"She was rude to her fellow actors, she was rude to me," Julie went on. "Did you know that other than the first day, she was chronically late for rehearsals? We had to wait for her every single day until she deigned to show up. She was a diva, a prima donna, and a bitch."
I let out a surprised laugh. "You sound like you're glad she's gone."
She sighed heavily and patted down her hair, which was frizzing out in all directions. "Of course it's terrible what happened to her. But really. Sometimes don't you think we'd be better off with half the population gone? She was useless. Taking up space."
My mouth fell open. Did she really just say that?
"Look, it's been a long day, and I know I'm being harsh. She's gone. I don't think it's a great loss. That's all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get home at a decent hour for once." She brushed past me and stalked off. After staring after her for a number of seconds, I gave up and left.
On the drive home, I considered my two latest suspects, Laura and Julie. Although Laura seemed to have a practical attitude toward the parts she got or didn't get, it couldn't be ignored she now had two starring roles she hadn't had before. She would once more be at the pinnacle of success within the enclosed world of The Springdale Players. But had she set her sights higher? Was she hoping that with all the media attention directed at Katrina, her new roles would get her noticed in Hollywood once her rival was gone? She did seem keen on getting PR. Maybe she hoped she'd soon have Hollywood producers knocking down her door. But would she go to the lengths of actually killing Katrina to obtain her objective?
As for Julie, she hadn't pulled any punches. She didn't like Katrina and wasn't afraid to say so. If she were the murderer, would she have admitted her true feelings? Wouldn't she have acted just the opposite, horrified and grief-stricken? Or was this some kind of complicated cover? Again, the motive seemed flimsy. People didn't murder other people just because they didn't like them. At least I didn't think so.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I'm not getting very far with my interviews," I told Donna the following morning at the Jack Sprat. "No one's confessed, at any rate."
"Maybe you're going about it the wrong way." Donna picked some sprinkles off my donut and popped them into her mouth.
I resisted slapping her hand.
"Probably an indirect approach is better. Like asking if they overheard anything that would make other people look guilty."
"Good point. You were around the cast when you brought over the lattes. Did you overhear anything?"
Donna gazed off toward the Emerald City. She seemed slightly better today than she had over the past few days. Her eyes weren't as swollen, and she had some color in her cheeks.
"You know, I did notice something, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention at the time."
"Really? What was it?"
"I don't know what it means, if anything, but Bradley was talking quietly with The Springdale Players' stagehand one afternoon when I brought by Her Royal Highness's latte. When they saw I was watching them, they looked embarrassed and stopped talking right away. This was maybe on the Wednesday before she was killed. I didn't think much of it at the time, but maybe something was going on."
"Like what? You think they might be in a relationship?"
"I don't know. Possibly. Maybe Bradley's gay. Didn't you say he belongs to a church? Maybe his church would kick him out if they knew, or his parents are ultra-religious and would disown him, or something equally unbearable. Katrina was going to out him, and he had to stop that, so he killed her."
I considered. Bradley was conservative for sure, and he seemed very involved in his church. Maybe he was gay and hadn't yet come out. Did Katrina know? Did she threaten to out him if he didn't do her bidding, perhaps sleep with her? Would he have killed her to stop that? Given his beliefs, surely he would never harm anyone. But maybe he didn't feel he had a choice.
"Maybe," I agreed. "But how can we find out for sure?"
"I guess you'd have to follow him. See where he goes. Find out if he and Marcus are boyfriends."
"Right! Surveillance! Will you do it with me?"
Donna laughed. "Sure. Why not? Anything that keeps me from remembering I'm a murder suspect is good with me."
"He plays tennis at the city courts after rehearsal. We can start there and follow him after that."
"What do we wear? Black shirts and pants and leather jackets?" Donna got up from her chair and struck a Charlie's Angels pose.
"You've been watching too much TV. We're not breaking in anywhere in the dead of night. I'm pretty sure what you're wearing now is fine."
