Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  Marshall took a long breath and looked directly at us. “A sixty-two-year-old woman by the name of Lenora Billings died of asphyxiation because her oxygen tank wasn’t replaced in time. The nurse on duty was none other than Miranda Lee, or, I should say, Miranda Shumway at the time. She was accused of negligence, but there was some discrepancy since Miranda claimed it was her candy striper who did the reading for that tank.”

  “I didn’t think candy stripers were allowed to do those things,” I said.

  The sound of Augusta clearing her throat was like a freight train blowing through town. “Hells bells. I had a niece who was a candy striper, and she did whatever the duty nurses told her to do.”

  Suddenly, everything clicked in. “Oh my gosh. That candy striper was Sue Ellen Blair. Right?”

  Marshall clasped his hands and nodded. “Yep. ’Fraid so. Although no charges were filed, Miranda was let go and Sue Ellen lost her community service.”

  “I said that! All along, I said that.”

  Marshall had this sheepish look, and Nate appeared equally culpable as I continued.

  “I bet Miranda set her up. That’s a bona fide motive for murder and much better than Stanley losing his temper. Heck, Herb’s buddies are always losing their tempers. Every other day they’re yelling and arguing up there on that catwalk, yet none of them are pushing or strangling each other.”

  “I’m kind of agreeing on this one. Not getting credit for community service wasn’t all Sue Ellen lost,” Marshall said. “The incident went on her record, and she was never able to secure the scholarship money she needed to go to a four-year university. Instead, she had to settle for community college before taking an entry-level job for a department store. Rolo really did his homework on this one.”

  For a minute, I almost felt bad for Sue Ellen. She was only a kid when it happened. “What about Miranda?”

  “According to Rolo, she eventually married a very wealthy Leonard Milestone.”

  “And a very dead one,” Augusta added. “Phee told me about their honeymoon in the Andes.”

  Nate flashed me an odd look before turning his attention to Augusta. “My goodness, what hasn’t Phee told you?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Never mind,” he continued. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Sue Ellen probably held a lifelong grudge against Miranda, and when she found herself face-to-face with the very woman who had shattered her dreams, she wanted to get even.”

  I all but shouted at both men. “Can’t one of you call the sheriff’s department and have them bring in those people for questioning again? Maybe one of them saw Sue Ellen lurking around.”

  Marshall walked toward me, put his arm around my shoulder, and spoke softly. “I made the call to them as soon as I got Rolo’s message. They’ll get back to me.”

  How long is his arm going to stay around my shoulder? Two seconds? Five? Does it mean anything? Why am I thinking about Marshall’s arm when it’s poor Stanley and that duplicitous Sue Ellen I should be concerned about? I took long slow breaths, partly because I was still reeling from the arm thing and partly because I needed a minute to think before I spoke. “What did Stanley tell them? Surely he didn’t confess.”

  Marshall nodded in agreement. “He swore he never laid a hand on Miranda. Len and Chuck were leaving by the back corridor when he decided to have it out with her. He admitted to following her up onto the catwalk because he was sick and tired of her shenanigans. Said he read her the riot act and then left. She was still standing in front of the large elliptical light, according to Stanley.”

  Nate picked up the papers he was copying and paused before looking directly at Marshall. “Are you thinking the same thing I am, buddy?”

  “That the sheriff’s department might wait till opening night before they decide to bring in Sue Ellen?”

  “Yep. Should be a real fiasco. Much as I hate watching stage dramas, this is one I intend to see from start to finish.”

  “You might want to have Phee add a line item to our budget for Rolo’s next piece of kitchen gadgetry. He’s on that Paleo Diet now.”

  Nate’s mouth opened slowly. “Don’t tell me. Worse than juicing?”

  Marshall and I nodded, all the while trying not to laugh.

  “That’s not all, Boss,” Marshall said. “Rolo’s not done yet. Said he wanted to keep digging.”

