Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

“Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s about as exciting as it gets.” Marshall gave me a wink and walked over to confer with the deputies.

  While the women continued arguing amongst themselves, my mother sat in one of the chairs against the wall and sighed. “This is so anticlimactic. Such a letdown.”

  I pulled another chair over and put on my shoes. “I wouldn’t say that. We caught the perpetrator and the opportunist. I’d call that a really good night.”

  “Only one of them is in custody. For all we know, Len Beckers could be on his way to South America. That’s where all those criminals go.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Where do you dredge up this stuff?”

  Just then the two deputies left the room, and Marshall walked toward us.

  “They’ve sent a car to Len’s house. Not much we can do now except head home and make sure the theater is locked up.”

  Wayne held up a ring of keys and smiled. “No worries. I’ll be more than happy to do that.”

  Chapter 31

  The next morning, Stanley was released from the Fourth Avenue Jail, relinquishing his cell to Len. According to Marshall, who had been in close contact with the sheriff’s department, Len confessed to finding Ellowina’s cloth on the floor of the auditorium and going up to the catwalk to see if Miranda was still alive.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Marshall said when he phoned me around eleven, “but Len told the deputies he only wanted to make sure Ellowina finished the job. He said he thought Miranda was already dead, but didn’t want to take any chances, so he tilted her head back and held the cloth over her mouth. You were right all along.”

  “So now what? It’s going to be impossible to find out who really killed her, isn’t it?”

  “Both of them will still be booked for murder in one capacity or another. Murder, accessory to murder, attempted murder . . .”

  “Now you’re sounding like the reading list for my mother’s book club.”

  “Oh . . . speaking of which, I need to send your mother a complete investigative report. She hired us, after all, and paid the introductory fee.”

  I choked back a laugh. “Have you spoken to Nate about this? Does he know what happened?”

  “I called him as soon as I got home. Didn’t want him to turn on the television and be surprised. The news is running on all the local channels.”

  “Oh my gosh. I never turned the TV on. Kinda slept late, made breakfast, took a walk. Wow. Headline news. Did anyone mention my name?”

  “No, nor mine. Deputies Bowman and Ranston were given credit for breaking the case.”

  “Oh brother. If that doesn’t top the cake.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time. So, about tonight. Your mother expects us to catch the full performance. What time should I pick you up? Better yet, let’s go out to eat first. Okay? I’ve been dying for a decent steak.”

  “Sounds good to me. The curtain opens at seven, so we’d better join the geriatric crowd and eat by five.”

  “As long as we don’t get into that habit. Pick you up at four-thirty.”

  I’d barely ended the call when my phone rang again.

  Surprise. Surprise. My mother. “I would have called you sooner, but I’ve been on the phone all morning with Shirley. She got a call first thing from Cliff and you’re not going to believe this.”

  “If it’s about Stanley—”

  “Of course it’s about Stanley. He’s been released from jail and intends to walk himself on stage tonight in his role of Christopher Wren. Yeesh. Where does that leave Herb? I’ll tell you where it leaves Herb. He’s got to become Mr. Paravicini to replace Len.”

  “Um, okay. Does he know the part?”

  “Of course he knows the part. That’s not the problem. Shirley is going out of her mind.”

  After years of navigating through my mother’s thought processes, I’d gotten pretty good at it. “The costume, huh?”

  “Herb’s big gut, that’s what. Where’s Shirley going to find a three-piece suit to fit him?”

  “Doesn’t Herb have any suits?”

  “No one wears a three-piece suit in Sun City West unless they’re on display at a mortuary.”

  “Hey, you’ve answered your own question. Have Shirley call the local funeral parlors. They must have buried lots of overweight men.”

  “Good idea. I’ll talk to you later.”

  The phone call ended as fast as it started.

  Then Lyndy called, and I kept her on the line for at least forty-five minutes. “You tackle a killer and uncover another one. Holy cow! You really should be a detective.”

  “I like bookkeeping. And accounting.”

