any of you head out, did Randolph Tilden Jr. ever show up in the theater that day? The deputies kept calling his name, but he wasn’t there.”
I quickly turned to my mother and added, “Sorry, Mom. Forgot to ask you.”
Myrna immediately responded with a loud “No,” which was followed by a more detailed explanation from Cecilia, who apparently heard what had happened to Randolph from Chuck Mitchenson at church a week later.
“Randolph woke up with a terrible earache and had to go to one of those urgent care places. Forget your primary care doctor in an emergency. They’re too busy to take you. Randolph told Chuck he left a message for the director, but I guess Cliff never got it. You know how it is with voice mail. You end up deleting half the stuff before you listen to it.”
“I don’t delete anything, Cecilia,” Myrna said. “You must not know how to use your phone.”
“Of course I know how to use my phone.”
Another fifty seconds of listening to Myrna and Cecilia, and I’d swear I’d break out in hives. “Um, forget the phone. Did the deputies ever question Randolph?”
Cecilia couldn’t wait to provide the specifics. “Not only did they question him, but, according to Chuck, they all but accosted him in front of his own house. There he was, picking up the Saturday evening paper in his driveway when a sheriff’s deputy car pulled up. Imagine! Having to stand there and answer all sorts of questions in front of the entire neighborhood.”
Myrna shook her head and mumbled something to the effect that “It couldn’t have been that bad.”