Murder at the Palace

by Margaret Dumas

  I surprised myself by being more curious than outraged at his unrepentant violations of my privacy. “Is that how you knew I was in trouble this morning?”

  For the first time, Hector lost his I-know-everything attitude. “No. I knew that you had entered the building, but I did not know that Randall was already there. When I saw you go in, I expected to see a light in the office soon thereafter. When I did not, I became concerned. But it wasn’t until you flashed the lights that I knew I had to take action. I had no patience to pick the lock, so I threw a brick through the glass of the door.”

  “What do you mean, I flashed the lights?”

  He looked bemused. “All the lights in the building flared on then off all at once. I assumed you’d thrown some master switch, just for a moment, to signal me.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t done any such thing. I’d been down in the basement with a killer.

  “Had Marty gotten in by that time?”

  Hector shook his head. “He must have arrived after the lights flashed, as I was going down the stairs here. That’s why, when I saw him with you, and the blood on your lovely face, I assumed the worst.”

  I was momentarily distracted by the phrase “your lovely face,” then I focused on what he’d just told me. There was only one other person who could have flashed the lights. Someone who had promised me she would find a way to call for help. And she had.

  “And now I must ask your forgiveness,” Hector said.

  “Damn right,” I told him. “I can’t believe you had me followed.”

  He waved a hand. “Not for that. But for not taking the same precautions over Kate’s friend Monica. I deeply regret what happened to her. And also for thinking one of your friends might have killed my brother.” He reached for my hand, which I didn’t give him. He left his palm-down on the table. “Please forgive me, Nora.”

  I looked at him long and hard. He had no remorse about spying on me, following me, bugging my office. But he’d also thrown himself into danger to save me when I was threatened, and everything he’d done he’d done to find his brother’s killer. I’d done some questionable stuff myself for the same reason.

  I still didn’t fully trust him. But I didn’t fully not trust him, either.

  He was waiting for an answer.

  “Louie,” I sat back in my chair. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  He looked confused, not recognizing the last line Bogie says to Claude Rains at the end of Casablanca (1942, Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman). But that was okay. I was kind of looking forward to showing him some old movies.

  Chapter 35

  “Hi Nora. Do you want me to staple some posters to the plywood? I mean, you know, new posters. I mean, you know, old posters but not real old posters. You know?”

  Brandon was stationed in the ticket booth, and he glanced up the entryway—where an original Frankenstein poster was no longer hanging—to the hastily-repaired lobby door.

  The thought of shooting staples through one of Kate’s posters, even one of the reproductions, made me a little queasy. “Please don’t,” I told him. “We’ll get the door fixed on Monday.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay.” A blush swept over his face like an incoming tide.

  “Thanks, Brandon. I’m glad we’re all okay.”

  The movie was in progress, so the lobby was empty of customers. Claire was behind the candy counter but didn’t look up from her phone as I came in and headed for the balcony stairs. No wonder Todd had been able to just breeze in with the crowd the day before. I shuddered at the memory of him grabbing me and sprinted up the stairs to dispel it.

  I found Marty in the projection booth.

  “I brought you something.” I held a white paper bag up to show him. I’d picked up several of the yummiest looking pastries at the café where I’d left Hector.

  “You promised me doughnuts.” He took the bag and looked inside. “A hazelnut croissant is not a doughnut.” Nevertheless he took it out and devoured half of it in one bite.

  “I’ll bring you doughnuts every day from now on,” I told him. “I’ll also hire you a real assistant—one that you get to pick. And I’ll still never be able to thank you enough.”

  He looked at me with profound irritation, which was somewhat compromised by the flakes of pastry at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t even know you were here. I would have played my music whether—”

  “It wasn’t just the music,” I said. “I was about to fall down those stairs. If you hadn’t grabbed my wrist I would have gone right after Todd. Admit it, you saved me.”

  He shrugged, a full-body twitch, looking even more irritated. “It was just instinct.”

  I beamed at him. “That’s what you say. But do you know what I say?” I moved closer and sang softly. “You saved me, you sa-ved me…” to the tune of “Good Morning,” from Singin’ in the Rain (1952, Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds).

  This nearly caused Marty’s head to explode in irritation. Which was what I’d been going for. “Are you going to be cheerful now? Because I was just starting to not one hundred percent hate you. But if you’re going to be cheerful, all bets are off.”

  I laughed and left him alone in the booth. Because that’s the way he liked it.

  There was still no sign of Trixie. I told myself that it had taken her a while to recover from the effort of breaking a coffee mug the first time I’d met Todd Randall. It would probably take her longer to recover from the morning’s superhuman efforts. But I still felt a little lost without her keeping me company in the office.

  “Albert,” I popped my head into the break room, where the ninety-year-old ticket taker was jabbing purposefully at the screen of an iPad. “I’m going to go out for a—”

  “Oh, Kate. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve just spoken to Sasha.”

  My look must have said “Who’s Sasha?” pretty clearly.

