Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Aunt Ginny was doing her part to cover my tracks. “Oh my goodness, whatever in the world is that?”

  Officer Consuelos showed the note to his partner, and a cell phone on a selfie stick came slowly poking out from backstage over their heads. I looked around and didn’t see Mrs. Davis next to me anymore. Oh my lord, what is she doing?

  There was a very quiet tchk sound that ten people tried to cover by clearing their throats at the same time. Subtle. Then the selfie stick pulled back in and the phone disappeared.

  Officer Birkwell looked at the group of us. “What was that?”

  Aunt Ginny looked in the rafters. “Squirrels?”

  I shrugged. The seniors made a unified front that no one had heard anything. Mrs. Sheinberg said it must be her hearing aids acting up and the officers went back to their search of the crime scene.

  Ernie Frick called Royce into the shadows on the side of the aisle. He handed him a flask and Royce took a deep drink before handing it back.

  Royce was shaking. “That was supposed to be me.”

  Ernie turned sympathetic eyes on the aging actor. “How can you say that?”

  “I was supposed to make my entrance from that catwalk today. I’ve received death threats. I’m telling you, Ernie, someone is trying to kill me, and they got Duke instead. I have to drop out before someone else gets hurt.”

  Ernie looked around to see if anyone was listening. Aunt Ginny, Sawyer, and I made ourselves look like we were busy in conversation.

  Ernie put his hand on Royce’s back. “Maybe you should drop out. Broadway is waiting for a Royce Hansen comeback. I have a lot of other clients clamoring for this one-man show, but I brought it to you, Royce baby! You’ve always been my favorite. This kind of offer doesn’t come along every day.”

  Royce nodded slowly.

  Ernie patted him on the shoulder and looked around before going back to his seat.

  Fiona pounced on Royce the moment Ernie was gone. “What was that two-bit scoundrel trying to get you to agree to?”

  “Now, Fee, settle down.”

  Officer Birkwell went up on the catwalk and took some pictures while Officer Consuelos scanned the stage and surrounding area for evidence. I heard sirens getting closer, and before long the ambulance arrived and Duke was prepared for transport.

  It was a shock for everyone to see the body bag roll down the aisle.

  Officer Birkwell pointed to me and Aunt Ginny. “You two are with me.”

  We followed him out past Officer Consuelos interviewing Piglet, who gave his name as Terrence Nuttal. “I’ve been here every day. It’s my job. This whole place is a death trap, if you ask me. I’d be looking into that carpenter.”

  Office Birkwell led us into the main hall. “Okay, ladies, I know we’ve had some problems in the past.” His eyes bore into Aunt Ginny’s. She responded by giving him a toothy smile. “But I want you to promise me that you’ll not interfere with police business this time.”

  I raised my hand and belted out, “Absolutely.”

  But at the same time Aunt Ginny was saying, “I’m not promising anything.”

  I sighed. Officer Birkwell sighed. Aunt Ginny dug her heels in.

  He tried to appeal to her with logic. “Mrs. Frankowski, there is nothing for you to get involved in. This is an unfortunate situation, but it looks like a suicide.”

  “Hogwash!”

  Office Birkwell gave Aunt Ginny a dry look. “You want to elaborate on that?”

  Aunt Ginny folded her arms across her chest and stared Officer Birkwell down. “I overheard Duke talking with Neil this morning between scenes. He was buying two tickets for Friday night’s opening performance. One for his daughter and one for his grandson. Does that sound like a guy who’s gonna throw himself off the catwalk three hours later?”

  Officer Birkwell’s eyes bored into Aunt Ginny. “He left a note. It’s a suicide.” He made some notations in a little flip book. He asked us the usual: alibi, motives, etc. Aunt Ginny and Duke were friends, but they weren’t that close, and I’d just met him. Then he asked all the same questions again but trying to trick us with different wording. We answered them again the exact same way. After about thirty minutes, he said we were free to go. “And I’m begging you to go straight home.”

  Aunt Ginny smiled angelically. “Why, Officer Birkwell, of course we will. Just as soon as we get our pocketbooks and sweaters.”

