Note of Peril

by Hannah Alexander

  “Sounds serious. Do you have a friend who’s out of work?”

  “Nope, but I doubt I’ll be asked to renew my contract for this show.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Delight swiveled away from the mirror and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I’m not exactly popular around here right now, and there’s no way that’s going to change.” She sighed. “I’d be willing to take any of your leftover offers.”

  Grace pulled a bench over and sank onto it. “What happened to you and Denton? I thought you were buddies.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.” Delight fingered an eye-shadow container on the makeup table. “I know you warned me.”

  “I wasn’t rubbing anything in. Denton has more contacts in show business than I do. If you’re friends—”

  “Which we’re not.”

  “What happened there?”

  Delight scowled at her. “I told you not to rub it in.”

  “Did he try something?”

  “No, but…” Delight glanced toward the doorway, then lowered her voice. “I’m just staying away from him, okay?”

  “Has he done something to make you uncomfortable?”

  Delight blinked up at Grace, as if surprised by the concern in her voice. “It looks like he’s got a…thing for me. Why else would he be pushing for me to sing the songs you should be singing?”

  “Maybe because he sees your talent and energy. It never hurts to plan for the future.”

  Delight shrugged, then allowed her hands to fall gracefully onto her lap. “But you’re doing great, the show is successful. I mean, Michael’s always saying if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. So what’s Denton tryin’ to fix?”

  Whoa. This kind of admission from Delight Swenson? Grace could hardly believe her ears. “He wants something new for the show, and he knows I’m not willing to do everything he wants.”

  “Obviously neither is anybody else,” Delight said. “So why isn’t he listening?”

  Grace shrugged. She couldn’t claim to know the mind of Denton Mapes.

  “So you want to tell me what I’m doing wrong?” Delight looked up at Grace, her eyes stormy blue and troubled.

  “Who says you’re doing anything wrong?”

  “Henry, for one. Remember he told us we needed to give each other pointers? You were supposed to teach me how to sing, and I was supposed to show you how to lose weight and dress right. Your weight’s going in the right direction.” Delight gave Grace’s clothing a disapproving look. “But you could still use some help with wardrobe.”

  “Maybe you can take me shopping someday.”

  Delight nodded, obviously gratified. “The only other secret I can help you with is cinnamon.”

  Grace leaned back. “Cinnamon?”

  “I eat it all the time. It’s supposed to keep your blood sugar down, which keeps you from getting hungry. And I hear it’s good to lower cholesterol, although I’m not worried about that. I soak cinnamon sticks in water until they’re tender, then rinse them and eat them. You have to watch for the woody stuff, and don’t smile without first checking to see if you’ve got it between your teeth.”

  Grace grinned. “That’s how you keep your figure?”

  “Well, okay, that and I exercise constantly.”

  “And maybe also because you’re twenty.”

  Delight shrugged. “There are lots of people my age who can barely waddle into the theater. So what’s your helpful hint to reach stardom?”

  “I’ve got two of them. One is time.”

  Delight rolled her eyes like a recalcitrant teenager. “I should’ve known you’d say that, but what about those hot stars who hit the charts long before they were my age?”

  “I can’t speak for them, only for myself. It took me a lot of time to gain recognition, and even to convince someone to look at the songs I wrote.”

  “What’s the other hint, besides the fact that I need to work on my voice control?”

  “The most important thing for me was to sing for someone besides myself.”

  Delight raised a hand. “Hold it. I know where this is headed. I’m going to get a sermon.”

  “I’m just telling you how I feel about my place in the music business,” Grace said. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. For me, it isn’t a business. My life wouldn’t end if I left Branson tomorrow and never came back. I would always sing for Him, either at church or on the street corner or in the privacy of my own shower.”

  Delight took a soft breath and let it out slowly, holding Grace’s gaze steadily. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  Grace nodded.

  “I probably ought to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve been kind of a jerk to you lately. I think, down deep, I kind of blamed you for what Henry said to me, and don’t even ask me why.”

  “He was pretty rough, Delight.”

  “I know. I guess you could say I’m a little competitive.”

  Grace suppressed a snort of laughter. “A little?”

  Delight grimaced. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have shown you that article Sunday just before the show. That was tacky.”

  “I would have seen it sooner or later. Sherilyn would have made sure of it.”

  “Not just before a show.”

  “True.”

  “I’m sorry about the thing with your father,” Delight said.

  “Thanks. I don’t know how Jolene got that information. I certainly hadn’t intended it to become public knowledge.”

  “You probably didn’t intend your fight with Michael to become common knowledge, either, but everybody’s watching to see what’s going to happen next with you two.”

  Grace grimaced. “They can back off.”

  “But that’s one reason I feel bad about showing you that article. You two had your fight after that.”

  Grace didn’t feel like baring her soul to Delight. “I jumped to a hasty conclusion, and I shouldn’t have. I was totally at fault.” That was all the explanation Delight would receive.

  Delight grinned and had started to speak when a thump echoed from the far side of the room. She cried out and reached for Grace as the door to the wardrobe room opened and Mitzi came breezing in, carrying several outfits over her arm.