  “Sounds like we’ll be refurbishing his kitchen by the time he finishes. I’ll need to get a credit line at IKEA.”

  Just then the phone rang and Augusta picked it up. “Phee, it’s your mother.”

  “I’ll take it in my office. I’m sure I’ll need to be seated.”

  My mother dispensed with the greeting and charged ahead as I leaned forward and booted up my computer.

  “It’s official. It made the front page of the Sun City West Independent. Stanley Krumpmeyer is being charged with murder.”

  “He hasn’t been found guilty, he’s just been charged, and I think that might change.”

  “Why? What did you find out?”

  “I can’t get into it right now, Mom, but Nate and Marshall are following other leads. Look, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “One more thing and I’ll let you go. Eunice Berlmosler called a few minutes ago. The programs arrived.”

  The tension was building in my neck so I tried rolling it from side to side, but it only made it worse. “Good. Good. Programs . . .”

  “I’m not done. She’s pitching a fit because Stanley is listed in the cast and it’s too late to get the programs reprinted. Plus, the Footlighters don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Tell her to do what they do on Broadway. Someone walks out on stage and announces ‘the part of so and so is being played by blah-blah-blah.’”

  “I suppose that’s what she’ll have to do. Anyway, Shirley has worse problems.”

  “What worse problems?”

  “Finding period clothing to fit Herb. That gut of his is making it impossible. He’ll look like Tweedledee in a woolen vest and even worse in a cardigan.”

  “I’m sure Shirley will think of something. Look, I’ve really got to go.”

  “Call me if you hear anything. Dress rehearsal is from one to four today. Curtain is at seven tomorrow evening.”

  “Got it.”

  I tried not to think about Eunice’s programs, Herb’s bulging waist, or my mother’s annoying calls. Most of all, I tried not to think about Sue Ellen and the fact that she might get away with murder. Instead, I focused on the office billing until my stomach started rumbling and I took a short break to grab a taco at Quick Stop.

  Augusta used her lunch hour to run errands, and, frankly, I lost track of Nate and Marshall. Hadn’t even noticed when they left the office. Both of them had other cases to deal with, even though they were giving this one a fair amount of attention.

  At approximately one-fifteen the phone rang, only this time it was Myrna. “Phee, I think you should get over here as soon as you can.”

  “Oh my gosh. Did something happen to my mother?”

  “No, no. She’s with Sue Ellen. Trying to get her to stop crying. There was an envelope taped to the hanger that holds Sue Ellen’s costume. Inside was a note that said ‘Appointment with Death.’ Whoever wrote it is obviously familiar with Agatha Christie’s mysteries.”

  “Whoever wrote it is obviously familiar with how fast Sue Ellen can break into tears.”

  “Shirley swears all of the costumes were on the rack and lined up perfectly when she left the day before and none of them had notes attached.”

  “People are in and out of that theater all the time. It would be hard to pinpoint who could have snuck in.”

  “That’s not all.”

  “What? There’s more?”

  “Sue Ellen was shaking when she read the note, but she didn’t start crying until she looked at the shoes she’d be wearing in the play and saw another note taped to one of them. It was a worse message.”

&n
bsp; “What could be worse than referring to an appointment with the grim reaper?”

  “A note that said ‘Your pitfall awaits before the curtain closes for good. Watch your back. Too bad you can’t stay out of the spotlight.’”

  “Oh brother. First the stupid notes that you and Mom got, then the lipstick on the mirror, and now this. Whoever’s behind this wanted to create a stir even before the play started. Why? Who the heck knows. Look, I don’t think the same person who wrote the notes and did that little number with the lipstick is the one who put these messages on Sue Ellen’s costume.”

  Myrna gulped a breath, and I went on.

  “If you ask me, Sue Ellen Blair is a far better actress than anyone realizes.”

  “You’re not saying she put those notes there herself, are you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. It would be real easy for her to slip them on the hanger and shoe when no one was looking and then play the role of the frightened little victim.”