  “And Marshall?”

  “Yeah, that too. But like I’ve mentioned before, it’s awkward. Working in the same office.”

  “Awkward until he kisses you smack on the lips. Then you’ll have to come up with another word.”

  I wished he would kiss me smack on the lips. I’d come up with a whole damn dictionary.

  * * *

  That night, Marshall and I enjoyed a terrific steak dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, followed by a sold-out performance at the Stardust Theater. Apparently, news of the recent arrests sent ticket sales booming. We went backstage to congratulate the players and caught a different kind of performance. Herb’s.

  “No one told me this suit was used to dress a corpse before cremation!”

  “Uh-oh.” I inched my way closer to Marshall. “Looks like Herb just found out the suit came from a local funeral home and not Men’s Wearhouse.”

  Shirley and Cecilia tried to placate him while the rest of the cast forced themselves not to laugh.

  Herb continued ranting. “There’s a special tag on the inside collar. It says Mencke’s Funeral Parlor. This isn’t funny. I don’t know why all of you think it’s all right to dress someone in something that was previously worn by a corpse.”

  “Hey,” Marshall said. “At least the suit looks better vertically.”

  I gave my mother a hug and promised her Nate would be in the audience the following weekend.

  That night I got my kiss from Marshall, but it wasn’t exactly a full-blown, hot, on-the-lips ordeal that would make my palms sweat and my pulse race. Still, it was a start. I had invited him back to my place following the performance and made us some coffee to go with the apple strudel I’d picked up at the local bakery. In retrospect, I should have offered him wine, and lots of it.

  We were sitting next to each other on the couch, reliving the entire Mousetrap fiasco, from Shirley’s ghost to Herb’s oversize waist. I caught a faint whiff of that crisp apple scent that seemed to take over every time Marshall got near me.

  Then, without warning, he leaned over and gave me a hug. “You have no idea how awful I feel about your encounter with Ellowina. When you were tangled in that curtain. I can’t believe that happened while I was only a few yards away. One second I was on the stage, and the next I was in that small corridor by the lighting panel.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not as if it was broad daylight. Those side curtains obscured everything.”

  “Yeah, but a gun to your head? I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

  “Well, it didn’t. I’m still breathing.”

  “Keep it that way.” Then he leaned over again, put his arm around me, and planted a soft kiss on my cheek while squeezing my shoulder.

  “Phee,” he continued, “there’s something you need to know.”

  Here it comes. Here it comes. He’s gay. He’s in a relationship. He’s gay, and he’s in a relationship.

  “Part of the reason I took this job was because I knew you were here. I’ve always liked you. Maybe now we can get to know each other outside of work. Um, that is, if you feel the same way.”

  Maybe it was the earnest tone in his voice and the way his eyebrows seemed to rise up, but all I could do was nod.

  “And, by the way, I thought you looked
particularly adorable with your hair all mussed and those splotches of dirt on your face.”

  “Adorable? I looked like one of The Three Stooges.”

  “Yeah, I happen to be a big fan of them, too. What do you think? Are you okay with this?”

  Okay? I’m over the moon. “Is it going to be a problem with us working in the same office?”

  “Not unless I decide to toss all of the paperwork off your desk and throw you on it like they do in those sappy movies.”

  “Do that and Augusta will have a coronary.”

  “She’d be followed by Nate.”

  We started laughing and it felt wonderful. The evening ended with a sweet peck on the cheek and another hug. Later, as I drifted off to sleep, I swore I could detect the unmistakable aroma of an apple orchard in the fall.

  * * *

  Two weeks later I had breakfast with my mother and the book club ladies at Bagels ’N More. Myrna, Cecilia, Lucinda, Shirley, and Louise were there, plus three snowbirds who’d recently returned for the winter—Constance, Riva, and Marianne. More would be arriving in January. Like usual, everyone was talking at once.

  “There were two killers on the set?”

  “I’m telling you, Arizona has gun laws for a reason. We all should be packing heat.”

