Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Georgina spied the clock and said, “I’d better get out there so you can start serving.”

  Aunt Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head and Sawyer stifled a giggle. Then I got the high sign that Bunny and Chigsie had entered the dining room. We took carafes of juice and coffee in and said good morning.

  “How did you enjoy the tours yesterday?”

  Bunny clapped her hands. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Thank you so much for setting them up.”

  Chigsie looked around his newspaper. “Is the Abbey open all year or are they seasonal?”

  “I’ll have to find out for you. B&Bs can change their hours as the season dictates, and I don’t know what plans they might have.”

  Chigsie nodded and went back to the finance section.

  We returned to the kitchen and I plated waffles drizzled with cream cheese icing and a little custard dish of compote on the side. I placed two hearts of bacon next to the waffle, then I finished with a fanned strawberry on an orange slice and a dusting of powdered sugar. Aunt Ginny and Sawyer were standing there with hands out ready to receive and deliver the dishes.

  When they returned to the kitchen, I handed Aunt Ginny the plate for Madame Georgina and she stuck her thumb in Georgina’s compote. “Oops.” She gave a devilish grin.

  Aunt Ginny came back to report that the breakfast was “delightful,” and she gave a little bow, making Sawyer and me giggle again.

  As soon as Joey and Val were served their waffles, I heard Joey yell, “Sweet!” and Val say, “My gawd, like the cake? Awesome!”

  Sawyer started making a plate for her own waffle. “This one’s extra, right? You couldn’t have two more different couples this week if you tried.”

  “There’s something endearing about Joey and Val. I just think they’re so sweet.”

  “Well, I think they’re up to no good.” Mrs. Galbraith had arrived and was greeting the day with her usual level of crotchetiness. “I left you a note yesterday that there is something else missing from their room. I’m not familiar enough with the contents yet to be able to put my finger on it, but I think they’re stealing from you.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Galbraith. Would you like some coffee?”

  Mrs. Galbraith looked at me down her nose and over her bifocals. “No, I would not.”

  Sawyer cleared her throat and sat at the kitchen table to wolverine her waffle just as Aunt Ginny returned to the kitchen. She took one look at Mrs. Galbraith and stopped short. “Oh.”

  I started to make Aunt Ginny’s plate. “I really don’t think they’re stealing, Mrs. Galbraith. I bet if anything is misplaced it will turn up when they leave. They may have moved things around a bit.”

  The chambermaid crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve also noticed the antique silver candy dish is missing from the library. Did you move it?”

  I shook my head no and looked at Aunt Ginny. She shook her head no as well. “We haven’t moved it.”

  “Well, it isn’t there.”

  Figaro came from the hall and launched himself at the back of Mrs. Galbraith’s uniform. She jumped and hollered, “Aah. Stop it.” Then she turned back to me. “You’re the boss, Poppy. I’m just warning you that those kind of people can’t be trusted. You might want to lock up the rest of the valuables before it’s too late.” Mrs. Galbraith turned and walked out and down the hall. Figaro ran after the dangling thread hanging off the bottom of her uniform. By the time she got to the end of the hall we heard her yell, and a second later, Figaro came galloping back to the kitchen.

  Sawyer looked up from her empty plate. “What does she mean by ‘those kind of people’?”

  I gave Sawyer a wry look. “She means young.”

  Aunt Ginny took the plate I offered her and joined Sawyer. “And we’ve noticed the battle-ax equates low tippers with criminals.”

  Sawyer looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you think they’re stealing from you?”

  “No, of course not.” I joined her and Aunt Ginny at the table with my coffee and a plate of bacon. “I’m sure they’re not.”

  Aunt Ginny poked her fork at Sawyer. “Make sure you get a good seat for tonight. I don’t want you to miss the big finish we have planned.”

  “Isn’t the big finish ‘Waterloo’?”

