Much Ado About Murder

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “The worst thing, though,” said Charlotte, “is when someone younger, and better looking, is getting all the attention that used to be yours.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But his contract is just until the end of this run, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes. Why?” She gave Charlotte a sharp look.

  “I saw something in him today that made me wonder. I asked myself how badly he wanted this job.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  Charlotte sighed and let out a long, slow breath. “Okay, I’ll just come right out and say it. I wonder if he wanted that job bad enough to kill Edmund to get it.”

  Paula Van Dusen stopped walking and turned to Charlotte. “But he couldn’t possibly have known that if Edmund were out of the way, we would offer the job to him. For all he knew, we could have had someone else in mind.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Charlotte. “I think he left the interview with us confident he was going to be offered that job, and then Edmund entered the picture and the opportunity Wade wanted so badly was snatched away from him and handed to Edmund. He had to have been bitterly disappointed. But he knew we were short on time, so he might have thought that if somehow, Edmund was no longer in the picture, he’d be in with a chance and we’d offer the director’s position to him after all.”

  “Which is exactly what we did,” said Paula. “He knew how desperate we were.”

  “What he couldn’t have known, though, is that the board would want the Civil War version to go ahead. He wasn’t happy about that in the beginning.”

  They had reached the director’s bungalow, and both turned their attention to it.

  “Of course, the bungalow’s going to have to be done up,” said Charlotte. “Nobody will want to live there after what happened.”

  “That’ll be up to Nancy and Harvey,” said Paula firmly. “I’m not doing it.”

  Charlotte peered closer at the building. “Does that door look open to you?”

  Paula took a few steps toward it. “I think it is,” she said.

  Charlotte put Rupert on his leash, and the three cautiously approached the bungalow. Charlotte handed Rupert’s leash to Paula, quietly opened the screen door and, with her fingertips, pushed the wooden door all the way open. She crossed the kitchen and entered the sitting room. The curtains had been opened, washing the room in a pale light, and a figure in a gray suit emerged from the bedroom.

  “Hello, Nancy,” said Charlotte.

  “Charlotte! What are you doing here? You startled me.”

  “We saw the door was open, so we just came in to check. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes, of course it is. I was just taking a look around the place. We’re going to have to decide what’s to be done with it.”

  “Mrs. Van Dusen and I were just talking about that as we were passing.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to spend money we haven’t got fixing it up,” said Nancy, her sallow face tight with annoyance. “At the very least, everything will have to be professionally cleaned and painted. That man left everything in a terrible state, not to mention what the police did. The problems he’s caused us.”

  “Some furniture will have to be replaced too,” said Charlotte, tipping her head in the direction of the sofa, now hidden under a sheet, upon which Edmund Albright’s body had been found. Traces of blood on the wall behind it were still visible.

  “You seemed upset by the news that the play was going to be done in the Civil War style,” said Charlotte. “How are you feeling about that now?”

  “What’s it matter how I feel? I’ve got nothing to do with the theater operation. I did think, though,” she said as she dropped a couple of throw cushions into a bag, “that once that awful man was gone, things would go back to normal.”

  “Back to normal?” asked Paula, who had entered the room with Rupert.

  “Back to the way things used to be. With the plays being performed the way they should be.” She glared at Charlotte, unable to risk meeting Paula’s gaze. “But if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, don’t look at me, and don’t say you weren’t warned. Still, I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

  Chapter 25

  Saturday morning, Charlotte and Rupert returned from their first walk of the day to find Ray seated at the kitchen table sipping a coffee. The morning was bright and clear, with a definite nip of autumn in the air. Charlotte slipped off her jacket and wrapped her arms around Ray while Rupert trotted off to his water bowl.

  “Did you have a busy shift?” she asked. “You look tired.”

  “You look beautiful.” Charlotte laughed. “No, really, you do. That fresh air makes your skin, oh, I don’t know, but you just look lovely.” Charlotte placed her cool face next to his, and he held her for a moment. He released her, then pushed a copy of the New York Times on the table closer to her. “You mentioned that article about Audrey Ashley is in today’s paper, so I brought a copy home for you.”

  “Oh, that’s great, thank you.” Rupert walked over and stood beside her, wagging his bottom encouragingly. “Yes, Rupert,” she said to him, “I haven’t forgotten you.” She prepared his breakfast, then poured a cup of coffee for herself, picked up the newspaper, and pulled out the arts section. “Now let’s see how she did.”

  “What do you mean, how she did?”

  “Well, is she section front or buried inside? How newsworthy is she?” She unfolded the newspaper on the table. “Oh, she will be pleased. And Maxine will be even happier, as she’s the one who arranged this. She’s not just Audrey’s manager, she’s also her sister, remember.”

  “Oh. Like a stage mother, you mean? Full of ambition for her talented child?”

  “Yes. Full of ambition for her talented sibling.”

  Ray yawned and stood up. “Well, I’m off to get some sleep. I’ll leave you to read in peace. Man, I hate working nights. I’ll be glad when Phil gets back from vacation and I can go back to working days.”