  “I’m not so sure, Phee.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s threatening to walk off the set. That’s why your mother is with her now. Trying to convince her not to. But it will be tough. Sue Ellen and everyone else still believes the real killer hasn’t been apprehended.”

  “What about Paula Darren? Where’s she?”

  “Backstage studying Sue Ellen’s lines.”

  “Isn’t that convenient. What about the menacing notes?”

  “The deputy sheriff on duty took them, but they won’t be any help. They were printed from a computer like the other ones, and the font was Times New Roman. Good grief. Even my seven-year-old grandson could do that.”

  “Look, I don’t know what help I’m going to be if I come over. In fact, I’d probably be in the way. I’m sure my mother will be able to convince Sue Ellen to stop crying and get on stage.”

  My mind instantly flashed back to Mankato when I was ten and had the worst case of stage fright ever for our fifth grade play. It was only when my mother threatened to come to my school every day and eat lunch at my table that I overcame it. She couldn’t possibly come up with something like that for Sue Ellen so she’d need another tactic.

  “Let’s hope so, Phee,” Myrna said. “Let’s hope so. OH MY GOD!”

  “What? What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but the lights went out. All of them. Everyone is yelling.”

  “I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  “Don’t! It’s okay. The circuit breaker got tripped. That’s all. I can hear Bill and Wayne now. Daniel, the maintenance guy, went to fix it. Cliff’s screaming for everyone to stay where they are. Like we’re about to move around in the dark. Idiots we’re not.”

  Dear God, do not let those lights come on only to have another dead body appear. “I’m going to wait on the phone with you, Myrna, until everything is back to normal.”

  “That could take a few minutes.”

  “That’s okay.”

  I made small talk about all sorts of things while my mind conjured up images of dead bodies on rafters, dead bodies lying across the stage, and dead bodies hanging from ropes that dangled over center stage.

  “The lights are back on. Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so. Cliff is having us do a sweep of our immediate area.”

  “I’ll hold.”

  In the background, I recognized Bill’s voice. It was impossible not to. I could hear him bellow, “Ain’t no stiffs up here. Unless you count Kevin. His back is seizing up.”

  I also heard Wayne telling everyone he was going to check the basement under the trapdoors.

  “Myrna, call me back if anything out of the ordinary happens, okay? And please tell my mother I’ll stop by her house after work.”

  “I know some say Stanley is the killer, but let me reiterate it’s not the feeling most of us have.”

  “Is the buddy system still being used?”

  “Sort of. But it’s real difficult now that we’re in dress rehearsal.”

  “I understand. Thanks for calling.”

  Part of me wanted to drive right over there and scope out every single corner of the place. Who was Sue Ellen fooling? Instead, I called Marshall on his cell, told him what had happened, and before I could ask him to check it out, he announced he was on his way over there. Honestly, what wasn’t there to like in that guy?

  About an hour and forty-five minutes later, Marshall called back, and I was totally unprepared for what he had to say.

  “I know how the killer did it, Phee. I know how he or she killed Miranda. It was carefully calculated, not spur of the moment. I showed the deputy on duty what I had found, and he’s placing a call into his office.”

  “How do you know? What did you find?”

  “I did the same thing you did. I checked out the electrical panel and the basement area.”

  “With Wayne?”

  “No, Wayne was on the catwalk with Bill and Kevin making some final adjustments so I had Daniel do it.”

  “The maintenance guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t suspect him, do you?”

  “Not in the least. No motive whatsoever. He’s been employed for the past nine years and everything about him is clean. The deputies did a complete check on all the employees. Anyway, I had him open both chemical storage cabinets for me. The one upstairs and the one by the trapdoors in the basement.”

  “Why? Wayne said it was just paints, chemicals, and solvents.”

  “I know. But I remembered something that people were complaining about. Especially Shirley. She was convinced Miranda’s ghost was haunting the theater because the aroma of the perfume Miranda wore was lingering in the air. Someone was doing that on purpose and what better place to store perfume than a locked chemical cabinet.”

