Murder at the Cabaret

by Sandi Scott

  “So?” Andrew spoke first.

  “So, what?”

  "Don't ‘So, what?’ us, Georgie," Aleta smirked. "Who was that on the phone?"

  “Nobody.”

  “You get up and talk in a quiet corner for nobody? Not very likely.” Aleta waved the waitress over asking for the dessert menu. “Was it Stan?”

  “Of course not,” Georgie guffawed.

  “Oh...I know who it was.” Aleta’s eyebrows went up and she looked down her nose at her twin. “We didn’t share a womb for nine months for nothing, Georgie Kaye. That was Obby.”

  “Fine, it was Obby.” Georgie waved her hand as if shooing her family away.

  Both Andrew and J.R. gasped as if they were hearing the juiciest scandal of the decade. The table became quiet as they all leaned forward. “What?” Georgie pinched her lips together.

  “What do you mean, ‘what?’” Aleta rolled her eyes. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to confirm our date for this Saturday.”

  “Oh, you have a date with him on Saturday? That’s a little less than five days away. Should we start figuring out what you're going to wear tonight? It could take that long."

  “Very funny. I’ll have no problem picking an outfit. Thank you.”

  “Georgie, just remember a man isn’t going to buy the cow if the milk is free,” J.R. chimed in. “Don’t show off too much cleavage, or you might find yourself in a real pickle.”

  “Mama.” Andrew leaned in, a teasing expression on his face, “Maybe it’s time we have a good long talk about the birds and the bees. Also, you should know there are girls who boys only date and there are girls who boys marry. Don’t be one they just date.”

  “You all need to get your minds out of the gutter.”

  “What are you doing on your date?” Aleta asked after her giggling fit subsided.

  “I’m not sure. He just said when he’d pick me up and asked if I had any food allergies.”

  “That’s romantic.” Aleta kept laughing.

  “You’re hilarious, little sister,” Georgie huffed.

  “Are you going to ask him to help with your mystery?” J.R. asked.

  “I don’t think so. Obby is very refined and I’m pretty sure if he knew my sleuthing was a little hobby rather than a one-time event, it might—”

  “Make him turn tail and run in the opposite direction?” Aleta interrupted her.

  “Something like that.”

  The waitress finally returned with a small card that listed the desserts.

  "I'm not a big fan of tiramisu," Aleta whispered to her sister.

  "Me neither," Georgie replied back, "but I can find space for some torta della nonna.”

  “You were reading my mind.” Aleta waved over the waitress and gave her each of their dessert orders. Andrew got cannoli. J.R. thought he’d try the chocolate amaretto cake. The twins agreed on the torta della nonna. Once the desserts arrived the table was quiet again.

  “Really, Mama. Are you serious about this Obby guy?” Andrew asked finally.

  “I don’t know, honey. When you’re my age it isn’t so much about being serious with someone as it is about being happy with someone’s company.”

  “You looked pretty comfortable with Dad’s company the other day,” he said wistfully.

  “I am very comfortable around your Dad. That is true.” She brushed his hair from his forehead. “Just not comfortable enough to live with him again.” She looked at Aleta who knew and understood her better than her son ever could.

  “Do you think you’ll be living with Obby?”

  "No, Andrew," Georgie said flatly. "I like my home the way it is. It's colorful and often messy, and Bodhi and I have gotten into quite a routine with your aunt and Freckles. That cat doesn't just warm up to anybody. She's very finicky. You don't think I'm going to upturn all that just for some dude."

  “Not even if you really like him?” Andrew asked.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve only got room for a few men in my life, and I think you and your brother have taken those spots.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

  “Oh, yeah, Bodhi, too,” Georgie chuckled.

  "Very funny, Mama," Andrew said as the desserts were placed on the table.

  They all continued to talk about Madame Bray, Detective Schwarz, Obby, Stan, and Georgie’s supposed drinking problem. When the check came, they all fought for it, but Andrew won. “If it makes you happy, I promise not to pay for anything else the remainder of the trip. I’ll make that ultimate sacrifice,” he teased his mom.

  “That’s good,” she answered. “You are my baby boy. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Mama, just make me a promise. If you plan on going to the police station at Northbrook again, please take me with you.”

  “Why?”

  “For one, I’d just like to see you in action. In case you need someone to vouch for your sanity, you’ll need me. I’m sorry, Detective Schwarz, my mother suffers from Jumping Frenchman of Maine Syndrome. If she gets startled, she flails and repeats things and sometimes her coprolalia kicks in. You don’t want to see that. She made a sailor nearly faint after he heard her spout off.”

  “Yes, I’ll be sure to take you with me.” Georgie rolled her eyes.

  “You should do that,” Aleta laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the things your mother has made up about me just so she could get information or sneak into some building. She told one guy I had twelve toes.”

  “That was one time,” Georgie protested, “and my fib wasn’t nearly as weird as the guys who wanted to see your extra toes.”

  "Oh, my gosh, Mama." Andrew shook his head. "Poor Aunt Aleta."

  “That’s right, Andrew. Poor me.”

