But Abilene won Stella’s gratitude forever, I think, by yelling over the music, “She’s a really nice pig, isn’t she? How old is she?”
Even I, now that DaisyBelle was safely snuggled in Abilene’s arms, had to admit she looked kind of cute all wrapped up in a feather boa.
Charlotte was not so easily soothed, and she definitely did not think DaisyBelle was cute. She snatched back the boa and marched up to Lucinda, waving it like a war flag. The two of them stood face-to-face just below the stage, Charlotte’s words coming through like the boom of a loudspeaker when the music and dancing suddenly ended. “Either the pig goes or I go.”
“We’ll work it out,” Lucinda soothed. “Stella, perhaps DaisyBelle could go out to the car for the rest of rehearsal tonight?”
Stella momentarily looked as if she might grab the boa and wrap it around Charlotte’s neck, but Abilene again came to the rescue.
“I’ll help you take her out,” she offered to Stella. “We can run the heater for a few minutes so she’ll be warm.” And off they went, two new buddies discussing how wonderfully sweet and intelligent potbellied pigs were.
I hoped this meant DaisyBelle was banned from the main performance, but I could see Lucinda had a problem here. Retain the pig, lose Charlotte. Ban the pig, lose Stella. Charlotte was essential with the costumes, but Stella, singing a solo of “Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue” couldn’t be replaced in the street scene.
Magnolia was applauding the performance now as she helped me to a seat and scooted in beside me. “Ivy, that was marvelous! Is that part of the show? The audience will love it. But how did they ever train the pig to do that?”
I decided I hadn’t the energy just then to tell her that the pig caper wasn’t part of the regular performance. Getting run over by the duet of an escaping pig and an angry Historical Society lady is somewhat debilitating for an LOL.
The next thing that went wrong was Ben Simpson’s performance as Will Rogers. He got through the monologue itself okay, sitting on his tall stool, but as he was getting off the stool something in his back locked up and he couldn’t straighten up. And there the poor guy stood, looking rather like a bent toothpick.
“Is that part of the performance?” Magnolia whispered doubtfully.
“I’m afraid not.” From all appearances, I’d say Ben Simpson and Will Rogers were now kaput as far as the Revue went.
The third and worst disaster happened during the final chorus-line number, the one where the dancers circled around like a revolving wagon wheel, Lulu Newman the statuesque hub of the wheel. Lulu kicked, crumpled, and didn’t get up, her spangled costume puddled around her. People crowded around, but her husband shoved them aside to get to her. Poor Paul looked terrified as he knelt by his wife. A few minutes later an ambulance arrived, and the EMTs carried her out on a stretcher, Paul running along beside them.
Lucinda waved a hand as if in defeat. “Okay, everybody can go home now.” She plopped into a seat beside me. “Her doctor’s been telling her for months something like this could happen.”
“What now?” I said.
“It’ll shorten the program, but we can just cancel Ben Simpson’s spot. But without Lulu the chorus line falls apart. She’s like the heart of it. The centerpiece. The flagpole.”
“Can’t you just rearrange the line and put the tallest person in her spot?”
Lucinda shook her head. “There’s too much rivalry among the others. I pick one of them, and someone else will have a hissy fit. What I need is someone new …” Suddenly she looked beyond me to Magnolia. “Stand up, would you please?”
Magnolia looked a little surprised, but she stood up, and I suddenly saw her through Lucinda’s eyes. Tonight she was wearing a white pantsuit of some silky material that flowed around her body, and she had her trademark silk magnolia tucked in her red hair. Tall. Imposing. Regal. Yes, even statuesque.
“How about you? You want to be in the chorus line?”
Magnolia is not easy to flabbergast, but this definitely flabbergasted her. “Me?” she squeaked in a voice totally unlike her own. “Dance in the chorus line? Oh, I don’t think so—”
“Yes, you. You’d be perfect. Can you dance?”
In a split second, Magnolia did an about-face. The impossible suddenly shifted to possible. “I’ve never performed on stage, but I did have a few dancing lessons. Back when I was … younger.”
