“That doesn’t sound important,” said Paula. “Everybody knows Bentley’s has delicious pastries. You can barely get through the door on Sunday mornings.”
“I think Edmund was at Bentley’s with Audrey. We know she doesn’t eat sweets, which is why there’s just the one croissant on the receipt.”
“I don’t see any significance in that,” said Paula. “So what if they went out for a coffee?”
Charlotte reviewed the notes on the whiteboard.
“Still, I’d like to speak to someone at Bentley’s. They’re probably too busy this morning.”
“Later this afternoon would be better,” agreed Paula. “It’s the late morning rush, and then they’ll be into the lunch service.”
“Speaking of lunch, it’s time I was heading home. Ray’s working nights, and he’ll be up soon. We don’t see all that much of each other during the week, so it’d be nice to spend a bit of time together this afternoon.”
“Does he know about this?” Paula gestured at the whiteboard.
“No. I’ve urged him to ask the state police to take another look at the case, but he says they won’t do that just because somebody like me disagrees with their findings or says it doesn’t feel right. He said if new evidence turned up, that would be different.”
“Well, maybe we can find something that would convince them to take another look.”
“Maybe we can. About Bentley’s—second thought. Would you be free to meet there for coffee tomorrow morning about eleven? That’s the time stamp on the receipt, so we if we go then, there’s a chance we could talk to the same server who looked after Edmund and Audrey, if that’s who he was with.”
“Let me check.” Paula removed the elastic band from her bulging engagement diary and flipped a page. “Tomorrow’s fine.” She made a note in the planner. “Do you think we accomplished anything this morning?”
“I think so,” Charlotte replied slowly. “Lots to think about, but it all seems disorganized up here.” She tapped her temple. “But here”—she pointed at the whiteboard—“it helps to lay it all out in a visual way. And hopefully, if we ask the right questions, we’ll get a clearer picture of what happened.”
As Charlotte gathered up her belongings and clipped Rupert on his leash, Paula remarked, “I’m expecting Belinda this afternoon.” Belinda, Paula’s only child, had been about to marry a high-flying Manhattan real estate agent in June when the wedding had to be suddenly postponed. The couple then set a Christmas date, but for several reasons, Belinda had decided to call that one off too.
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Charlotte.
“Oh, it’s off again,” said Paula cheerfully. “And let’s hope it stays off.”
*
Ray was seated at the kitchen table drinking coffee when Charlotte and Rupert returned. His hair was still wet and tousled from the shower, and he was dressed in his uniform.
“Why are you dressed?” Charlotte asked over her shoulder as she changed the water in Rupert’s water bowl. “Are you going in early? I was looking forward to us spending some time together this afternoon. We need to talk about what we’re going to do about the trip to England.”
“I’m not going in for a while. We can talk about that. In fact, I’d love to talk about that.”
Charlotte slid into the seat beside him and reached for his hand. “We should go. I’ll talk to Wade tomorrow and let him know we’re going. I’m not going to ask if it’s okay. I’m entitled to time off and I’m going to take it. Aaron can keep a lid on things here.”
Ray put his arm around her. “Tell me what dates you want and I’ll book the flight.”
“I’ll let you know later today.” She pulled back and gave him a luminous smile.
“Happy?”
“Very. But I’d be a bit happier if you had the rest of the day off and we could go somewhere.”
“Phil’s due back in a few days and the shifts will be back to normal,” he reassured her. “I can’t wait. We were really busy last night. Picked up an underage driver speeding in a car packed with teenagers. They’d all been drinking. The driver’s facing some really serious charges.” He drained the last of his coffee. “I almost feel sorry for people who wake up in a police cell with a massive hangover, wondering how the hell they got into this mess and how they’re going to get out of it. And of course, in this case, we’ve got some very upset parents to deal with.”
Charlotte didn’t hear the last couple of sentences. Her gaze shifted away from Ray to the window. She stared at the river, unseeing, while she tried to make sense of what he’d just said. Something had rung a little bell in the back of her mind. Serious Charges.
Chapter 27
Warm air, fragrant with the aroma of freshly ground coffee, greeted Charlotte as she entered Bentley’s Bistro. The busy breakfast period, when people dashed in to grab a coffee and bagel or muffin, was over, and lunch service had not yet begun. Just a few tables were occupied, including one beside the window where Paula Van Dusen waited for her.
Paula gave her a welcoming smile as Charlotte slid into the seat opposite her.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” said Paula. “It looks much better now. It used to be so dark and dreary.”
They chatted for a couple of minutes until their server arrived. Dressed in black trousers with a white shirt, he appeared to be in his early twenties.
“A latte for me, please,” said Paula.
“I’ll have the same,” said Charlotte. “Oh, and have you got any chocolate croissants? We’ll have one to share, if you’ve got any.”
“We do,” said the server. As he tapped their order into his tablet, Charlotte withdrew two theater publicity photographs from her bag—one of Edmund Albright and the other of Audrey Ashley—and laid them on the table. The server leaned forward to take a closer look at them. “Are they friends of yours, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not exactly friends, no,” said Charlotte. “I work with them. At least, I work with her.” She tapped the photo of Audrey. “Sadly, this man died recently.”
