Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Golly, that’s more information than I would want.”

  “Look, I’ll give you a buzz later. If it’s real late, I’ll try you at home. Unless, of course, you’ve made plans to go out.”

  What kind of leading statement is that? Does he want to know if I’m dating? “Um, er, yeah, that’s fine.”

  Chapter 27

  I spent the remainder of the afternoon wondering if the sheriff’s department would be releasing Stanley and arresting Sue Ellen. I got the answer when I arrived at my mother’s doorstep at a little past six. It was already dark outside.

  The minute she opened the door, I got an earful. “Sue Ellen is as free as a bird. Skated out of rehearsal like Scarlett O’Hara’s maid on her way to fetch that doctor.”

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Come on in. Streetman’s still under the couch. The doorbell upsets him sometimes. Are you hungry? I can take something out of the freezer.”

  “NO! I mean, no, I’m not very hungry. I’m only going to be here a minute or so. Did you get my message from Myrna I’d be stopping by on my way home?”

  “Yes, but she didn’t say anything about dinner.”

  “I wanted to make sure everything was all right. It sounded like absolute chaos at rehearsal.”

  “No, that was minor chaos when Myrna called you. Absolute chaos was when those investigators from the sheriff’s department came back.”

  “You mean Deputies Bowman and Ranston?”

  “I’ve got news for you. The Marx Brothers would have been less intrusive. Those two were all over the place. Impossible to have a run-through. I thought Cliff was going to pitch a fit. Anyway, you know the old saying, ‘Lousy dress rehearsal, great play’ or something like that.”

  “What about Marshall? Where was he?”

  “Trying to keep Bowman and Ranston from walking across the stage. For heaven’s sake, I can’t imagine what evidence they thought they’d find on stage.”

  “Mom, I know those trapdoors are secured, but be careful tomorrow night, okay?”

  “The stage manager and Wayne are going to check them before the curtain goes up.”

  “What about the deputy on duty? Where’s he going to be?”

  “Circulating. That’s what they said—circulating. Sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

  “No, I need to get home.” So I can trounce on Marshall’s call the second I hear the phone ring.

  “The ladies are meeting for breakfast in the morning. You know you’re always welcome to join us.”

  “I’ll join you tomorrow night to celebrate the opening night performance. You are celebrating, aren’t you? It’s kind of a theater tradition, as far as I know.”

  “It’s a reason for Herb and his crew to drink more beer at Curley’s. Same for the men in the cast. The rest of us are going to the Homey Hut. We even invited Paula.”

  “Okay. The Homey Hut it is. Talk to you later, Mom. I’ve got to run.”

  I was out the door and at my car before she had a chance to offer me dinner again or insist I stay and wait for the dog to greet me.

  * * *

  Friday morning started out as poorly as Thursday. It seemed like the minute Nate walked into the office, his phone rang with an emergency call from his aunt in Sierra Vista. He barely had time to make himself a cup of coffee when he had to dart out of there.

  “Augusta, if I have any appointments today, please call, apologize, and reschedule. Marshall can pick up the slack if need be. He knows what’s going on.”

  Then he walked over to where I was standing. “Listen, kiddo, I’m really sorry about this, but I have to go down to Sierra Vista. Seems like my aunt fractured her hip yesterday and is in the hospital. She waited until now to call me. Looks like it will just be you and Marshall for opening night.”

  “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry about your aunt. Will you be staying there long?”

  “Only overnight. Then I’ll be returning with . . . holy crap, I can barely spit it out . . . Mr. Fluffypants. My aunt will be in rehab so she needs someone to watch him.”

  “Her cat? You’re taking care of her cat? That’s so sweet of you.”

  “Cat? Hell no. I wish it were a cat. Mr. Fluffypants is her African Grey parrot. He has the temperament of a two-year-old, and he bites. Say, are either of you any good with birds?”

  I clenched my teeth, and Augusta shook her head violently.

  “I’ll pass on this one, Mr. Williams. As far as I’m concerned birds belong in two places—flying in the air or in the oven with lots of stuffing.”

