Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  I will not make out with Tim. I was determined not to give in to my lust for either man until I knew what my heart wanted. Until I figured things out, I’d just be leading one of them on. Then I saw him. Tim was at the sauté station flipping around a skillet of shrimp in butter like a culinary god.

  “There’s my girl. You’re just in time for lunch.” He threw a couple of large handfuls of cooked linguine into the skillet and tossed it in the shrimp and butter.

  I looked at the time on my cell phone. “Lunch? It’s almost four.”

  Tim plated the shrimp and linguine in a pasta bowl while he laughed at the joke I didn’t realize I was making. “This is when we get to eat.”

  Macie, one of the line chefs, helped herself to a serving of pasta. “Dinner is served around eleven tonight, in case you’re around.” She gave me a smile, then turned on her heel to find a place to sit.

  Juan and Chuck brought in the last of the cheesecakes and Peanut Butter Mousse pies and showed them to Tim.

  “Poppy, they look fantastic!” Tim leaned down to kiss me, and with my heart pounding, I dodged him by grabbing a Peanut Butter Mousse.

  “I’d better put this in the walk-in so it doesn’t melt.”

  Tim picked up a fork. “Chuck, help her with the other one.”

  Chuck already had a plate in one hand and pasta tongs in the other. He looked longingly at the platter and back at me.

  “Don’t worry. I got this.” I loaded the dessert shelf while Juan brought the last tray of crème brûlées in from the car.

  Tim and his crew were making quick work of the scampi when one of his servers arrived. She was a petite blonde dressed in the customary black pants and white dress shirt. Her hair was up in a long ponytail. “All right. Just in time.”

  Tim motioned to the platter. “Poppy, are you sure you don’t want some? Chuck will eat all of it if you don’t get in here.”

  Chuck nodded with a mouthful of pasta.

  I giggled and politely declined.

  Tim’s eyes flashed and his brow drooped. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry. You can’t have this because it has gluten in it. You want me to make you some gluten-free pasta? I can boil fresh water.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really. I had lunch hours ago. I’ll be picking up a salad on the way to the Senior Center.”

  Macie muttered, “Bakers. So lucky.”

  Tim put his empty plate on the counter. “How’s it going over there? Has Aunt Ginny caught the backdrop bandit yet?”

  “Not yet, but they struck again last night.”

  “Have they called in Miss Marple to investigate?”

  “I get the impression they’re doing that themselves.”

  Tim started to walk toward me and the hairs on my arm stood up. Must not let him entice me. I grabbed my sheet pan and held it in front of me.

  “You don’t have to go already, do you? Why don’t you stick around and watch me cook?”

  Sexy music started playing in my mind, and an image of Tim wearing nothing but an apron sautéing over an open flame flashed before my eyes.

  “Why are you blushing?”

  “What? Nothing. Who is?” Just . . . chef porn.

  Tim narrowed his eyes and slanted his head while laughing at me. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.

  Uh-oh.

  “You’re so funny.”

  I leaned back, away from the sexy chef. “That’s me. I’m funny.”

  “Come on, can’t you stay? I miss you.” He leaned in to kiss me and I turned my head, so he kissed my neck.

  Whoa! Abort, abort! Big mistake! I started giggling uncontrollably and tried twisting away from him.

  Tim thought it was a game and started trying to tickle me. Luckily, we were interrupted by Chuck.

  “Uh . . . Chef?”

  Tim didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice. “What?!”

  I looked around Tim. “Hey, Chuck, you’re not interrupting. Come on over.”

  “Uh . . . There’s a guy . . . says he needs to talk to you . . . about a fish order . . .”

  Tim dropped his arms reluctantly. “I’ll be right there.” Then to me: “It’s always something. This is why chefs die young.”

  “Fish salesmen?” I grinned.

  “Eighty-hour workweeks and Chucks.”

  “Well, I have to go anyway. I have to be at the Senior Center in twenty minutes. Tonight is my first technical rehearsal to learn the lights.”

  He snuck a kiss in before I could dodge him. I floated to the door with the electricity of a thunderstorm.

  “I’m surprised the Senior Center wants you involved given your recent track record with people dying whenever you’re around.”

