Another One Bites the Crust

by Ellie Alexander

  “Vera?” Thad asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Tracy was worried that Vera was going to figure it out. Her dresses have been getting tighter. She’s had to have them let out. Damn. I thought we were going to get away with it a while longer.”

  My heart sank. Get away with what? With murder?

  Thad looked at me. “No, whoa. Look, I’m talking about keeping her pregnancy a secret.”

  I exhaled. “Right, but why does it matter?”

  “Tracy is starting her career. We’re both really happy about the baby, but the timing isn’t great. We had talked about trying during the off-season. Neither of us planned that it would happen like this.”

  Without thinking I said, “Wait, so it wasn’t a mistake?” The minute the words left my mouth I wished I hadn’t said them.

  He looked injured. “What? The pregnancy? No. Tracy and I got married at Christmas. Like I said, we’re both thrilled. It’s just terrible timing with the show.”

  “You and Tracy are married?”

  His face lit up when he talked about her.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “She wanted to keep it on the down low. Actors get weird about that kind of thing. She thought it would be better to keep it quiet at this stage of her career. Having a leading lady who everyone can fall in love with can help land roles.”

  “Really?” I found that hard to believe. Lance wouldn’t discriminate against anyone for any reason. If an actor was right for the role, I was sure that he would cast them.

  “I told her she was overreacting. OSF isn’t like that, but she’d had friends who had gotten leads snatched out from under them for stranger things. I’m sure you’ve heard about the casting couch?”

  I nodded.

  “Unfortunately, in some places there’s rampant sexism still at play. That means actresses will go to great lengths to land a lead even if it means flirting—or more—with the powers that be.”

  That made sense, and yet nothing could be further from the truth about Lance and the way that he ran OSF.

  “The same is true for her pregnancy,” Thad continued. “Of course people are going to find out. Antony and Cleopatra runs for six months. She’s hoping to get at least four months in before she has to hand it off to her understudy.”

  “And that’s why the secrecy?”

  “It’s a big deal to have to leave a show halfway through, and she’s worried about her contract. She’s slotted for the school tours and wants to get a new contract next year after the baby is born.”

  “Got it.” Is this why Lance wanted me to come talk to Thad?

  “Now if it’s out and public she’s going to freak out. She’s convinced that they’ll pull her from the show.”

  “Will they?”

  Thad shrugged and stuffed the flashlight back into his tool belt. “I don’t know. I know that Lance wouldn’t fire her, and I don’t think we need to keep our marriage a secret, but they might decide to give the role to her understudy now and not have to worry about things like constantly having to adjust her costume.”

  “Right.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Look, I need to get back to the set and go find Tracy.”

  “Of course.” I slid the box of pastries toward him. “You should give her these.”

  “She’ll love them. It’s pretty funny to watch her eat. Usually, she’s counting every single calorie.” He smiled. I could tell that he was genuinely pleased that they were having a baby.

  We walked to the door together. I paused. “Do you have any idea if this could be connected to Antony’s murder?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “The police found an empty DVD case by Antony’s body. I wondered if maybe someone could have caught you and Tracy together.”

  “You mean and recorded it?”

  I nodded.

  “No way. We were careful.” He yanked the straps on his tool belt.

  I considered telling him that they weren’t careful enough not to have been spotted by Lance.

  “You mean you think that someone was blackmailing us with the DVD?” Thad scratched his head. “Wait, you think one of us killed Antony?”

  “No. I’m trying to figure out how the DVD factors into Antony’s death.”

  “I promise you that neither Tracy nor I had anything to do with Antony. We couldn’t stand the guy. He was a pompous jerk, but why would we kill him?”

  To keep him quiet, I thought.

  “I don’t know anything about a DVD, but I assure you that it doesn’t have anything to do with me and Tracy. If someone caught us making out we would have admitted it. We wouldn’t have killed over it.”

  He sounded sincere. I believed him. The only problem was that if he was telling the truth, that crossed him and Tracy off my suspect list.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Now what? I asked myself after leaving Thad at the theater. With every new piece of information that I learned I felt like I was more lost than ever. His reaction made sense, but he could have been lying. If he was really worried that Tracy’s pregnancy would have an impact on her ability to re-sign with OSF, or keep her leading role, maybe he killed Antony to protect her. I stopped in front of the outdoor stage and took a moment to collect my thoughts and figure out my plan of action.

  A handful of tourists emerged from the theater gift shop on the south end of the bricks. They opened up their shopping bags and showed each other their finds—Shakespeare bobbleheads, chewing gum, and insult mints. The market for novelty Shakespeare-related gifts was huge in Ashland. Many retail shops housed vast collections of gag gifts along with high-end items, like silver necklaces etched with famous quotes such as “To Thine Own Self Be True.”

  I smiled as one of them pulled a pink T-shirt from her bag and put it on. The shirt had a black-and-white picture of Shakespeare’s bust and the words WILL POWER. Was there any other writer—alive or dead—who had garnered such an enthusiastic and enduring fan base? Not in my opinion, but perhaps living in Ashland made me biased.