“Good,” Lucinda said. She didn’t inquire how many years ago those lessons were, but I knew. Tap dance lessons back in grade school. “You and Lulu are about the same size. Her costumes should fit you.”
“But it’s only a week before the performance!” I objected. “There are all the dance routines she’d have to learn, all those steps, and Lulu was such a … a centerpiece of the line. She’d been doing it for years, and there’s only a week—”
Magnolia drew herself up to her full height. “I think I can manage,” she said loftily, with a downward glance at me, and I felt properly chastised. Confidence has never been a problem for Magnolia, and I could see that she did not appreciate my throwing roadblocks in the path of this new venture. “I’m quite musical you know, and Geoff has always said I’m light on my feet, haven’t you, dear?”
Geoff blinked as if trying to remember ever making such a statement, and I tried to remember if Magnolia had ever exhibited any musical talent. All I could think was that she did play a radio reasonably well, which didn’t seem terribly relevant.
“And the costumes are quite lovely, aren’t they?” Magnolia added.
Yes, quite lovely. Okay, I granted reluctantly, if the clothes were right, maybe Magnolia could do it. Maybe.
Then the big problem apparently occurred to her. She looked at Geoff. “But we weren’t planning to stay here in Hello that long, were we?”
Geoff came through, as he always does, even the time Magnolia decided she wanted to make a quick side trip by dogsled when they were doing genealogical research in Alaska.
“I’m sure staying a few days longer than we planned won’t be a problem,” he said.
“Okay, it’s all set then.” Lucinda stood up. “The next regular rehearsal isn’t until Monday afternoon, but I’ll get the girls from the chorus line together tomorrow afternoon. I’ll go up to the hospital and see how Lulu is and get her costume. Can you make it tomorrow, say two o’clock?”
“Oh yes,” Magnolia said. “Perhaps you have diagrams of the chorus line’s movements? Something I could study?”
I was astonished by this bit of insight into the workings of a chorus line, but Lucinda didn’t seem surprised. “Why, yes, I do. That’s a good idea. I’ll go get them.”
“Actually,” Magnolia confided to me as we were headed back to the cabin a few minutes later, “I’ve always wanted to be in a chorus line.”
News to me. She’d never mentioned it. But then, I’ve always had a smidgen of secret desire to be one of those glamorous barrel racers in a rodeo, tearing around the arena in a rhinestone-studded cowboy hat, and I’ve never mentioned that to anyone either.
“I’m sure I’ll be quite good at it,” Magnolia added serenely. “A much better choice than skiing, actually.”
I remembered a phrase of Norman’s that seemed appropriate now. “Glory be.”
22
I had to work on Saturday, but I rushed over to the hotel as soon as I got through at the library at four o’clock. The old building felt hollow and empty today without the usual bustle of activity in the lobby and people wandering in and out, but music and thump of feet echoed from the stage.
And yes, there was Magnolia right in the midst of it, half a head taller than anyone else, flagpoling the wagon-wheel routine as if she’d been doing it for weeks instead of only a couple of hours. The audience area was dim, but the stage brightly lit. Lucinda called directions, her hand motioning for emphasis. The taped music wasn’t quite as loud today as it usually was.
“To the right now. One, two, three, kick. Back up now, keep your heads
up. Kick. Higher! Dance like you’re trying out for the Rockettes!”
Magnolia wasn’t perfect, but neither was anyone else. She made some missteps, bumping hips and stepping on the foot of the dancer next to her when she went left instead of right. She was a little low and wobbly on the kicks and uncertain on the part where the dancers turned their backs to the audience and gave a little flounce of skirts. Or what would be skirts when they were in costume. But when they came to the part where the line broke into individual dancers doing a Charleston shimmy, she shimmied right in there with the best of them.
When the music ended on that routine, I gave a one-woman standing ovation.
“Okay, break time,” Lucinda called. She came up to where I was sitting and dropped down beside me. She wiped a hand across her forehead as if she’d been working as hard as the dancers themselves, which she probably had. “She’s going to be okay.
