by Libby Klein
“I want to help you with your production, but it’s not worth dying over.”
A murmur shot through the room.
Fiona took the note from Royce’s hand.
“It says ‘drop out of the play or die.’”
Chapter Thirteen
Royce reached into his pocket for a monogrammed handkerchief and patted his forehead.
Neil took the note and reread it. “Where did you get this?”
“From my dressing room,” Royce answered meekly.
There was a moment of stillness where everyone tried to absorb the information, then they focused on what was truly important. “Royce has a dressing room?! Where is it? Why don’t we all have one? What’s in it?”
Neil held up his hands. “Okay, settle down, everyone. Yes, Royce has a dressing room. It was the least I could offer him. This man is a Broadway legend and he’s agreed to do the Cape May Senior Center musical. Doesn’t he at the very least deserve a table and chair in the costume closet?”
Blanche threw her hands to her hips and glared at Royce.
He shrugged. “What? I’ve had worse. Besides, you have that special stash of grapefruit sodas.”
“It’s in my contract!” Blanche retorted.
Royce glared back. “What contract? You’re in the play because you live in Cape May and you’re old.”
Bebe put a hand on Neil’s arm. “Wait. There’s a costume closet? I’ll be right back.”
Duke slipped into cop mode. “How many of you knew about the dressing room?”
Everyone shook their head except Neil, who half raised his hand. That’s when we turned into an imaginary ping-pong match, our heads swiveling back and forth with accusations and answers.
“Did anyone accompany you to your dressing room at any time?”
Royce shook his head no. “Except for my sister, Fee.”
The seniors gasped. Blanche pointed at Fiona. “So, that note had to come from you or Neil?”
Neil sputtered. “Just a minute!”
Fiona’s eyes took on a hard glint. “Why would I threaten my big brother to drop out of the play?”
Blanche shrugged. “As far as I can tell, you don’t want to share him.”
Aunt Ginny jabbed me in the side. “That’s a fair point.”
I nodded and whispered back, “What happened to Piglet and the two big guys? Where did they go?”
Fiona pinked from her bosom up to her earlobes. “I would never . . . !”
Mrs. Davis slowly lifted her cell phone over Duke’s shoulder and snapped a picture of the offending note.
Duke raised his voice. “All right, that’s enough. Calm down, everybody.” Then he asked Royce, “Why would someone want you to drop out of the play?”
Royce shrugged. “I can’t imagine.”
Mrs. Dodson tapped her cane. “Unless they wanted to do a play that they wrote instead.”
All eyes turned to Duke. He let the insult roll off his back. “Stand down, Edith.” Duke folded the note and placed it in his breast pocket. “I still have friends on the force. I’ll give this to them and see what they make of it. Probably just a harmless prank.”
Mrs. Davis pointed to Duke’s chest. “But if you left the note, aren’t you just tampering with the evidence?”
“I didn’t leave the note.”
“How do we know that?” Mother Gibson asked.
“I’m a cop.”
“You haven’t been a cop for years,” Mr. Sheinberg pointed out.
Neil whistled. “We’re getting nowhere accusing one another like this. Let’s break for dinner. How about everyone be back here in thirty minutes, okay?”
The seniors begrudgingly agreed. Neil took a minute to reassure Royce that he was safe and they couldn’t do the play without him. Then Fiona grabbed Royce protectively by the arm and led him out. Royce stopped and called to Aunt Ginny, who joined them. Iggy slumped down in a seat to pout, but Fiona noticed. “Iggy!”
With a heavy sigh, Iggy heaved himself up and lumbered after them.
Some of the folks decided to go to Westside Market for Italian hoagies. Others stayed back to eat sandwiches they’d brought from home. I had a grilled chicken salad I’d brought with me. How many salads should the average person eat in a lifetime? I think I’m way over the safe limit on iceberg. I was digging through my tote bag for my fork when a short little man with a wide nose and fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows yanked on my sleeve.