  “I had to take up the silver lamé, and the star-spangled blue isn’t far behind. You’ve got three outfits preset in the quick-change room.” She stopped when she caught sight of Delight. “There you are. You’ve got a new outfit change, too. Better get into the other dressing room and check it out. Grace, I brought new earrings for this red dress. Let’s see how it looks on you before I do the preset on it.”

  Delight glanced toward the wardrobe door, then looked back at Grace and raised an eyebrow. “Do you keep that door locked?”

  “No way.” Mitzi answered for Grace as she spread her burdens out across the dressing bench. “I need access to these rooms, and I don’t want to have to carry a ring of keys around all the time.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little risky?” Delight asked. “I mean, considering all that’s been going on here lately?”

  Mitzi gave her a look of exasperation. “Last I checked, unlocked dressing-room doors don’t cause heart attacks. As far as I know, that’s the only thing that’s happened around here.”

  Delight gave Grace another pointed look, then shrugged and left the room.

  Michael was halfway through the final song before intermission—a love ballad to a couple in their eighties who were celebrating their sixty-fifth anniversary. Grace came down the steps from the stage on cue to join him in the final chorus of “Love for Eternity.”

  Before she reached his side, she darted a glance toward the far aisle, where two men were coming toward them, wearing tuxedo T-shirts and the familiar black top hats of a local special delivery service.

  Between them, they carried an elegantly wrapped package at least four feet long and three feet high. Grace missed a beat as the m
en advanced toward them between the front row of seats and the stage.

  As the music ended and the crowd cheered the faithful couple, the deliverymen reached Grace and Michael.

  The crowd continued to cheer as the men placed the package ever so gently in front of Grace. They bowed, handed Grace an embossed envelope, waved to the audience and left.

  Michael could see the alarm Grace tried hard to hide. Holding the envelope as if it might contain a deadly virus, she returned to the stage and gave the usual invitation for the audience to visit the gift shop, take advantage of the concession stand out in the lobby and come up front to meet the cast of the show.

  “What’s in the package?” a man yelled from the middle of the theater.

  Grace gave him a smile. “I’m afraid to find out.”

  “Open it!” exclaimed an elderly lady in the front row.

  Grace glanced toward Michael, who gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Whoever had sent the package had timed the delivery to give the impression to the audience that they were meant to share the moment.

  More people from the audience urged Grace to unwrap the package.

  With barely concealed reluctance she returned to the mysterious object wrapped in iridescent shades of silver and gold. She tore at the paper until it fell away, and the crowd gasped. So did Grace.

  “It’s a Lladró!” cried a lady from the front row.

  “A collector’s piece, for sure,” called someone else.

  Michael moved down for a better view, and saw an exquisite figurine depicting Cinderella arriving at the ball in her chariot. The title of the figurine was “Cinderella’s Arrival.”

  “This is too much,” Grace whispered, showing Michael the card she’d received. It read, “Midnight is coming faster than you think.”

  As soon as they broke for intermission, Michael raced backstage and took the corridor to the lobby. He ran outside into the parking lot, to find the delivery van pulling out onto the street.

  He ran to his dressing room and looked up the number of the delivery company. The person he reached informed him sweetly that their customer wished to remain anonymous, and they were required to respect the wishes of their clients.

  He hung up, frustrated, and went to the green room, where stagehands had carried the amazingly elaborate figurine. The whole cast had congregated around it.

  “Thing’s probably worth thirty thousand or more,” Delight said. “I know, because my mom collects Lladró figurines. She’d be drooling all over this thing.” She looked up at Grace. “Someone’s either crazy about you or they’re trying to make some kind of major statement. Publicity stunt, maybe?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” Cassidy said from his backward perch on a straight-back chair. “How about it, Grace? You doing this for publicity? People are freaking, for sure.”

  Grace raised the card that had come with the figurine, and read it out loud. “I wouldn’t write myself a note like this.”

  Cassidy looked skeptical. “I don’t know about that. Think of the attention that thing could draw. You going to tell Jolene?”

  “No, I’m not telling Jolene.”

  “Tell the police,” Michael said softly. “Only the police can convince the delivery service to reveal the identity of the sender. A paper trail would—”

  “I won’t call the police, either,” she said.

  “Why not?” Cassidy taunted. “It seems to me if you were really concerned about these so-called threats, you’d be willing to have them checked out.”

  “We’ve had far too much publicity about this already,” Grace said. “Somebody’s already getting a big thrill out of the attention these gifts are receiving.”

  “Pretty expensive thrill,” Delight murmured.

  “We need to stop allowing deliveries during the show,” Michael said. “I’ll talk to Ladonna and Denton about it.”

  Grace caught his gaze for a moment, and he could see the apprehension clearly in her eyes. Someone was going to a lot of trouble and expense to spook her. Why…and what would they try next?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The night of Grace’s banquet arrived at last, and Grace stared out the window of the private dining room at Chateau on the Lake, enjoying a spectacular view of the water from her seat at the head of the banquet table. As she watched, the waiters raised the shades in an evening ritual that paid homage to the sunset.

