by Libby Klein
Everything stopped so Neil could panic and run back and forth. The seniors took seats on the edge of the stage facing the audience. Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis were head-to-head in discussion. They both looked up at the catwalk.
That won’t end well.
Blanche went back to ordering Mother Gibson around. Mother Gibson went back to praying for God to give her patience not to drag Blanche down by her hair.
Iggy ran a few bars on the piano to warm up, then played an instrumental version of “Rock You Like a Hurricane.” He leered at me and I recoiled. Aunt Ginny jabbed me in the side, but she couldn’t speak because she was laughing too hard.
Neil finally returned with Royce, who was dressed in a maroon toga with a gold sash. “It’s okay. I found him.”
Fiona flipped out on Royce, smacking his arm with every word. “Where did you go! You know we have an agreement!”
“Now, now. I’m sorry, Fee. I had to get into character.”
Neil explained, “I found him in his dressing room looking for a gold circlet for his head.”
“And just who are you supposed to be?” Fiona was clearly still angry.
Royce stood to his full height. “Julius Caesar.”
The whole exchange was bizarre, but not half as terrifying as the sight of Mrs. Dodson’s purple bloomers on display as she shimmied on her belly with her derrière skyward across the catwalk.
“Oh my God!”
“What is it?” Neil was staring at me. The seniors all turned their eyes my way.
“Um. It’s just that . . . uh.” I jabbed Aunt Ginny.
“She thought Royce . . . was actually . . . Rex Harrison for a minute.”
Neil raised an eyebrow at me. Mrs. Dodson lost her balance and slid forward.
“Help!” I yelled. “Help . . . me. I did think Royce was Rex Harrison . . . here . . . in Cape May. At the Senior Center.”
Blanche would cut me no slack. “Rex Harrison’s been dead twenty-five years.”
A bright light went off behind Neil. Mrs. Dodson was taking pictures of the catwalk damage and had forgotten to turn off her flash.
“Has he?” I turned to Aunt Ginny.
She looked at me. “Wow. Has it been that long? Time flies.”
I nodded. “He’ll be missed.”
Royce looked from me to Aunt Ginny and back to me and shrugged. “Rex Harrison? I get that a lot.”
Mrs. Dodson was shimmying backward toward the steps.
I was terrified that she would fall. “Maybe we should all close our eyes . . . and . . .”
Mother Gibson spied Mrs. Dodson. Her eyes got really big and white and she jumped in. “Say a prayer.”
“Yes.” I snapped my fingers. “A prayer.”
Neil shrugged. “Sure. We can say a prayer for a good rehearsal.”
Mrs. Dodson’s foot missed the step and she dangled off the catwalk.
“Oh Jesus!” Aunt Ginny grabbed my arm in a death lock. “Jesus help us.”
Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes.
Mrs. Dodson got her foot on the step and we breathed relief.
Mother Gibson took over for us. “Oh God, watch over everyone durin’ this rehearsal, no matter what they doin’ or what they should be doin’. Keep ’em safe, Lord. You too good to us.”
Mrs. Dodson reached the bottom of the steps and pulled her dress back down.
“Amen.”
Everyone said amen, and Neil started the five-minute countdown to practice. Ernie Frick came in through the emergency exit. He was red around the neck, but that smile was still on his face. The biddies were in a cluster by the light booth, whispering feverishly when Neil handed Blanche a pink bottle, “Here you go, dear,” and handed me a contraption with wires and earphones.
“What’s this?”
“Your headset. I’ll be on the other end when I’m not onstage.”
Blanche opened the bottle and grapefruit soda exploded all over her face. “Ginny!”
Aunt Ginny answered with a practiced naïveté. “Yes? Who’s calling me?”
Neil went to get Blanche a towel and I grabbed Mrs. Dodson and dragged her into the light booth with me. “What in the world were you doing up there?” I turned my script to the first scene and set the lights on the panel to their appropriate settings. “You could have gotten hurt.”
Aunt Ginny joined us in snickering. “Blanche . . . heee . . . that was fun.”
