“Well, I’m sure the authorities will get to the bottom of it,” said Paula. “We just wanted to let you know what happened.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” His voice seemed distracted, as if his mind was already elsewhere, mulling over what he’d just been told.
“We’ll let you go now, Brian. Take care of yourself.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Right. Will do. And do keep me informed of developments, will you?”
Paula pressed the button to end the call. “What do you make of that?”
“Interesting. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what the police have to say, but I thought the same about Edmund as Brian did. He was enthusiastic. Had an energy about him in rehearsals that the cast seemed to be picking up on. And speaking of the cast, they’ll have seen the police tape around his bungalow and wonder what’s going on. The grapevine will be going wild. Someone’s got to let everyone in the company know what’s happened.”
“Well, that would be you. Who else is there? As I said earlier, you’re the most senior staff member, the one everybody knows and trusts.”
“In that case, then, let’s ask Wade to join us. He can talk about the production. We’ll need to get onto him right away so he can prepare. I’ll ask Aaron to call an emergency meeting of the cast and crew. Let’s say four o’clock this afternoon in the theater. And we should see if Ray’s available to answer questions and reassure them. Maybe he’ll even be able to give us an update.”
Chapter 13
Just before four, the cast and crew of the Catskills Shakespeare Theater Company filed into the theater and took their seats. There was no good-natured chatter or jostling; they just moved quietly, filling the rows. Audrey had taken a seat in the front row, and Mattie sat in an aisle seat in the second row. Everyone remained silent, respectful, and expectant. Four chairs had been arranged on the stage.
At four o’clock on the dot, Charlotte led Ray, Paula Van Dusen, and Wade Radcliffe onstage. They’d had a brief chat a few minutes earlier and had settled on a speaking order. Ray, Paula, and Wade sat as Charlotte took her place at the edge of the stage.
“Thank you for coming,” she began. “There’s no way to sugarcoat this, so I’m just going to get right to it. You probably saw a lot of police activity here today, and I’m sure you’ve heard some rumors. So I’m sorry to have to tell you that our director, Edmund Albright, was found dead in his bungalow this morning.” She paused, but the gasps of surprise and dismay she had expected did not come. At that moment, the back door of the theater opened and local reporter Fletcher Macmillan scuttled down the aisle. He slid into a seat behind the cast and crew members and nodded at Charlotte to continue. Incensed that he was here at all, had arrived late, and then in effect had given her permission to continue speaking at her own meeting, she took a calming breath and continued.
“The police are investigating the cause of death, and that’s why our local police chief, Ray Nicholson, is here. He’s also here because he’s a member of our community. You all know Ray. He sometimes works our prompt desk during performances, and he lives here in the grounds of the hotel with, well, me.” Ray took his place beside her, and she looked at him gratefully and touched his arm. “Ray,” she said simply and stepped back and took a seat beside Paula.
“We answered a call midmorning that a deceased person with a gunshot wound had been found in the director’s bungalow,” he said. “The Criminal Investigation Bureau of the state police were called in, and they’ve taken over the investigation. Although the body hasn’t been formally identified, we are confident it is that of Edmund Albright. Cause of death hasn’t been determined, and at this point, we aren’t prepared to discuss the circumstances under which he died.” In response, the crowd murmured and a hand shot up.
“What’s your best guess?” a young actor asked.
“Sorry, not going to speculate about that,” Ray replied. “But we should know more soon, and when we do, the details will be released through the appropriate channels. When we know, you’ll know.” Charlotte’s eyes wandered over the group and came to rest on Fletcher Macmillan. She had no idea who had informed him of the meeting but now realized it might be good that he was here. He could get all his questions answered, and they’d only have to go through this once. Fletcher scribbled down Ray’s response and then looked up from his notebook, waiting for the next newsworthy item. He was saving his questions for the end.
“But do you think any of us are in any danger?” asked an elderly actress.
“No,” said Ray. “There’s no reason to think that. But of course you should observe all the usual precautions. Be careful walking alone at night and make sure your doors are locked.” He scanned the group, his eyes coming to rest on Fletcher Macmillan. “Any other questions?”
When no one responded, he gave a little nod and then sat beside Charlotte as Paula stood up and took her place at the front of the stage. She introduced herself as the theater’s board chair and then discussed the major issue facing the company.
“And because it’s vitally important to the viability of the company that the show does go on, Wade Radcliffe has agreed to step in as our new director. I know this is not an ideal situation for you. He’s the third director to work on this project, and that brings all kinds of creative and logistical problems, but I have to ask you to work with him. You’re all professionals, and I know that you’ll do what it takes to get Much Ado About Nothing up and running. Oh, and by the way, I spoke to Brian Prentice earlier this afternoon. He’s doing well and sends his best regards to everybody.” A smatter of light applause broke out at the mention of their former colleague’s name. “Right, well, let me introduce you to your new director, Wade Radcliffe.” She listed his accomplishments and then, after inviting him to speak to the cast and crew he’d be working with, extended a welcoming hand in his direction.