  “I’m with Augusta. Sorry, Nate. I’d feel awful if it got loose or anything . . .”

  “The two of you can stop worrying. I guess I’d better get used to the darn thing. They live forever, and she’s probably going to leave him to me in her will. But that stupid bird better not expect to be coddled like that Munson woman’s bird. One of your mother’s book club friends, Phee. You remember? The car lights disturbing its sleep? My God, of all things to leave someone in a will.”

  “Who’s leaving who in their will?” Marshall had stepped out of his office and was heading straight for the coffeemaker.

  “You don’t want to know,” I said. “Unless you have an affinity for birds.”

  Marshall glanced at Nate, who was trying not to laugh as he spoke.

  “Listen, all of you, I’ve really got to head out. And don’t look so alarmed, Phee. I’m sure everything will run smoothly tonight. The sheriff’s department hasn’t decided whether or not to put Sue Ellen in custody, so I doubt there’ll be a scene at the theater.”

  Marshall nodded as Nate took a few steps toward the door.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll be fine. Good luck with your aunt.”

  Once Nate had left the office and Augusta had returned to her work, I moved closer to the coffeemaker, where Marshall was just finishing up.

  I wondered if he could detect the uneasiness in my voice. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty convinced it’s Sue Ellen. Iron clad motives but nothing tangible. Do you ever get the feeling there’s something right under our noses, but we can’t see it?”

  “I feel that way on most of my cases. It means we’re getting close. Anyhow, I plan to be at the theater no later than six-thirty.”

  “I’ll be there even earlier. I heard the seats fill up fast. Look for me in front, will you?”

  “Sure thing. And stop worrying. Look, I know the cast and crew are really on edge. Last thing anyone needs is for you or me to become unglued, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Unglued? I had no intention of becoming unglued.

  * * *

  I left the office promptly at five with Augusta practically throwing me out of there.

  “Go home, Phee. Get something to eat and relax for a few minutes. You’re wound up tighter than the actors. I’ll lock up.”

  Marshall had left an hour or so earlier, with a few work-related stops to make before meeting me. I figured he’d eat at a fast-food place on the way, since we wouldn’t be getting out of the theater much before ten. With my stomach in knots, I settled for two slices of toast with apricot jam and a cup of tea, before opening my closet to pick out something to wear.

  Granted, it wasn’t exactly a date, but it was a theater performance. No sense letting the few long skirts and dresses hang there until Goodwill called. I selected an ankle-length, sleeveless blue sheath with a matching shrug and adorable, strapped, wedge heels. After all, I didn’t have to walk across a stage or climb over anything. I just had to get to my seat without tripping.

  My hair looked absolutely perfect with the highlights, and the subtle makeup I applied looked decent. I added blue lapis earrings to the mix and was ready to head out the door. Ready, until the phone rang. This time I knew better than to let the answering machine get it.

  “Phee! It’s Lucinda. I’m glad I caught you. I’m backstage. Shirley is running all over the place like a madwoma
n. Sue Ellen’s white blouse is missing. Missing. Shirley thought you might have one we could use. You’re the only one we know with a respectable bust. So, do you?”

  A respectable bust? What the heck’s that supposed to mean? “Uh, yeah. I do. More than one. White, off white, ecru . . .”

  “Good. Bring two. Just in case. When you get into the auditorium, walk up the side steps to the stage and go directly in back to the dressing rooms. No one will stop you.”

  “How’s my mother holding up?”

  “Like a trouper.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  It was really weird for part of Sue Ellen’s costume to go missing. I imagined the blouse was on a hanger with another piece of clothing over it, and, in all the excitement of opening night, Shirley didn’t notice. I folded my short sleeve ecru blouse and the three-quarter length white one before slipping them into a plastic bag and heading out the door.