Mrs. Dodson gave Aunt Ginny a thumbs-up. “I knew we needed to get a good picture of that catwalk before Smitty fixed it.”
Aunt Ginny choked out a quick laugh. “You probably have months.”
The sixty-five-year-old playing the college-aged Sophie was under a soft blue spotlight singing “I Have a Dream.” I turned the light down slowly to simulate dusk as the song went on. I turned up the dial listed as “Ripple” to simulate a water effect on the backdrops.
“Well, what did you find?” Mrs. Davis joined us from backstage.
Mrs. Dodson found the picture on her cell phone and we examined it. “The wooden beam was only splintered the last quarter inch or so. Most of the four-by-four was cut with a sharp edge.”
Aunt Ginny grabbed the phone. “It’s been sawed through.”
“Not only that”—Mrs. Dodson paused for effect—“but it’s not that easy to get up there.”
I gave Mrs. Dodson a reproachful look. “We saw.”
“I don’t know how Royce does it every practice.” She shook my look off. “At least now we have evidence.”
Mrs. Davis patted Mrs. Dodson’s shoulder. “Great job. It’s a good thing you wore new underwear. I like the purple.”
I had to adjust the lights up for the Honey, Honey scene, with Sophie and her seventy-year-old college chums.
Aunt Ginny peeked through the side curtain. “How many of us would be able to get up there and be strong enough to push someone off? Duke was in great shape, but most of the seniors have hip replacements and bad knees.”
Mrs. Dodson agreed. “Not to mention that Duke probably fought back.”
Mrs. Davis grabbed Mrs. Dodson’s wrist. “That’s our cue!”
I was supposed to turn light 15 “coral ellipsoidal” to power 8 and totally missed it. “Rats!” I tried to focus on my cues and kept getting the lights mixed up. There was no way I was going to get the hang of this by Friday.
Blanche came back on stage for the scene where Donna discovers the men are on the island. She stood in front of Mr. Ricardo and said her line to Royce. “It’s you!”
Before Royce could respond, Mr. Ricardo yelled that Blanche was upstaging him again.
Mr. Sheinberg said, “Come on, Toots. You’ve had weeks to practice already.”
Blanche stuck her finger in Mr. Sheinberg’s face. “I know what I’m doing, old man. I’m an actor. I need to be able to flow through my scene and follow the muse.”
Neil rolled his script like a megaphone. “Blanche, please tell your muse to take her mark!”
Blanche took a giant step to the right, pushed Royce back from where he was standing, and stomped her foot on the orange X. “Fine! Happy?!”
A Fresnel box light fell from its support beam above and landed square on top of Blanche. She screamed and went down hard.
Mr. Sheinberg replied, “Yeah, that helps.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Royce screamed and stumbled back. “Oh! What ugly sights of death within my eyes!”
Several people rushed the stage. All but Neil went to Royce to be sure he was unhurt.
I got out my cell phone and dialed 911. I wasn’t waiting for Neil’s approval this time.
“Get this thing off me!” Blanche kicked her feet out and moaned.
Neil tried to help Blanche sit up. “Are you okay?”
“No! I’m not okay.” Blanche’s breath was coming in short bursts. “I think something is broken.”
Fiona had Royce by the hand. “Are you all right, Boodaloo?”
“I told you someone
was trying to kill me.” Royce took an unsteady drink from the flask Ernie offered him. “Where’s my Ginger? Ginny!”
Aunt Ginny went to Royce and took his other hand. “I’m right here, Royce. You’re okay.”
Ernie led Royce off the stage. “Come on. Let’s sit for a minute and catch our breath.”
Blanche sat holding her arm. A trickle of blood ran down her temple. “I’m the one who was brutally attacked.”
The blood drained from Neil’s face. “No, no. Not attacked.” He looked up at Terrence Nuttal and said in a breathy half laugh, “No one was attacked. Just an accident. Right, everyone?”
Piglet appeared to be making some more angry notes on his tablet.
Mr. Sheinberg was looking at the light on the floor. “Heck of an accident.”
Mr. Ricardo nudged the light with his toe. “That could have hit me. My dancing days would have been over.”