Wade strolled toward the edge of the stage, folded his arms, and took a moment to make eye contact with the audience before speaking.
“I’m sorry we have to get to know one another under these unfortunate circumstances,” he began. His voice easily filled the theater, and his words revealed a trace of a Boston accent. “But this is the way it is. None of us wants to see this theater—or any other theater, for that matter—dark. So we have to find a way to work together to get this play ready for opening night. Opening night can’t be postponed. It’s going to take long hours of rehearsals. Some scenes, like the aborted wedding between Hero and Claudio, are going to require more time than others. I hope you’re all well rested and have your lines down, because we start tomorrow. I’ll post a schedule this evening. There won’t be time for prima donna behavior. We’re not going to worry too much about blocking at this point. It should become obvious during rehearsals who’s going to stand where. I’m asking you to give me your best from the beginning. All of us have to work together to make this happen.”
He paused for a moment, and when a hand went up, he continued. “I haven’t finished speaking yet. When I’m done, I’ll take questions, and anyway, I think I know what you were just about to ask. I’m coming to that. The board of directors has decreed that we must continue with the Civil War theme. I’m not in favor of it, I’ll tell you that right now, but those are our instructions, and we must make the best of it.”
From her onstage viewpoint, facing the audience, Charlotte could see their facial expressions change from a neutral blankness to puzzlement to open surprise. A couple of mouths in the front row were shaped into round little Os. Beside her, Paula Van Dusen stiffened, then shielded her eyes from the lights to see the audience better.
“And now’s the time for questions,” Wade Radcliffe announced. “Anybody?”
Audrey raised her hand, and Wade acknowledged her.
“Will you be making any casting changes?” Off to her left, Mattie Lane perked up.
“No. We don’t have time for you to learn new lines.”
Frowning, Mattie sank back into her seat and whi
spered something to the actor sitting beside her. He gave a little shrug, and Mattie turned her attention back to the stage.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, let’s leave it there for now,” said Wade. “I’m looking forward to working with you and putting on the best version possible of this great play.”
Fletcher Macmillan stood up. “Did you have a chance to talk to the previous director about the Civil War theme, Wade?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“How do you feel about getting this job under these circumstances?”
“My pleasure at being here is tempered by my regret and sadness that I was offered this opportunity because of the unfortunate death of a young director who was showing signs of great promise. A great loss to the theater.”
“Tempered by regret and sadness?” That sounds like the carefully crafted rubbish a public relations person would write, thought Charlotte. Wade certainly didn’t come up with that off the top of his head. Macmillan scribbled it all down and then flipped the page of his notebook.
“If there are no more questions, we’ll leave it there for now,” Wade repeated. “And I’ll see everyone bright and early tomorrow, ready to go, in the rehearsal room. Remember, check the schedule this evening so you don’t miss your call.”
Macmillan waved his notebook. “Just one more question. For the police chief. Has the deceased’s family been notified?”
“Yes,” said Ray, getting to his feet. “They have.”
As the company began to file out, Wade faced Ray, Charlotte, and Paula.
“Well, I think that went well, don’t you?” he asked, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses on his shirt.
Paula turned to Ray and Charlotte. “I’m going to need a moment alone with Mr. Radcliffe,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll meet you at your bungalow in a few minutes.”
Ray took Charlotte’s hand, and the two of them disappeared behind the curtains and offstage. When Charlotte slowed, Ray pulled her forward. “No you don’t,” he said. “No listening. Come on. We’re leaving.”
When the auditorium was empty, Paula turned to Wade. “This will just take a minute, and then you can be on your way. You have a rehearsal schedule to prepare, I believe. Now then. How do I think this meeting with the cast and crew went? It could have gone better. You could have done more to reassure them and get them on side. I don’t think you made too many friends. And in the future, please don’t speak of the board of this theatrical company in such disparaging terms. It was very wrong of you to tell the cast that you disagreed with the board’s decision about the Civil War theme.”
Radcliffe opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t shape the words and closed it again.
“Now, look, Wade,” Paula continued with a softening of her previously imperious tone, “you’ve been given this opportunity under difficult circumstances, and we appreciate your stepping in like this to help us out. But we really need this relationship to work. So let’s just put this behind us and move on. And let’s all get on the same page. Maybe you could bring a little enthusiasm to the first rehearsal so everyone picks up on that from you. And you know, we weren’t so keen on the Civil War idea at first, either, but it kind of grows on you.” She gave him an encouraging smile and touched his upper arm. “Think about it and give it a chance.”
“Could I just say something?”
“Of course.”
“I’m truly sorry about Albright. He was young. A great shame. And when he died, I thought you might ask me to step in and help out, and I was happy to be given this opportunity. But I didn’t think for one minute that I would be asked to put on his vision of the play. It’s incredibly difficult for a director to pick up someone else’s thoughts and make it happen. You have to believe in what you’re doing, and frankly, I’m not sure that I do. But you know how much this job means to me, and how much I wanted it, so I’ll gladly do whatever I’m asked to do.”
*
“Well, what did you think?” asked Ray as he held the back door of the hotel open for Charlotte.