  Traffic was light on the local route that connected me to Arizona State Road 303 and Sun City West. I turned up the radio and began to relax. That was when my cell phone rang. With one hand on the wheel and the other reaching down to the cubby where I stashed the phone when I drove, I had second thoughts about picking it up. Arizona law carried a hefty fine for motorists who drove while distracted, and answering a cell phone fit that category. I let it ring.

  Five minutes later it started again. There was a small shopping center a mile or so down the road, so I pulled over to see who it was. Two voice mails and both of them from my mother. The message was basically the same. “Phee, there’s been an accident on the 303 and Grand Avenue. Don’t use the highway, or you’ll get stuck. Must be a bad accident because our deputy on duty had to leave.”

  I backtracked and took an alternate road that seemed as if it was dotted with traffic lights every few feet. At one particularly long light, I took my chances and hit the resend button. My mother must have had the phone in her pocket because she picked up immediately.

  “Mom, got your message. Can’t talk. The light’s about to change. I’m on my way.”

  “Good. And it’s a good thing Nate and Marshall are coming. We won’t have the deputy sheriff here or the other one that they were going to send tonight. Of all nights for someone to have a car crash.”

  “Yes, when they found out it was opening night for your show, they said, ‘Gee, let’s have a car accident instead.’” I pounded my forehead with my left hand and waited for the light to turn green. “Only Marshall will be coming. Nate had to go to Sierra Vista. Long story.”

  “Only Marshall? He’d better be armed. He does carry a weapon, doesn’t he?”

  “Cut it out. Everything will be fine. Light changed. Got to go.” I put the phone on mute and instead of returning it to the cubby, I put it in my bag.

  The parking lot in front of the Stardust Theater was filling up as I pulled in. Luckily, I managed to secure a spot not too far from the entrance. Once inside, I handed my ticket to the usher at the door and walked briskly down the aisle toward the steps to the stage. Lucinda was right. No one stopped me.

  The stage was dimly lit, and there were people bustling all around on both wings. I knew where the backstage door was and walked through it toward the costume room, trying not to think of the last time I was in there. The door was ajar, but I knocked anyway. Shirley stopped talking the minute she saw me.

  “Hi, Shirley!” I said. “I got Lucinda’s message. Hope one of these fits Sue Ellen.”

  I handed her the plastic bag and looked around. Herb was the only other person in there, hurrying to grab his costume. He muttered something about indigestion and took off.

  “You’re a godsend, Phee. Lordy, I don’t know what could have become of that blouse. Sue Ellen’s in the dressing room getting her makeup on. I’ll bring these to her.”

  “Is my mother there, too?”

  “I think so. Do you want me to check?”

  “No, no. I’ll see her after the play. I’d better get to my seat. By the way, someone left a hammer and some wire on the floor in the hallway back here. I almost fell over them.”

  “Darn that Wayne. He was supposed to pick up after himself. The couch broke. Cliff noticed it as soon as we got here and hollered for Wayne to fix it. Just like a man. Leaving all his messy things lying around. I’ll get to it myself as soon as I give these blouses to Sue Ellen.”

  As I walked down the steps from the stage, I eyeballed the theater. Eunice was right. It was a sellout. Lucky for me, Lyndy and her aunt were about six or seven rows up from the stage and had saved me two seats on the aisle. I hurried over.

  “Don’t ask,” I said, my rear end barely touching the cushion. Then I realized Marshall wouldn’t see me if I was seated, so I turned around and scanned the audience. No sign of him. So much for six-thirty. I began to think he got caught up in that accident and blamed myself for not phoning or sending him a text.

  Lyndy introduced me to her aunt, a small woman with a grip that could crush a steelworker. Both of them had programs, but I’d been in such a hurry to get to Shirley, I hadn’t stopped to pick mine up.

  “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to get a program.”

  By now there were few seats left in the room, and Marshall was nowhere in sight. I walked to the main auditorium doors and asked the usher to give me two programs in case they ran out before Marshall arrived.