  “Sasha Roth. He owns a gallery in Sonoma,” Albert explained. “It’s on the main square, opposite the Sebastiani Theater. Have you ever been?”

  I came into the room, realizing this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation. “No,” I told him. “I’ve never been to wine country up here.”

  “Oh, you must go,” he said. “It’s lovely. This time of year it’s a little bare, after the grapes are harvested, but—”

  “Albert,” I said gently. “Who’s Sasha?” The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it.

  “He’s the dealer who sold Kate most of the posters,” Albert said.

  Of course. I’d seen his name in the ledger. I sat at the table. “Tell me everything.”

  He grinned. “Well, around the holidays last year his gallery was in a bit of a financial pickle. He’d done well carrying vintage advertising posters for wine and liqueurs, so he’d gone all-in on a very impressive collection of classic film posters, thinking that people who came to see the Sebastiani—it’s a lovely old theater—would be a good clientele for movie memorabilia.”

  “But not so much,” I guessed.

  “They only wanted reproductions,” Albert said. “He couldn’t move the originals. He paid attention to the online markets, and when he noticed Kate had bought four originals in the space of a few weeks, he got in contact with her. He sold her three lots over three months, all for cash.”

  I sat back in the chair. “And they’ve all been authenticated?”

  He nodded. “Nora,” he said carefully, “that’s a lot of cash.”

  I looked at him. “Yes it is.”

  “I’ve been asking myself whether I want to know where Kate laid her hands on that much cash.” He glanced at me, then at something over my shoulder.

  “Well, I want to know.” I turned to see Marty standing in the doorway, arms crossed and chin lifted defiantly.

  Callie stood beside him. “I mean,” she sai
d. “I kind of think we probably should know.” They both moved into the room and sat at the table. “Because we’re talking about Kate, right? So, no matter what it is, we’re going to, like, understand. Right?” She looked at the others.

  “Are you sure?”

  They were. So I got up and closed the door. Then I told them Kate’s story.

  Later, after hugs (from Albert), tears (Callie), and a long stoic stare (Marty), I knew what I had to do.

  “Monica?” I called her from my office. “I need to talk to you about the money.”

  I’d told them where it had come from. And I’d told them why Kate had done what she’d done. That she’d been using her twenty percent not just to keep the Palace going, but also to support a network of safe houses that helped abused women escape. And why that cause had been so important to her.

  “Kate’s share of the money,” I now told Monica. “It should be just under a million and a half dollars, right?”

  “Twenty percent of whatever we get for the posters,” Monica said. “So somewhere in that neighborhood. Which won’t be enough for a full remodel, but you can start, right?”

  “Right, except we don’t want to use it for that.”

  “What do you mean? And who’s ‘we?’”

  “I told the gang. Albert and Callie and Marty. I told them all of it.” I ignored Monica’s sharp intake of breath. “And they made a decision. They don’t want to keep Kate’s share. They want to give it to the shelters.” My voice broke. It had taken all my strength not to dissolve into a weepy mess when they’d come to their incredibly generous decision. “They think it’s what Kate would have wanted. They want to donate it in her memory.”

  “Oh, Nora.” At which point we both dissolved into weepy messes.

  It took a while for me to pull myself together after getting off the phone with Monica. I hadn’t told her what else I’d talked about with Albert and Callie and Marty.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to use the money for the Palace?” I’d asked.

  Marty squared his shoulders. “We’ll be fine. I don’t need an assistant.”

  “We’ll, like, figure something out,” Callie agreed.

  “By hook or by crook,” Albert nodded.

  “Probably not by crook,” I cautioned. However nice it would have been to continue getting supplemented by Monica’s money laundering, it didn’t seem safe to keep it up. Not with all the police attention the Palace had been getting lately. “But you’re right. We can figure it out. We will figure it out.”

  Although I had no idea how.

  My phone pinged with a text, startling me out of my thoughts. The text was from my lawyers, and it was just one line.

  Read your email.

  I swallowed. If I’d been able to deal with a crazed killer in the basement I should be able to deal with a simple email from a lawyer, right? But I still tapped the envelope icon with a thudding heart.

  I found the right email quickly. It contained a draft of a preliminary financial settlement, agreed to by Ted’s lawyers. Both “draft” and “preliminary” told me that there was a long way to go, but they also told me that this was happening. My marriage was really over.

  My eyes blurred with tears, which I blamed on last night’s lack of sleep. I blinked them away and looked at the settlement. It was a lot of money.

  With this amount of money came freedom. Not just from my philandering husband, but from everything. I could start my life over anywhere.

  I blinked and looked around the cluttered office. This was where Kate had started her life over. Could I do the same? I’d made friends here. Albert was possibly the sweetest man on earth, Callie was wry and observant when she put her phone down, and Marty was a supreme curmudgeon, but I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather talk old movies with.

  And then there was Trixie. Maybe I could leave the Palace, but could I leave her? And what if the Palace didn’t make it? What would happen to her?

  “Trixie?” I said out loud.

  But my best friend at the Palace was silent.

