She turned the trousers inside out and quickly and smoothly repaired the torn seam. She needed to press them before returning them to the actor, so she plugged in the iron and, while she waited for it to heat, dampened a pressing cloth in the kitchenette. When the iron was hot, she spread the seam, laid the damp cloth carefully over it, and held the iron to it. A cloud of fragrant steam rose from the ironing board as she moved the iron gently back and forth.
She tipped the iron onto its heel rest, lifted the warm cloth, and examined the repaired seam. That’ll do, she thought.
As she turned the trousers inside out and draped them over the back of a chair, she thought how clever the idea had been to have this character, Don John, play a soldier from the opposing army. Although he wasn’t in the same league of villains as, say, Iago, Don John was nevertheless a pretty unlikeable guy. And having the two brothers, Don Pedro and Don John, serve on two opposing armies had added to the conflict between the two characters . . . A sudden, imperative question interrupted her thinking. Whose idea had it been to have this character dress as a soldier from the South?
It was Wade’s, wasn’t it? She walked to her desk and checked through the book in which she took notes during her meetings with directors. She flipped backward through the book until she found what she was looking for. Yes, dated at the top and then . . . One man’s gray Southern uniform . . . others in Union blue.
But she’d had a sense in the meeting that the idea wasn’t new. She must have heard it before. Where? When?
She pushed her chair back from her desk, tipped her head back, and gazed at the ceiling. The idea of having one Southern soldier hadn’t been Wade’s, it had to have been Edmund’s. She reached for her phone.
“Paula, that idea of having one soldier in Much Ado wear gray—was it Edmund’s?”
She listened for a moment and then ended the call. Yes, Paula had confirmed. It was Edmund’s idea. At the dinner party. Edmund suggested it right after Paula announced that the board was in favor of the Civil War production. Didn’t he say something like “I’ve just had this great idea . . .” Just had . . .
Could Edmund and Wade both have had the same idea? Unlikely. What was it Wade had said at his first rehearsal? “I liked the idea of Don Pedro fighting on the North side and Don John for the South. That would instantly explain their estrangement to the audience. They’d understand immediately.”
He liked the idea. Not that it was his idea, but he liked the idea. Someone else’s idea. Charlotte’s mind was in full flow now. Hadn’t Wade also said that he hadn’t discussed the play with Edmund?
With a rising sense of excitement, Charlotte considered the implication of this information. He must have discussed it with Edmund and that’s where he got the idea for the North and South costuming.
Again, she reached for her phone and called Fletcher Macmillan, reporter for the Hudson Valley Echo. His phone went to voice mail, so she left a message asking him to ring her back at the office to confirm that Wade Radcliffe had said during the brief question-and-answer session in the theater that he had not discussed the play with Edmund Albright. Hopefully, Fletcher had written that down in his notebook.
She laid out all the pieces in her mind and carefully examined each one. Crucially, Edmund had said at the dinner party that he’d just had a great idea . . . and by next morning, he was dead. So Wade must have spoken to Edmund after the dinner party, and Audrey had insisted that Edmund was alive when she left his bungalow. Charlotte now believed that he was.
So Wade had killed him. But how did he know how to make the killing look like a suicide?
With a loud and final clang, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
He hadn’t been in the play, Serious Charges, as Audrey had, but although he hadn’t specified what play she’d been “wonderful” in, Charlotte had no doubt he’d seen her performance in that play in England.
Charlotte reached for her old-fashioned desk telephone and called Ray at work. Again the call went to voice mail and, frustrated, again she left a message. “It wasn’t Audrey,” she said. “I got the how right, but not the who. It was . . .” A finger jabbed the plunger on the phone, and the line went dead.
Chapter 32
Charlotte spun in her seat to see Wade Radcliffe towering over her. She tried to stand but he pushed her by the shoulder back into the seat. “Stay where you are,” he snarled.
Charlotte glanced toward the open door. “Don’t even think about it,” Wade said. “There’s no one out there. There’s no one to help you.” Her mind raced to thoughts of Ray. “And never mind your policeman boyfriend. By the time he gets here, it’ll be too late.”
I’ve got to keep him talking, Charlotte thought. If I can just keep him talking for a few minutes.
