Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Iggy was certainly capable. And that life insurance money could pay a lot of late bills and keep them from losing their house. But Fiona had Iggy on a short leash and I didn’t think he would have been up here without her.

  Could they have planned it together? Fiona was living in a fantasy world where butterflies were made of gold and nickels grew on rosebushes. But she clearly idolized her brother. If Iggy was out to kill Royce for the life insurance, Fiona would have no part in it. No, something didn’t feel right about it being the two of them.

  And I knew something was off about Royce. Could all of that doddering be an act to cover his sabotage? But what did he have to gain?

  No one had less of a motive to kill Royce, and more of a motive to scare him into quitting the play, than Ernie. He’d love to get Royce back to New York, where he made a commission on him. And just where was Ernie Frick tonight when I was being barbecued?

  I walked over to the gorillas in the front. “Finkle, Winny, outside. We need to talk.” I went out the emergency exit and the men extracted themselves from their tiny seats and followed me.

  “You okay, little red? That was a pretty big owie you got back there. You want Finn to go have a talk with someone?”

  “I’m fine. I still smell smoke, but I’m fine. I need to ask you about Ernie.”

  The two men exchanged looks.

  “I know he’s a gambler. I assume he owes you or your boss money?”

  They stared at me blankly.

  “I’ve seen you out here with him pinned against that wall. I figure you’re trying to shake him down to pay his debts.”

  Finn spoke for both of them. “We cannot confirm or deny these rumors, but let’s just say that hypothetically you’re right. What will you do with this information?”

  “I don’t know yet. But it’s not about you. I think Ernie’s behind all the accidents that have happened in the theater. I think he’s been trying to scare Royce back to New York, where he makes a sizable commission from his performances. Do you know when Ernie arrived in Cape May?”

  Winky answered. “About a month ago.”

  Finn shrugged. “We heard that Royce Hansen was in the musical, so we tracked Ernie here. We knew he’d eventually show up and we could encourage him to pay Big Louie back.”

  “How much money does Ernie owe Big Louie?”

  Winky answered. “About two hundred Gs.”

  “Whoa. Have you ever seen Ernie hanging around the Senior Center by himself?”

  “His car was here this afternoon when we arrived, but we didn’t see him with a saw or catch him sabotaging anything if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “What about last Thursday, the day Duke died? Ernie didn’t officially show up until Friday, but could he have pushed Duke off the catwalk while we were all at lunch?”

  They both shook their heads. Finn answered, “We didn’t see him all day. He was probably holed up at that dive bar he’s been hanging out in.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In the wind. But he’ll show by tomorrow night. As long as Royce is here, Ernie won’t be far behind.”

  I looked the men over. “If Ernie isn’t here, why are you?”

  Finn answered. “We told you, we’re big fans of musical theater.”

  Winky pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and pulled up the Backstage Pass Theater Blog. “I promised my readers I’d post about Royce’s debut with the Senior Center. We have a huge following waiting to see if he’ll perform the role as it’s written or put the bard’s twist on it.”

  “I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. I think he may be ill.”

  Winky put the phone back in his pocket. “We know. It’s been coming on for a while. It’s why he retired from the big stage.”

  Finn heaved a sigh. “Royce Hansen was one of the greats, but nothing lasts forever.”

  The side door opened and Neil poked his head out. “Poppy? Do you think you feel up to maybe doing the lights for us?”

  “No one else is willing to step foot in the cage, are they?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take a look, but if I see any wires or water, I’m going home.”

  Finn tapped my shoulder. “You don’t know us, you never seen us. Forget our names. ’Kay?”

  Winky shook his cell phone at his side. “Oh, but please follow our blog. BackstagePass.com.”

  I looked from one to the other. Finn shrugged. “It’s a side business we’re trying to get off the ground and there’s a lot of competition. Bloggers are cutthroat.”

  I gave them a silent nod and went back inside.

  Neil grabbed my wrist and practically ran up the steps. “Come on, I’ll go in first.” He led me to the booth and went inside the cage. Everything looked dry and in order. Neil turned on the master switch and turned all the dials up to ten one by one. “You see. It’s all fixed.”

  “If I get even the smallest shock from static electricity I’m coming out of here swinging.”

  Neil swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  The biddies kept their distance. In fact, everyone approached with caution. We went through the numbers one after the other without pause. There were no bursts of random Shakespeare or frustrated stage directions. They finally had a handle on the script.

  Piglet approached me during the intermission. I had been trying to corner him for days and now that I was locked in a cage, here he was coming to talk to me. “Excuse me, Miss McAllister, is it?”

  “I only have a couple of minutes before the actors come back out. What do you need?”

  “We haven’t been properly introduced, but my name is Terrence Nuttal. I represent the Actors Equity Insurance Overwriters United.” He handed me a card and held out a little pink hand for me to shake.

  “You couldn’t work in a sometimes Y?”

  He remained expressionless.

  I handed him his card back. “Is this a joke?”

  “I assure you it is not. I’ve been here these past two weeks to oversee the safety of this production.”

  “Uh-huh. And how’s that working out for you?”