We left Cameron in charge and drove to the city park that afternoon. I circled around the packed courts a couple of times, but we didn't see Bradley.
"Great. The one day we need to see him, he's not here," I moaned.
"Why are those rackets hanging on hooks over there? Are they for sale?"
"No, it means people are waiting to play. Let's check it out. I might recognize his racket. I got a pretty good look at it when I saw him last."
We parked, got out of the car, and walked over. I examined each racket, but I didn't recognize Bradley's.
"I don't think he's here," I told Donna.
We turned to go back to the car, but, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a yellow flyer tacked up on a bulletin board alongside some other notices.
"Look at this, Donna. There's a Springdale Tennis League tournament tomorrow morning at The Bay Hotel. I wonder if Bradley's going to be there. I saw on the internet that he's played in other tournaments they've sponsored. If he has a boyfriend, Marcus or anyone else, I bet he would go watch Bradley play."
Donna gave me a wry smile. "I have the feeling we have plans now for tomorrow morning. That don't include work."
I grinned. "Put Vince in charge at the restaurant, and I'll line up Cameron. We're going to a tennis tournament. You wanted some distraction, right? It'll be fun."
* * *
Donna and I headed out for the tennis tournament the next morning in my yellow Beetle. The day promised to be another warm one, so Donna and I lowered the windows to get a cross breeze. We cruised over to The Bay Hotel, singing loudly—and badly—to songs on the radio, and pulled into a parking space near the tennis courts.
We milled through the crowds until we found the programs. We each took one and reviewed the schedule of play.
"There's his name," I said. "I was right."
"Okay. Court seven. Let's get some coffee first."
We bought two lattes from the snack cart and found seats in one of the lower rows at Court 7. It occurred to me Bradley might see us, but I could always claim we were ardent tennis fans who'd planned to come to the tournament for a while now, and what a happy coincidence we'd get to see him play.
Although the first few games of the match were entertaining, I spent most of the time searching the crowd. Donna told me Marcus was in his early thirties and had brown hair and brown eyes, which was less than helpful. But I kept my eyes peeled for someone rooting especially hard for Bradley. During the changeover at 3-2, Donna went to get us more coffee so we'd stay sharp.
A critical point was reached at 4-4 with the score 30-40 in Bradley's favor. If Bradley broke his opponent's service, he'd be poised to win the first set on his serve.
Just as Bradley's opponent threw the ball in the air, Donna nudged me in the ribs. I was so startled my arm flew out and knocked her coffee cup out of her hand. The still-hot liquid spread across our bare legs. Unfortunately, we'd both decided to wear shorts that morning in deference to the warm day. Just as Bradley's opponent brought the racket down on the ball, Donna and I both yelped in pain. Everyone turned to stare at us, including Bradley and his opponent, whose serve had gone straight into the net.
"Oh God," Donna whispered to me. We frantically tried to wipe the hot coffee off our legs with our napkins. "That really hurts."
I wasn't sure which was more painful—my embarrassment at caus
ing a scene or my burned thighs.
A few people booed as the umpire announced the serve would be replayed. He reminded everyone to remain quiet while play was going on. Oh, okay. Next time I scalded my thighs with a boiling hot latte, I'd be sure to keep the excruciating pain to myself.
"Sorry, everyone!" Donna called out.
"Way to go," the guy next to me said.
"Thanks for the sympathy," I muttered. "Donna, why did you nudge me?"
She gestured to the rows of seats on the other side of the court. "It's Marcus. But look, he's leaving."
"Gotta go." As I got up, I jarred the arm of my unsympathetic neighbor. His popcorn bag fell to the ground.
"Hey!" he cried. "You're a menace, you know that?"
I didn't have time to mull over my very public humiliation. I pulled a few dollars out of my purse and threw them in his direction, mumbling an apology as I edged past.
"So, so, sorry, everyone," Donna said as we scurried out of our row. "Follow me, Ashling. I lost sight of him, but hopefully we'll spot him again. I wonder where he's going."