“How did you get the gun, Wade?” she croaked through dry lips.
“Edmund had found it hidden in the back of a drawer and left it out for anyone to see.” He cackled. “Or use. Oh, it was so easy. We had a nice little chat about the play, exchanged a few ideas, and then, well, he had to go.”
“Why, Wade? Why did he have to go?”
“Because I wanted the job. It was mine. I deserved it. I’ve spent a lifetime working in the theater, building a reputation, and then he comes along and the job is just handed to him on the whim of an English actress.” He frowned. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? Having to tell people that I didn’t get the job? And they’re all thinking, ‘Oh, that’s because he’s too old.’”
“So you killed him.”
“I didn’t intend to. I just went over there to talk to him. To ask him if he’d bow out and return to England. He didn’t need the work. I did. All he had to do was leave. But you know what he did?”
“No, Wade. What did he do?”
“He laughed. And then he told me all about his Civil War version, and you know what? I thought it was a great idea.”
“You did?”
“Of course I did. But I had to pretend I didn’t like it because it was his idea. And then I could be seen to come around gradually to the idea.”
“So the night you went to see him, why did you go so late?”
“I knew he’d be at Paula Van Dusen’s dinner party, so I . . .”
“How did you know?”
“Roger Harrison. I’ve known Roger for years. Ran into him at the drugstore and he mentioned Paula Van Dusen was hosting a dinner for a few theater board members and the leading lady and director.” He practically spat out the last word in the sentence. “I should have been at that dinner. That was my seat at the table.”
“So you planned to talk to him afterward? Why so late?”
“It wouldn’t have been that late, except Audrey got to him before me. I had to wait around until she left, and then I went to see him. Knocked on his door and the fool let me in. By then, he was tired, but I persuaded him to talk to me. Said it wouldn’t take long. And you know what? It didn’t!”
“Why did you wait around? Why couldn’t you have come back to talk to him during the day?”
“Because I couldn’t show my face around here in broad daylight. After the humiliation of being turned down for the director’s job?” His face twisted into a contorted mask of anger. Charlotte’s heart beat faster as she placed her hands on the arm of her chair and tried to rise. Her knees had turned to jelly, and she found herself unable to stand. As she sank bank into the chair, Wade’s outstretched hands reached for her neck. She groped behind her on her desk, scrabbling to find and pick up whatever she could reach. Her fingers closed around the metal box that held the index cards on which she wrote the actors’ names, their characters, and costuming notes. As she raised the box above Wade’s head, determined to hit him with it as hard as she could, the lid flew open and cards flew out.
As they fluttered to the floor, the door opened and two men entered. Fletcher Macmillan, carrying his notebook, looked at the scene in astonishment as the other man, the actor playing Don John, said
, “Oh, sorry. I guess you’re busy. I don’t mean to bother you, but I just came to see if my pants are ready.”
Chapter 33
“I can’t believe we’re really going to England tonight!” Charlotte said two weeks later as she zippered her suitcase. “I miss Rupert already. I hope he’ll be okay while I’m away.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Ray. “Ned’s taken a great shine to him, and Rupert’ll spend the next three weeks helping him in the garden. He’ll have a wonderful holiday, and by the time we come home, he’ll be an expert on how to get your garden ready for winter.”
Ray took her suitcase, and he and Charlotte left the bungalow and walked to the parking area, where Barnes was waiting for them.
As Ray lifted the bags into the trunk, the hotel door opened and Aaron rushed out.
“You weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye, were you?” he asked Charlotte.
“We already said good-bye this morning and then again this afternoon,” she laughed.
Aaron reached out to hug her. “I’ll miss you.” He stepped back and scanned her face. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“Oh, don’t be such a numpty! Of course I’m coming back. And if you have any questions or need me for anything, just text. But you’ll be fine. Everything’s going to go smoothly from now on. Everything that could possibly go wrong already has.”
Aaron shook hands with Ray and then stepped back.
“Really nice of Paula to ask Barnes to drive us to the airport,” Ray said as they climbed into the Rolls-Royce.
After one last wave good-bye to Aaron, they settled back into the comfortable seats, holding hands, speaking little. Charlotte gazed out the window, thinking that by the time they returned home, the trees would have shed their leaves, and winter would be just around the corner.
