A Midsummer Night's Scream jj-15

by Jill Churchill

  But shortly after noon, Mel called. "I'm going to have to stand you up. I've got a murder victim at a theater."

  Jane asked warily, "What theater?"

  "Why does it matter?"

  "It just does."

  "It's that one that belongs to the college drama department."

  "Who's dead?"

  "Jane, I don't even know that yet. I'm still five blocks away. You might want to let Shelley know. Isn't that the building her husband donated to the college?"

  When he hung up, she immediately rang Shelley. "You're going to have to cancel the caterers this minute. I just heard from Mel that someone's been murdered at the theater."

  "Who?"

  "Even Mel doesn't know yet."

  "I'm hanging up and calling the caterer right now. Thanks for letting me know."

  Jane's afternoon was shot. She couldn't keep her mind on her book or her needlepoint and sat down to watch the Home and Garden channel to clear her head of this news. She couldn't, however, help speculating about the identity of the victim. Her best guess was Professor Imry. He'd made enemies of almost everyone involved.

  He'd mildly insulted Shelley, and he'd irritated both John and Gloria Bunting with his silly insistence on calling actors by their script names at all times. He'd come out on the wrong side of a tiff with Denny Roth about grammar. But who would kill him for getting his grammar wrong? That wasn't even close to being a motive for something so horrible.

  And what if it wasn't Imry? Who else could it be? And how was Mel certain it was murder when he hadn't even reached the scene yet? Maybe someone had just had a terrible accident. A fall. A stroke. A heart attack.

  She turned the television off, suddenly horrified that it might be Gloria Bunting who was the victim. It would break Jane's heart if it was. She would also be sad if it was Tazz.

  The phone rang again. This time it was Shelley. "I caught the caterers before they'd started the preparations, so all I've lost is my deposit. This is clearly going to close the theater for at least a day,maybe longer. Do you think I should warn the next one in line?"

  "I would if I were you."

  "Have you heard back from Mel? Who was murdered? Was it really murder or was it an accident?"

  "I don't know anything else. But I've also wondered as well."

  "Couldn't you call Mel on his cell phone and ask?"

  "That would be worth more than my life is. He'd be furious. Call your other caterer, then let's rent a movie and order a take-out dinner for the two of us and our kids."

  "Sounds like a good plan. But we'll have to make sure to catch the local newscasts. Maybe some reporter knows more than we do."

  Mel had the whole staff working. The scene-of-thecrime people had quartered the dressing room where the body was found. The doctor had been there to pronounce formally that the victim was dead of causes unknown, but presumably from a blow to the back of his skull. The photos had all been taken and the body moved to the police morgue.

  Professor Imry had turned up at two in the afternoon and had been having mild hysterics and demanding to see the officer in charge the whole time.

  With everything being competently done on the ground floor, or at least in progress, Mel finally took the time for a preliminary interview with the director. He met with him in the lobby.

  "Mr. Imry—" he began.

  "Professor Imry, if you don't mind. You wouldn't let me call you Mister, would you?"

  Mel's first thought was that Imry was right. His second was that his own title was harder to come by and far grittier than Imry's, but he didn't let his annoyance show.

  "Professor Imry, how many people have keys to the theater?"

  "Why do you ask? Nearly everyone, obviously. Actors are artists and sometimes want to work alone on the stage trying out movements, or how many strides it takes to move where they need to be."

  Mel wanted to smack some sense into this man. This was a serious security violation. The college that owned the theater would be horrified if they knew.

  "So all the actors had keys? Who else?"

  "The janitor. I don't think the costumer needed a key. Let's see, who else? The lighting director had a key — he was going to work with his two students in a dark setting one evening. The electrician — he had to make sure that all the connections were functioning properly. The woman from the art department had one.""The art department?" Mel asked.

  "For the use of the students who were going to build and paint scenery backdrops. Nobody in their street clothes wants to run into wet paint, you see?"

  "So nearly everyone and his mother could have come in here at any time?"

  "I wouldn't have put it quite that way," Imry said, clearly offended.

  "Did you take into consideration the matter of safety? Did you get approval from the college to give out all these duplicate keys?"

  "I didn't think it was necessary. Who could have imagined this sort of thing was going to happen?"

  Mel asked for a list of people who had keys, and their telephone numbers and addresses. "I'll have one of my officers call everyone in to get their fingerprints. That can be done in the lobby." He also asked if Imry knew the victim's next of kin. It was vital to reach them.

  "I don't have that information, but the registrar of the college will. I think the telephone number is in my office. I'll get it."

  "No, you won't. Tell me where your office is and I'll find it. You're not to go anywhere but the lobby for now."

  Mel then asked, "Where were you last night after the rehearsal?"

  "I went home to do some work on my next script," Imry answered warily.

  "Can anybody back you up on this?"

  "Maybe someone in the apartment complex where I live noticed me come in or took note that my car was parked in my assigned place."

  "Give me your address."

  Imry did so. And Mel asked another question. "Were you on good terms with Dennis Roth?"