We found out a few minutes later when Marcus walked out of the men's restroom. He stopped at a drinking fountain and bent his head to it.
I pushed Donna toward him. "I've never met him. You talk to him."
"Oh, hi, Marcus." Donna raised her hand in a wave, which was a little silly since he had his back to her and couldn't see. "It's me, Donna. From the Jack Sprat at StoryWorld."
He turned around. "Oh, yeah. Hey."
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
He looked around as though it should be obvious. "Same thing as you. Watching a tennis tournament."
"Watching Bradley's match?" I asked, and he switched his gaze to me. "Hi. I'm Ashling. We haven't met yet. I'm the owner of StoryWorld."
"Yeah, I'm here to watch Laramie. He told me at rehearsals the other day he was going to be here. I like tennis. So I thought I'd check it out."
I regarded him. His words didn't betray anything other than a casual interest. But he could be hiding a more intimate relationship with Bradley.
"I'm gonna get back out there," Marcus said. "See you."
Donna said to me, "I don't think we'll be allowed to return to those same seats. Public opinion and all that."
I winced as a burning pain moved up my thigh. "I agree. Besides, I don't know about you, but I'm in a lot of pain here. Let's go get some ice from the snack cart and regroup. Maybe we'll see Bradley leave his match, and he'll be with Marcus."
Sitting on a bench near the snack cart, a bag of ice on each of our laps, we got lucky about half an hour later. Bradley and a young woman came walking toward us, deep in conversation. Bradley had either won his match easily or had gone down quickly after the tight first set. Meanwhile, Marcus wasn't anywhere in sight.
"Quick! Open your program in front of your face so he doesn't see us," I said to Donna.
She did as I asked, and I followed suit. It struck me we were probably calling more attention to ourselves than if we'd just acted normally. We peered over the tops of our programs at Bradley and his companion.
After he looked around, seemingly to be sure no one was watching, Bradley pulled the girl close and gave her a long kiss, which I could tell from our vantage point featured more than a little tongue.
Donna and I exchanged open-mouthed looks of surprise. We'd uncovered Bradley's secret. It just wasn't the one we'd expected.
* * *
I drove back to the city park on Monday, psyching myself up for another confrontation. Bradley was once more playing Jaylen on one of the outer courts.
I flung open the gate and stomped onto the court, not caring that a rally was going on. I headed straight for Bradley. Surprised, Jaylen caught the ball in his hand rather than lobby it back and maybe hit me. I ignored him and continued on to Bradley, who looked downright panicked to see me.
"Ms. Cleary?"
"Who's the girl?"
"What girl?" But I could tell he knew exactly who I meant. His flushed face betrayed him.
"The girl you were kissing on Saturday. It was hard to miss. It was quite something."
His blush grew deeper. "Shh. Jaylen doesn't know." He looked across the net at Jaylen, who was staring at us, dumbfounded. "No one does. You're right. I have a girlfriend. Yasmin. But no one's supposed to know. My parents don't want me dating until I'm twenty-one. Yasmin's only sixteen, and her parents don't approve of her dating either."
"Right. Got it. So much for your beliefs about 'no kissing before marriage.'" I made those obnoxious finger quotes.
He looked sheepish and didn't answer.
"Did Katrina know about Yasmin? Did she threaten to bust you? Did she want you to sleep with her or she'd tell about Yasmin? Did you kill her to stop that from happening?"
He drew back, astonished, and rather comically put his racket up to cover his face. "No! Of course not! I wouldn't do that. It's against my beliefs. How could you even think that?"
I didn't point out, for the second time, that his beliefs seemed to be rather fluid.
"Okay. I believe you." And I was pretty sure I did.
"Ma'am? Ms. Cleary? Ashling? You won't tell anyone, will you? About Yasmin, I mean?"
I squeezed his arm, eliciting a jump. Whoops. No touching if you weren't Yasmin, apparently. "No, Bradley, your secret is safe with me. But one more question. What were you whispering about with Marcus a few days before Katrina's death?"
