Running Out of Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  “Right. So the Etonville police are hungry today,” I said.

  “Suki and I are.”

  “Where’s the chief?” I asked, a little nervous. Had he taken Sally some place—

  “With Ralph. He had an appointment.” She squinted across the dining room. “Is that Archibald?”

  I nodded. “First time he’s ever been in here.” I rang up Edna’s order. “If the chief wants to order lunch later, give me a call and we’ll deliver. I know how busy the department can get.”

  “Not today. Just an 11-85 and a 10-91A. That’s a tow truck and stray dog,” Edna said.

  My pulse ratcheted down a few notches. Sally probably wasn’t in custody. Archibald, head down, was concentrating on his cell, sipping his beer. I handed Edna her change and told her to keep warm. Then I picked up Archibald’s lunch and walked to his table.

  “Thanks,” he said without looking up.

  “Edna was in here picking up for the department. Guess you’re not working at the station today.”

  I finally had his full attention. “I’m not?” That voice again, low and sultry, challenging and inviting at the same time. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, flexing his biceps.

  I gulped, flashing back to his modeling body displayed on the Internet. It was distracting. “I thought maybe you two would be…dealing with Sally. I was with Bill when you called last night.”

  Archibald dumped a large dollop of ketchup on his sandwich. Henry would have a fit if he witnessed this desecration of his cilantro-and-avocado burger.

  “Well, we would be dealing with Sally if I’d gotten to her, but somehow she managed to slip away in Bernridge. How do you think that happened?” He bit into his sandwich, staring hard at me.

  My face flushed as if I was in the principal’s office being called out for some infraction. Did it give me away? “Not a clue.” I stared back.

  “She’s certainly one slippery suspect.” He wiped his mouth.

  “Well, good luck finding her,” I said coolly.

  “Anyone else peeking in your windows lately?” he asked with his trademark grin.

  I smiled and moved away from the table. What was it about that man that made him so attractive and so annoying at the same time? He might have something on me but I had more on him, right?

  19

  Between my irritation with Archibald and my exasperation with the Etonville Standard ad, I was ready to escape. I had some errands to run. I’d planned to drive to the Shop N Go for a few items, then stop by JC’s Hardware for furnace filters. And maybe stick my head in Betty’s Boutique next door and check out any new sexy lingerie. I had shoved my arms in my coat sleeves when my cell pinged. Sally or Bill? Lola: Stop in the theater on your break? Having meeting with Walter and Penny. The last thing I felt like doing was hashing over the demise of Eton Town with Lola and her staff. But a BFF was a BFF and Lola needed my support now.

  “Back in an hour or so,” I said to Benny.

  “Don’t hurry back. I’ll be here. Rereading the ad,” he joked.

  I grunted.

  Though the air was brisk and a light wind had kicked up, the late afternoon sunlight brought the promise of warmer weather. If only. I buried my face in my scarf. The lobby door of the ELT was unlocked. I could hear a rumble of voices in the theater office, Lola’s light but resolute, Walter’s vehement but halting. I knocked on the door. Penny opened it.

  “Hey, O’Dell.”

  “Hi, Penny.”

  “Some ad,” she cackled. “Those pictures are gonna put the ELT on the map.”

  “Penny, could you go to the box office and sort tickets?” Lola asked serenely.

  Penny blinked. “I did that yesterday.”

  “I know but there are some loose stubs in the drawer under the counter,” Lola said.

  Penny shot a look at Walter who waved his arm in a “go” motion. “I’m the production manager. I should be in the room for any meeting about the production.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and slapped her clipboard against her leg. Clearly not happy, Penny raised herself to a full five foot two. “I’ll be in the box office,” she said huffily.

  The minute she left the office, Lola shut the door firmly. “I’d like to keep our decision under wraps as long as possible.”

  “Our decision?” Walter asked bitterly.

  Lola gestured toward a chair and I sat. “I needed another reasonable person in the room with me,” she said.

