Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  My coffee bribe went down harsh and with the bitter aftertaste of manipulation. I spent the morning making strawberry tarts and chocolate crème brûlée for Tim, while the ladies alternated between buttering me up that I had a heart of gold and calling me the Cape May harbinger of death. I Googled “how to remove a curse put on you by a deranged psychic” but found nothing helpful.

  Sawyer’s arrival was a welcome distraction because they switched to teasing her and left me alone.

  “Guess what I got today?” Sawyer was so excited, she was practically vibrating.

  Mrs. Davis guessed something that I dare not repeat, but it made the four other ladies squeal with laughter and Sawyer blush crimson.

  “I’m guessing six roses.”

  She pulled out her cell phone and shoved the screen in my face. “Six roses and a teddy bear.” Sawyer broke out in a fit of giggles.

  Aunt Ginny sighed. “I miss stuff like that.”

  Georgina took the phone and passed it around. “To be young and in love again. My little Smitty is romantic, but even he doesn’t go in for all this display.”

  I sprinkled raw sugar over my chilled custards for caramelizing later. “Do you know who’s sending the gifts yet?”

  Sawyer grinned. “No, but I’m sure it’s Adrian.”

  Mrs. Dodson cocked her head to the side. “Did you ask him?”

  Sawyer shook her head no. “I’m waiting for him to expose himself.”

  Mrs. Davis raised her eyebrows. “I wish I could be there to see that.”

  Sawyer blushed. “I mean, I’m waiting for him to reveal that he’s my secret admirer.”

  Mother Gibson swatted Mrs. Davis on the arm. “What if it’s not him? Who else could it be?”

  Sawyer shrugged. “There isn’t anyone else, except my elderly neighbor, Mr. Vartabedian.”

  I started carrying loads of tarts and custards out to the car while the ladies continued to bait Sawyer. They had just about convinced her that Mr. Vartabedian was her secret admirer when I grabbed my purse. I told Sawyer I’d be back in a few minutes and snuck off to Maxine’s. I wanted to get these desserts to Tim before I had to make the last-minute preparations for the B&B check-ins today. My night was going to be full at the Senior Center. I had yet to actually practice all the way through the script as one disaster after another had canceled rehearsals. And now that we were missing a lead actor, Sophie only had two dads to choose from. The understudy for Bill would have to step up now that Duke was gone. I was having serious doubts that Mamma Mia! would ever launch.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tim was a commanding presence in his chef whites, working two sauté pans at once in the busy kitchen. Three line chefs were at their stations grilling, seasoning, steaming, and plating up a hodgepodge of delights. The kitchen must have been ninety degrees, but the air was aloft with the bouquet of bacon and rosemary, roasted beef, and grilled scallops. My stomach growled. I’d burned through the kale smoothie just getting into my Spunks. I’m starving.

  Tim gave me a quick smile. “Hey, babe. What’d you bring me?” And in the same breath yelled, “Chuck, get that calamari out of the deep fry!”

  “I have some tarts and chocolate brûlées.”

  Tim nodded. “I don’t have anyone who can help you with that just yet. Where’s my mash, Juan!”

  Juan replied, “Coming up, Chef.”

  One of the line cooks yelled, “Short rib risotto plating!”

  White tickets were posted all along a metal rail over the workstations and more were coming out of a black box on the stainless counter. Servers were grabbing plates of food and hauling them out to the dining room faster than Primo’s can wrap a hoagie.

  I answered back, “That’s okay, I can handle it.” I don’t think anyone really registered that I’d spoken, but I made myself busy bringing in the trays and storing them in the walk-in refrigerator.

  When I’d finished, I found a spot to watch where I wouldn’t be in the way. Tim looked over at me and threw me a sexy smile. A warmth worked its way up my body to my ears.

  After a few minutes, Tim plated whatever he’d been working on and removed his last two tickets from the rail. “Juan, take over sauté.” He came toward me. “Sorry. Sunday brunch exploded today.”

  “That’s okay. I like to watch you work.”

  Tim raised his eyebrows and pulled me closer. “Do you, now?”