  My thoughts drifted to Antony’s murder. Assuming Thad was telling the truth I could scratch him and Tracy off my list. That left Vera, Judy, and Brock. Could either of the women have had the physical strength to move the body? And what motive did Brock have other than wanting an apartment to himself? I was about to let things lie when I heard Lance’s familiar, upbeat voice. “Darling! What a pleasant surprise.” He strolled up to me and sat so close that our knees touched.

  “Lance, what are you doing here?” I threw my arms around his neck.

  He stiffened.

  “They let you go?” I asked, removing my arms.

  His body posture was perfectly erect, yet his eyes gave away a look of relief. “Thankfully, yes.”

  “What did they say? Did they find something else in the forensics report or figure out who John Duncan is?”

  “Easy, easy,” Lance said, pushing his index fingers and thumbs together in a meditative pose.

  I socked his shoulder. “Stop. You have been Mr. Panic for the last week. You can’t seriously try to tell me that you’re now a model of calm.”

  He pursed his lips and bent his head in the direction of the group of tourists waving mini Elizabethan banners and chatting merrily about tonight’s show. “I have an image to protect. Not in front of my people.”

  His people? Classic.

  Lance stood and offered me his hand. “Let’s go find someplace more comfortable.” Under his breath, he whispered. “And I must find some better clothes.”

  He offered the tourists a regal wave. It took them a minute to register who he was. I could hear their delighted shouts once they did. “Keep your head down and let’s sneak in the back,” Lance commanded, leading me to a private door on the side of the outdoor stage. He didn’t speak until we made it to his office and he locked the door behind us.

  “What an ordeal.” He collapsed on the couch.

  “Wha
t happened?” I sat next to him.

  “That woman is humorless.”

  “Well, in fairness, she is investigating a murder.”

  Lance recoiled and then tapped both of his cheeks. “Look at this face, Juliet. Take a good look. This is not the face of killer.”

  “I know, but she has to follow procedure.”

  “You’re siding with my captor? Some friend you are.” Lance gave me an exaggerated sigh and crossed his thin legs.

  “She’s not exactly a captor—” I started to say, but Lance cut me off.

  “Did she or did she not imprison me?”

  “Technically, yes, but—”

  “But nothing.” Lance clapped his hands. “She detained me unduly and potentially tarnished my reputation and name. She will be hearing from my lawyers shortly.”

  I had the sense that Lance might change his tune once things settled down and returned to normal, so I just nodded. “What did you find out, though? Did she say anything when she let you go?”

  “Only that new evidence had come in. Then she gave me the usual ‘Don’t skip town’ talk. As if.”

  “What about the Professor or Thomas? Have you seen either of them?”

  He shook his head. “She’s not letting the Professor anywhere near her investigation and she has Thomas running around like her personal errand boy.”

  “I had a chat with Thad like you suggested.”

  Lance kicked off his shoes. “Do tell.”

  I explained my conversation and how Thad had appeared to be sincere. “What do you think?” I asked when I finished. “Would Tracy have been in danger of losing her role or contract if you found out she was pregnant?”

  “Good Lord, no.” Lance stood up and walked over to a closet on the opposite side of the office. He opened it and thumbed through a collection of expensive suits. Leave to it Lance to keep a backup wardrobe on hand. He removed a black tailored suit and crisp white dress shirt. “You don’t mind if I freshen up, do you?”

  Without waiting for me to respond he went into the attached bathroom and splashed water on his face. Then he shut the door to change, and raised his voice so I could hear him. “No one in my company would ever feel threatened or need to conceal something like that. What a ludicrous idea. I would never fire an actress for being with child. How barbaric.”

  I heard the buzz of an electric razor. “That’s what Thad said.”

  “Good,” he shouted. “I mean don’t get me wrong, we’ll have to accommodate and shuffle some things around, but my God, I wouldn’t throw her out on the streets.”

  Lance’s reaction confirmed everything that Thad had said and made me even more sure that he and Tracy weren’t the killers.

  The door to the bathroom opened and Lance emerged a new man. Gone was the disheveled hair and overnight shadow. He had shaved his face clean and applied a moisturizer that made his skin glow. His suit fit like a glove and matched his aristocratic posture. “That’s more like it.” He swept his arms out to both sides and bowed his head. “I’m back, baby.”

  “You look like your old self,” I said, smiling.

  “Finally.” He sighed. “I hate to admit it but being tossed in jail like ordinary pond scum might have been good for me, but don’t you dare tell another soul.”

  “Never.” I laughed. “This morning you were a wreck. What changed?”

  “You.” His catlike eyes focused on me. “As much as I tease, I have never had a friend like you, Juliet, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.”

  His sincerity was evident. I started to tell him that the same was true for me too, but he continued. “Don’t worry, I’ll limit my mushiness to those words.” He returned to the closet, rummaged through his ties, and tucked an apple-red pocket square into his breast pocket. “As you’re well aware I’ve been, hmmm, how shall I put it? Down in the dumps of late.”

  “I know.”

  “That changed today. I’m ready to fight. I’m ready to end this battle with the board, starting right now.”

  “Wow.” I could tell he was serious from his battle stance. “I’m glad that you’re feeling like yourself again, but what’s your plan?”