  Walter looked desperate. “Why can’t we wait until the end of the week?” he whined.

  Lola was in full artistic director mode. “The board agrees with me. If we can’t find a definite venue by the end of tomorrow, we will postpone the production. Indefinitely.”

  Oops. No wonder Walter was frantic; the futures of both his opus and the production were in doubt. “So none of the places worked out?” I asked tentatively.

  Walter turned his head toward me and glowered, as if I was solely to blame for the cancellation of his play. “No. And we have a narrow window. The Creston Players are scheduled to produce “Our Town” in April.” He spat out “Creston” and Our Town as if they were evil twins.

  “But before we announced it, I wanted to see what you thought,” Lola said anxiously.

  I knew she wasn’t referring to my theatrical knowledge but rather my investigative skill. Lola was asking me in code if there would be a break in the murder case by tomorrow night. Or even the promise of a break.

  But Walter had no such insight. “I still don’t see why her opinion matters.”

  I was “her.”

  “Because I trust Dodie to tell me the truth,” Lola said.

  “You don’t trust my opinion? I won’t tell you the truth?” Walter was about to go ballistic. Hadn’t he taken his Xanax today? Rapping on the door interrupted his tirade.

  Lola raised her voice in exasperation. “Penny, I’ll come and get you when we’re finished.”

  I looked up from my lap where I’d been tracing the wide wales in my corduroys and racking my brain to find a way of gently notifying Lola that, as far as I knew, the investigation was at a stalemate.

  The door inched open. Walter, Lola, and I dropped our jaws simultaneously. It was Sally, her face partially obscured by a scarf, her head covered in the same knit cap she’d worn when we’d met in Bernridge. For that matter, she was still wearing the ratty winter coat and looking like a vagrant.

  “May I come in?” she asked timidly.

  The three of us gawked and might have stayed that way indefinitely if Penny hadn’t sauntered across the lobby and materialized in the doorframe behind Sally. “Hey, Oldfield, what’s the deal with skipping out on curtain call? Nobody misses a curtain call on my watch.” Penny stood there, a stack of papers in one hand, her clipboard in the other. “Lola, what do you want me to do with these old audition forms?”

  As if Penny’s question was a wake-up call, we came alive. I jumped up and escorted Sally into the office while Lola prodded Walter to shove over on the couch and make room for her. Our reactions had wildly different motivations. Walter was glad to see an errant actor return to the company, even though said actor should receive a scolding, while Lola saw Sally’s appearance as a good omen that perhaps Gordon Weeks’s death might be resolved sooner rather than later. I was astonished that Sally had decided to come in on her own, apparently taking my advice, and was willing to speak with Bill. We all spoke at once.

  “Sally, where have you been?” Lola asked, distressed. “We were worried about you—”

  Walter chimed in. “Penny’s right. You shouldn’t have cut out on the curtain call at final dress rehearsal. It’s not professional. Of course, with that man dying on the turntable and the show on hold—”

  “I am so glad to see you!” I sent Sally a reassuring smile.

  “We had to redistribute you
r lines.” Penny tapped her clipboard. “If you had an emergency, you should have texted me before you left the theater—”

  “What are you wearing?” Walter studied Sally’s outer clothing. “You look like…”

  Sally looked overwhelmed. It occurred to me that if we peppered her with further questions, she might let something slip about the murder or Gordon Weeks or her whereabouts for the last few days.

  “Okay let’s stop!” I said vigorously.

  Walter and Penny glowered at me, surprised at my authoritative tone. But Lola understood and nodded. I didn’t want to take a chance that Bill was still away from the police department, leaving Sally at the mercy of Archibald’s questioning. I was more convinced than ever that he had other fish to fry. But I needed to get back to the Windjammer.

  “Lola, maybe you could take Sally to your place for something to eat?” I prayed she didn’t question the logic of my request and picked up on the subtext.

  Lola’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t a diva for nothing; subtext was her middle name. “Of course. Come on, Sally. Let’s take a coffee break.” She extended a hand and Sally rose, following Lola to the door.