  Aunt Ginny gave us a terrifying grin. “Not tonight it isn’t.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  There are some images you can never recover from, no matter how many cat videos you watch on the internet. I had not seen so many old people in their underwear since the movie Cocoon. The seniors had designated the large activity room as their changing area and were all in the process of getting into their costumes—I hoped. Why they were changing here I wasn’t sure. Some of their costumes were just regular clothes they could have worn from home. One look at Mr. Ricardo in his red satin boxer shorts that said Love Machine over the butt and I was rendered speechless for a good ten minutes. Neil had even brought in a couple of bonus biddies to do hair and makeup.

  I went into the little theater and spotted Smitty and Georgina down by the stage. Georgina had dressed at home, thank God. I don’t think I could have looked her in the eye had she been in the melee of Cross Your Heart bras and tighty-whities. Smitty gave me a hug. “How you doin’, Boss?”

  “I’m okay. A little sore. A lot sore. How does everything look?”

  “I can’t find anything broken, sawed, or tampered with, and I’ve been through it all twice.”

  “I feel better knowing you’ve checked.” I must have some brain damage.

  The biddies rushed down the aisle to meet me. “What did you find out?”

  I filled them in about my call with Amber this afternoon. “Ernie is in police custody right now. And one of the things they are going to question him about is Duke’s death. But there were no eyewitnesses, so they would really need a confession to prove it.”

  Mrs. Davis rubbed my back. “You’re a good girl, Poppy. Be careful tonight just in case that rascal left any traps that we didn’t find. Edith and I are going to go run surveillance in the activity room.”

  “The room where everyone is changing?”

  Mrs. Dodson blushed. “Is it?”

  While I waited, I decided to run through email. One troll had left another Yelp review. Another had left a Google review for Maxine’s. And a third for La Dolce Vita. Oh good, a trifecta of idiots. I was too numb to be outraged at this point. Or maybe that was the brain damage.

  “Poppy?”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Officer Birkwell coming down the aisle. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “Good. I just wanted to give you an update on Ernie Frick.”

  “Did he confess?”

  He tilted his head from side to side. “He confessed to several acts of minor sabotage, including leaving threatening notes in his client’s dressing room and tampering with props.”

  “Did he admit to trying to electrocute me?”

  “He only admitted to tampering with the electrical when we told him we pulled his prints off the cable. That and he had electrical burns on his hands from stripping the wires without cutting the main power. He called it a stage prank. He denied tampering with the light that fell on Ms. Carrigan, but I suspect that he was behind that too. We can check it for prints, but it’s probably too late. We’ll need you to fill out some forms when we charge him.”

  I chuckled. “He’s lucky he didn’t kill himself.”

  “We picked him up at the urgent care last night when the APB went out. I think the shock did something to the muscles in his face. He won’t stop smiling.”

  “That’s just how he looks. Did you ask him about Duke?”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It seems Mr. Frick has an airtight alibi for the afternoon that Duke died.”

  That took the rise out of my biscuits.

  “He was at a biker bar over on Seahorse. Not only did the bartender and about ten other people confirm that he was there all a
fternoon, he’s on the security footage as well. If someone really did push Mr. McCready off that catwalk—and I’m not saying that they did—it wasn’t Ernie Frick.”

  I thanked Officer Birkwell and moped in my seat for a few minutes after he left. The ache in my side was getting sharper. I reached into my tote bag and took out a bottle of water and some Tylenol. That’s when I spotted the release of liability papers that Terrence Nuttal had forced into my hands. He said it was imperative that they were signed by tonight. Why? What happened after tonight? And someone else died on this stage two weeks ago. If they died from an accidental fall, surely that would be a big concern to an insurance underwriter. Would it be a big enough concern to cover up the accident and hastily make it look like a suicide? My biscuits started to rise again. I had to get a look at that insurance policy. And I knew just where to look.

  I pulled SpongeBob out of my tote bag and turned it on. “Is anyone there? Foxy Lady? Big Momma? I don’t remember your names.”

  Mother Gibson’s voice came over the walkie-talkie—quiet and scratchy, but I could hear her. “Tango here.”

  “I’m going in the lion’s den to look for the million-dollar policy. Can you cover me?”