  Charlotte made a little murmur of having heard him but did not look up. The article, written in Fletcher Macmillan’s ingratiating style that apparently even the best newspaper editors found difficult to tame, described the Ashley family history in glowing terms, bordering on the obsequious. But to give them their due, they were exceptionally accomplished. Charlotte couldn’t think of a similar family today they could be compared to. Macmillan outlined the great acting family’s history: father Sir James Ashley’s stature as one of the great British theater knights; mother Mary, the prolific novelist and screen writer; elder daughter Maxine’s accomplishments in theater production before taking on the role of her sister’s manager; and finally Audrey’s childhood fame that she had sustained into her adult years.

  Charlotte took a sip of tepid coffee and thought about the family dynamics. She guessed Maxine was fifteen or sixteen years older than Audrey, who had come along as one of those surprise babies born to parents who assumed their reproductive years were behind them. Audrey must have been highly prized, with the whole family lavishing her with attention and praise and, ultimately, setting aside their own career aspirations to support hers. According to the article, her career had started slowly, then came a lucky break, and finally she and her father had been cast in the same film, and although he was a serious actor of international standing, it was his little girl who commanded the spotlight. The British media went crazy for her, as only they can.

  Charlotte folded the arts section of the newspaper, glanced at the headlines and scanned a few articles in the other sections, then put the paper to one side. Rupert, curled up in his basket, watched her through lazy eyes, waiting to see what would happen next. Charlotte wasn’t sure herself, but something in that article bothered her. She reopened the newspaper to the story, carefully tore the paper along the centerfold, and removed the page. After folding it and setting it to one side, she called Paula Van Dusen and, an hour later, was in her office.

  *

  Charlotte
stood at the whiteboard, a black marker in her hand, facing Paula, who was seated on the butterscotch-colored leather sofa, one arm around Coco and the other around Rupert.

  WHO KILLED EDMUND ALBRIGHT? Charlotte had printed in capital letters across the board. Underneath the heading she set up two columns, titled “Suspect” and “Motive.”

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” Charlotte began. “Or rather, the end, and go over what we know. Edmund Albright went to a dinner party here at Oakland and returned home to the hotel with the rest of the party. He was seen safely to his bungalow and discovered shot to death the next morning by Audrey Ashley and me. The authorities have determined his death a likely suicide, yet we know of no reason why he would do that . . . In fact, the opposite. According to Brian Prentice, who knew him in London, Edmund was pleased to be here with our theater company and saw this opportunity as an important and useful stepping-stone in his career. We didn’t see any indication that he was depressed or in a suicidal state of mind. He didn’t say anything to anyone that would have indicated he was contemplating such a thing. Even his mother thought it unlikely he would commit suicide. She went so far as to write to us, to tell us so, and ask for our help. And what’s more, he didn’t leave a note.

  “Now let’s list our suspects and their motives. We’ll start with Mattie.”

  Charlotte turned away to write on the board, then turned back to face Paula, in response to her question: “Mattie?”

  “We have to include everyone,” Charlotte said. “Everyone who could possibly have done it, even if we don’t care for the possibility that someone we like could have been involved. And that includes Mattie.”

  “And her motive was . . .”

  “Sexual.” Paula raised her eyebrows. “I know. It seemed like he was only here five minutes but he did have his way with her, or however it happened. Mattie immediately regretted it, of course, and she felt he’d taken advantage of her.”

  “I should think so.”

  “And I’m sorry I betrayed her confidence in telling you that, but I know you won’t let it go any further. But there’s another reason why she might have killed Edmund. She was angry with him about casting. She wanted him to consider her for the role of Beatrice, but he explained to her that was impossible, that Audrey had been contracted for the role. Still, Mattie could have been angry enough at him over both issues to kill him.”

  “Now who’s next?”

  “Well, an obvious one would be Wade Radcliffe.” Charlotte wrote his name down. “Right. With Edmund out of the way, as we’ve already discussed, there was a possibility he would be offered the job he wanted.”

  “But only a possibility,” said Paula. “Would he kill another human being on the off chance of being offered the director’s job?”

  “He might. People kill for a variety of reasons, and one of them is that someone’s got something that somebody else wants.” Paula repeated her words. “Yes,” said Charlotte. “Like a wife, or a large sum of money.”

  “Or a Maltese falcon.”

  “Exactly! Now who’s next?”

  “What about Nancy?”

  “Nancy. Nothing is more important to her than the hotel. If she thought the Civil War production would lead to the hotel losing business or being associated with a performance that was ridiculed, she might have bumped off Edmund in the hope that common sense would prevail and the hotel’s reputation salvaged,” said Charlotte.

  “Yes, and she’s been through some hard financial times, so she wouldn’t want the hotel’s bookings to drop off to the point where she got laid off again. Another job could be hard to get at her age,” said Paula. “So she had a motive. Now we have to find out if she had the opportunity.”

  “Well, you said she used to walk home for lunch, so she lives close enough to the hotel that she could have walked over later that night, after your dinner party, and confronted Edmund.” Charlotte placed an asterisk beside her name.