  “Lola? We haven’t finished discussing Eton Town,” Walter cried in a panic. “When are we going to announce our decision?”

  “Walter, take it easy. Do you want to have another attack?” Lola asked.

  “What decision?” Penny demanded. “I’m the production manager and I should know if the ELT is planning something.” She put her hands on her hips, blocking the entrance.

  “Walter. Penny. We will talk later.” Lola placed a hand politely but firmly on Sally’s back and guided her past Penny.

  I hurried out of the office after them. Sally leaned into me and whispered, “Did you find the photo yet?” It was a desperate plea.

  “I’ll look later.”

  “I could search for it now,” Sally said and took a step toward the theater.

  “No! Leave that to me.” We needed to get Sally out of here. I murmured in Lola’s ear, “Keep her at your place until I text later, okay?”

  “Will do. Maybe she knows something?” Lola asked hopefully.

  “Maybe. I’ll stop by this evening, but meanwhile she could probably use a bath and some decent clothes.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Lola said reassuringly.

  I watched them walk out the door and get into Lola’s Lexus, Sally’s Chevy nowhere in sight. Then I scooted next door to the Windjammer.

  * * *

  The hubbub about the ad in the Etonville Standard had died down, even though someone had snipped it out of the newspaper and left it by the cash register. Benny wiped down the glossy surface of the bar, dunking a cloth into sudsy water to remove grease and crumbs.

  I picked up the ad. “Someone’s idea of a joke?”

  Benny snorted. “Probably one of the actors. There were a crew of them in here for lunch getting a real kick out of themselves.”

  I crumpled the paper. “Glad someone’s enjoying it.” I tilted my head in the direction of the kitchen. “Henry?”

  “Hasn’t been in the dining room all day.”

  I left Benny to his dinner preparations and treaded apprehensively to the kitchen. Henry had planned tonight’s special last week, before La Famiglia’s rival ad appeared side-by-side with the Windjammer’s in the Etonville Standard: chicken saltimbocca and roasted vegetables with a balsamic dipping sauce. For a long time he’d resisted adding Italian dishes to the menu and that included most entrées with prosciutto and mozzarella cheese. But we’d ordered the chicken and laid in the ingredients, and he was not to be deterred. With the appearance of the ad, Henry was more competitive than ever.

  I pushed the swinging door open and paused inside the kitchen. Mallet in hand, Henry was pounding the life out of the chicken breasts. We’d be lucky if a trace of the meat was left on the cutting board. I cut my eyes to the center island where Enrico was chopping the veggies for roasting. “Can’t wait to try it!” I said cheerfully.

  “Henry has a new recipe,” Enrico confided. “Better than La Famiglia.”

  My cell rang so I backed out of the kitchen, hopefully leaving well enough alone. The ID read Pauli. “I was about to call you. What happened with the pictures?”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Pauli, we wanted to make the ELT and the actors look…” Professional? Talented? Like they knew what this play was all about? “It was supposed to be a tribute to the theater and to the Windjammer.”

  “Like, I thought these showed the actors and everybody like real people.” I could almost hear Pauli shrug. “We talked about cinéma vérité in my photography class. Like, how it’s cool to show people in real life.”

  Cinéma vérité? I couldn’t come down too hard on the kid. He was taking initiative and trying to create art. It wasn’t his fault the ELT members were up to their eyeballs with Eton Town and took advantage of the opportunity to fool around.

  “Okay. But maybe the next set of photos could be a little…”

  “Less real?” he asked.

  “Exactly.” One thing the Etonville Little Theatre could do without was reality. I paused. “Pauli, you said you were learning about deep searches in your digital forensics class. Search engines and websites the average person wouldn’t know about?”

  “Like, yeah. Some really awesome stuff. Last night we—”

  Benny flagged me down from the cash register. “Pauli, gotta go but can we talk later?”

  “When?” His enthusiasm was touching.