  “We got your back.”

  I calmly walked down the aisle as some of the early birds were making their way to their seats for the performance. When I got to the hall, I found Aunt Ginny, arm in arm with Neil, leading him down toward the theater. She was praising him for his work on the play, and when she passed me she tucked a key into my hand. Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis were standing in front of Neil’s office handing out programs to people who were arriving. The programs were really last week’s lunch menu, but most of the patrons figured it was part of the play and didn’t question it until Mrs. Sheinberg handed them the real program inside the theater doors. Mrs. Dodson gave me a wink and the ladies stood shoulder to shoulder to cover my entrance to Neil’s office. I shut the door behind me and went right to the desk.

  The bottom drawer was locked, but the biddies had done so much damage with a letter opener that all I had to do was shake it a couple of times and it jimmied open. I rifled through files marked “building plans,” “receipts,” and “board minutes”; I couldn’t find anything incriminating. Then, I saw it. On the bottom of the drawer, lying under the hanging files. I glanced at the door to be sure no one was coming. The policy issued by the Actor’s Equity Insurance Overwriters United and signed by Terrence Nuttal. It was a million-dollar umbrella policy in case anyone got hurt on the premises while working on the play. No wonder Mr. Nuttal wanted me to sign the release form. Mrs. Dodson started talking very loudly outside the door and I knew someone must be coming. I started to skim faster. Neil had taken out the policy to cover the investment in the Senior Center musical. It looked like he had invested thousands of dollars in the theater and advertising for the production of Mamma Mia! And there was something called a keyman rider.

  My walkie-talkie crackled, and Mother Gibson said, “It’s getting hot. I’ll meet you at the extraction site.”

  What? I clicked on to respond to her. “Where is the extraction site?”

  Then I heard a tap on the window.

  Oh no. Outside the door, one of the ladies was tapping “SOS,” and Mrs. Dodson was talking loud and fast. I could hear a set of keys jingling on the doorknob and Neil saying, “Not again. Wait, Terrence has a set. Terrence!”

  I shut the desk drawer and lifted the window. Mother Gibson and Mr. Ricardo were waiting outside, standing on box crates that were part of the village scenery.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” I hissed.

  “Honey, you got no choice, now jump.”

  I stood on a box of computer paper that, thankfully, was unopened, hoisted myself halfway through the window, and got wedged like Winnie the Pooh in the honey tree.

  “I’m stuck.”

  Mother Gibson and Mr. Ricardo grabbed my wrists and yanked me out of the window and right out of my yoga pants. The boxwoods and my dignity would never recover. I yanked the spandex flag from the window latch, hopped into my pants, and took off running to the front of the building, clutching the policy.

  I shoved the papers inside my shirt and entered the lobby just as Neil and Piglet were coming out of the office with a headset. “Poppy, I was looking for you. I need everyone backstage. The curtain goes up in fifteen.”

  “Sure, Neil, on my way.”

  I trotted down to the stage, gave a quick wave to Sawyer and Smitty in the fourth row, grabbed my tote bag, and ducked into the light booth. Terrence Nuttal trotted in right behind me.

  “Do you have my papers, Miss McAllister?”

  “Not yet. I may not sign them. I might want to keep my options open.”

  I watched him closely for his reaction. He turned pink and wiggly. “Well, th–that would be terrible for the theater.”

  “Terrible for the theater? Or terrible for the insurance company?”

  “Terrible for Mr. Rockford. He’ll lose everything.” Terrence Nuttal scurried away from the booth and disappeared offstage. I could see him through the crack in the side of the curtain talking to Neil down by the piano. How would Neil lose everything over an accident claim? I pulled the policy out of my shirt and gave it another look. If I understood what I was reading, the umbrella policy came with a sizable deductible that Neil would be on the hook for if anyone sued. But the keyman rider insured Neil’s investment in the play against the death of Royce Hansen. So, if anything happened to Royce, if he died before the play was over, Neil would collect a quarter of a million dollars.