“No way!” said the waiter. “They were in here recently. They both had English accents, which is a bit unusual. That’s why I remembered them. I served them myself.”
“Did you?” said Charlotte. “If you’ve got a minute, we’d like to know what you can remember about them.”
He checked his tablet. “I’ll be right back. Got a few orders ready.”
He returned a few minutes later and placed two lattes, a chocolate croissant, and an extra plate on the table.
“They were in here recently,” he repeated. “Sat over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the rear of the dining room. “I remember them because they were whisper-arguing. That’s what I call it when people argue in here, but they keep their voices down. But you can tell from the body language that they’re having a disagreement. I came to take their order, but they just ignored me, like I wasn’t there. So I waited, like I’m supposed to. It happens all the time. People think waitstaff are invisible and just ignore us.”
Paula and Charlotte exchanged a sharp, hopeful look.
“And can you tell us what they were saying?” Charlotte asked as she cut the croissant in two and placed half on the extra plate and handed it to Paula.
“I don’t remember the exact words, but he said something like, ‘I wonder what poor little Gillian’s parents would have to say about that, not to mention the police,’ and she’s like in a hissy fit and telling him he’s got it all wrong and it was an accident. But now that I think about it, she looked scared.” His eyes met those of the woman glaring at him from behind the counter. “I’d better go. Getting the stink eye from the boss.”
“You’ve been really helpful,” said Charlotte. “Sorry we took up so much of your time. Thank you.”
“No problem.” With a professional smile, he glided away to see to the needs of the customers at a neighboring table.
“Well,” said Paula. “And what do we make of that
?” She took a dainty bite of her croissant.
“We need to find out who poor little Gillian is and what happened to her.”
“I’ve seen that name,” said Paula. “I’m pretty sure it’s mentioned in one of the articles in that pile of clippings Fletcher Macmillan sent over. I can’t remember the last name though. Gillian . . . something?”
Charlotte took out her phone, pulled up Google, and typed in “Audrey Ashley Gillian.” A moment later, a list of possible matches appeared, and she clicked on one. “Gillian Pritchard?”
“That sounds familiar,” said Paula.
Charlotte scanned a newspaper story. “Oh, now, this is interesting. It says here Gillian Pritchard was playing Wendy in a Christmas pantomime version of Peter Pan when she was seriously injured in what was classified as an industrial accident at the theater, and her understudy took over.” She peered at Paula. “You can guess who her understudy was.”
“Young Miss Audrey Ashley.”
“The very same. This is the big career break Fletcher mentioned in his story. Audrey was the understudy for the Wendy role, and when the girl playing Wendy was unable to perform, Audrey took over. Let’s see what else it says.” She took a sip of coffee and continued reading. “Oh, no!”
“What?”
“Gillian died a few months later. She was in hospital and never recovered from her injuries.”
“What on earth happened?”
“A counterweight fell off a catwalk during a dress rehearsal and hit her. She never recovered consciousness.
“And even though the accident happened more than thirty years ago, there would have been strict safety measures in place, especially in a production like that with performers in harnesses on wires for the flying scenes. Which is probably what the counterweights were for.
“There would have been an investigation into the accident, and another inquest after Gillian died. The story was in all the newspapers at the time, and it would certainly have been much talked about in theater circles.”
“So what are you getting at?” Paula said. “Do you think Audrey had something to do with what happened to poor Gillian?” asked Paula. “Is that likely? She was only, what, twelve or thirteen years old at the time.”
“No, not Audrey,” Charlotte replied, “but Maxine is more than ambitious enough for the two of them. And she would have been twenty-five or so. Also, having grown up in a theatrical family and worked in theater production, she would have known her way around a theater, having spent a lot of time there. She could probably go into any backstage area of the theater she liked without anyone taking any notice of her. She might have waited for her chance, climbed up onto the catwalk, and tossed a weight over the side.”
“So where does this leave us? What does it mean? Where do we go from here?” Paula asked.
Charlotte considered her answer before replying.
“I’m not sure where this gets us. Anyway, something that Ray said reminded me that the play that Audrey appeared in that Edmund directed was called Serious Charges. I’ve ordered a copy of it from the Drama Book Shop.” She checked her watch and groaned slightly. “I’d better be thinking about getting to work. We’ve got a performance this afternoon.”
“Before we go, I’ve got something to tell you. I spoke to Nancy’s niece last night. It turns out Sonja Harrison’s looking for a personal assistant, so I’ve put them in touch. I steered the conversation around to how she likes living with her aunt and found a way to ask her about Nancy. The thing is, the niece says Nancy arrived home from the dinner party and didn’t go out again that night.”
“But how would she know?” asked Charlotte. “The niece could have been asleep, Nancy slips out, kills Edmund, and returns home.”
“Well, the niece said she couldn’t get to sleep, so she went downstairs about one o’clock and made some toast, which burned and set off the smoke alarm. Nancy came rushing downstairs in her dressing gown, obviously just woken up.”