  Grace knew from experience that the deepening shadows of pink, evening mauve and smoky-blue would caress the remainder of daylight from the sky in a living display straight from the Master Artist.

  Because of the ambience of this exclusive restaurant it had always featured among Grace’s favorites. The seating for twenty was just the right size.

  Tonight she hoped to repair a special bond with the people with whom she’d spent most of her waking hours for the past two years. Lately there’d been more show of temper and less camaraderie. She hoped the elegant Christmas atmosphere would soothe everyone’s feelings.

  Sherilyn Krueger breezed into the room behind the restaurant hostess. The agent wore a satin gown the color of port, which set off the ebony glow of her skin.

  She hugged Grace, then settled into the plushly upholstered, carved wood chair to Grace’s left. “Honey, you look wonderful in anything, but that green is your color, like an Ozark hillside in the summertime.”

  Grace smiled her thanks. “Thanks. And you look beautiful, Sherilyn, as always.”

  Her agent sighed. “If that’s true, then why don’t I have a date? And where’s Michael?”

  “He’s coming.”

  “But not with you.” Sherilyn’s full lips turned down in a teasing pout.

  Time to change the subject. “Did you see anyone else arriving?”

  “Ladonna and Mitzi and their dates just stepped out of a stretch limo, dressed to the nines.”

  Mitzi, Ladonna and dates made their entrances and allowed the hostess to seat them beside Sherilyn and Grace at the table.

  Mitzi introduced everyone, then sank into the chair across from Sherilyn and picked up a cobalt-blue water goblet. “Grace, you’ve outdone yourself this year.” She indicated the ice sculpture centerpiece, complete with poinsettias frozen inside. “Private dining room with a view? Christmas red, green and gold napkins and tablecloth and candles? Classy as always.” She leaned forward. “Twenty people must be costing you a fortune.”

  “Hush, Mitzi,” Ladonna said. “It’s not polite to pry.”

  “I’m not prying. I already know what a meal for two costs at this place. A spread like this would be out of my league.”

  “That all depends on your priorities.” Ladonna allowed the hostess to place the dinner napkin over her lap. “With tonight’s box office receipts, Grace can afford this.”

  Grace grinned. Income for the show remained steady in spite of the slower winter season. They no longer had the sellout crowds of a couple of weeks ago, but this year was probably the best Denton’s theater had seen in a long time.

  “Any news about the television promo next week?” Mitzi asked.

  “Still going forward as planned,” Ladonna said. “But just because they’re taping the show for a promo doesn’t mean we’re in. Denton doesn’t know everything.”

  “He thinks he does,” Mitzi said.

  Ordinarily, television might be exciting, but for some reason Grace felt tired. She’d lost focus, and she needed time to retreat from the world and regroup. Time for a trip to Hideaway for a few days, but that would have to wait until after next week, when they had their final Christmas show.

  She still didn’t know what she was going to tell Sherilyn about the recording contract. This reluctance to commit obviously frustrated the agent, who couldn’t understand the hesitation, especially when she’d been working so hard to get Grace into Nashville.

  Another subject that weighed on Grace’s mind was her father. After she’d walked out on Michael at the restaurant that night two weeks ago, she’d called h
er mother for her dad’s telephone number and had carried it around in her purse ever since. But she hadn’t yet called—what on earth would she say to him?

  The banquet room gradually filled with cast and crew, dressed in their finest. Michael entered wearing a midnight-blue tux, and Grace caught her breath. Of course, in the show he wore a variety of costumes that set off his dark good looks, but he seldom wore a tux onstage. And Michael Gold’s offstage dress was usually motorcycle or cowboy gear.

  His gaze scanned the room until he saw her, and he gave a brief nod, those smoldering eyes lingering on her. But he directed the hostess to seat him at the far end of the table.

  Grace felt a fresh stab of disappointment, for which she chided herself. Since the painful scene between them at the restaurant two weeks ago, Michael had been watchful and considerate, but he’d kept his distance, for the most part. It felt as if he were attempting to prove to her how little he needed her company.

  Or maybe he wanted her to realize how much she needed his.

  Their only meaningful conversation, other than those few moments at the clinic, had involved his failed attempts to discover the origin of the extravagant Lladró porcelain figure, and his repeated requests that she call the police.

  He was probably right, but Grace cringed to think of the media blitz that another police investigation might attract. Or would the police even take the time to investigate? After all, sending anonymous gifts wasn’t a crime.

  Following in Michael’s wake, Delight made an uncharacteristically subdued entrance with Blake Montana. She looked like a dream in ocean-blue silk, with her hair caught up in a charmingly loose chignon. Blake’s light brown hair, freshly cut, gleamed with blond highlights in the subdued lighting. His handsome features showed well with a beautifully cut suit of finest wool.

  They settled next to Michael, whom Delight greeted with effusive attention.

  Michael stifled a sigh when Delight made herself comfortable in the chair next to his. Since their conversation the day of Henry’s death, the girl had become increasingly clingy, particularly the past couple of weeks.