  “These seniors like to live dangerously.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Senior Center was a beehive of activity. Some of the stage crew were painting props in the craft room two doors down, seniors carried set pieces from the game room into the theater, and in the middle, a familiar face was leading choreography in the activity room wearing booty shorts and size thirteen glitter heels.

  “Honey, you’ve got to swing your hips,” Bebe said in a husky voice.

  “These hips fought in Korea. That’s as far as they swing.”

  “Well, put your rump into it. Poppy, hey girl! Look at you!”

  “Bebe! What are you doing here?” I hadn’t seen my caramel-skinned friend since I bailed Aunt Ginny out of jail a couple of months back. Come to think of it, I’d never seen Bebe on this side of the iron bars.

  Bebe left her geriatric partner and enveloped me in a hug as long as her purple hair. “I’m turning over a new leaf. The boss man advertised in the Shoppee that he was looking for a choreographer.” She held out her arms and flashed a brilliant smile. “Ta-daaa!”

  I giggled. “Well, you’ve done wonders with Mr. Sheinberg there.” Mr. Sheinberg had swiveled himself into a corner and was stuck in a potted fern.

  “Oh, good lord, hold on.” Bebe rushed over and shifted Mr. Sheinberg’s trajectory until he worked his way back to the center. “What are you still doing in Cape May? I thought you were on your way back to Virginia after you cleared your aunt.”

  “Yeah, things have changed. I’m here to stay. Someone has to keep Aunt Ginny out of trouble.”

  “Speaking of your aunt, where is that shyster? I want a chance to win my diamond pinkie ring back.”

  “On the stage, painting the backdrops.”

  “The ones with the topless mermaids?”

  “I believe those additions were made without her oversight.”

  Mr. Sheinberg had swiveled himself into a frenzy. “I think I’ve got it, but now I can’t make it stop.”

  Bebe gave me an I-gotta-go look. “I’ll see you down there when we rehearse the dance number in a bit.” She waved a set of long, silver fingernails and held Mr. Sheinberg by the waist until the rest of his body swiveled to a stop.

  I spotted Smitty in the game room, measuring some plywood for set construction. He made a note on the wood, then looked closer at the tape measure, grunted, then spun it around upside right. He saw me and gave a salute.

  I arrived in the theater, where Royce was on stage with Mr. Ricardo. Duke and Blanche were off to the side, rehearsing a scene. I looked around for Aunt Ginny. Her spiky red hair was sticking out from behind a backdrop. She slowly peeked out, saw me standing in the back, and put a finger to her lips. Then she crooked her finger for me to join her.

  I climbed behind the stage curtains and wedged myself next to her. “What’s going on?”

  “Shh!” She was crouched behind the canvas-covered frame, spying on someone in the audience.

  I whispered, “Who are we looking at?”

  “We don’t know yet,” she hissed. “See that little guy near the back row?”

  I tried to look around the backdrop, but she pulled me back in. “Don’t let him see you.”

  Because creeping around this painting is so much more discreet. I indulged her and inche
d my eyes out to scan the audience. “The man wearing the round glasses and the fancy suit with the pink tie?”

  “Yes!” she hissed.

  “The one who Mrs. Davis is lying behind on the floor?”

  “How did you know Thelma was behind him?”

  “Her shoes are sticking out in the aisle. What’s she doing?”

  “She’s spying on Piglet.”

  “You’re calling him Piglet?”

  “He’s all pink and nervous. Too many weird things have been happening this week and no one’s been caught yet.” Aunt Ginny picked up a roll of electrical tape and wound it around some matches and a firecracker. “This guy’s been hanging around since Tuesday. Who knows what he’s been up to when we’re not here? We’re looking in to him.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Aunt Ginny glanced at me, then taped a matchbox striker and metal ring to the firecracker. “Setting a trap. I’m going to catch Duke in the act the next time he tries to paint boobies on my backdrop. Hand me that trip wire.”

  I handed Aunt Ginny the roll of fishing line. I giggled. “You’re making a booby trap.” I took another look around the backdrop and saw Mrs. Dodson’s head rise up to the bridge of her nose just over the man’s shoulder. She must have gotten too close, because the man swatted at his shoulder like a fly was buzzing around. She was saved when, onstage, Royce belted out, “Hear my soul speak, the very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service.”