  “Don’t use the word ‘packing.’ I still have five suitcases to unpack.”

  “This is the last time I’ll ever take part in a theater production!”

  “I want to read about domestic murders, not witness them.”

  “You didn’t witness the murder. All you saw was the body.”

  “Someone saw a dead body?”

  “And a ghost.”

  “There was no ghost. Ellowina staged that.”

  Suddenly Shirley shushed everyone. “Lordy, that clever murderess staged enough goings on to make sure we all had high blood pressure. It was Ellowina who monkeyed with the air-conditioning and the trapdoors so someone would fall. And Ellowina who took the lipstick and wrote that message on the mirror. And don’t let me forget she perfumed car tires and the catwalk to make like Miranda’s Shalimar-scented spirit was stalking us. But there was one thing she didn’t do. She didn’t turn the power off. So there!”

  Lucinda waved the waitress over and tugged at Shirley’s sleeve. “The power goes off all the time. It’s that darned electric company, not a ghost.”

  “I’ll have to give that Ellowina credit for one thing,” my mother said. “Good planning. She started with those cryptic notes and wouldn’t stop. We could all learn a lesson from her.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “don’t mess with the Booked 4 Murder book club.”

  Everyone started to laugh when, all of a sudden, another member burst through the door with such a grand entrance that half the place turned to look. It was my Aunt Ina, back from her vacation in Malta. Her long braids were woven with red and black ribbons and piled on top of her head like the Queen of Spades. A bizarre faux fur wrap covered most of her body, if only to give her reason to toss it off and throw it over an empty chair, revealing a long peasant dress in assorted shades of crimson and burnt orange.

  “Hello, everyone! Did you miss me? Our flight got in late last night from Toronto. Louis is still sleeping, but I couldn’t wait to see all of you. I knew you’d be here. Here’s the best part—I’ve brought my book list with me. Don’t make a single decision until you read this list. Murder mysteries in Malta. I’ll have copies for everyone. I imagine it was a boring fall without me, but not to worry, Ina Stangler Melinsky is back.”

  The waitress had left a full pot of coffee on our table, so I poured my aunt a cup. “As long as Agatha Christie isn’t on that list, I think you’ll be fine.”

  “Agatha Christie? That reminds me, before we left for Malta, Louis bought two rows of tickets for the ASU Gammage Theater in Tempe for their midwinter production. Our treat for the book club. They’re doing The Mousetrap.”

  “Put the tickets up on eBay, Ina,” my mother said, “or you’ll be voted out of the club immediately.”

  Don’t miss the next Sophie Kimball Mystery,

  BOTCHED 4 MURDER

  by J.C. Eaton,

  coming in January 2019

  to your favorite bookstores and e-tailers.

  And in September 2018, J.C. Eaton has

  CHARDONNAYED TO REST,

  the next WINE TRAIL MYSTERIES book

  available from Lyrical Press

  and your favorite e-tailer.

  Please turn the page for a preview!

  Penn Yan, New York

  Catherine Trobert, owner of Lake View Winery, brushed her honey-blond bangs away from her eyes with one hand and leaned across her chair to pat my wrist with the other. We were the first ones to take our seats at the semimonthly Women of the Wineries meeting held at Madeline Martinez’s establishment, Billsburrow Winery. It was the week before Labor Day, and everyone was anxious for the fall winery events to begin.

  Well, not everyone. I certainly wasn’t. I was anxious to hear from my script analyst regarding the screenplay I had submitted for review. I was under contract with a Canadian film company that specialized in TV romances. Managing my sister’s winery for a year while she and her husband, Jason, were off chasing after some elusive bug in Costa Rica was something I agreed to do in a weak moment. I had no intention of making it permanent. Besides, the study grant my entomologist brother-in-law got from Cornell’s Experiment Station was only supposed to be for a year. Even though I had heard a nasty rumor from Godfrey Klein, who worked with Jason, that the grant might be extended.

  Bite your tongue, Godfrey.