Smitty came to look at the light and up at the support it had fallen from. He grunted. “I hung this light myself.”
Aunt Ginny muttered, “Well, there’s your problem.”
Royce was still rattled. “I know that was meant for me. It fell on my mark.”
Fiona went to Royce and patted his hand. “You don’t have to do this anymore. You know my husband was very generous with me. He left me well off. I can support both of us.”
“What about me?” Iggy protested from his seat at the piano.
“Shut up, Iggy!” Fiona screeched. “Uncle Royce is hurt.”
I knew I should have just kept my mouth shut, but once again my opinion flew out with reckless abandon. “Well, technically, he’s not hurt.”
Royce, Fiona, Aunt Ginny, and Ernie all looked at me like I was crazy.
“I’m just saying, nothing actually happened to Royce. The light fell on Blanche.”
Royce gave me a pained expression. “I almost died.”
From cowardice maybe.
The sirens from the ambulance could be heard getting near.
Blanche moaned, “Royce, come help me. I can’t get up.”
Neil patted Blanche on the hand. “I think you should just stay put until help arrives.”
Blanche lashed out at Neil. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I just want you to be safe.”
The biddies stepped over Blanche to investigate the light on the floor. I ushered them over to the light booth to get them out of harm’s way.
Mrs. Dodson nodded to herself. “Poppy, I’m telling you. Something is up. Somebody doesn’t want this show to go on.”
Mother Gibson shook her head. “I thought all the sabotage would end after Duke was killed.”
Mrs. Davis counted on her fingers. “And Blanche was the one sabotaging the backdrops. Surely she wouldn’t sabotage herself. She could have been killed. And where are those two assassins?” she squealed. “Ooh, here come men in uniform.”
“I don’t think anyone has determined that those two men are assassins,” I said.
Mrs. Davis ushered a challenge. “Then what are they?”
I shrugged. “Maybe they’re just fans of musical theater.” Fans who hold agents by the throat outside when no one is looking.
A team of three EMTs from the rescue squad checked Blanche’s vitals and her injuries. They insisted she be taken to the hospital for a CT scan and X-rays, and Neil almost passed out from the shock. He wanted to go with Blanche to make sure she was okay, but she wouldn’t allow it.
Blanche was wheeled down the aisle on a stretcher, but as luck would have it, she was just strong enough to make a rude gesture to Aunt Ginny with her good arm on the way by.
Smitty looked at the support beam for a full minute, then announced, “I’m getting the cherry picker.” He left the stage and a few minutes later returned through the backstage exit, wheeling a metal cage on a platform. He plugged in the device, strapped himself in the cage, and pushed a button that started a slow, noisy arm lifting him up to the support beam. “This clamp has been opened all the way. It was just a matter of time before the vibrations made the light fall.”
Neil wrung his hands and looked at Terrence Nuttal, then at the two beefy guys in front, then over at Ernie Frick. “Do you think we could just rehang it and declare it a fluke accident? I mean, no one died this time.”
Piglet jumped to his feet and stormed from the room. One of the guys in front covered his eyes with his hands and the other zipped his mouth shut. Ernie Frick shrugged his shoulders, which, coupled with his forever smile, gave him the appearance of going along with a good joke.
Neil and Mr. Ricardo hoisted the fallen light up to Smitty. Smitty hollered to Georgina to get new clamps from his toolbox. They argued for a minute over what size clamps and Georgina finally brought him what he wanted. “Be careful up there, honey.”
Aunt Ginny and I made eye contact and mouthed “honey?” to each other and snickered.
After reattaching the cables and checking all the lights, and the clamps, and all the other cables, and all the other clamps, Smitty finally made the whirring, grinding descent back to the stage. “Someone had to go up there and fiddle with that light. I made sure they were all secure.”
Neil looked at the ceiling. “But how would someone get up there?”
Smitty also looked at the lights and the two of them shook their heads in wonder.
I thought this was obvious, but I wanted to see how long it would take them to come to the same conclusion. Aunt Ginny rolled her eyes, so I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. After a minute Mrs. Sheinberg asked, “Couldn’t they just use that same contraption you did?”