  Chapter 36

  I went out walking as evening settled over the city. Walking and thinking, not paying attention to where I headed, not really having a direction in mind. But eventually I looked up and found myself on the sidewalk in front of Robbie’s house.

  I went around to the guesthouse to pick up my laptop and a few other things, but I was too unsettled to stay in. I headed back to the theater and arrived as the 9:40 Gaslight began.

  Callie was behind the candy counter. “I thought you left.”

  “I’m back,” I said. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.” Because I had things to do.

  I stopped in the break room for coffee, then took my laptop to the office and opened it up at the desk. The first thing I did was answer the lawyers. Then I went to my blog, because Marty was right. It had been far too long since Sally Lee’s last post. And walking all over the city had given me a lot to write about.

  Marty and Callie both dropped by to say goodnight when the last show was over, but I barely glanced up. I was on a roll. Alone in the office in the empty theater I might have been afraid. I might have been creeped out by everything that had happened, hearing every little creak and rattle as a murderous maniac on approach. But I felt just the opposite. As midnight came and went I found myself relaxing into my writing. Alone at the Palace, I felt at home.

  I was just wrapping up a new posting when a voice startled me. An incredibly welcome voice.

  “Nora, you’re all right! I’m so glad! How long have I been gone?”

  “Trixie!” I jumped to my feet and ran to hug her, remembering just in time that I couldn’t do that. I stopped awkwardly in front of her. “Are you okay? How did you do that? You saved my life!”

  “Did I?” Her eyes grew huge, sparkling. “I don’t remember anything but watching him chasing you up those stairs and being so furious I could have killed him. Then I must have gone poof. What happened?”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  She shook her head. “Did the police come? Did they arrest him?”

  I hesitated for an instant, making a quick decision. “No. He fell down the stairs. He died.”

  She gasped, putting her hands to her mouth. “When he was chasing you? Oh, Nora.” Then her shock turned to indignation. “Well, it serves him right.”

  It did serve him right. And if she didn’t realize she was responsible for it, I wasn’t going to burden her with that knowledge. I thought she might have blocked out her part in saving me because her mind couldn’t cope with it. She’d been glorious and terrifying. Maybe too terrifying for her to deal with.

  “You were amazing,” I said. “Your trick with the lights got me the help I needed.”

  “Did it?” Her face glowed with happiness. “Oh, Nora, I just couldn’t bear to think of him hurting you. And I couldn’t bear not being able to help.”

  “You helped, sweetie. You helped so much.”

  More than she would ever know.

  “And the posters? Are they real?”

  “They are,” I told her. “We found the MacGuffin and solved the murders.”

  “Well! That’s not too bad for the new girl and a ghost.” She stood up tall, the gold braid on her cap glinting in the light from the desk lamp.

  “Not bad at all,” I agreed.

  Maybe it was for the best that Trixie couldn’t remember what had happened. It would probably figure in my nightmares for years. Maybe her inability to remember also accounted for something else I hadn’t been able to understand. She had no memory of Kate’s death. Was that something else that she’d actually seen and blanked out? Had it just been too painful? I’d probably never know.

  A light rain had started earlier, and the wind must have been picking up, because we both heard a banging coming from downstairs.r />
  Trixie flitted to the window and looked down at the dark wet street. “I don’t see anything.” She looked at me. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  I’d seen them take the body out. “I’m sure,” I said. “But the glass on the front door got broken. I bet the plywood came loose in the wind.” I looked around the room for anything I’d be able to use to secure it.

  “Are you sure?” Trixie said. “I think it sounds like someone knocking.”

  Now that she mentioned it, the banging did have a certain rhythm.

  “Who—” Trixie asked.

  “Hector,” I guessed. He’d probably been watching me walk around the office having a conversation with no one from his room across the street. “Wait here,” I said. “He’s probably just checking up on me.” And thinking I’d lost my mind.

  “He’s that dishy Latin Lover type, isn’t he?” Trixie dimpled. “You take all the time you want, honey. When you come back I’ll tell you about a dream I once had about Gilbert Roland.”

  I grinned at her, glad beyond words that she’d come back.

  As I loped down the balcony stairs I admitted to myself how tired I was. I had a hotel room at the Fairmont and a bed in Robbie’s guesthouse. I should pick one of them and get some sleep. And in the morning, maybe I should start looking for my own place. Because it looked like I was going to stay.

  Callie had left the lights on over the candy counter, knowing I was still upstairs. That was enough light for me to make my way across the lobby to the doors, where I saw the plywood was still in place on one and the outline of a man backlit by the streetlights was visible through the glass of the other. He waved when he saw me.

  I waved back, then entered the alarm code and opened the door. “Hector—”

  But it wasn’t Hector.

  “Babe.”

  Ted Bishop, movie star, husband, and paramour of Priya Sharma, stepped into the lobby and swept me into a cinematic embrace. He inhaled deeply, muttering in my ear in a way that sent well-remembered shivers skating down my spine. “Babe, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so, so stupid.”