  Once back at my seat, I took my cell phone from my bag to see if there had been any contact from Marshall. Sure enough, a text was waiting. With Nate in Sierra Vista and the deputies out on call for that road accident, I really wanted Marshall to get here ASAP. As luck would have it, that wasn’t about to happen. According to his text, his car battery died, and he was stuck waiting for emergency service. The only saving grace was that my mother knew none of this. As far as she was concerned, he was armed and at the ready.

  Chapter 28

  Fidgeting in my seat, I stared at the closed curtain. To ensure no one would sit in the extra spot Lyndy had secured, I moved closer to the aisle, leaving a space between us.

  “Marshall’s car battery died,” I whispered as I leaned over. “He’s stuck somewhere waiting. It’s a long-term rental, so after this he’ll probably be looking to buy a car.”

  “I don’t know that it makes a difference out here,” Lyndy whispered back. “Car batteries seem to die without warning. At least where I come from, the car would struggle to turn over and that’s how you knew. But here, geez whiz. One minute you’re driving and the next thing you know, you’re not. I think it’s the heat. I read someplace that it causes the fluid in the battery to evaporate.”

  I was about to say something when the lights in the theater started to dim and a spotlight appeared in the center of the stage, forming a perfect circle on the dark curtains. A woman came out from stage left, walked toward the light, and spoke. It was Paula Darren, dressed from head to toe in black. Black mock turtle top, black pants. For a second, I was taken back, but then I remembered stage crew members always dressed in black so if they needed to walk on stage with a prop or something, they wouldn’t be as conspicuous.

  Paula’s voice was sharp and clear without the need for a microphone. “Good evening and welcome to the Footlighters’ presentation of Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap. For tonight’s performance, the part of Christopher Wren will be played by Herb Garrett.”

  With that, she turned and walked back the same way she had come. Seconds later, the curtain opened and the play began. Absently, I rolled my program and Marshall’s into a tight coil and clasped it in my hand.

  Act one was going off without a hitch. At least from my perspective. No lost lines. No fumbling. Chuck must have gotten it together after all. Everyone’s acting seemed smooth and, above all, captivating. I had to admit I was equally impressed with my mother’s performance as the ill-tempered Mrs. Boyle.

  Unlike rehearsals, there was barely a sound emanating from the catwalk. Bill and Kevin were supposed to be up there in case one of the
elliptical lights had to be adjusted. For a brief second, I thought about Miranda’s body and something Len Beckers had said about the position of her head. Tilted back like a Greek tragedy. An offhanded remark, but still . . .

  If Marshall had made it to the theater, I had no way of knowing. He might have taken the first seat he could find since it was dark and it would be too annoying for him to hunt for me down in front. I’d need to wait until intermission to know for sure. Left with no other alternative, I leaned back and watched the performance. When the curtain closed at the end of the first act, the applause was thunderous. I stood and scanned the auditorium for Marshall. No sign of him. On a hunch, I checked my phone again. Sure enough, another text.

  “Still waiting. Hope to make it by act two.”

  I was staring at my phone when Lyndy tapped my elbow. “That was a fabulous first act. I didn’t realize your mother was so talented. Do you mind letting us through? We need to use the restroom before the next act begins.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  I stepped aside and let Lyndy and her aunt into the aisle, along with three other women. There was no way I was going to attempt using the ladies’ room. With my luck, act two would begin, and I’d find myself midway through the waiting line. I’d hold my bladder, even if it meant crossing my legs.

  With the houselights on and most of the theater emptying into the hallway, I thought it might be a good time to take a look at the program. I started to unravel the coil when Eunice approached.

  “Phee! I thought that was you. Isn’t this a marvelous performance? I must say, if act two goes as well as act one, it will be one of our best.”

  Then, as if to substantiate what she’d said, Eunice began to expound on every play the Footlighters had performed since the discovery of dirt. Arsenic and Old Lace, Barefoot in the Park, Our Town, You Can’t Take It With You, A Christmas Carol... The list was never ending, and I struggled to appear interested. Thankfully, the lights blinked on and off, warning the audience the play was about to resume in five minutes. The next series of blinks would be for two. Sort of a theater standard from what little I knew.