  For the past five years I had earned a decent living writing screenplays, and I intended to keep it that way. Overseeing Two Witches Winery was simply a favor. A favor that was due to expire in ten months, at which time I’d be back in Manhattan saying adios to the person who had sublet my apartment.

  Catherine gave my wrist another pat and sighed. “I’m so sorry to break this to you, Norrie, but Steven won’t be able to make it for Labor Day Weekend as planned. You wouldn’t think his law firm would have such a big caseload, but it does. I suppose the state of Maine gets its fair share of crime, too.”

  “Huh?” All I’d heard were the words “Labor Day Weekend” and “Steven.” I kind of pieced together the rest in my mind. Catherine Trobert had grand designs of fixing me up with her son, even though I’d hardly known him in high school. He was a few years older than me and hung out with the jocks and future leaders of America on the student council. I was too busy writing poetry for the literary magazine and articles for the school newspaper to notice him.

  “I know. I know,” she said. “You haven’t seen Steven since high school, but I’m certain the two of you would enjoy getting reunited.”

  Reunited? We were never united. Never ever. “Um, that’s too bad. Send him my regards.”

  “I will, dear. I most certainly will. On a positive note, Gladys Pipp is back at work from her hip replacement. Moves around as if she were sixteen and not sixty.”

  “Um, is that one of your workers?”

  “Oh heavens no. Gladys is the secretary for the Yates County Department of Public Safety. Unlike those dour deputies over there who can barely utter a single syllable, Gladys is a wealth of information, if you need her. Shh! Don’t tell anyone, but she gave me the heads-up about that nasty little speed trap just past Snell Road.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Just then, Stephanie Ipswich from Gable Hill Winery and Rosalee Marbleton from Terrace Wineries came into the room. I immediately greeted them. Anything to stop Catherine from lamenting about Steven or bringing up people I didn’t know. Speed traps or not.

  Madeline Martinez followed and placed a tray of scones, chocolate filled croissants, and butter cookies on the large coffee table. “Coffee and tea are on the credenza. Help yourselves, ladies. This should be a really short meeting. We’ve only got two things on the agenda—the Federweisser Festival and the in
clusion of the Grey Egret Winery into our WOW association.”

  Rosalee moved her wire-rimmed glasses farther up her nose and straightened her shoulders. For a small, stout woman in her early seventies, she looked as if she could command an army. “Let’s be honest. If it wasn’t for the Grey Egret, our West Side Women of the Wineries, which most of us simply refer to as WOW, abbreviated or not, wouldn’t exist. And neither would the ‘Sip and Savor’ event or the Federweisser. It was Angela Martinelli who got the whole ball rolling.”

  “True, true,” Catherine said, “but Angela no longer owns the Grey Egret. She sold it to Don and Theo a few years ago. They’re the owners now. How can we have a women’s winery group if two of the members are men?”

  Stephanie selected the tiniest butter cookie from the tray, God forbid she eat something that would destroy that knockout figure of hers, and took the smallest bite. “Who says we have to be a women’s group? Let’s face it, the Grey Egret takes part in all our west side functions, and that means we have to call them constantly when we could simply converse with them at our meetings. I say we let them join the group.”

  “I second that!” I shouted.

  “It’s not a parliamentary procedure meeting, Norrie,” Catherine whispered.

  I shrugged. “I still think we should let them in. Don and Theo are great guys and amazingly supportive. When Elsbeth Waters’s body was discovered in our Riesling vineyard this past June, it was Don and Theo who helped me get through that whole mess.”

  “That whole murder, you mean,” Rosalee said. “I happen to agree with you.” Then she turned to the others. “Invite them into our group, for heaven’s sake, and let’s get on with this meeting.”

  I’d never known Rosalee to appear so agitated, but I figured she had lots on her plate, so to speak, with the grape harvest starting and the fall tourist rush only weeks away.

  Madeline nodded and gazed into her coffee cup. “Hmm, then what do we do about the name? WOW is so catchy.”