“Excuse me, but can you tell me where I might find Royce Hansen?”
“I think Royce has gone to dinner. He should be back soon, though. Do you want to wait for him or have me give him a message?”
The man had thick lips that rested in a half smile and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, giving him a perpetually amused expression. He ran a hand through the horseshoe pattern of hair that ran around the back and sides of his head while he took in the little theater. “No, thank you. I’ll just wait here for him, if that’s okay.”
“I’m sure Neil won’t mind.” He hasn’t chased anyone out yet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
The little man smiled at me and a wrinkle formed over the bridge of his nose. “That’s right, you didn’t.”
Then he left me and wound his way through the seats, choosing one on the end of the third row center. He took off his sport coat, draped it over the back of the seat next to him, then gave me a tinkling wave.
Sure. That’s not weird at all. I picked up my salad and was about to take a seat when I caught the biddies in a suspicious huddle watching the new little man. Oh no. I was going to ask them what they were up to but was interrupted by Neil’s tap on the arm.
“Poppy, how about I give you that tour of the light booth now?”
“Sure.” I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get to that salad anyway. I tossed another look over my shoulder at the biddies. Mrs. Dodson gave me an openmouthed wink.
Neil took me behind the red curtain on the side of the stage. “This is what we call stage left.”
“But we’re on the right-hand side of the room.”
Neil gave me an easy smile. “Common mistake. Stage directions are always from the actor’s point of view. Stage right is to the actor’s right when he’s looking out into the house. That means the audience. Stage left is to the actor’s left. The ‘cage,’ as we call the light booth, is stage left.”
This didn’t bode well. I was confused already, and we hadn’t even started yet. “You really know your theater stuff.”
“Well,” Neil puffed out his chest, “I’ve studied it a bit. Let’s look at the light board.”
“Why are there Xs taped all over the stage?”
“Don’t worry about that. The ones that glow in the dark are spikes for the stage crew to see where to put the props, and those different-colored ones are for the actors to know where to stand for certain scenes. The audience can’t see any of them.”
We entered the cage, which was the size of a walk-in closet. Inside sat a wooden board on a high table. It was covered with toggles and dials, all labeled to corresponding lights. Neil ran me through a few practice scenes. Then showed me the master kill switch, which he said not to touch. A series of cables and wires wound from the back of the board to an electrical box where several large cords were plugged in. I had a unique vantage from the cage to be able to see the entire span of the stage and backstage behind the scenery, plus several rows of the audience from the center to stage right. Or was it stage left? I’d forgotten already. I was trying to run the complex equation to determine what side of the stage I was on when I saw Mother Gibson carry a plant down to the fourth row, reach her hand through the plant into the newcomer’s sport coat, and dig around.
“What’s wrong?” Neil started to follow my obviously shocked gaze and I grabbed his arm in a panic.
“The kill switch. Tell me again why I can’t touch that.”
His eyebrows flicked together for a moment. “Because nothing will work if that’s turned off.
”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Mother Gibson extracted a wallet from the jacket, threw a thumbs-up to someone, and the tree started to move out of view again.
I breathed a sigh of relief that Neil mistook for nerves and he patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”
“I hope so.”
“Your technical script is right there. It has all your cues and settings.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will. You and your aunt both seem like you’re great at whatever you do.”
What? “Oh, uh . . . thanks. We try.” Is he hitting on me . . . or Aunt Ginny?
Neil paged through the script on the light board. “So, you and your aunt are close?”
“Thick as thieves.” Hmm. I hope I don’t regret that analogy when I see what those biddies are up to.
“Does everyone in your family have red hair?”
“Technically yes, since it’s just me and Aunt Ginny.” I’m not going to count my mother because I haven’t seen her in thirty years. Plus, she’s a brunette.
“Really? You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope.”
“No cousins?”
“Nope. How about you?”
“Oh, yeah. I grew up with a big family. Six sisters. No redheads.”