  He went back into the theater to collect more statements. We waited a couple of minutes till he was good and distracted with Fiona and Iggy, then we slinked down to the front.

  Mrs. Davis had her phone out and the ladies were examining the screen.

  Sawyer waved to us to hurry. “Look, Mrs. Davis got a good shot of the suicide note.”

  Mrs. Davis read the screen. “ ‘I can’t go on like this. Life is pain. How will I live without my lover? The pain is too unbearable. Tell Christopher I’m sorry.’”

  Aunt Ginny shook her head. “It’s rather a bit melodramatic for a cop, don’t you think?”

  The ladies shook their heads in agreement.

  Mrs. Davis scrunched up her nose. “And who in the world is Christopher?”

  Aunt Ginny answered. “Maybe it’s his grandson.”

  They were trying to decipher the note, but I found myself drawn to the catwalk. Something wasn’t right.

  Mother Gibson said, “It doesn’t sound like him at all. He was so excited about his visit. It was all he talked about.”

  The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I made a face.

  Aunt Ginny nudged me. “What is it? You just thought of something, didn’t you?”

  Five sets of eyes were grilling me so hot, I thought my skin would tan. “Why would he crash through the bar of the platform? That would only slow him down and be a lot of extra work. All he had to do was climb in front of the bar and jump from there.”

  Everyone’s eyes followed mine and looked at the catwalk.

  “Oh sweet Jesus,” Mother Gibson sighed out. “Do you think it was an accident? Maybe he fell.”

  “Then where did the suicide note come from?”

  Mrs. Dodson shook her head slowly in thought. “Maybe he was pushed.”

  Mrs. Davis added, “But who would do such a thing? He didn’t have any enemies. He could be a pain in the butt, but he was well-liked.”

  Sawyer said, “Maybe a criminal he put away tracked him down and forced him onto the catwalk and pushed him off. Then left the note to throw off the police.”

  “How did they know Duke would be here and working on Mamma Mia!?” I took Mrs. Davis’s phone and pulled the photo back up. “The suicide note is carefully typed and double-spaced. Whoever did this didn’t just walk in here and catch Duke by surprise. They planned it and made props. And I doubt he would follow an ex-con up on the catwalk.”

  Aunt Ginny shook her head. “I think we’re missing something obvious. Royce and Duke were about the same size. And Royce has been getting threats. Maybe whoever killed Duke thought they were killing Royce and didn’t realize until it was too late that they got the wrong man.”

  I gave Mrs. Davis her phone back. “Royce has only been back in town for a few weeks. Everyone local who knows him is here.”

  The ladies’ eyes grew big and Sawyer let out a little whimper. “Not again.”

  Aunt Ginny scanned the room of cast and crew. “Maybe it wasn’t a local.”

  “Whether the victim was supposed to be Duke or Royce, the killer is most likely someone in this room.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  No one had the heart to continue for the day. Aunt Ginny handed me the keys to Bessie. She was too flustered to drive after the horrible events that had transpired. I dropped her at home and suggested she lie down for a while.

  It was still early, and we were waiting on word as to whether the entire play would be canceled or if today’s rehearsal would be rescheduled for tomorrow, so I walked over to La Dolce Vita to do tomorrow’s baking just in case.

>   The exhaustion was catching up to me. I forgot to put the sugar in a batch of brownies and had to throw them out and start over. I’d yawned my way through two lattes and was about to start on a third when Gia laughed at me and shook his head. “What is wrong with you? Are you sleeping enough?”

  I nodded, then shrugged. “I’ve been getting up at five every day to exercise.”

  “Why do you have to get up so early?”

  “If I don’t do it before I come here then go home and make Tim’s desserts, it won’t happen.”

  “Is this exercise that important to be like this all day?”

  “Well, it is because I’m not losing weight.” I didn’t finish grousing about my weight problems and lack of weight loss until I had thrown together two batches of muffins. I asked myself several times why I was telling Gia all this. I even tried to get myself to stop talking at one point, but my mouth blew right by me. He listened without adding comment, just nodded. When I was finished airing my grievance with my body, he helped me put the twenty-four-cup commercial muffin pans in the oven.