  “It—it’s not.” He took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “It’s not going well. I’ve never seen so many accidents on one show.”

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “In light of your misfortune earlier this evening, I have some papers I’d like you to sign. Just a formality, you know. You’re obviously in good health, knock on wood.” He knocked on the light panel.

  “You know that’s the equipment that nearly electrocuted me.”

  “Oh dear.” He jumped back and scurried out of the cage.

  The seniors had made their costume changes and were taking their places onstage ready for act two. My time was short, and Mother Gibson was about to raise the curtain, so I just scanned through the papers he’d given me. “These are release of liability forms. You want me to sign saying I won’t hold the Senior Center responsible for the attack and sue them?”

  “We don’t know that it was an attack, per se.”

  “It melted my Spunks.”

  “It’s just a formality.” He took a pen out of his pocket and tried to pass it through the cage. “And it’s just for the production policy. If you want to sue the county, that’s your business.”

  Iggy started playing the music to open act two. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nuttal, but I’ll have to get back to you.”

  His face fell. He returned his pen to his breast pocket. “Okay, then. Please get them back to me as soon as possible. It’s imperative that I have them before the play opens tomorrow night.”

  He left me alone and I rolled up the papers and shoved them in my back pocket. So that’s what he’s been doing here all this time. Making sure no one can make a claim against the insurance policy he’s underwritten. I wonder if that’s the insurance policy in Neil’s office. And what’s so significant about tomorrow night?

  Dress rehearsal was fabulous. I thought
the seniors would be thrilled, but Royce and Neil were more worried than I had seen them all week. Then there was Blanche, stirring the pot. She gave a standing ovation. “Woo! That was the best dress rehearsal I have ever seen. Congratulations, suckers.”

  Royce sat on the edge of the stage with his head in his hands and Neil just stood silently looking around like he’d lost his best friend. Aunt Ginny gently shook Royce’s shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom?”

  Neil answered Aunt Ginny’s confused look. “There’s an old theater adage that the worse the dress rehearsal before opening night, the better the show will be, and vice versa.”

  “Well, surely that’s just a superstition. Isn’t it?”

  Neil gave her a weak smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  He didn’t look sure of anything.

  * * *

  “What in the world do you think that was about?” Aunt Ginny plunged herself into the passenger seat of my car. “They’ve all given me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t care what they say, I was fabulous tonight.”

  “I think I’ll call Amber and tell her about Ernie. I don’t trust him. If he’s been setting traps to scare Royce out of a local musical that runs for all of two nights, I’m afraid he’s desperate enough to keep going. Who knows what kind of time line he’s on and what threats he’s trying to run from? Finn and Winky seem like nice guys until you’re the one whose feet are dangling beneath you.”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “What?”

  “I said I was really good tonight. It’s only polite for you to agree with me.”

  I responded in a flat tone. “You were an acting goddess. You made the role of Donna come alive. Eat your heart out, Meryl Streep.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so flippant about it.”

  “My tongue still tastes like metal.”

  Aunt Ginny patted my knee. “I’m sorry, honey. What can I do for you?”

  I pulled into the driveway and parked. “I’ve got to make a call. Can you tell Connie I had an emergency and I’ll talk to her tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  While Aunt Ginny went inside, I pulled out my cell phone and called the police station and asked for Officer Fenton. After a minute, I was put through.

  “This had better be important, McAllister. I’m on a stakeout.”

  “I got to thinking after you left about the accidents and how they might be connected.”

  “Go on.”

  I filled her in on everything I knew about Ernie Frick. How he was bankrupt, his previous clients were suing him, his gambling problem, and my recent discovery that he owed Big Louie enough money to justify sending in the muscle—although I left Winky’s and Finn’s names out of the conversation. “Ernie was seen lurking around the Senior Center this afternoon. I’m sure he’s the one who sabotaged the light panel and set me up to be electrocuted.”

  “I think you mean shocked. It’s doubtful you would have died from it.”

  “The bruises on my rib cage disagree with you. And I know you believe Duke’s death was suicide, but we really think he fell victim to one of Ernie’s traps. The railing on the catwalk was sawed through. And now that I’m thinking about it, Duke was on the vice squad. He probably busted Ernie in one of those backroom gambling dens. What if Ernie killed Duke to enact his revenge, then tried to cover it up by creating the other accidents? Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’d be lying if I said no.”

  “Come on, Amber, you have to see the absurdity of that suicide note.”

  “It’s hardly a smoking gun.”

  “And we found an ex-girlfriend, but she says Duke did the leaving and that was five years ago.”

  Amber sighed. “I’ll give Officer Birkwell a call and have him pick Ernie up for questioning. Duke’s daughter and grandson are coming in tomorrow for a copy of the police report. I want your word that you won’t say one thing to them about your conspiracy theories. They’ve been through enough without having to listen to you.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll stay out of it.”

  “Good. If that’s all . . .”

  “Where are you? This connection is fabulous. It’s like I’m in the same room with you.”