I was glad to hear that, for both Lucinda’s and Magnolia’s sakes. “How’s Lulu?”
“They took her on down to Hayward instead of keeping her at the local hospital last night. She had surgery early this morning. Good specialist down there. Paul said she broke her hip in two places when she fell. Or maybe the hip broke, and that caused the fall. I understand that’s how it happens sometimes.”
“Osteoporosis?”
“Right. Take your calcium. She was still a little dopey from the anesthetic when I saw her a few hours ago, but the only thing she was worried about was the chorus line. I told her she could never be replaced, but we’d found someone to fill in for her. And I picked up the costume.”
Diplomatic Lucinda, always thinking of how to keep someone’s feelings from being hurt.
“Charlotte and Magnolia will have to get together to see if the costume needs alterations. You don’t happen to have any more talented friends tucked away somewhere, do you? I talked to Ben today too, and he’s definitely out. No Will Rogers monologue.”
“Did you get Charlotte and Stella’s ruffled feelings about DaisyBelle taken care of?”
“I think I’ve convinced Stella that DaisyBelle might accidentally get hurt if something went wrong at one of the performances, and she’d be safer at home.”
Diplomatic Lucinda at work again. Appealing to Stella’s affection for her pig rather than laying down hostile rules. And it was true. DaisyBelle might get hurt. Charlotte definitely had mayhem in mind where the pig was concerned.
“Oh, I didn’t have breakfast before I went down to Hayward, so I stopped at a little café,” Lucinda said. “They have the biggest cinnamon rolls you’ve ever seen. Enormous! You should try the place sometime, if you get down that way. It’s called the Nugget, out near the stock auction yards.”
She went back to the stand she had set up just below the stage, and I sat there with my jaw going a little slack. Was her going to that café and telling me about it just some odd coincidence? Or was she subtly letting me know that she knew I knew about KaySue? Which meant what? And did this have anything to do with the fire … or Hiram’s murder?
No way, I scoffed. My imagination working overtime again. If I could just get paid for all that overtime, I could retire with a menu of lobster and prime rib, a Dior wardrobe, and shoes from Manolo Blahnik. And, more importantly, hire a bodyguard built like a Sherman army tank and thumb my nose at the Braxtons. But an overactive imagination, unfortunately, is not exactly a marketable skill. I squelched mine.
Lucinda surely wouldn’t be telling me about the Nugget if she was guilty of anything. The only thing on her mind here was an oversized cinnamon roll. Don’t make more out of it than that, I told myself.
A few minutes later, Lucinda had the chorus line back at work. I could see Magnolia making progress even as I watched. Her kicks got higher, in line with the other dancers, and she spent less time peeking sideways at the other ladies to make certain she was doing the right steps.
“How come you aren’t up there?”
The whisper spoke directly in my ear. It sounded like … but it couldn’t be …
I whirled in the seat, then jumped to my feet. Even in the dim room there was no mistaking the thick, silver-white hair, break-your-heart blue eyes, and big smile. Behind him Geoff was smiling too.
“Mac!” The back of the seat was between us, but he gave me a hug over it. A rather awkward hug, although I didn’t know whether the awkwardness was because of the seat or because of us.
“I don’t understand.” The music ended, and I lowered my voice to normal. “How … ? Where … ?”
“I told you I was coming,” Mac said. He sounded mildly reproachful, as if he’d made a promise, so how come I was doubting him? “So here I am.”
Yes, here he was. No knobby knees today, not in this weather. Today he wore jeans and a bulky tan vest, long-sleeved blue shirt hiding the blue tattoo of a motorcycle I knew was on his forearm. He’d shaved off the beard he’d had the last time I’d seen him. He’d looked good with it. He looked good without it. The contrast between his Florida tan and his white hair definitely put him over into Senior Hunk status.
“I was walking around the RV park, looking things over, and there he was,” Geoff said. “Just pulling into the park.” He spoke with a kind of pride, like a fisherman who’s just landed the biggest fish of the day.