All I could do was nod along. He definitely has a thing about red hair. If he asks me if he can touch it, I’m outta here.
“Psst.” Over on the other side of the stage, Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Dodson were trying to hide themselves behind a very small curtain. Mrs. Davis’s butt was sticking out one side and Mrs. Dodson’s butt was sticking out the other. Mrs. Dodson was jerking her head for me to come to them.
Neil looked past me down in the audience. “Oh good, they’re back. We can get started.”
I pulled the side curtain back to see that Aunt Ginny, Royce, and Fiona had returned with Iggy. Aunt Ginny had Royce by one arm and Fiona had the other, like they were trying to split him in half. The newcomer popped up with arms wide and hugged Royce like they were old friends and Neil went down to be introduced.
Bebe reappeared from a successful campaign to the costume closet wearing silver shorts and a black-sequined tube top that I thought was supposed to be a skirt and spun around. “What do you think?”
I nodded. “Shiny.”
“Girl, I make this look good! I’m going to see if the boss man will let me keep it as part of my paycheck.” She flounced down the steps and over to the growing group by the piano.
I took the opportunity to scamper across to Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Dodson, who were about to throw their backs out covertly calling me over.
“What is Mother Gibson doing?” I hissed.
They grabbed me and pulled me into the little area behind the ineffective curtain. “Recon.” Mrs. Dodson stuck her head out and looked around. “We’re trying to find out who the new fella is.”
“I hope you’re going to put his wallet back.”
Mrs. Dodson cocked her head to the side and gave me a single nod. “Already on it.”
I looked out from behind the curtain and saw Mother Gibson dragging a stuffed sheep down the aisle. When the sheep was close enough to the third row, Mother Gibson paused, and it looked like the sheep pooped out a fat brown wallet on the floor next to Aunt Ginny’s foot. Aunt Ginny kicked her foot to the side and the wallet slid under the row of seats and the sport coat. Mother Gibson sped up her descent to place the sheep onstage.
Oh my God. They’re going to kill me before this play opens.
Mrs. Dodson grabbed my wrist. “There’s another thing.”
“That shifty pair is back,” Mrs. Davis whispered.
I looked at the quartet down by the piano.
“Not them, the two big men who were here earlier.”
Mrs. Dodson stood back on her cane. “You know what I think?” She placed a finger by her nose.
“What?”
She gave me a stern look and tapped the side of her nose again.
“Oh. You think they’re in the Mafia.”
Mrs. Davis grabbed my arm. “Shhh! They’ll hear you. They’re right outside the emergency exit.”
I craned my head around to see the door was still closed. I don’t know how they’re supposed to hear me through steel, but okay. “What are they doing?”
Mrs. Dodson tipped her chin up and gave me a grave look. “Loitering.”
Oh no, not that. I stifled a giggle.
Mrs. Davis threw her hands to her hips. “This is serious, Poppy. They could be hired hit men here to whack someone.”
“Who would they be here to whack?”
Aunt Ginny walked up behind me smelling like capicola ham, oregano, and provolone. “Who could be hit men?”
Mrs. Dodson leaned in until their heads were almost touching. “The beefcakes.”
Aunt Ginny nodded. “The two that look like the bouncers from that club we went to last summer?”
What? What club?
Mrs. Davis giggled and nodded. “Yep.”
Mrs. Dodson tapped her cane. “What do you think they’re up to?”
Aunt Ginny looked around the corner. “I don’t know, but here they come now.”
A shaft of light punctured the dimly lit front row of seats and the two men reentered and gingerly angled themselves down with a pained squeech.
Aunt Ginny watched them from behind her backdrop. “Those seats will have to be replaced after the show if they make this a habit.”
Neil called the room together and the biddies scurried off to what they called the “trust circle.”
The seniors held hands and chanted something I couldn’t make out. Then they clapped.
Aunt Ginny looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Actors.”