When they reached their destination, Barnes stood to one side as Ray lifted the suitcases out of the trunk, and a moment later, the terminal doors swished open and they entered the building.
Charlotte stood to one side watching the crowds while Ray printed out their boarding passes at the kiosk. They dropped off their bags and proceeded through security and then to their departure gate. At the gate, they stopped in front of a restaurant, and Ray asked Charlotte if she felt like a drink.
“I don’t think so. My stomach is a little”—she made a swirling motion with her hand in front of her abdomen—“a little queasy. To be honest, I don’t like flying.”
“A cup of tea, then?” Ray suggested.
“No, I think I’ll just sit here quietly and wait. But you get something if you want.”
“I’ll get a coffee in a few minutes. Maybe by then you’ll have changed your mind and be ready for something.” He sat beside her and crossed his legs. “I’m glad everything worked out so you can enjoy our time in England without worrying about what’s going on at the theater. It was good that Paula was able to persuade Brian to come back and that he feels well enough to take it on.”
“I couldn’t stop laughing when I saw the new posters.” Charlotte waved her hand in a small arc. “‘Back by popular demand! Brian Prentice as guest director.’ Oh, how he loves that. And we’ve even told him if he behaves himself, he can play the part of Leonato every now and then.”
“I was sure Audrey would go back to England as soon as she was released.”
“I thought that too. What a surprise when she decided to stay on. But ‘helping police with their inquiries,’ as we say in the UK, got her more publicity than she ever dreamed of. And she’s making the most of it.” Charlotte smiled. “But I think what she really enjoyed was hanging out with you for a day or two in the local jail.”
Ray laughed. “Believe me, she didn’t enjoy it, and neither did we.”
“Still, with Brian back, we’ve now got two British stars. A real bonus for our patrons.”
“And how will Audrey get along without Maxine?” Ray asked.
“Just fine. She was glad to see the back of her. There was a lot of tension between the two of them. It had been easy for Audrey to let Maxine take care of everything all those years, but I think she was ready for independence. To break free of that constant, overbearing presence.”
Although who had left the cable for Mattie to trip over when she exited the stage during the dress rehearsal had not been determined, everyone had their suspicions. Ray had described the incident to the British authorities, who were now considering reopening the investigation into the accident that had led to the death of child star Gillian Pritchard.
“We’ll see how it all works out, I guess,” said Ray.
Charlotte began to relax and eventually wandered off to the newsstand to browse the magazines while Ray watched their belongings. Finally, their flight was called and boarding began. As they entered the aircraft and Charlotte turned to her right, the smiling flight attendant gently stopped her.
“Miss Fairfax.”
“Yes?”
The flight attendant held out her right hand. “This way. You’ve been upgraded. You and Mr. Nicholson will be flying first class to London tonight.”
Charlotte turned to Ray, who grinned at her. “You knew!” And after a moment, she let out a delighted laugh. “Paula!”
“I believe she made a phone call,” Ray said. “She knows a lot of people in high places.”
They took their seats, and Ray gently placed Charlotte’s flight bag in the overhead bin. “It was really kind of you to offer to deliver Edmund’s remains home to his family,” he said. “I’m sure that means a lot to them.”
Charlotte buckled her seat belt, sank into her seat, and turned to look at him.
“Happy?” she asked. He reached for her hand and nodded. Charlotte flipped through a magazine and sipped her glass of champagne as the flight crew prepared for departure. As the pushback began, the flight attendant collected Charlotte’s empty glass, and they taxied into position for takeoff.
“And now,” said Ray as they lifted off into the night sky and the twinkling lights of New York City disappeared below the clouds, “without further ado, let’s get you home.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Sheila Fletcher for her inspired and practical help at several stages of this book—especially the fun morning of devious plotting that set everything in motion.
I appreciate all the hard work by the terrific team at Crooked Lane Books: Matt Martz, who oversees everything; Sarah Poppe, for her brilliant editorial notes that reshaped the story; and Jenny Chen and the production people, who sorted out a problem or two.
And, as always, thanks to my agent, Dominick Abel, who brokers everything.
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