  I swallowed, hard. “Uh-huh.” He had me by my waist with my back against the freezer.

  He kissed me, and I forgot where we were until the sound of the line whooping and catcalling brought me back. Tim fired off a string of expletives at the cooks, then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, babe. Kitchen talk.”

  I suspected there was a lot more of that when I wasn’t around by the way his staff laughed it off. He led me down the hall to his office. “They won’t bug us in here.”

  “I need to talk to you about something anyway.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve been getting a bunch of bad reviews lately.”

  “Reviews about what?”

  “People are saying terrible things about the bed and breakfast.” I pulled up Travelguy95’s review on Yelp. “Like this.”

  “So, you have some stuff to work on.”

  “No, it’s not that. These people haven’t even stayed with us.”

  “Oh. So, they’re trolls.” He pulled me closer to kiss me again.

  I held my phone up between our faces. “But what do I do about them?”

  Tim shrugged. “Nothing you can do. Trolls are bottom feeders. They love sounding like big shots who know what they’re talking about, but they’re just opinionated jackasses who feed off negative energy and hide behind their cryptic screen names. I had a guy give me one star because he couldn’t get a reservation. How do you rate a restaurant one star when you’ve never even eaten there?”

  “There has to be something I can do. They’re going to destroy my business before the season even starts.”

  A loud clang came from the kitchen. Tim craned his neck. “What was that?!”

  Someone muffled an answer.

  “I’m sorry. We’re really busy and I’ve got to get back out there before Chuck destroys something.”

  I put my phone away disappointed. I was really hoping Tim would have a more helpful suggestion. “I understand.” Isn’t this why we did Restaurant Week? So Maxine’s would pick up clientele.

  Tim gave me a quick peck. “Let’s find a time to talk later. I want to talk to you about Valentine’s Day.”

  My heart gave a little flutter. “Oh?”

  He started to lead me back into the kitchen. “Yeah. I was thinking about raspberry pavlovas. What do you think about that?”

  My heart may have been premature with that flutter. “Oh. Um. They don’t keep real well. You have to keep pavlova dry, but you’d know that.”

  We were back in the fray and Tim called his chefs to attention. “Tell Poppy what feedback we’ve been getting on her desserts.”

  The chefs whistled and applauded. Even though I could tell this had been rehearsed, I couldn’t stop my eyes from leaking or my lips from trembling with emotion.

  “You’re a huge hit, babe. We had a lady Friday night who bought an entire cheesecake to take to a party after having it at dinner.”

  “That’s fantastic!” We should celebrate.

  “Which reminds me, I need a couple more cheesecakes.”

  Celebration over.

  “Ahh!” Juan dropped the au gratin dish of scallops he was taking from the oven.

  Tim threw out another shocking string of “kitchen talk” and sent Juan away from the line to ice his hand.

  “I think Juan burns himself once a month to get a thirty-minute smoke break. Poppy, can you take over the sauté station while I check on the prime rib?”

  What?! Me?? “Oh, yeah sure.” I played it real cool. Grabbed a dish towel and took the sauté pan by the handle. Gave the scampi a little flip. Sent a
little side-eye to see if Tim had seen me. He hadn’t. He was elbow deep in shoving garlic and rosemary into cuts of a rack rib roast. I took the other sauté pan and gave the shrimp a flip. Look at me. Chef Poppy.

  “Poppy, put some white wine in there and burn it off for me, please.”

  “You got it, Chef.” I poured a little wine in the pan, let it heat up a bit, then tilted the pan to set the alcohol on fire. I’m doing it. I’m cooking in a restaurant kitchen.

  Chuck sidled up to me. “You’re doing great.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Also, your dish towel is a little bit on fire.”

  Oh God! I stamped the towel on the floor and put the fire out. I sent another side-eye Tim’s way. His shoulders were shaking over his roast. Of course, that he sees.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Some guests are arriving today. They’ll be with us for a week. I know you like to help, but I don’t want to have a repeat performance of your recent shenanigans.”

  Figaro flattened his ears to his head and swished his tail from side to side.

