“No, I haven’t. I just worked it out this morning and he was at work all day. I want to put everything together and make sure I’ve got all the bits and pieces in place before I tell him.”
“Tell me what?” asked Ray, who had watched the curtain calls from his prompt desk, then spent a few minutes talking to audience members before they left the theater.
“Sorry, got to go,” said Charlotte. “Have to check in the costumes and get items ready for the laundry.” Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black trousers, she faded into the black wing curtains that led to the backstage area, leaving a puzzled Ray in her wake.
“Tell me what?” Ray repeated.
“Oh,” said Paula. “Well, I think she’s planning a little surprise for you. I’m not sure of the details, though. Probably best if she tells you herself.” She looked wildly around the now empty area. “I think I’d better get myself to the rehearsal room and make sure everything’s set up for the after party.”
“Maybe it’s about the trip we’re planning to the UK,” mused Ray.
Chapter 29
“I should circulate,” Paula remarked to Charlotte. “I need to congratulate the cast on behalf of the board, and then we can talk over dinner.”
A section of the hotel’s main restaurant had been set up for the opening-night after party. Soft lighting, white tablecloths on round tables graced with floral centerpieces, and a lavish candlelit buffet created an atmosphere of welcome hospitality.
“This is the nicest after party we’ve ever had,” said Charlotte, admiring the setup. “Usually it’s cheese and crackers and a glass of cheap wine in the rehearsal room. And that’s if we’re lucky.”
“After all the money the theater generates for Harvey Jacobs and everything you’ve been through getting this production up and running, I told him it was the least he could do for the company,” Paula said. “Still, you know what he’s like. It wasn’t easy getting him to agree to put on a spread like this. He doesn’t understand that money spent on hospitality is usually money well spent. And he’s in the hospitality business! Oh, look out! Fletcher Macmillan’s headed our way. Shall I talk to him or will you?”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s you he wants to speak to. And we have to be nice to him, because those research documents he loaned us were really useful.”
“Well, we’ll be nice to him for a little while, anyway.”
Paula, wearing a tailored burgundy-colored evening suit that was neither too dressy nor too casual for the occasion, glided off to speak to Fletcher just as Charlotte’s phone rang. She turned her back on the room and answered it. Ray, who had returned home to see to Rupert, had received a call from the on-duty police officer that there’d been a serious road traffic accident and all officers were needed to assist. Ray assured her that he’d try to make it back to the party but couldn’t make any promises.
Charlotte was mildly disappointed but not surprised. Living with a police officer meant unpredictable hours, and she understood and accepted that. As much as he sometimes wanted to do something, there were times when the job just had to come first.
Actors—their makeup creamed and tissued off and changed into party clothes—accompanied by crew members, trickled, then poured into the restaurant. Everyone was relieved and happy that the first performance of this unusual season was behind them. Paula circled the room, pausing to stop and chat with everyone. She beamed at Mattie, shook hands with Audrey, and thanked and congratulated Wade. Finally satisfied that she’d spoken to everyone, she scooped up two glasses of wine and headed in Charlotte’s direction.
“Let’s sit.” She pointed to a table at the end of the buffet, set back a little from the others, with a reserved sign on it. “I asked them to save this table for me. We should be able to talk here without being overheard. But first, let’s get our food. I’m starving, and you must be too.”
When they were seated, Paula unfolded a napkin onto her lap and picked up her wine glass. “Tell me,” she said.
Charlotte began. “Here’s what I think happened. Remember we talked about Gillian Pritchard and the accident in the theater?” Paula took a sip of wine and nodded. “Right, well, the scrap of conversation that the server at Bentley’s Bistro overheard suggests that either Edmund knew or suspected that Gillian had been deliberately hurt so Audrey, as the understudy, could take over the Wendy role. Unfortunately, this has happened before in the theater, when desperately ambitious people do something terrible to get what they want. I believe the person who dropped the weight off the catwalk was Maxine. And when Edmund threatened to use this knowledge to gain something to his advantage from Audrey, she realized that the only way she could stop him would be to kill him. Not only did she have her career to think of—she’s been cast in a big period drama that’s going to be very popular—but she thinks she’s in with a chance to be named as a dame in the New Year’s Honours list.”
“What’s that mean?”
“In the UK, a damehood is awarded to women like a knighthood is to men. It’s a big deal, and believe me, she wants it. Very badly.”
“So you think Audrey killed Edmund.”
“I think it’s a real possibility, and it makes sense. I think she went ’round to see him after your dinner party. To talk to him. What about, I don’t know. Probably not the Civil War version of the play, because that was settled at your dinner party, but maybe about whatever it was that he wanted from her. He made a pot of tea, they drank it, and at some point, she found the gun and realized she could use it to kill him and make it look like suicide. Job done and problem solved.”
Paula frowned. “Really?”
Charlotte broke a piece off a bread roll and leaned forward as she buttered it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re wondering how Audrey could kill him and make it look like suicide. And you’re right. It’s really hard to get past the police forensics testing. They’d check for gunpowder residue on his hand. But she knew how to do this, because she did it in a play called Serious Charges, which she starred in and Edmund directed. And that’s the really awful part of all this. When poor Edmund was sat on the sofa, Audrey joined him there, sat close to him, and then, because he directed the play, for an awful few seconds, he would have known what was coming.”