  “My plan—our plan—is to catch Antony’s killer tonight.”

  “What? How? I don’t even have any idea who the killer is.”

  Lance twined his fingers and gave me a Grinch-like smile. “Not to worry, darling. I do and it’s all thanks to your jelly doughnuts.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “What! You know who killed Antony?”

  Lance grinned. “I do, and there’s no time to waste.” He practically leaped behind his desk and slid open the bottom drawer.

  “I don’t understand.” I watched him flip through file folders.

  “You will.” He didn’t look up. His fingers flew as he whipped folder after folder on the hanging rack in the desk drawer.

  “Lance, what are you doing?” I stood up and walked over to the desk to get a better look.

  “Found it!” He grabbed a thick file folder from the drawer. Then he yanked my arm, pulled me out of his office, dragged me down the hall, and into the Bowmer Theater.

  “What are you doing? And why aren’t you talking to me?”

  He whipped his head around and pressed a finger to his lips. “Silence, darling. You’ll see.”

  How had Lance figured out who the killer was before me? Had he overheard something at the police station? I wanted answers.

  We entered the dark theater and Lance crouched down and pointed to the back row of seats. “This way. Stay low.”

  He slunk into an empty seat in the middle of the row.

  “Lance,” I whispered. “What is going on?”

  He tapped the file folder on his knee. “Patience, Juliet,” he hissed. “Stay low and be quiet. You don’t want to ruin the reveal.”

  The reveal? What was Lance talking about? My mind spun and my pulse beat in my neck as we sat in the dark theater.

  What was in the file folder?

  Lance kept glancing around in the blackness. I’m not sure how long we sat in silence, but it felt like an eternity. Every time I would try to ask Lance any questions he would press his hand over my knee and hush me.

  Suddenly, there was a flicker of light from the side of the stage.

  My breath caught. “What’s that?”

  “Silence,” Lance whispered almost violently.

  Had he lost it? Maybe his return to normal was really just the next evolution of his paranoia. Had I made a serious lapse in judgment? The shift in attitude had come quickly and out of nowhere. Maybe I had read the situation wrong.

  Lance wouldn’t hurt me, would he?

  Doubt invaded my senses. Sweat formed on my brow. My hands felt clammy. I wiped them on my jeans and stared at the light flicking on the left side of the stage.

  Why had Lance brought me in here? Alone. In the dark. What if he hadn’t been released by Detective Kerry? What if he snuck out? Maybe this was a setup to kill me. Maybe the light on stage was meant for me.

  You sound like a nutjob, Jules, I told myself and tried to relax. The past week had been such a whirlwind of changing personalities from Lance to Stephanie to my own roller coaster of emotions about Mom’s wedding. I didn’t trust my usually solid intuition.

  The light danced across the stage. Someone emerged from the shadows. At the same time, I heard muffled rustling behind us. I whipped my head around to see who was back there, but saw nothing.

  “Is someone here?” I mouthed to Lance. It was too dark for him to see.

  Again, the sound of shuffling feet made the hairs on my arms stand at attention.

  I had a bad feeling about this. My eyes darted back to the stage as the person with the light stood in its center, backlit by the flashlight. It was Brock.

  What was he doing here?

  I nudged Lance in the waist. He pressed his fingers into the top of my thigh so hard I thought they might leave a mark.

  Brock stared out into th
e darkness. He shined the light across the front row of seats and then along the back. Lance pushed my head down into my lap as the light made its way through the eerily empty seats.

  Nothing made sense. What was Brock doing alone onstage with a flashlight and why were we here? “What’s he doing?” I whispered to Lance.

  “Following my orders, darling,” Lance said in a hushed voice.

  The light drifted away from our seats so we both cautiously sat up, being sure to keep our heads even with the row in front of us. I had to stretch my legs underneath the seat in front of me.

  Brock moved the flashlight underneath his chin and craned his neck backward. The ghostly halo of his lit-up face gave me the creeps. He let out a low, evil laugh. At that moment I knew he must have killed Antony, but I had no idea why or how Lance had figured it out.

  I waited in silence. Lance didn’t have to tell me to keep quiet. Brock’s sinister face was the only warning I needed.

  My throat tightened as Brock sat down in the middle of the stage, keeping the flashlight butted up against his chin. He folded his legs and looked as if he could sit like that forever.

  I wondered how long this stalemate could go on, and if Brock had any idea that Lance and I were in the theater.

  Lance continued to clutch the file folder and hold his position slouched down in his seat. He had been right about the acoustics in the theater. It was so still that I could hear Brock breathing. It sounded shallow and fast. He was nervous. Why?

  My hands began to tingle and my feet felt numb. How long had we been here? Time ticked by as we waited. I wished I could adjust my body position. The muscles in my lower back tightened and a steady ache ran up my spine. I knew there was no chance of making a move now. Lance would kill me and Brock would hear it for sure.

  Brock reminded me of a statue. He sat with intention. The only thing that gave him away was his breathing.

  Suddenly, the door to the theater opened and light from the hallway flooded in. Detective Kerry stormed in. Her heels echoed on the cement floor. Brock jumped to his feet. He looked wobbly and had to catch his balance.