  “I need you to try to behave yourself. No stealing bacon off the guests’ plates. No slinking into their rooms if they leave their doors open. And no sneak attacks when they walk past the banister, even though Miss New Jersey did have that coming. Do you think you can do that?”

  Figaro wasn’t as inspired by my pep talk as I’d hoped he’d be. He gave me a yawn and stretched out across my laptop in baguette position.

  Aunt Ginny breezed through the kitchen carrying a vase of red roses. “Did you say these go in the library?”

  “No, the front entryway, so they’re the first thing the guests see when they arrive.”

  I took the boxes of Godiva truffles up to the Purple Emperor and Swallowtail suites as part of our romance package. I had a couple coming in from Cape Cod tomorrow, but today the Pescatellis were arriving from Philly. They had won the spa prize sponsored by the local radio station that included a stay at the Butterfly Wings B&B with champagne, roses, chocolates, and a couple’s massage at the Radiance Day Spa.

  I wanted everything to be perfect for both parties. I desperately needed some good reviews to offset the rash of bad press we’d been getting. I had fresh flowers in both rooms. Top-of-the-line toiletries from Crabtree & Evelyn. The towels were super-fluffy Turkish cotton. The sheets were 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton, and the bathrobes were luxurious American Pima. I had a beautiful chocolate cherry German sweetbread I’d made earlier to serve with French strawberry cream crêpes for breakfast in the morning. You had to admit I was doing my part to support the global mind-set.

  Georgina clacked her way into the Swallowtail suite as I was fluffing the royal-blue pillows on the queen-size sleigh bed. My blood pressure rose a few points just knowing my former mother-in-law was near. Georgina could push buttons like a black hat hacker bypassing the Pentagon firewall.

  “Poppy. Good. I found you. Sometimes I think you’re hiding from me.”

  Obviously not well enough. “What do you need?”

  She looked like she was dressed for a rally. Pink silk suit jacket over pink trousers and pink pumps. She was tying a white silk scarf covered in pink hearts around her neck. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be going out in a bit.”

  “You going to do some makeovers in your pink Cadillac?”

  “Makeovers? No. Whatever for?”

  I shrugged. “Just a guess.”

  She fluffed back her brunette wave to put on her diamond earrings. “I’m meeting Smitty at the theater for rehearsal. He has to check on the sets to make sure nothing has been tampered with. Really, Poppy, is everything in this town falling apart, or is it just what you’re involved with? One would think you would have a complex by now.”

  “Well, not for lack of trying.”

  Aunt Ginny hollered up the stairs, “Poppy. Connie is on the phone. She wants to know what time you need her here.”

  Connie was one of my best friends from high school. She had agreed to meet the guests for check-in tonight since I now had to be at the Senior Center rehearsal. I promised her I’d schlep Emmilee to gymnastics and dance while she took Sabrina to a cheer competition later this month. Sucker. I would have done it anyway.

  “Tell her the Pescatellis are due at five, but if she could be here at four, I’d be forever grateful.”

  “So, I’ll see you up there?” Georgina stared me down like the musical was a ruse and I was about to change the locks as soon as she left the house.

  “I’m right behind you as soon as I check the minifridges.”

  Georgina left looking unconvinced. What does a girl have to do to reassure her former mother-in-law that she isn’t trying to ditch her now that she’s moving on with her life? My conscience suggested the option of not ditching her and I told it to shut up.

  Everything was in place and there was nothing more I could do. I grabbed my tote bag and said goodbye to Figaro. I shut the door in midflop. Crazy cat.

  There was a maroon Mercury Marquis parked across the street in front of Mr. Winston’s house. I wonder if that’s his daughter, Judy, or if he has company. People on this street get company so rarely. It’s sad really. I should take them all some cookies for Valentine’s Day.

  * * *

  I was a few minutes late getting to rehearsal. Bebe was back in the activity room, leading the seniors who didn’t get speaking parts in their moves for the company dance number. Aunt Ginny was off to the side, shaking up a bunch of pink bottles. Neil was in the back of the theater in deep discussion with the man we now knew was Terrence Nuttal, not that we knew anything about him. Although I suspected the biddies would still call him Piglet.