  As the family made their way back home, Georgie listened to Andrew and J.R. talking with Aleta. She was glad they got along so well. All of her kids not only got along with each other but also with Aleta and her children. They loved Stan as much as they loved her, too. That was part of the problem with going out with Obby. She couldn't help but feel that she was cheating on Stan. Even though they hadn't been married for years, the idea of going out with another man was so foreign, it was scary. You’re a grown woman, Georgie, she mused. There is nothing wrong with going out with Obby. A date doesn’t have to be a big, whirlwind romance. He might just turn out to be a good friend. Still, the butterflies in her stomach refused to settle down.

  Chapter 9

  All night the pictures of the file haunted Georgie’s thoughts. How could there be nothing there? How could there not be any tip or direction to follow? It seemed impossible to not pick out at least one tidbit of information that could be of some use. I've got to go back to the club, she thought. If they've got a sold-out show coming up for the next several weeks, they are probably practicing every day. The place isn't locked up. The police will probably all be gone. That was all the coaxing she needed. The following morning, she let the boys sleep in and headed over to Aleta’s for her morning coffee.

  “No, I think you are going to get in big trouble if you go back there.”

  “Why? I’m just a harmless old lady.” She hobbled over to the kitchen table. “They’ll never suspect anything. Besides, I’m not going to walk in and start asking questions.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I thought I’d just go and talk to the folks I hadn’t had a chance to interview, yet—sneaky like.”

  “I’m glad you’ve got a plan. I’ve got bail money. Call me if you need me,” Aleta said before turning back to her newspaper.

  As she drove past the club, Georgie was relieved to see there was no policeman stationed at the front door. Parking her car in the same block as before, she walked to the club, but instead of walking through the front door, she quickly diverted down the alley. As luck would have it, there was a side door to the club that was propped open with a small wedge of wood. Georgie could hear the men in the kitchen making noise. It was probably hot in there an
d that led them to keep the door open to get a breeze going through the space. Acting naturally, she walked up to the door, pulled it open, slipped inside, and made sure the door stayed propped open while she stepped into the darkness.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Georgie picked up the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, plus what could have been freshly cut wood and a musty attic smell. She put her hand against the wall. It was covered with dark velvet. She felt her way along taking careful steps until she came to the staircase that led to the dressing rooms. From the sound, dancers were currently practicing on stage even though Georgie couldn't see everything from where she was standing. Slowly, she ascended the stars. There was a door with a huge gold star and the words Madame Bray. The police tape across the door had not been broken. Georgie slipped past it and saw across the way another door with several girls’ names listed on it. Further along there was another door with more names on it, while rows of costumes and props lined the hallway.

  Suddenly, there was some shouting from down below, and Georgie heard the stomping feet of the dancers coming back to their dressing rooms. The walls and flooring beneath her feet shook with the pounding stampede. Before she could be spotted, she slipped into the first room with the list of girls’ names on the door. It looked like a typical dressing room sporting square mirrors with light bulbs around them and counters with makeup and hairspray of all kinds. Costumes, various accessories, shoes, gloves, tassels, boas, tiaras, and half a dozen other oddities hung from every corner of the brightly lit room, but Georgie didn't want to hide in the clothes racks.

  “Tammy. I’ll pretend I’m looking for Tammy. That isn’t a complete fib. I’ll do that.” She calmed herself, taking a seat on a folding chair against the wall at the end of the row of vanities.

  “There has to be a way we can get that finished,” one girl exclaimed as she burst through the door.

  "I think that the last turn was a good suggestion," another girl with black hair said.

  “Does anyone have an extra couple of safety pins? I’m going to split this seam until I can get it to the seamstress.”

  Suddenly everyone stopped and looked at Georgie.

  “Hello? Can we help you?” the bubbly girl asked.

  “I was waiting for Tammy? Tammy Laloup.” Georgie folded her hands in front of her.

  “She’s not working today” the brunette said as she took a seat at her vanity. “Who are you?”

  "My name is Georgie Kaye." Georgie explained how Andrew was acquainted with Tammy and had introduced them to each other. "She was so sad yesterday when I spoke with her that I was hoping to stop by and take her for coffee or tea to help her feel better. How are you girls doing? I'm so sorry for your loss."

  Hearing Georgie’s words, the girls didn't hold back. They were sad and concerned and even a little scared, but the thing they had in common was the mantra that “the show must go on.” They were a very pleasant group of girls, considering they were all dressed in costumes that were smaller than some undergarments, with the exception of a dancer by the name of Jenny Holt. As Georgie asked the girls what their opinions were, she watched Jenny's eyes. She looked to Georgie like she was taking mental notes.

  “I don’t know who could have done such a thing,” a girl by the name of Lulu said, “but I can’t even kill a spider, and I hate spiders, never mind a person.”

  “What I don’t get is how no one heard anything. Madame Bray wasn’t the kind of lady to be intimidated,” another girl who went by the name Violette replied. All the girls nodded and agreed with her statement.

  Just as Georgie was about to ask Jenny a direct question, the girl pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans and slipped out of the dressing room. “Where is she going? Is rehearsal over?” Georgie asked.