  “Cut!” Neil jumped on the stage to stop the scene, and Mrs. Dodson dropped back down behind Piglet, I mean, the little man. “The line is, no she’s still Donna.” Neil held up a script.

  Royce smiled and rocked back on his heels. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure. It’s written right here on these pages.”

  “Oh. Well, what did I say?”

  “You were quoting Shakespeare again.”

  Royce chuckled. “It’s in my blood.”

  Fiona announced to no one in particular, “He was wonderful in Hamlet.”

  Royce nodded and held up his hand. “Five curtain calls.”

  Neil put an arm around Royce’s shoulders. “Maybe we could run lines together later, just you and me.”

  “Oh, that would be jolly fun.” Royce clapped his hands.

  I was about to ask Aunt Ginny how Royce had been doing with learning his lines, when I noticed what she was wearing for the first time. “You changed your clothes.”

  Aunt Ginny gave me a sly grin and held out her T-shirt, so I could read it. It was bright pink and had the words YOU’RE A HAS-BEEN written in gold foil.

  “I take it that’s for Blanche’s benefit?” Blanche was onstage glaring in Aunt Ginny’s direction.

  Aunt Ginny giggled. “I’d say it’s open to interpretation.”

  The emergency-exit door down by the stage cracked open and two burly gorillas in suits tiptoed into the theater. They looked around the room like they were trying to spot someone, then creaked open the end seats on the second aisle and wedged themselves down.

  Neil glanced at the men, who looked like a Hummer crashed into a compact parking spot, then turned his attention back to the scene onstage. “Let’s move on to the musical number.”

  Iggy lumbered over to the piano while the actors took their places with Bebe in the front, towering over everyone, arms up to begin the dance routine. Aunt Ginny and I carefully climbed out from around the curtains so we could watch from the audience. Iggy started banging on the piano, but what came out wasn’t ABBA. He stopped and started again. Nope, he still sounded like a three-year-old running loose in the sanctuary.

  Aunt Ginny whispered in my ear, “He sounds like he’s playing a cat in heat.”

  Murmurs scuttled through the theater like crabs at low tide.

  Fiona shot to her feet and pointed at the piano. “Someone has sabotaged my Iggy. This isn’t his doing! He has a master’s degree!”

  Neil turned in Fiona’s direction. He sounded more confused than disturbed. “What?”

  Iggy held up his hands. “Dude, I think someone jacked up the piano during lunch. It’s badly out of tune.” He lifted the lid and looked inside.

  Aunt Ginny whispered again, “If he pulls a cat out of there, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  Iggy shook his head and closed the lid. “You need to get a professional tuner before I can play again. It’s not good for the piano to continue now.”

  Mrs. Davis joined us from her hiding spot. “Well, that’s awfully convenient, don’t you think? He didn’t want to be here anyway.”

  Neil jumped off the stage. “Take the scene from the top, where Donna makes her entrance. I’ll go call the Methodists.” He started up the aisle but stopped long enough to take Aunt Ginny’s hands in his. “Ginny, you have done a lovely job with the backdrops. I had no idea you were such a gifted painter.”

  Aunt Ginny ducked her chin. “I’m so glad you approve.”

  “I’m blown away by them. Does artistic ability run in your family?”

  “I believe my grandmother used to paint a little.” Aunt Ginny shrugged coyly. “Mostly bowls of fruit and flowers.”

  “How wonderful.” Neil patted Aunt Ginny’s hand. “I’d better go make that call.” Neil continued down the aisle, the little man in glasses Aunt Ginny had dubbed Piglet jumping out to follow him while wringing his hands together.

  “That was actually a pretty good nickname.”

  Aunt Ginny knocked my arm. “See.”

  As soon as Neil was out of the room, the oversize loads down in front wrenched their way out of the seats and left by the same emergency exit they had entered from. Mr. Ricardo pushed the button on an old boom box and started playing a Latin number, and the seniors paired up to dance. Bebe led Mr. Sheinberg around and Aunt Ginny was whisked off by Royce in a fit of giggles. I warmed on the inside to see her so happy. Blanche, on the other hand, had a look that would frighten a tiny North Korean dictator.