  Imry hesitated just a second too long. "As actors go, he was okay."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "I'll be honest with you. I thought he was a good actor or I wouldn't haven't engaged him for this role. He looked the part. But I didn't much like his attitude."

  "Why was that?"

  "He didn't want to stick to the script."

  Mel closed his notebook and said, "I'll be asking you more questions later."

  When Mel confirmed that Imry's office had been gone over already, he went through the paperwork there and found the number for the registrar. He had to explain patiently that he was Detective VanDyne and that a student had been murdered. He needed the telephone number for his next of kin. He was told he had to come in in person and show his credentials.

  "I'll send one of my officers. I need to be available here."

  He called his office and told his assistant toarm himself with a badge and fetch the phone number for the victim's family and call him back.

  When this was finally accomplished, he rang the number. There was only an answering machine with a woman's voice saying, "We're out of town on our second honeymoon," followed by a silly giggle. "Leave a message and we'll get back to you." But the next voice was artificial. "This mailbox is full. Try again later."

  The only thing Jane and Shelley learned from the early evening news was that the theater was indeed the site of the murder, and that a young actor from the local college had died under mysterious circumstances. The police were still trying to find the victim's family to notify them before a name would be released.

  Mike and Katie had gone to fetch a Chinese meal for both families. Shelley's daughter Denise was still at her swim class. Her son was playing a new Nintendo game with Jane's son Todd at the Nowack house. Both Jane and Shelley were glad none of them were watching the news.

  "So it's an actor. A young one. That excludes John and Gloria Bunting, and the director," Shelley said. "Still, it could be Joani. It's trendy to call both sexes 'actor' these days."

  "You don't approve
of that?"

  "I do approve. I'm just saying it's not necessar‑

  ily a young man. But it could be that nice Bill Denk who plays the old butler, or Jake Stanton, who's the younger brother. Or maybe Denny Roth." Shelley said. "But it eliminates Professor Imry. He's not an actor."

  "We know that," Jane said. "He's not much older than the students. The police might know his name but not necessarily that he wasn't one of the young actors."

  "I suppose somebody could identify him, though. Whoever found him. Or her."

  "It might have simply been someone from a janitorial service. Someone who wasn't ever around except when no one else was there, or just a botched robbery that went horribly wrong when the robber realized that somebody saw him."

  Shelley shrugged. "I guess so. I wish Mel would call and fill you in a little bit. He knows, doesn't he, that we're tending to the catering?"

  "I told him what we were doing. Or rather, that I was tagging along as a mere taster. But I only mentioned that it was a theater Paul had donated to the college. That's not all that specific. They must have some other buildings that previously served as at least rehearsal halls. Maybe we're wrong about where this body really is."

  "That will be easy to find out. After dinner we'll drive by. If it's our theater, it will be surrounded by yellow tape saying CRIME SCENE-DO NOT CROSS; it will be obvious."

  "You can do that if you want. But I don't want to be with you. Mel wouldn't like to see me snooping," Jane said.

  "We could park a block or two away and just sneak a peek around a corner of some other building, couldn't we?"

  "Shelley, get a grip. This is getting too elaborate. Mel will realize whether this is the theater where you're providing food. He's sure to ask us what we know about the cast and crew — when he's ready."

  "Okay, okay. I give up. You're right. It's not any of our business unless Mel thinks it is. I'll have to tell Paul tonight, just in case the authorities need to know anything about the donation of the building."

  "Where is Paul this time?"

  "Doing a grand opening ceremony at a new restaurant in Dayton, Ohio."

  "How many of his Greek fast-food restaurants are there now?"

  "This is the forty-fifth. He always says it's the last one. He's starting to talk about retiring."

  Jane laughed. "Don't let him do it, Shelley. You and I both know several women with husbands who retired early. They hang around the house driving their wives crazy."

  "I know. They all say the same thing. Every time the wife picks up the car keys, the husband asks, 'Where are you going?' Or tries to tell her a

  more efficient way to do the laundry, talking about how his mother always dried the sheets on a clothesline outside. They want to go along with you to the grocery store and the tailor. That would drive me wild."

  She thought for a moment about this scenario and said, "I'm sure if Paul tried to retire, he'd find something else to do. Consulting with young entrepreneurs. Setting up a new business to try his hand at. Don't you think so?"

  "I hope so for your sake," Jane said, patting Shelley's hand.

  Eight

  Mel called Jane just before eight o'clock the next morning. All she'd done since she'd heard the bad news was needlepointing. She couldn't bring herself to work on a murder mystery novel on a day when someone she probably knew, however slightly, had been killed. And the needlepointing didn't go as well as she hoped, either. She'd almost finished a big triangle when she realized the colors weren't right, and she would have to carefully pull all the threads out.

  "Jane," Mel said, "this isn't for the public yet, but I'm calling on my home phone. Tell Shelley I've had a crew in overnight with flashlights, floodlights, little vacuum bags of hundreds of things that probably won't ever be relevant. Mostly candy wrappers and solidified chewing gum. We've gone over each inch of the main floor. They can resume the rehearsal tonight. We'll still be there, doing the basement, balconies, and the flies."