  “Why are you trying to lose weight? You are beautiful.”

  Wow, these Spunks are doing a better job than I thought. I suppressed a giggle. “I want to look better.” Just in case I ever have to get naked.

  “Why don’t you accept that you are gorgeous right now just the way you are? Then if you want to exercise to be healthy and strong, you can do a little at a time without killing yourself.”

  I stared at him.

  “If you are worn out, maybe you are doing too much.”

  I kept staring.

  He waved his hand in front of my face. “Bella?”

  I was trying to convince myself not to jump into his arms. I gave him a grin and he grinned back. “I will definitely keep that in mind.”

  “Good. I want you around for a long time.”

  “That reminds me. I don’t know if I’ll be in tomorrow yet or not. The seniors had a death today. One of the actors fell from a walkway over the stage.”

  “Dio mio! What happened?”

  “He fell three stories off the catwalk. It looks suspiciously like a murder dressed up like a suicide. Aunt Ginny and her friends are very upset.”

  “Of course they are. Is the play canceled?”

  “We won’t find out until tomorrow.”

  “Aunt Ginny must be very sad.”

  “She is. They were friends. As far as I can tell, pretty much everyone there was his friend.”

  “So why today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They have been practicing for almost three weeks and no one tried to kill him. What changed today?”

  “A couple of new people showed up. Two big gorilla types and a little smiley guy who turned out to be Royce’s agent, but he seems harmless enough. And Royce has been getting threats, so there is some speculation that the killer thought he was getting Royce and got Duke by mistake.”

  “If someone was after Royce, they won’t quit until they get him. The accidents will keep happening.”

  We talked about the play and the alleged suicide until I finished the day’s baking and had to leave. Gia pulled me next to him and kissed me. “You know, Bella means beautiful. Now please get some sleep tonight.”

  The two-and-a-half-block walk home stretched out in front of me with way too much time for thinking. I tried to force my mind to think about Duke and that suicide note. The ocean, the cold, will we get snow? Getting the B&B ready for the Valentine’s couples. Anything but Gia telling me I was gorgeous.

  Figaro was waiting for me in the window. The way his whiskers twitched said he was planning to give me a piece of his mind. I suspected it had something to do with the cherry-red Maserati in my driveway or the devil in a blue dress who threw open the front door.

  “I’m baa-aack!”

  Oh good. Georgina’s here.

  Chapter Twenty

  I felt like I had barely closed my eyes when my alarm went off. It was pitch dark outside and unless we were about to have a storm, something was very wrong. I threw my hand out to hit Snooze and got a furry nip on the wrist for it. I turned my head to see Figaro sitting on top of my alarm clock. It was four a.m. I pushed him off and reset it, then scooped him close to me to go back to sleep. I was sure it was an extraordinary accident. Until it happened again at four fifteen.

  “What are you doing?”

  Figaro’s whiskers twitched.

  “Get off my alarm clock.”

  “Meow.”

  I nudged him off the nightstand to the floor and set it again. As soon as I rolled over, he jumped back up and stepped on the Power button again. The sound of ocean waves crashed against my brain.

  I turned the light on and glared at him. Figaro responded by sitting demurely next to the lamp and wrapping his tail delicately around his feet. Well, now I’m too irritated to go back to sleep. I unset the alarm and got my cell phone to check email and Facebook. Figaro lay down next to me for a nap. Really?

  I had a one-star review on TripAdvisor from AlicePJones. “The Butterfly Wings Bed and Breakfast is overrun with bedbugs. It was filthy! We asked for a refund, but the dishonest, money-grubbing owner refused. We had to cut our time short and leave early. Our honeymoon was ruined! AVOID!” My in-box was loaded with alerts. She had posted the same review across all the travel sites.

  My eyes would hardly focus. A vein on my neck was throbbing. What is going on? Is there another bed and breakfast by the name of Butterfly Wings that people are confusing us with?