Charlotte nodded. “We can rule Nancy out, then.”
“I think we can. And now, how about we run you home,” said Paula, standing up and pulling on a light-blue wool coat. “This has been a most stimulating conversation. Thought provoking. Really makes you think.”
“It certainly does,” said Charlotte as they left the bistro and walked up the street to where Barnes had parked the car. “It’s got me thinking about what happened to Mattie during the dress rehearsal. Is there a connection to what happened to Gillian? I read something once that really stayed with me,” she said slowly, “and I wonder if it applies here.”
Paula raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“‘The explanation for a murder often lies in a previous murder.’”
Chapter 28
Three days later, Aaron arrived in the office holding a small parcel, which he held out to Charlotte.
“This just came for you.”
She thanked him, opened the padded envelope, and pulled out the Serious Charges script. As she thumbed through a few pages, she felt Aaron’s eyes on her and looked up to see him watching her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Are you going to read that now?”
“Yes, I am. Why? Do you need me for something?”
“No. Just wondering if you remembered that it’s opening night tonight, that’s all. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?”
“No thanks, because on second thought, since you’ve done such a wonderful job of getting everything ready for the opening, I’m going to take this home and read it there. I’ll just be an hour or so, and you can always ring me if you need me.”
She tucked the little book in her bag and, a few minutes later, let herself into the bungalow. Rupert greeted her from his basket in the kitchen. She went through to the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa, and opened the book. As she was rearranging the cushions under her head, Rupert joined her, climbed up onto the sofa, and snuggled in. She draped her arm lightly around him and began to read.
An hour and a half later, Charlotte finished the script and closed the book. She knew how the killer had done it—how they’d shot Edmund and made it look like suicide using a simple technique to trick the police forensics teams.
What Charlotte didn’t know was who did it.
“Come on, Rupert, let’s get you out, and then I have to get back to work. Aaron’s not best pleased with me today.”
The morning had started out fair, but menacing clouds now hung over the mountaintops, threatening rain. The fair days of fall had crossed into the cold and blustery days that spoke of the promise of the coming winter. The path to the hotel was littered with dry, brittle leaves that crackled underfoot as she walked to the hotel’s back entrance.
“Everything all right?” she asked Aaron as she entered her office.
He hung a man’s costume on an almost full garment rack before replying. “No problems. I’ve just got to deliver these to the dressing rooms, and then I’m going for lunch. I’ll be getting the props and everything ready backstage this afternoon. Will Ray be doing the prompts tonight?”
“Yes, he will. And what about the after party? Did Nancy ask for your help with that?”
“She ordered all the food and drinks, and the cafeteria people are going to set everything up.”
Charlotte consulted the opening-night list. “And presentation flowers for the leading lady?”
“Mrs. Van Dusen is picking them up and bringing them.”
“Good. Well done, Aaron. Sounds as if we’re in good shape. Oh, and how’s Mattie doing?”
“She’s fine. She can walk okay, but she might have a little trouble with the dance at the end.”
“Well, maybe she won’t be quite as sprightly as usual, but she’ll give it her best, that’s for sure. And I’m sure the cast is filled with all the usual opening-night jitters, but they’ll do us proud. They always do.”
*
Surprisingly, for a production that had got off to such a rocky start and be
en beset with so many problems, the opening-night performance went well. Everyone remembered their lines, entrances and exits were flawless, and Charlotte was delighted that no one tore a costume or split a seam. Maxine, who was dressing Audrey, watched parts of the play from a quiet spot backstage. She spoke to no one, kept out of the way, and scurried back and forth to Audrey’s dressing room to be available when Audrey came offstage.
As the play ended, the curtains swished shut, and the cast took their places onstage for the first curtain call. The curtain opened, and they all joined hands, stepped forward, and bowed. The actors cast in minor roles disappeared into the wings and headed for their dressing rooms while the main characters once again acknowledged the applause. All the actors except Audrey Ashley then exited the stage, leaving her to prepare for her spotlight moment. On her signal, the curtains swung open one last time. Audrey dropped a deep, elegant curtsy, balancing gracefully as she bowed her head and extended her left arm to the audience in an embracing gesture. She held the pose, basking in the applause. As she rose, Paula Van Dusen crossed the stage and gently placed a showstopper cellophane-and-ribbon-wrapped bouquet of ruby-red roses, creamy-white lilies, and purple lisianthus in Audrey’s outstretched arms. And then, with perfect timing, Aaron closed the curtain at the precise moment the applause started to die down, and Maxine rushed onstage to escort Audrey to her dressing room. Audrey thrust the flowers into her hands and, with Maxine trailing behind her, headed for her dressing room. No one spoke to her, but this was not unusual, as many stage performers, actors, and musicians do not like to be approached or spoken to on their way on or off stage.
Charlotte watched them go and then glanced at Paula, who had joined her.
“I think I know how Edmund was murdered,” Charlotte whispered and then added, before Paula could reply, “I’ve got to take care of the costumes now, but I’ll tell you my theory later.”
“Have you told Ray?” Paula asked.
Much Ado About Murder Page 17