  “And now we come to Audrey,” said Paula.

  “And I think we have to include Maxine,” said Charlotte, adding their names to the list. “They could have done it separately, I suppose, but it seems more likely that if one of them did it, they were both involved.”

  “Or maybe not,” said Paula. “We’d better keep an open mind about those two.”

  “So what’s our hypothesis?” asked Charlotte. “I’ve heard Ray talk about this. Sometimes the police formulate a scenario of how something might have happened and then test it with evidence. If the evidence doesn’t fit, they have to change the hypothesis.”

  “Well, our hypothesis is that someone came to Edmund’s bungalow after the dinner party, and it would have been late, after everyone was asleep. And they argued, and Edmund had found the gun that Simon left behind, and whoever the visitor was got hold of the gun and killed him with it.”

  “So I think we have to include Barnes here,” said Charlotte. “He adored Audrey. What if he’d come back later that night and seen or heard Edmund mistreating Audrey and rushed in to protect her, saw the gun, and in a moment of craziness, grabbed it and shot Edmund?”

  “Yes,” said Paula. “Much as I don’t like the idea, I suppose we have to include him too.”

  Charlotte added Barnes’s name to the list and then stood back and folded her arms, and the two of them contemplated the names on the board.

  “So where do we go from here?” Paula asked.

  Charlotte handed her the clipping from the New York Times. “Did you see the story in the Times? Fletcher Macmillan did a good job, actually. And he told me that he had done a lot of research and had really good source material, so I’m going to ask him to lend it to me. We might find something that will point us in the right direction.” She checked her watch. “Sorry. I’d best be off. We’ve got another dress rehearsal tonight.”

  “Why don’t I call Fletcher Macmillan and see if I can get hold of that material? If he agrees, I can send Barnes to pick it up this evening, and we can go through it tomorrow morning. Shall we say eleven?”

  “Perfect. I’m sure he’ll hand it over to you without expecting a favor in return. I would have had to come up with something. He always expects a trade-off from me.”

  “Oh, speaking of a favor, I might be able to find out something about Nancy. She called to ask me if I knew of any work going for that niece of hers. Remember she told us she has a niece staying with her? I could talk to the niece about a job and then see if she can confirm that Nancy was at home all night when Edmund was killed. If she was, we can cross Nancy off our list.”

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Rupert hopped out of the back seat of the Rolls-Royce and raced around the side of the house. The front door opened, and Paula, glasses around her neck on a black cord and wearing a pale-pink sweater set with a pair of gray flannel trousers, welcomed Charlotte.

  “Rupert’s just gone ’round the side of the house,” Charlotte said. “I expect he’s looking for Ned.”

  “He’ll be fine. Ned’s out there with Coco, and he’ll look after both of them. He really enjoys having them around, and when he thinks it’s time for them to come in, he’ll bring them ’round to the kitchen. Come on in, and let’s get started.”

  She led the way to her office, and they seated themselves at the table.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” Charlotte asked as she slipped off her jacket and hung it on the back of a chair.

  “Nothing that struck me as significant,” said Paula. “Fletcher’s certainly accumulated a lot of material.” She gestured at the table. “Books, newspaper articles off the Internet going way back, lots of family history, interviews with her parents. It’s all there. I didn’t realize Fletcher Macmillan did so much research.”

  “There was something that struck me in his article in the Times,” said Charlotte. “He mentioned that when she was a child, Audrey was the understudy in some production or other and then caught what Fletcher described as a ‘lucky break’ and was moved into t
he leading role. Did you see anything about that anywhere?”

  Paula shook her head. “No, but there might be something in here.” She handed Charlotte a book on Britain’s theatrical families from Fletcher’s research material. Charlotte took it to the sofa and flipped it open to the section on the Ashleys, which had been marked with a yellow sticky note. Paula continued to sift through the documents on the table.

  “Here it is,” said Charlotte a few minutes later. “A production of Peter Pan. The young actress playing Wendy was injured during a dress rehearsal, and Audrey was given the role. Doesn’t provide much detail, though.” She looked up from the book. “But there’s significance in the timing. The little girl was injured at a dress rehearsal, so it would have been Audrey in the role on opening night, when all the critics were there and the reviews were being written.”

  Paula got up from the table and sat beside her. “Let me see.” She read the brief passage and then looked at Charlotte.

  “It looks eerily like what happened to Mattie.”

  “I’m not sure if it means anything or not, but we’ll make a note of it in case it turns out to be important. I can’t see how it could, but Ray told me police always look for patterns. Things that recur. Because if something worked once, people often try it again. And again, and that’s how they get caught.”

  Before Paula could reply, they were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the door opening. Rupert rushed in, with Coco chasing him. A smiling young woman entered last. She set a tray on the table with a pot of fresh coffee and two chocolate croissants.

  “Fresh from Bentley’s,” she said. “Barnes picked them up this morning.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Charlotte, writing on the whiteboard. “When I was clearing out Edmund’s belongings, I found a receipt from Bentley’s for two coffees and a chocolate croissant in the pocket of his jacket.”