Smitty and Neil looked at the cherry picker. Smitty took his hat off and scratched his head. “I guess so. But they would have to have a key to the supply closet. This one has been locked away since I hung the lights. As far as I know, there are only two keys and I have one right here.” Smitty held up his key ring and looked at Neil, who remained silent.
Everyone else waited for Neil to address the soft accusation, but he remained tight-lipped. Eventually, he sighed. “Someone stole it from my office, okay. I didn’t think I’d have to lock up keys to a room full of tools and toilet paper. Let’s take ten and regroup. We really can’t afford to miss any more practices. We’re going to have to press forward, everyone. I just have a quick phone call to make.” Neil took the stage steps two at a time and marched up to Aunt Ginny. “Ginny, darling. Are you ready?”
Aunt Ginny had a blank look on her face. “Hmm?”
“To be my Donna. You’re Blanche’s understudy.”
Royce clapped his hands together. “Huzzah! Oh, Ginger, it’ll be so much more fun with you on stage.”
Aunt Ginny’s mouth dropped open.
Neil put his arm around Aunt Ginny and walked past a few rows of seats, whispering to her. She nodded along. Then he took her hands and gave them a squeeze before leaving the theater in a hurry.
I hightailed it over to Aunt Ginny as fast as my Spunks would allow. The biddies had the same idea and we converged around her.
“What did Neil say?” Mrs. Davis giggled.
“He said he always wanted me to play the part of Donna, but his hands were tied.”
“By who?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He just said he was overruled and sometimes money gets in the way of art.”
Mother Gibson’s face lit up. “Are you going to be Donna for the performances?”
“I don’t know yet. It depends on how Blanche is after she’s discharged. I don’t want her to die . . . or anything, but I do hope they find something wrong that requires her not to talk for the next couple of weeks.”
“Aunt Ginny . . . no, that’s fair.” Blanche had been horrible to everyone except Royce.
Mrs. Dodson motioned for us to come closer to her. “Listen. I’ve been thinking about some of the strange doings in the theater.”
My heart sped up and terror began its furry climb up the back of my neck. The other biddies nodded along, their shar
p eyes shining with excitement.
“I’m starting a task force.”
“You’re starting what?” I asked, but I knew the answer would just keep me awake at night.
She tapped her cane. “You heard me. This confirms Duke was not a suicide. I think someone is trying to kill Royce and make it look like an accident. There is a murderer among us and Duke might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s up to us to bring the ruffian to justice.”
I looked each biddy in the eye. “Ladies, we need to take these suspicions to the police.”
“Police? Pshh.” Aunt Ginny put her hand in the middle. “I’m in.”
“No, no, you can’t be in. We just got you out of trouble a few months ago.”
Mother Gibson put her hand on top of Aunt Ginny’s. “I’m in too.”
I felt hysteria growing inside me. “Ladies, I really don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
The other two joined their hands to the pile and four sharp sets of eyes turned my way. “Are you in?”
It wasn’t my proudest moment, being shaken down by four old ladies. I caved under the pressure of their wrinkled little faces and their cataracts. The biddies had assigned me with questioning Piglet, finding out if the two gorillas were assassins, and making a batch of my pecan shortbread for our next council of war session. I felt like I had just been deployed to the bagel brigade on the beach. If I came out of this in one piece, I would still be pecked to death by seagulls.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I slept like the dead and woke up with Figaro’s paw over my mouth. “What are you doing?” He retracted his paw and continued observing me. Sometimes I felt like a feline science experiment.
I ran through my morning routine of workout, shower, dress, serve Figaro my overlord his breakfast, choke down a green smoothie while I question my life choices, and finally—coffee. Sawyer arrived to show me the gift of the day, seven roses and a bottle of perfume, and to finagle some coffee and crepes out of me. We were just relaxing into the prebreakfast bliss when my spa guests came down for breakfast. I grabbed the carafes of orange juice and coffee and started through the kitchen door into the dining room.
“Oh. Thank. Gawd. You have cawfee. I thought I would die.”