  Oh my God. Could the catwalk and falling light have been staged by Neil in an attempt to kill Royce? I couldn’t believe it. There had to be a logical explanation. Neil wasn’t capable of killing anyone. He was one of the kindest people I’d ever met.

  Then again, I reflected on the past six months and wasn’t so sure anymore. I’d learned that anyone could be capable of murder if they were pushed too far. Still, it was starting to look like Duke had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Neil could have killed him by mistake. That did explain why Neil didn’t want to call the police or ambulance when the accidents happened. And it gave him a strong motive to make Duke’s accident look like a suicide. I had to warn Royce. There was still time for Neil to stage an accident. He could be in danger.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The lights flashed the two-minute warning for the audience to take their seats and Neil came backstage. I shoved the policy into my tote bag under my wallet.

  Neil gathered the cast and crew together for a final pep talk. I tried to pull Royce aside, but Blanche walked backstage. She handed Aunt Ginny a bouquet of lilies. “For you, dear.” Then she yelled, “Good luck, everyone! May the ghost of Macbeth shine upon you.”

  Royce yelled, “Gaaah!” and jumped backward, crossed his fingers, and spun around three times. Then he spit on the floor. He told everyone else to follow suit and they did, except for Mr. Sheinberg, who went straight to the spitting part. Then Royce took a nip from a flask that was in his pocket, which Fiona promptly took away from him.

  Blanche left the stage laughing and Royce had to give himself a three-minute time-out. He sat in the corner muttering, “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

  Neil tried to be encouraging, but the general feeling was that we were doomed.

  I tried once again to get Royce’s attention, but Iggy started playing the overture and he climbed the steps of the catwalk to make his entrance.

  I put on my headset, dialed in my lights, and said a prayer for him not to fall. The curtain rose and Sophie made her entrance. It wasn’t a big theater, but from my vantage, it looked like every seat on the right was taken.

  While I waited for the “Honey, Honey” number to finish, I texted Smitty. Did you check everything?

  He had forgotten to turn his sound off and I heard Moe say, “Wise guy,” from somewhere in the audience.

  He texted back, Yes.
Don’t worry. I’d worry less if he wasn’t the same handyman who accidentally wired my doorbell to turn off the porch light.

  Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Dodson made their entrance as Tanya and Rosie. Mrs. Davis had the first line of the scene, but she froze when she saw the audience. She stood under the orange glow of the simulated sunshine and stared into the audience with her mouth open. Mrs. Dodson jabbed her in the back with her cane. When that didn’t snap her out of it, Mrs. Dodson prompted her. “I bet you don’t want to take one more step in your heels, do you?”

  Mrs. Davis dumbly shook her head no.

  Neil made a circular motion with his hand to keep going, so Mrs. Dodson said both her and Tanya’s lines until the senior playing Pepper took the stage and goosed Mrs. Davis. “Sehsugleymon.”

  Mrs. Davis yelped and gave a little hop. Then she slapped him and said, “Sorry, I don’t speak Greek.”

  Then the men made their entrance for the dock scene. The audience was twittering with amusement, which stopped everything backstage. We all looked around at one another to try to figure out what was so funny on the other side of the backdrop. I looked around the curtain and right away noticed Mr. Ricardo’s red boxers showing through his white pants under the bright lights. One of the men in the audience called for him to turn around so they could read the back and he obliged. That caused a louder gale of laughter from the audience, which made Royce more nervous, and after a long pause he said, “Alas, but we have seen better days.”

  The audience laughed even harder, then Mr. Ricardo skipped a couple of lines and went straight to “I’m rather impressed. I thought I would have to sleep with the goats.”

  Mr. Sheinberg was completely lost by this time, so he snapped his fingers side stage. “Line.”

  Mother Gibson whispered, “ ‘Give me goats over camels.’”

  Mr. Sheinberg hollered, “Huh?”

  Mother Gibson whispered loud enough to be heard by the first few rows of the audience. “ ‘Give me goats over camels.’”

  Mr. Sheinberg acted as though he had never heard the line before. “Camels? Oy, are there supposed to be camels?”