  “So you found it? The perfume, I mean.”

  “Oh yeah. Sickening sweet. If you or Augusta came in wearing that stuff, we’d have to fumigate.”

  As soon as he said that, I was relieved I gave up that scent when I was sixteen.

  Marshall continued. “So, like I was saying, the upstairs cabinet only had paint, but behind the cans of solvent and chloroform in the downstairs cabinet I found a few small spray vials of perfume, only the label said ‘parfum.’”

  “That’s because perfume would have cost a small fortune. The scent is the same only it’s toilette water.”

  “Figures.”

  “Seriously, it’s real easy to spray, especially something so tiny that could be held in someone’s hand without being noticed. So, how did they do it? How did they murder Miranda? You said you figured it out.”

  “The killer planned this ahead of time, knowing Miranda would be up on the catwalk. He or she stored those vials of perfume, or whatever you call it, in the basement chemical cabinet. Then, the night of the murder, they got down to the basement, unlocked the cabinet, took a cloth, soaked it in the chloroform, which does carry an aroma but only up close and personal, and headed to the catwalk. They also made sure to take one of the tiny perfume bottles with them.”

  “What about Stanley? He admitted to following Miranda up there. Wouldn’t he have noticed anything?”

  “Not really. The auditorium was dimly lit and the killer waited it out until Stanley left. Then they made their move, using that teal tunic of Shirley’s to throw people off in case they were spotted in the semidarkness.”

  I leaned forward and readjusted my chair, hoping Marshall wouldn’t hear the squeaking noise. “Okay, I’m following you. Then what?”

  “Once they made sure Stanley left, they walked up the catwalk. Miranda most likely assumed it was Stanley and probably didn’t pay any attention. Anyway, our killer was able to get close enough to Miranda to wave that chloroform cloth under her nose. Probably came up from behind her.”

  “Wayne told me a whiff of chloroform wouldn’t be enough to make someone pass out.”

 
“He was right. It wouldn’t. But, given even the slightest sniff, it would make someone woozy, and that’s all our killer needed to carry out the deed. With Miranda stunned momentarily, the killer got in a good shove. That explains the bump on the back of Miranda’s head. She fell backward and hit her head on the catwalk.”

  “But I didn’t think that’s what killed her.”

  “It wasn’t. Remember the ligature marks on her neck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, with Miranda on the floor of the catwalk, probably dazed from hitting her head and inhaling chloroform, the killer was able to strangle her with the necklace she was wearing. Fortunately for our killer, although not Miranda, the victim made it real easy by wearing that necklace. Of course, I’m pretty sure the killer would have grabbed one of the nearby electrical cords if Miranda wasn’t sporting that nice piece of jewelry.”

  “What about all those electrical cords found tangled over the body?”

  “Real easy. The killer did that after the fact. To make it look as if Miranda did it herself somehow. Even managed to find one with a frayed end and put it in Miranda’s hand while draping the other one over the edge. The tunic was the finishing touch.”

  “Holy cow! All of that from looking into a chemical storage cabinet?”

  “Hey, I paid attention in my criminal justice classes. Listen, my theory puts a new perspective on this, so Bowman and Ranston are on their way over here.”

  “What’s everyone else doing?”

  “They’re still rehearsing.”

  “Sue Ellen, too?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “Wow. I’m stunned. And frankly disappointed I didn’t come up with a theory that actually had some evidence. Although, if we think the killer is Sue Ellen, how would she know about the chemical storage cabinets? And where the keys were? I would have thought only the stage manager, the director, and seasoned lighting and construction crew members would be aware of it.”

  “That’s true, but, according to the stage manager, a complete tour of the entire theater was provided for any cast and crew members interested. Four people signed up—Len Beckers, Paula Darren, Miranda Lee, and Sue Ellen Blair. He said the women just wanted to ‘go along for the ride.’ Only Len seemed genuinely interested. Even requested a copy of the lighting instrument schedule.”