  "Shelley will be glad to hear this. She can alert the caterers in time. Mel, who was the victim?" "Dennis Roth. Called Denny."

  Jane sighed and said, "Thank goodness it wasn't Ms. Bunting or Tazz. I wasn't crazy about Denny, but it's sad when someone so young, with his whole life ahead of him, has it snatched away."

  Mel said, "I understand that both you and Shelley have been sitting in on the rehearsals."

  "Not the whole duration. We get there later than the rest of them, but before the caterers come. As soon as they've cleaned up and gone, so are we. Gone, I mean."

  "Still, you've been there for — what? Half the time?"

  "Pretty close to that. You can't imagine how boring it is. And how obnoxious most of them are."

  "Denny in particular?"

  "Not really. He was pushy and rude. But for sheer gall, the director, Professor Imry, is the worst."

  "That's my impression, too. I've already interviewed him once. He turned up early yesterday afternoon."

  "I was somewhat surprised, frankly, that he wasn't the victim," Jane admitfed.

  "He'd have made a good one." Jane could hear the smile in his voice."What have you learned about Denny?"

  "All too little. He only enrolled in the college summer session after it was announced that the play was being put on and the Buntings were starring. Which means nothing. Lots of the cast and crew signed up around the same time. Nobody we've talked to so far knows anything about Denny's background. The college registrar says he claimed on his application that he'd only be there for the summer session. Gave credits for previous acting jobs that we can't confirm yet. The application said he currently lived in a suburb of Los Angeles. I've got someone there asking the neighbors about him."

  "And—?"

  "Not much of anything. It's tacky furnished apartments, month-to-month rent, with all sorts of starving artists and actors who come and go nearly every week. Nobody so far admits to remembering him."

  "So he really is a mystery man."

  "What do you mean?" Mel asked.

  "Just that you know so little about his background. Have you contacted his family?"

  "I've been trying repeatedly, but all I get is an answering machine that won't take a message. As for knowing about his background, we'll know everything eventually. It takes time, Jane." Mel paused. "I want your opinion on something."

  That surprised Jane. "Ask away," she said.

  "What's your view of Professor Imry? You've been around him longer than I have."

  Jane thought for a moment. "Okay. A vast mountain of arrogance on the surface, and a small core of tasteless, suspicious gelatin underneath."

  Mel laughed. "You should have been a writer."

  "I am," she said indignantly.

  "That was a joke, Janey. I wouldn't have put it that way, but you perfectly described my impression of him. He's like most bullies — soft and scared inside. My cell phone is ringing. Have to go. Thanks for your insight."

  Jane was astonished. She'd given her opinions to and occasionally forced her suspicions on Mel before, but he'd seldom asked her to. Her remark was a good answer. She told herself to write it down before she forgot it, so she could use it again sometime in a book.

  Having made a quick note to herself, she called Shelley to tell her that Mel said they could have the rehearsal that evening, even though the police were still looking for clues in the theater.

  "Thank you for letting me know. I'll get back in touch with the caterers and tell them to show up tonight, as planned."

  Jane went back to her novel. She was still working on the list of events, scenes, and motives that might or not work. She also wrote another chapter. The hours seemed to fly by. She suddenly realized that it was almost time to cleanup and go to the theater. Where had the time gone? She'd wanted to fix that awful triangle she'd had to take out, thread by thread. Shelley was bound to be getting way ahead of her. Not that it mattered to Jane, but Shelley would rub it in.

  When she arrived at the theater, everyone was
sitting in the first few rows.

  "Such a tragedy," Tazz said. "He was so young."

  Jane wondered if Tazz was really older than Denny. She didn't look as if she were.

  "I think we should say a prayer for him," Ms. Bunting said. "John, could you do that for us?"

  John stood up facing the rest of them and said, "Lord above, please take your child Dennis Roth into your loving arms." For some reason it sounded stagey, as if it were a prayer he'd memorized from some play he'd been in.

  "Amen," John added.

  All but Professor Imry echoed the amen.

  Then Imry cut in brutally, saying, "We're allowed to use these seats, the stage, the meeting room, and the kitchen. Nobody may go up into the flies. No one is allowed in the basement or balconies either. If you noticed, we still have quite a 'police presence' here."

  He made it sound sarcastic. As if the police were silly to stick around.

  "Now, let me introduce Denny's substitute. This is Norman Engel. He'll be playing the eldest

  son of Mr. and Mrs. Weston." He proceeded to start introducing the others by their script names.

  "See here, young man," Ms. Bunting said. "That's offensive and unprofessional. We've told you this before. We're Mr. and Ms. Bunting except when we're on stage."

  "Excuse me, Professor," Tazz said. "Isn't this Norman person the one that you said the day before yesterday was simply observing?"

  "Yes."

  "So you were going to fire Denny and replace him?"

  A stunned silence followed this question. Jane nudged Shelley and whispered, "That's what I thought but didn't want to say at that last rehearsal."

  Imry pretended, badly, that hadn't even heard the question. "Hadn't you better get on with your job? That's costuming. Not casting."