“It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? Most of them are actors, so they can hide their true feelings a little better than the rest of us. They seemed shocked when Wade told them he didn’t like the Civil War idea but that he was prepared to hold his nose and get on with it.”
“Or words to that effect.”
“Paula obviously wasn’t pleased with Wade’s remarks. I expect she’s taking him to task now.” Ray unlocked the bungalow and Charlotte leaned over to greet Rupert. “I’m going to walk Rupert back to the hotel to meet Paula. She’ll be more than ready for a G&T, so why don’t you sort out the drinks?”
Paula and Wade were emerging from the hotel just as Rupert and Charlotte reached the graveled parking area. Wade and Paula exchanged a handshake, and then, with a vague wave in Charlotte’s direction, Wade headed for his car. Paula reached Charlotte, gave Rupert a pat, and straightened up.
“Well?” said Charlotte.
She let out a little moan of exasperation. “What’s that English expression you have? ‘I could murder a drink.’ Well, I could.”
“Ray’s fixing it for you right now.”
When they reached the bungalow, Charlotte unclipped Rupert’s leash, and the three made their way around to the front of the structure where Ray was waiting. He held out a frosty glass with a napkin wrapped around the base to Paula.
When they were seated, Paula took an appreciative sip and then addressed Ray.
“There is something we need to talk about, and that’s the director’s bungalow. Fortunately, we don’t need it just now because Wade lives locally, but at some point, it’ll need to be cleaned and made habitable. How long before the police turn it over to us?”
“A few more days. The body’s been removed, but they’ll do more tests.”
“I expect Harvey will have to hire one of those companies that specialize in, ah, delicate cleaning jobs,” said Charlotte. “There will be . . . what do they call it?”
“Biohazardous material,” Ray answered.
“And I guess there will be a lot of formality and legality around his death,” said Paula.
“There’s a lot of legality around any death,” said Ray.
“What I meant was, will a family member have to come from England to identify the body?”
“Audrey might be able to do that. She knew him previously. And then all his effects will have to be packaged for return to his next of kin or estate.”
“Are the police any closer to determining if it was suicide?” Charlotte asked.
“Autopsy in the morning should help with that,” he replied. Paula and Charlotte exchanged a quick glance that Ray picked up on. “What?”
“We don’t think he committed suicide,” said Charlotte. “He was too excited and happy to be here. Was there a note?”
“No,” said Ray. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People don’t always leave a note.”
When Paula had gone, Charlotte looked at the empty glass she’d set down on the table and sighed.
“She lives so elegantly, Paula does. Lunch today was so lovely. Delicious food, beautiful surroundings, fresh flowers from her own gardens. Everything was just perfect. I wonder sometimes what she thinks when she comes here. How shabby it must all seem. And now, with Edmund’s death, rather sordid.”
Chapter 14
The nights were drawing in, and it was dark by the time Charlotte and Ray returned from dinner at the Thai restaurant.
With the lights of the hotel behind them and in the semirural setting, the sky on this clear, cool night was visible in a way most city dwellers never get to see. A firmament, filled with an infinite number of glittering stars against a sea of black velvet, twinkled above them, and a waning crescent moon hung low in the sky. Soft, ambient sounds, broken only by the swish of an occasional vehicle on the nearby two-lane highway, enveloped them. Wrapped up in each other, hand in hand, their bodies close together, they walked down
the little path that led to Charlotte’s bungalow. She still thought of it as “her bungalow” and referred to it as “her bungalow,” but it increasingly felt like “their bungalow.”
Charlotte unlocked the door, greeted Rupert, and clipped on his leash. She handed this to Ray, who walked off into the night with him. Charlotte closed the door behind them, put the food she’d brought home in the fridge, and set out two brandy snifters. She poured two small drinks and took them through to the sitting room to await his return.
*
The ringing of his phone jolted Ray awake. His adrenalin pumping as he picked it up off the nightstand, he gently pulled the covers back and eased out of bed, trying not to wake Charlotte.
“What is it, Phil?” he whispered into his phone as he slipped into the hallway. He listened for a moment, then returned to the bedroom. As an on-call police officer, he always left his uniform where he could find it in a hurry, in the dark.
Charlotte stirred as he gathered up his clothing.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. “What’s happening? Are you going out?”
“Yeah, sorry. Got a callout,” he said. “I tried not to wake you.”
“But you’re not on call tonight,” she protested. “Why do you have to go? Why can’t Phil go?”
“The caller asked for me,” he said, “and I’m closer.”
Clutching the bedclothes to her chest, Charlotte, now wide awake, sat up, switched on the lamp, and checked the time on her bedside clock.
“Ray! What’s happening? It’s two o’clock.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “We got a call that there might be a prowler in the hotel grounds. It’s probably nothing, but I’ve got to check it out. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to go back to sleep.”
“Who phoned?” Ray didn’t answer as he finished buttoning his shirt. Charlotte repeated the question and then answered it herself. “It was Audrey, wasn’t it?”
Ray grunted an affirmative as he put on his boots.
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