Paula put down her fork. “You mean he knew she was going to kill him?”
Charlotte nodded. “He knew. You see, she had a plastic bag over her hand when she fired the gun. After she’d fired it, she peeled the bag off her hand and carefully placed it over his hand, then gently rubbed it so the gunpowder residue would transfer from the bag onto his hand. She didn’t need to worry about there being any residue on her own hand because it was unlikely that the police would test her for it, and if they ever did, by the time they got around to it, any traces would be washed away and worn off. And she knew from the play where to sit beside him and how to position the gun so when she pulled the trigger, the bullet angle would look like suicide.”
Paula mulled this over. “But why would he just sit there and let her point a gun at his head? Wouldn’t he have jumped up, tried to escape, or put up a fight?”
“Not if she was holding the gun to one side, like this,” Charlotte stood up to demonstrate, holding her right hand slightly behind her back, then sliding into the chair beside Paula’s. She placed her left hand on Paula’s upper arm, leaned into her, and suddenly raised her right hand to Paula’s temple. “Like that.” Paula turned her head slightly toward Charlotte and found herself looking into the cold, hard eyes of Maxine, several tables away. Maxine shifted slightly in her seat and said something to Audrey.
“Don’t look now, but Maxine just saw what you did. I hope it doesn’t mean anything to her. Do you think she knows?”
“Knows what Audrey did? Oh, yes, she knows. Audrey couldn’t possibly have killed someone and not told Maxine. Audrey would have called her right after it happened, don’t you think? And not only that, it’s possible that Maxine helpe
d with the cleanup. I mean, wouldn’t you phone someone and ask for help?”
“Yes,” said Paula. “After everything you’ve just told me, I’d probably call you. On second thought, maybe not. You’d feel you had to tell Ray. Speaking of which, when are you going to tell him all this? He knows you’re up to something.”
“I’d like to tell him tonight, but I don’t have any proof or evidence, or anything to support my theory, and I need something substantial if he’s to take this seriously.”
*
The theater people had finished their meals and, after a few encouraging and congratulatory words from their director, were beginning to file out of the restaurant. It was late, they were tired, and the postperformance adrenaline that had surged through their bodies had worn off. Now they were well fed and happy, but exhausted.
Maxine and Audrey remained in their seats until the room had cleared, then sauntered over to Paula and Charlotte’s table.
“Not ready to leave yet?” Maxine asked pleasantly.
“We were just thinking about it,” replied Paula.
“Well, thank you for a lovely party,” said Audrey. “Everyone enjoyed it.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Paula. “You deserved it.”
“Too bad Edmund didn’t live to enjoy seeing his version of the play on its opening night,” Charlotte said to Audrey. “Do you think the performance would have pleased him? Would it have been everything he’d imagined?”
“I really have no idea,” replied Audrey, frost forming on every word. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and off to my bed.”
Maxine reached out to support Audrey, and the two walked toward the door. Just as they reached it, Maxine turned around and gave the two women a look of such venomous hatred that Paula started.
“We have to do something tonight,” she said. “My stomach is positively churning from that look she gave us.”
“Let me think,” Charlotte said. “There must be something we’ve overlooked.”
Paula picked up her purse. “I don’t think we should stay here alone,” she said. “What if they come back? We need to get where there are other people, and we need to stay together. Let’s go to the lobby, and we can wait for Barnes there.”
“Wait!” cried Charlotte. “Where is he?” She looked wildly at Paula, who returned her look with one of confusion.
“Who? Where’s who?”
“Barnes! We should have asked Barnes!”
Chapter 30
“Barnes, people sometimes see things that they don’t recognize as being important at the time. Now we know you dropped off some flowers for Audrey Ashley at the star bungalow on the night Edmund Albright died, but don’t worry. We’re not here to talk about that. What we want to know is, What time were you there?”
“I don’t know. It was after midnight but not yet one o’clock. Sometime in there.”
“And did you see or hear anything?”
“Like what? I didn’t hear a gunshot, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, I didn’t think you would have,” said Charlotte, “because he was very likely dead before you got there. Now, this is important, so please think carefully. Did you see anyone in the grounds?”
“Well, yes, I think I did. At least, I’m pretty sure it was that night, because that was the last night I dropped off the flowers.” He could not bring himself to meet either of their eyes.
“Who did you see, Barnes?” Seated beside each other on a dark-brown sofa in the hotel lobby, Charlotte and Paula waited for him to respond. When Paula seemed about to prompt him, Charlotte touched her lightly on the arm, pinched her lips together, and gave a light shake of her head.
“I saw her.”
“Who, Barnes? Who did you see?”
“Why, Miss Ashley, of course. She came out of the director’s bungalow and ran toward her own house.”
“And where were you?”
“I was, well, let’s just say I was nearby.” He can’t bring himself to utter the undignified words “I was hiding in the bushes,” thought Charlotte.
“And why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?” Paula asked. “You should have come forward, Barnes. You know that.”