I gave her a look that said, I’m on to you. “I know where you went.”
She blushed and cleared her throat. “How was the salad?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had it yet.”
“Oh. So, at this point, still in the hopeful category.”
Neil hopped to the center of the stage and consulted a clipboard. “Since we can’t go over the musical number until tomorrow, let’s go through the scene where the men arrive and meet Sophie.”
I found my way to the light booth and searched the script for the right scene. “Sunset, Pink Fresnel @ 8.” What the heck is a Fresnel? I found the dial on the board and turned it to line the number eight up with the hash mark. A red light cast a warm glow on the stage. Okay, that’s not too difficult.
Blanche and Neil sat in the front row, while Mr. Ricardo and Duke took their places on the Xs. Royce was making his way across the catwalk for his big entrance down the mast onto the dock.
Mr. Ricardo tied a thick rope around the dock peg next to Aunt Ginny’s flat. “I’m glad to get off that boat.”
Duke brandished an oar from the prop rowboat. “Ah, that was nothing. You should try a kayak in the Okanama swamps.”
Mr. Ricardo threw his hand out toward Duke. “Oh yes! I read your book, A Bloke in a Boat in Botswana.”
Duke tossed the oar from hand to hand. “Thanks. I heard I’d sold a copy somewhere.”
Royce looked around the set. “Do you want to hear something really interesting? So, you see this . . . this . . .”
The men nodded for Royce to go on. Everyone waited.
Royce belted out, “This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle . . . This blessed plot . . .”
Neil rolled up his script and called through it, “Royce, the word you’re looking for is ‘taverna.’”
Royce shield his eyes from the stage lights. “Oh dear. You don’t want me to start over, do you? It’s not easy getting up to the catwalk.”
Neil circled his hand in the air. “That’s okay, let’s keep going.”
Duke picked up his cue. “There was this time in Kalahari.” He turned and swung his prop oar and whacked Royce in the back of the head with a loud crack.
I wasn’t sure if that was part of the play or not, so I looked at Aunt Ginny. Her hand covered her mouth and she ran to Royce.
Royce’s hand came away from his head red with blood. Fiona screamed. Neil vaulted up on the stage and rushed to Royce’s side.
Mr. Ricardo looked from the oar in Duke’s hand to Royce’s head. “Good God, man! What did you do?!”
Duke stood limply holding the prop oar. “That’s not supposed to happen.”
Blanche shot to her feet and pointed at Duke. “That was an attack! You all saw it!”
Duke held the oar away from himself like it was poisonous. “It was an accident. I thought it was supposed to be padded at the end.”
Fiona pointed a trembling hand. “He attacked my brother because he’s jealous. He’s been out to get him from the start!”
Neil grabbed the oar to inspect it. “Lila!”
Mother Gibson was out of her seat in the audience and already rushing up to the stage. “Ooh. No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
Mr. Sheinberg called from the audience, “What kind of farkakte play is this?!”
Neil was on his knees next to Royce. “Somebody get him an ice pack!”
Mrs. Sheinberg threw down the costume she’d been working on and took off down the aisle at a snail’s pace. “I’ll get it!”
Neil shouted, “Somebody who didn’t just have hip replacement surgery!”
Bebe took off after Mrs. Sheinberg, propelling herself by waving her hands in the air. “Look out, honey! These shoes aren’t made for rushing!”
Mother Gibson took the oar from Duke. “This isn’t my prop. The paddle on my oar is made out of Styrofoam and painted brown. This is solid wood.”
Everyone looked at Duke, who timidly shrugged. “I thought it was kinda heavy, but it was in the boat, so I thought it must be right.”
I was out of the cage and next to Neil with my cell phone in my hand and had already dialed the 9 and the 1. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Neil shouted, “No!” He leaned down to Royce’s ear. “Do you think you’ll be all right?”
“I’m feeling faint.”
Blanche shouted, “For the love of God, Neil. Let her call an ambulance.”