  “I’ll text you tonight. And remember the first rule of digital forensics…”

  “Confidentiality,” he said solemnly.

  * * *

  The chicken saltimbocca raised a few eyebrows, but mostly garnered positive reviews. Mildred and Vernon shared an order. “My, Henry is getting experimental,” Mildred said. “We’ve had this dish at La Famiglia.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t care for it much. Whether I eat it here or at the other place. Who needs ham on their chicken?” Vernon asked.

  “It’s called prosciutto,” Mildred informed him, with a trilled “r” and a heavy accent on the second syllable. “Very continental.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called. You can leave it off my plate.”

  Vernon was testier than usual these days; it didn’t seem to matter whether the show was opening or closing. “I’ll pass your review on to Henry.” I forced a smile.

  Vernon pushed his plate away. “By the way, I like that picture of me in the ad. I look like George Washington.”

  * * *

  The Windjammer was nearly empty by eight thirty. I’d texted Lola and she’d responded that Sally had taken a shower, took a two-hour nap, and scarfed up an enormous plate of pasta. Poor thing. Benny had offered to close up so I checked the seafood inventory, offered a few words of encouragement to Henry and waved good night.

  Outside the Windjammer, the cold air was refreshing, its bite a pleasant change from the warmth and stuffiness of the restaurant. Breathing in the icy night obliged my senses to sharpen, my mind to quicken. I had to be alert and on-my-toes in order to question Sally. I still felt she was innocent. But her ability to evade Archibald and tempt me with a version of a bait-and-switch at a Creston bodega, proved she was more wily than I imagined. For that matter, why did she come to the theater today? The photo?

  I drove down Main Street to the upscale end of town. The streets were still lightly coated in a slushy mixture of ice and snow. Spring could not come too soon for me. I tapped the brakes gently to avoid sliding into the intersection at Anderson and Main and waited for the light to change. I was weighing potential questions when red turned to green and I started to turn left. I was halfway through the crossing when a black Ford approached from the opposite direction, facing me head-on. My heart thudded. I
t was Archibald racing down Main, above the speed limit, and potentially headed to the Etonville Police Department. He was probably traveling too fast to identify me. At least that’s what I hoped. I stepped on the gas and flew to Lola’s house. My tires spun as I wrenched the steering wheel to the right and shot into her driveway, sliding a couple of feet before I came to a hard stop.

  Before I could grasp the knocker or hit the bell, the door was whisked open by Lola, looking, as usual, as if she’d prepped for a fashion shoot. Despite the chaos and tension of the day, Lola had managed to maintain her clothing composure and now wore green silk lounging pajamas, her blond hair swept up in a top-knot.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You hit my driveway like a—”

  “Where’s Sally?” I glanced over her shoulder.

  “In the family room. Why?”

  “I’m afraid Archibald may be on to us. Let’s go.” I strode past her, stripping off my gloves, muffler, and parka.

  “Here. Give me those.”

  Lola held out a hand and I deposited my winter gear into her arms. I moved through Lola’s entrance hall, past her immaculate kitchen—that reminded me for the hundredth time that I needed to give my kitchen a good cleaning—and into her family room where a fire was blazing and Sally Oldfield sat in a recliner, a soda can in one hand, the TV remote in the other. When I entered, she quickly turned off the television and set her can on an end table.

  “Hi, Dodie.” She smiled.

  Apparently the “coffee break” had been a good idea. Sally was swathed in Lola’s white spa robe, her hair and face scrubbed clean of the grime she had previously worn, her expression relaxed.

  “Sally. Wow. Big change,” I said.

  “Lola is a terrific host. And very generous with her wardrobe.” She tucked her legs up under her. “Thanks for getting me here.”

  “I was happy to help you escape the theater. Though neither Walter nor Penny may get over your missing the curtain call,” I said.

  She laughed quietly.

  I sat on the sofa next to her chair. “But now we need to talk. I think there’s a good possibility the Etonville police may come calling tonight.”