“How could I? They’d have wanted to know what I was doing there at that time of night. And anyway, this fellow committed suicide, didn’t he? So what would be the point?”
Charlotte sighed. “Well, the police are going to want to talk to you now, I’m sure. Although seeing Audrey Ashley come out of the director’s bungalow doesn’t mean she killed him.”
“Killed him!” said Barnes.
“Yes,” said Paula. “That’s what this is all about. That’s why we need you to tell the police exactly what you saw.”
“It’s time to call Ray,” said Charlotte.
*
The door into the hotel lobby opened and Ray entered, with Audrey on one side and Maxine on the other.
“It’s a little unorthodox, I know,” he said, “but Audrey and Maxine wanted to hear what Charlotte has to say, so I agreed to arrange a meeting.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Maxine shouted. “Audrey didn’t kill Edmund. I did.”
“No, Maxine,” said Charlotte. “You didn’t. And while it’s natural for you to want to protect Audrey, I’m afraid this time you can’t. You didn’t kill Edmund Albright.”
When Maxine started to protest, Charlotte held up her hand.
“It’s no use. But don’t worry, Maxine. There’s enough murder to go around. I’m sure you didn’t intend for Gillian Pritchard to die, but you killed her so Audrey could take over the lead female role of Wendy in the production of Peter Pan, a role that you rightly realized would catapult her to stardom. There was no shortage of love in the Ashley family. Everyone adored little Audrey, and when her acting talents began to emerge, the whole family worked together to give her every chance of success. There was never any doubt that she was going to be a star. And Maxine, you made sure that the opportunity presented itself, but sadly, at Gillian’s expense.”
Audrey raised horrified eyes to her sister. “Is this true?” she croaked.
Charlotte then described how Audrey had killed Edmund Albright, making it look like a suicide. Audrey clung to her sister as her eyes filled with tears, and her body shook with huge sobs. “It’s not true! I didn’t do it! I was there, that’s true, but he was alive when I left him! I swear he was.”
Ray phoned for backup.
Chapter 31
With Audrey detained overnight for questioning, Charlotte thought she’d feel some sense of satisfaction. But she didn’t. I know what acting looks like, she thought. I see it every day. But when Audrey protested that she didn’t kill Edmund, Charlotte didn’t think she wasn’t acting. The truth was in her eyes. And when she was led away, shaking and crying, her terror seemed genuine.
Did I get it wrong? Charlotte thought. But everything fit together so perfectly. It had to have happened that way.
Charlotte wasn’t the only one plagued with doubt. Mattie, preparing to step into the leading role of Beatrice at the next performance, was nervous and unsure about the part and unhappy about the way she’d landed it. Her fidgeting and pacing during a hastily arranged costume fitting finally got the better of Charlotte.
“Mattie! Stand still. I can’t do this when you’re all over the place.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I thought I wanted this, and now I realize I don’t. I was happier as Hero. The part fit me better.”
“I guess it’s a reminder we should all be careful what we wish for,” Charlotte said.
Charlotte went home as soon as the matinee performance was under way. Uneasy and unsettled, she fetched Rupert, and the two set off on a walk. The leaves on the trees were turning now, streaks of autumn color cutting orange, yellow, and red swathes through the green trees that covered the sides of the nearby mountains.
As they passed the star bungalow, a curtain moved to one side, and a moment later
, Maxine came tearing out. Her gray hair was wild and uncombed, and she clutched a black cardigan to her chest as she hurried after Charlotte.
“You’ve got to help her,” she cried, the desperate words tumbling out in an anguished torrent. “There’s been a terrible mistake. Please, see what you can do. Talk to the police. Audrey didn’t do it. He was alive when she left him.”
“I’d like to help, but I don’t know what I can do,” Charlotte said. “The police are looking into it, and if Audrey didn’t do it, I’m sure they’ll come to that conclusion.” Maxine turned away and ran back into the bungalow, her slippered feet sliding on the path.
Deeply troubled, Charlotte returned home. After spending some time listlessly reading, tidying up, and always circling back to the disturbing image of Maxine begging for her help, she put the kettle on. Just as she poured a cup of tea, a knock on the door startled her.
She opened it to find Aaron with a pair of gray trousers draped over his arm, the brown leather suspenders attached to them almost touching the ground.
“I’m really sorry to bother you with this,” he said, “but I agreed to drive my aunt to an appointment in Saugerties.” He held the trousers a little closer to Charlotte.
“Don John split the seam open. I’m really hoping that you can fix them in time for tonight’s performance. It’s not a big job, and I would have done it, but because it’s a rented costume, I thought it best if you take care of it.”
Charlotte reached out her arms. “Give them here. I was rather looking for something to do this afternoon. Off you go.”
She examined the seam and, deciding it was a relatively straightforward job, left with Rupert for the hotel. Hand sewing she occasionally did at home, but for this, she needed the machine in her workroom.
A few minutes later, she let herself into her office, removed the cover from the sewing machine and, taking the trousers with her, went in search of gray thread. She held a couple of spools up to the fabric, chose the best match, and threaded the machine.
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