  Amber paused. “We have new cell service. I have to go.” She clicked off, leaving me more and more convinced that Ernie had killed Duke. I just wished I’d figured it out sooner. Maybe I could have stopped him before so many people got hurt.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The next morning, I woke up stiff and sore. The adrenaline had worn off from my vicious attack. My headstone almost read “electrocuted by puddle.” The pain had crept its way up my body overnight and Figaro was performing shiatsu on the worst of the bruises. I didn’t even try to yank my remaining pair of Spunks over my swelling. I did, however, consider framing them as a memorial.

  I did not have the energy to work out, but I did get on the scale to see if it felt sorry that I’d been attacked. It did not. No downward movement there. I picked up the scale, walked to the bedroom window, opened it, and threw the scale out. Then I sent off an email to my new alternative wellness physician, Dr. Melinda, to complain that my body didn’t seem to realize that if you eat less and exercise more, weight was supposed to come off. Maybe my fat cells needed hypnotherapy.

  I finally made my way downstairs to get breakfast going. I would be glad when Sunday morning checkout came. I was exhausted. I’d basically been working four jobs. But nothing wore me out more than running interference between disaster and those biddies.

  I put on a thick, long-sleeved sweatshirt and retrieved Aunt Ginny’s ancient Belgian waffle maker from the hidden pantry at the bottom of the backstairs. It made the most beautiful waffles, but it was manufactured before protective casing and safety regulations. You were expected to be smart enough not to touch it when hot. Clumsy people like me are the reason everything today has a bajillion safeguards built in. I had never once used it without giving myself a third degree burn—hence the sweatshirt.

  Aunt Ginny made the coffee while I fed Figaro a can of Luxe roast beef tips with baby carrots and early peas. It slid out of the can in a glop of brown that didn’t resemble anything like the description, but Figaro dove on it anyway. Then I showed Aunt Ginny how to form a strip of bacon into the shape of a heart before baking it and filled her in on my conversation with Amber last night.

  “Why would Ernie go to all that trouble to get Royce to quit the play this late in the game?” Aunt Ginny waved around a strip of bacon to untangle it. “Tonight is opening night and tomorrow the show closes. What was he going to do? Scare Royce back to New York an hour before the final curtain call? It’s not like he’d be working tomorrow.”

  The front door chimed, and Sawyer came down the hall. Aunt Ginny and I waited for the gift-of-the-day announcement. She came around the corner wearing a giddy smile.

  “Well?” Aunt Ginny put her hands on her hips. “Where’s the pony?”

  Sawyer held up her phone. “Eleven roses and a bottle of champagne. They were waiting outside my door in a basket this morning.”

  I poured the batter for my first red velvet waffle into the iron and carefully closed the lid. “Did Adrian declare himself yet?”

  Sawyer shook her head no. “Not yet. But this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard of. What if he proposes tomorrow?”

  Aunt Ginny and I passed a wary expression. “Are you ready for that? You’ve only known him a few weeks.”

  Sawyer poured herself a cup of coffee. “No. But it would be fun to be asked. I’ve only been single for six months and that was after a couple of years of separation and divorce during the great hooker parade that my ex grand marshaled. I don’t want to be married again. At least not yet. We haven’t even done a lot of serious dating because he’s always in that restaurant. What exactly are you making there?”

  I looked up from dislodg
ing a dark pink waffle and poured the batter for the next one. “Red velvet waffles with raspberry plum compote and cream cheese drizzle.”

  Aunt Ginny held up the sheet pan of bacon to show it off before putting it in the oven. “And I’m making bacon hearts.”

  “Oh man. Is there enough for me too?”

  Aunt Ginny nudged her in the side. “The line starts behind me.”

  “There is if you make me another cup of coffee.”

  Sawyer laughed. “Done.” She took my mug and filled it up. “Did anyone special ask you out for Valentine’s Day?”

  I gave her a sly grin. “As a matter of fact, Gia and I are going to dinner, but not until Monday night because of the cast party after the play tomorrow night.”

  Sawyer smiled. “And Tim?”

  “Nothing yet. He wants to do ‘something,’ but not tomorrow because he’s booked. He has me making another sheet of pound cake. Carlos flambéed the Strawberries Romanoff and word spread through the dining room and they sold out. Once one guest has flaming fruit tableside they all want it. Plus, I have to go to the coffee shop and make some champagne cupcakes and a large batch of linzer hearts. Gia has orders for a party tomorrow.”

  Georgina breezed into the kitchen in a pink swing dress topped with a silver cardigan and helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Good morning, everyone. I’m so excited for tonight I’m bursting. How are you feeling, Poppy? Are you going to be all right to do the lights?”

  I pried another waffle off the iron and started the next. “I’ll be there. I know it’s really Neil’s job to call Smitty, but I’d feel better if he did a little inspection before we do the mini run-through this afternoon. Do you think you could let him know for me?”

  Georgina nodded with her eyes as she sipped her coffee. “Already on it. He’s going over this morning. He wants to double-check the work that was done on the light panel so you don’t get hurt again.”

  My heart melted a little. My handyman had become family just as much as my crazy former meddle-in-law.

  “Plus, I asked him to make sure everything was working for my performance tonight.”

  Oh, moment over.