  "No," Lulu scoffed. "Jenny was Madame Bray's understudy. She thinks that anyone talking about the murder is pointing the finger at her because she's the understudy. She's soft in all the right places, but, unfortunately, she's soft in the head, too."

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Taylor Bray hired her.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Madame Bray’s husband.” Lulu winked at Georgie. All the girls mumbled before turning to their mirrors to fix their makeup or adjust their headpieces. Obviously, no one wanted to say it out loud, but there was an elephant of infidelity in the room. Georgie couldn’t stay in her seat.

  “Well, you girls have been very kind to entertain me. Please tell Tammy I stopped by and I will catch her another day.” Georgie inched her way through the bustling girls toward the door.

  "Come back anytime, Georgie," Violette urged. "You're soft in all the right places, too. Maybe you'd like a part in the show?" Georgie tittered and giggled and waved her hand at the girls as if they were the silliest things she’d ever heard. They laughed and waved and quickly returned to getting ready for their next act.

  As soon as Georgie closed the door she hurried toward the steps and as quickly as her muscles would move, slunk back down in search of Jenny. She peeked onto the stage and saw her talking with Henry while rubbing her stomach. Henry put his hand on her shoulder and nodded; his face was pinched with concern. Jenny hopped off the stage and headed to the exit that led to the front of the club. Without waiting, Georgie retreated the way she had entered. Creeping carefully down the alley, she spied Jenny who hurried across the street to climb into a small silver car. Georgie quickly found Pablo, still waiting for her around the corner like a dear friend. She climbed in and revved the engine just as she saw Jenny drive past. Georgie didn’t take long to merge into the traffic and follow.

  “Where could she be going?” Georgie asked. “She certainly didn’t like everyone talking about Madame Bray. What else was there to talk about? It’s pretty big news.” Continuing her one-sided conversation, Georgie followed Jenny to a row of quaint condos. The girl sped into her parking spot while Georgie waited on the street. Flipping on her hazard lights she watched. Jenny looked like she was yelling. Was she using her phone? Did she have a mental disorder? Finally, she got out of the car and hurried to the door of the building directly adjacent to the parking lot. With a burst of energy, she slammed the door behind her. Parking took Georgie no more than a few seconds and, before she could think up something else to do, she was standing on the stoop ringing Jenny’s doorbell.

  “What do you want?” The woman yelled from inside the house.

  “I want to talk to you?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you or anyone else. Go away!”

  “Jenny, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look very good for you right now.” Jenny didn’t reply. “You look very suspicious behaving this way, but I don’t think you did it.” Finally, the sound of locks snapping back and chains rattling were heard just before Jenny opened the door. She looked skeptically at Georgie, rolled her eyes, and walked into her living room.

  “You’ve got one minute to tell me what you want before I call the police,” she growled.

  "Jenny, the girls told me that you were Madame Bray's understudy. Is that true?" Georgie took a seat on the edge of Jenny's couch. Her legs were tired from going up and down the stairs to the dressing rooms.

  “Yes, that’s true. Did they tell you I was having an affair with Taylor Bray?”

  “No.”

  “I’m surprised. That’s what they tell anyone else who will listen.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?” Maybe Jenny was a little soft in the head.

  “Having an affair with Taylor Bray?” Georgie watched her face.

  “No.” She swallowed and sat on the arm of the loveseat across from Georgie. “Taylor hired me. Madame Bray and I never really hit it off, but I was the only one who could keep up with her. I had her moves down pat within a week. Some said they were just as good as hers; others said they were better.”

  “So,” Georgie paused dramatically, “the star of the show thought you were trying to steal her job.”

  “Somet
hing like that,” Jenny scowled. “Everything was a big issue.”

  “Why do you think she felt so threatened?”

  “Because she didn’t like me. I didn’t like her. I knew I could do a better job than she did, but she’d been at it since the dinosaur era. You couldn’t make a suggestion to her without her going ballistic.”

  Georgie watched as Jenny worried a hangnail on her thumb.

  “The night she died she threatened to have me fired—again.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I had just had it with her. She didn’t talk to any of the other girls the way she talked to me.” Georgie quietly sat and listened. “It’s one thing to tell a person they don’t have the steps down, or they’re constantly late on intro, or they have no rhythm, but she told me regularly that if I didn’t shape up she’d have me fired.”

  “That upset you?”

  “You think? How would you like to hear that every time you miss a step to a new routine or leave a prop on the wrong end of the stage? Every little mistake was a federal case even though I still put on a stellar performance every night. I’m a trained dancer. I’m not just some set of big boobs that strolled in off the street and got lucky.” Georgie couldn’t help feeling compassion for Jenny. She chuckled at her poor choice of words. Show business has got to be full of people looking for their big break. Not all of those people have scruples. “The thing is, I had really been holding it in ever since I found out she was going to retire.”

  “Did she tell you herself?”

  “It was rumored over the whole show, although it wasn’t etched in stone, but everyone seemed pretty confident she’d be leaving. That didn’t even make her let up on me. In fact—” Jenny shook her head.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “She told me she knew what kind of person I was. She said I’d never amount to anything more than an understudy—always in a shadow.” Her eyes welled up. “She said my days were numbered.