  I did a quick search. There was a “Butterfly Wing Guest House” in Bucharest, Romania. That seemed far-fetched.

  I was full of frustration and had nowhere to funnel it, so I dressed in leggings, a T-shirt, a long sweatshirt, and a knit hat and went out for my three-mile walk down the boardwalk and back.

  The temperature was somewhere in the forties. The ocean breeze cut against my skin. My limbs moved like someone had poured concrete through my veins and it was setting. The surf roared like a lion and seagulls battered the wind to stay aloft. Yet somehow, this was more peaceful than the rest of my life. What had I done to make God punish me like this? My anger carried me through my walk and it was over way too soon. The sky was in the beginning blushes of pink when I returned home an hour later.

  Figaro assaulted me at the front door, petulant that I’d left without feeding him.

  “That’s what you get for your passive-aggressive alarm-clock antics. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know that was payback for Georgina’s arrival.”

  Figaro curled around my ankles and rubbed his face against my calf.

  I picked up his bowl and opened a can of beef tips au jus. “This is way too fancy for you, sir. You are going to get spoiled.”

  I placed the bowl on the floor and Figaro dove in like he’d been on a hunger strike.

  Aunt Ginny came into the kitchen dressed in black slacks, a cashmere sweater, a black pillbox hat with a veil, and wearing three strands of pink pearls. “Good morning.”

  I blinked at her. “Is the funeral today?”

  “These are my mourning clothes.”

  “And the pink pearls?”

  “I still want to look pretty.” She looked at Figaro, who was loudly smacking his mouth around his au jus. “Did you just give him that?”

  I nodded. “He was starving.”

  Aunt Ginny narrowed her eyes at Fig. “I just gave him a can of tuna twenty minutes ago.”

  Figaro paused his gobbling and looked from me to Aunt Ginny, then he doubled down and started eating faster.

  “You little glutton!”

  Aunt Ginny started the grinder for coffee. “Did you check your email?”

  Visions of pummeling AlicePJones floated before my eyes. “For what exactly?”

  “Neil sent everyone an update. The cops officially ruled Duke’s death a suicide. Since the Senior Center is not an active crime scene, apparently the show must go on. We have a makeup rehearsal th
is afternoon.”

  I took my fruit and kale from the freezer and scooped some into the blender. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Like Duke’s memory is being spit on.”

  I added my protein powder and almond milk while I considered Duke. “What do you want to do about it?”

  Aunt Ginny poured the boiling water over the coffee grounds in the French press. “The girls are coming over this morning to discuss a plan. They want to make sure you’ll be here to help us strategize.”

  Well, that filled me with anxiety. What do those biddies have planned now? I have enough trouble reining in Cyclone Ginny when she’s running solo.

  After I sucked down my smoothie I took a shower. I fought my way into my Spunks, a pair of stretchy black slacks, and a black silk blouse. Then I had to stand in front of the open window with my arms up until I’d stopped sweating enough to apply my makeup. When I returned to the kitchen to start making Tim’s desserts for the restaurant, five sets of eyes were lined up at the center island waiting for me.

  “Ladies.”

  “Poppy,” four biddies and Georgina said in unison.

  Aunt Ginny gave me a smile that showed both rows of teeth and handed me a steaming mug. “I just made a fresh pot.”

  I took a deep breath. “What am I agreeing to by accepting this coffee?”

  Mrs. Davis waved her hand. “Nothing . . . really.”

  Mrs. Dodson shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Too small to go into detail over.”

  Mother Gibson gave me an innocent smile but refused to incriminate herself.

  “Uh-huh.” I looked at Georgina. “And what part do you play in this?”

  Georgina lifted her palms. “I don’t know anything. The ladies filled me in on the terrible tragedy of your dear friend, Duke. I just happen to agree with them that you would want to help find out how he really died.”

  Aunt Ginny pushed the coffee six inches closer to me. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “Nope. No way. The price is too high. If I get involved in this, the whole town will label me a death magnet.”

  Mother Gibson’s eyes softened and she took my hand. “Oh, honey. That ship sailed long ago.”