  I felt a tap-tap-tap on my shoulder. Oh God, please don’t be Iggy. I looked behind me and found Duke McCready. “Come on, let’s join the others.”

  I was so relieved not to see the morose man-child that I agreed. Duke led me up to the stage. “Have you had a chance to read my play?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m sure it’s very good.” Okay, that was a bald-faced lie. I hope he can’t tell.

  Duke narrowed his eyes but kept stepping in time to the music.

  Darn. I smiled brightly.

  Duke shrugged. “At least I got Royce Hansen to take a look. It wasn’t a real look. It was half a look. He said he skimmed it.”

  “That’s something. Did he like it?”

  “He said it was lacking the zing he usually looks for in a script.”

  “Oh, what kind of zing is he looking for?”

  “The kind where he plays the lead.”

  “Oh.” I laughed. “Well, I think it really is too late at this point. Mamma Mia! opens in a week. Why don’t you pitch your play in a couple of months, when this one is over?”

  “It’s all political. It was my idea to do a play in the first place.” Duke sighed. “That’s too late anyway. My grandson is coming to visit, and I told him we were doing the play I wrote. For the first time in my life, he thought I was cool. Now he’s going to go back to calling me Geezer Gramps. I hate that name.”

  “Aww, I’m sorry. But you are playing Bill in Mamma Mia! That’s a lead role. I’m sure he’ll be impressed with that.”

  “I don’t know. Kids today. The only way to impress them is to beep and buzz on their phones.”

  Behind Duke, Blanche was leading Mr. Ricardo into a crossfire with Aunt Ginny and Royce.

  Oh, that will not end well.

  In a brazen breach of etiquette, Blanche tapped Aunt Ginny on the shoulder, then stepped aside to switch partners. Royce did not recover quickly. Blanche spun him around and led him away.

  Aunt Ginny stormed off the stage, leaving Mr. Ricardo dancing the merengue solo
, which he didn’t seem to realize for several bars.

  I excused myself from Duke and found Aunt Ginny fuming to her crew. “Of all the cheek I have ever witnessed, that has to be some of the nerviest gall.”

  Mother Gibson put an arm around Aunt Ginny and gave a supportive murmur. “Mm-hmm.”

  Mrs. Dodson sniffed. “I think it’s a disgrace. It looks like Blanche is after husband number three.”

  Fiona shot a dark look at the stage. “Over my dead body.”

  Mrs. Davis murmured, “You may not want to say that too loud near Poppy.”

  “Hey. I had nothing to do with those other ones.”

  Aunt Ginny looked around. “I still wouldn’t chance it.”

  A weird shiver crept its way up my arm. I tried to brush it off, then it spoke to me. “Hey.”

  I about jumped out of my skin when I saw that it was Iggy. “Oh, hi.”

  “Do uh . . . do you want . . . uh . . . to dance or something?”

  Mrs. Davis snickered.

  Fiona called out from across the aisle, “He’s really good. He has a master’s degree in interpretive movement.”

  What the crap? “Oh, thank you, but I need to stay with my aunt. She’s not feeling well.” I grabbed Aunt Ginny’s arm.

  “I’m much better now. You can go.”

  I glared into Benedict Arnold’s green eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re old. You get confused.”

  Mrs. Davis snickered again. Mother Gibson was hiding her face behind her stage crew clipboard.

  I gave Iggy what I hoped was a polite smile. I didn’t want to hurt him. “Can I get a rain check?”

  He stomped off. “I told you!”

  Fiona screeched across the aisle, “Well, you must have done it wrong.”

  “What are you all doing?!” Neil had emerged from his office. “You’re supposed to be practicing the dance number to Mamma Mia!”

  Everyone stopped dancing and the room sobered like a pop quiz had been announced.

  “Take your places, everyone. Where is Royce?”

  Everyone looked around, but Royce was nowhere.

  Then we heard a scream come from backstage. Royce ran onstage waving a slip of paper. “I quit! I can’t do the play!”

  Neil paled. “What do you mean, you can’t do the play? We’ve advertised and sold tickets. You can’t drop out now.”