More blushing. "How did you know about that?"
"I have my sources."
"We were talking about Katrina. About how annoying she was. Marcus didn't like her either. She was always ordering him around. We were saying we hoped she'd mess up her lines and maybe fall down on stage. But we didn't mean it, not really." So that answered that.
I thanked him and left. As I went out the gate, I heard Jaylen grilling Bradley about what we'd talked about. From what I could tell, Bradley was doing his best to brush him off.
It wasn't until I was driving home a few hours later that it hit me. What about Marcus? I hadn't even considered him until that second. Who better to tamper with the spinning wheel than the stagehand? I was so excited I almost drove off the road. I had myself another suspect.
* * *
That evening, I paced around my cottage, congratulating myself for getting some sustained exercise. So, Bradley had a girlfriend, and this went against his parents' wishes. Plus, Yasmin was underage. Maybe Katrina found out about the relationship, and, nasty little thing that she was, she threatened to tell on Bradley and Yasmin to their parents if Bradley didn't do what she wanted, which was probably sleep with her. Because neither of those choices was appealing to him, Bradley murdered her. But where would he have gotten the curare? And he'd seemed sincere when he told me he wouldn't kill anyone. I just didn't think it was him. But Marcus! I would have to talk to him ASAP. Maybe he had a pretty little motive for killing the pretty little star.
* * *
The next morning, I called Donna and asked if she wanted to jog before work. Inspired by my bit of exercise the night before, I'd decided I'd join Tim for the Springdale Sprint after all. But I had to start training right away.
After dead silence that went on for a number of seconds, Donna agreed, but it seemed as though she was waiting for a punch line I didn't deliver. She apparently doubted my sincerity.
We met up inside the park a half hour later. Donna looked adorable in pink shorts, pink running shoes, and a white racerback bra, which accentuated her lovely figure. I wore baggy sweat shorts and a sweatshirt over my regular bra to hide my not-so-lovely figure.
"Ready?" Donna asked, and we set off on a path around the perimeter of the park. I'd chosen StoryWorld as our running venue for two reasons: one, no one would see us, and two, we'd have a bit of familiar scenery and could check on the animals at the same time.
We'd traveled about two hundred yards before I was huffing and puffing. Fittingly, we were very close to The Three Little Pi
gs set at the time.
"Got…to…stop," I breathed, and we stood in place. I stood in place. Donna jogged in place.
"Already? We only just started." Donna's voice was perfectly steady, as though she'd been sitting watching television instead of jogging.
"Maybe we should work up to this." How could Donna be so fit? She and Charlie went for walks in the evenings, but walking and jogging weren't the same thing. "Let's start out with a brisk walk."
Off we set again, moving at a fast clip but not jogging. Once more, I ran out of breath after only a short time but decided I just needed to distract myself. In halting sentences, I told Donna about Bradley and Yasmin and about what Bradley and Marcus were whispering a few days before the murder.
Before I completely collapsed, I finished my thought process. "So, Bradley's out. But Marcus is in. I don't know why I didn't think of the stagehand before! I don't know what his motive would be, besides him not liking the way she bossed him around, but I'll talk to him."
"Actually, he's not in."
I stopped short and stared at her.
"Come on. Keep going," Donna urged, and I started walking again.
"Why? Why wouldn't he be a suspect? He's perfect. He was around the spinning wheel all the time. He's probably the one who brought it onstage and backstage. All he had to do was take an extra moment to break off the plastic cover and smear the poison on the spindle. Sure, there's the whole thing with getting the curare, but that's going to be a problem for everyone."
"He has an alibi. He was sick. Remember how Julie wasn't feeling great? We were all worried she'd get really sick and the actors would too?"
I nodded.
"Marcus is Julie's brother. He did get sick. He wasn't there the day before the performance or on Saturday. So it couldn't have been him."
"Darn." I stopped again.
"Come on, Ashling, just a little farther."
The Princess and the Poison Page 8