“I thought I’d find a space and get settled in before trying to locate you,” Mac said. “Which turned out to be not as difficult as I thought it might be, since I ran into Geoff. It’s good to see you, Ivy.” He reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Good to see you too.”
It was good to see him, yet at the same time I felt the familiar ambivalence I always feel with Mac. Ambivalence in him, ambivalence in me. The pull of attraction, the push of wariness of getting too involved.
Forget it, I told myself firmly. He’s here. Enjoy the moment.
“What is this, anyway?” Mac motioned toward the stage as the chorus line regrouped.
I explained about the skits and chorus line, and what the proceeds from the Revue went for. “The main performances are scheduled for next Friday and Saturday evenings. Can you stay to see one of them?”
“Oh, I think I probably can. I’m in no big rush to get anywhere. You and Abilene plan to stay around here for a while?”
“She’s working on another murder,” Geoff said.
“What?” Mac and I yelped the word simultaneously. I was startled because I didn’t know how Geoff could know about the murder, since I certainly hadn’t mentioned it. Mac wasn’t so much startled, I suspected, as exasperated with the news. Was that part of his ambivalence? He didn’t want to get too closely involved with a woman who seemed to stumble into murders as easily as other women stumble into some new boutique selling cashmere bargains?
“Mag was talking to the people who run the RV park,” Geoff said. “She mentioned that we didn’t know anyone here in town except you, and they were telling her about the murder and how you were looking for the killer.”
I mentally groaned. Me and my rash statement about being a criminal investigator, which had apparently taken wings around Hello. Fortunately, the music started again, loud enough to discourage conversation. The chorus line moved sideways, forward and backward, their whirls and kicks not exactly in precision time, but reasonably close to it.
After a few minutes, Mac raised his voice over the music. “They’re pretty good. Like I said, why aren’t you up there?”
“I’m doing props.”
“I didn’t know Mag could do that,” Geoff said as his wife went into the shimmy that was the highlight of the final routine. I couldn’t tell if he was startled, admiring, or just bemused. Probably some of all.
My reaction, even though I’d earlier had my doubts Magnolia could carry this off, was humph. Women can do all sorts of things men don’t know they can.
That routine ended the afternoon’s practice session. Magnolia accepted congratulations from the other dancers, then made her way to the steps at one side of the stage
and up the aisle to us.
“You were fantastic,” I said sincerely. “Awesome, as my grandniece would say.”
She was a little out of breath and her color high. Magnolia isn’t a couch potato, but she isn’t a lightweight, and I guessed this was more activity than she’d had in some time. She put a hand on the small of her back and groaned. “I’m going to be sore all over by morning.”
“Probably not as sore as when you took up horseback riding,” I pointed out. “And the costumes are much nicer.”
She brightened. “True.”
Suddenly a thought dropped out of nowhere into my head. I turned to Mac. “How do you feel about Will Rogers?”
I expected a noncommittal answer. Who doesn’t like Will Rogers’s folksy humor? Then I’d try to use my persuasive powers to get him to try the monologue.
But Mac went into a cowboy slouch and put an aw-shucks grin on his face. “There’s two theories about how to argue with a woman,” he drawled. He pushed back a pretend hat. “Unfortunately, neither one works.”
It was one of the very lines from Ben Simpson’s monologue of Rogers’s sayings. I stared at him in surprise.
“I was Will Rogers in some playacting thing Margarite got us into years ago. I wanted to be George Burns because Margarite was playing Gracie Allen, but they already had a George Burns, so I wound up as ol’ Will.”
“You must have been very good.”
“Afterwards people were always after me to do the Will Rogers thing. It’s been a long time though. I’m not sure I even remember any of the other lines. Oh yeah, there’s this one.” He went into the slouch and grin again. “I never met a man I didn’t like.”
I couldn’t believe it. Ben Simpson had said the lines competently enough, but Mac had a warmth and style that went beyond reciting words. He made you believe he really had never met a man he didn’t like. I grabbed his hand and dragged him down the aisle toward Lucinda.
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