  I saw one of the big guys who’d been hanging around the theater open the emergency exit door down at the front, look around the theater, and close the door again. Somebody should find out what that’s about.

  I stopped in the middle of the theater and set down my tote bag, which held my purse, a bottle of water, a salad that I did not want, and my copy of the Mamma Mia! script with lighting directions, so I could take off my coat.

  Smitty was showing off his drill skills on the yacht mast to Georgina. Georgina was pointing out areas he’d missed. Mrs. Dodson, Mrs. Davis, and Blanche were having an argument at center stage about where they were each supposed to stand during the Super Trooper Hen Party scene and Mother Gibson was stomping her foot on one of the Xs and scolding them. “This is your mark. This is always your mark. No one is moving it after you go home, Blanche.”

  Aunt Ginny came up behind me. She had taken off her sweater to reveal a black T-shirt with silver writing that said I wish you would suck on a lemon and lose your voice.

  “How’d that one go over?”

  Aunt Ginny laughed. “I didn’t know anyone could turn that shade of purple.”

  Fiona and Iggy walked down the aisle past us. From the tremble in Fiona’s voice, we gathered that the news had reached them that Royce was considering Ernie Frick’s offer for that one-man show on Broadway.

  “He can’t go. He just can’t. He won’t be safe.”

  “He can do whatever he wants, Mother, gahd! He should just go back to New York and forget about this dump.”

  “How can you say that, Ignatius?! Uncle Royce is family.”

  “Family doesn’t disappear for sixty years.”

  Aunt Ginny gave me a told-you-so look.

  “What? I came back after twenty-five.”

  Neil hopped up on the stage and clapped his hands. “Okay, everyone. I know we’re all devastated about Duke. I can’t even begin to know why he would do something like take his own life. I wish he would have reached out to someone for help. If anyone is having problems—no matter what they are—please find someone to talk to. You don’t have to struggle alone. We’re all family here. Whether we know it or not. Let’s share a moment of silence for Duke.”

  The seniors bowed their heads. I started to bow my head, but a shaft of light from the emergen
cy exit door opening drew my attention. One of the gorillas had Ernie Frick against the brick wall by his throat. The one who came in realized we were having a moment of silence, shut the door, and bowed his head.

  When the moment was over, Neil said, “Okay, we open in five days, I’ve asked Itty . . . er . . . Smitty to repair the catwalk and he’s promised that he’ll be done shortly.”

  Smitty wasn’t paying attention. He was doing a bit for Georgina with the drill, acting like it was a snake. “Gnahh. Whoop whoop whoop. Wise guy.”

  Georgina swatted him on the arm. “Cut it out. They’re talking to you.”

  Neil pointed to the catwalk and Smitty gave him a salute.

  Neil continued his pep talk with the actors. “So, let’s take it from the top and run through it a few times.”

  Neil started to leave the stage when Mr. Sheinberg called out in a falsetto voice, “Who’s going to play Bill?”

  “Oh, right. Thank you. Sol Sheinberg will now be performing the roll of Bill Austin, the travel writer.”

  There was polite applause from everyone except Mrs. Dodson. “No way. I’m not kissing him. He’s married.”

  Mrs. Sheinberg had already taken her usual seat in the third row. “I’ll allow it. I could use a break.”

  Mr. Sheinberg slapped his leg. “Hot diggity!”

  Mrs. Dodson stood her ground. “Absolutely not! I’m no adulteress.”

  Mrs. Sheinberg didn’t look up from her sewing. “Trust me, he’s no Casanova.”

  Mr. Sheinberg stopped his little dance. “I got you, didn’t I?”

  “’Cause I let you.”

  “Meh. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  “That would be the Dr. Scholl’s arch supports.”

  Neil interrupted the couple to encourage Mrs. Dodson, “We don’t have time to worry about that right now. We’ll work it out in the stage directions. Just take your place, please.”

  Fiona cried out, “But where’s Royce? He left home hours ago. He should have been here by now.”

  Neil froze. “Royce isn’t here? We have to find him. There’s no play without Royce.”

  Aunt Ginny muttered, “No offense taken.”