by Vicki Delany
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Renee’s having a hissy fit over something,” Pat said. “She finished her scenes earlier, checked her text messages, and ran out of the theater in tears without so much as asking if she was free to go. To which I would have said no, she was needed in wardrobe. She came back here and locked herself in her room. Judy knocked a few minutes ago to ask if she’d like anything, but Renee won’t answer. Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, she can sulk all she wants until she’s needed at rehearsals. But she likes to think she’s a delicate flower, so I’ll say some soothing words.”
“Maybe she went out for a walk?” I said. “And Judy didn’t see her leave?”
Eddie laughed, and Pat gave me a look. “Excuse me, but creatures like Renee don’t walk. Thus she rented that ostentatious convertible to get her back and forth to the gym.”
Pat headed for the stairs, followed by Eddie. For no reason but that I like to know what’s going on, I followed them. Grant followed me. At the top of the stairs, Eddie said, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He continued down the corridor, unlocking the door at the far end and letting himself in.
Pat tapped lightly on the actress’s door. “Renee, sweetie, it’s me, Pat. Open up.”
Silence. I took a step closer and sniffed the air. A large bouquet of fresh garden flowers sat on the piecrust table at the end of the corridor under a window. The window was open, and the fragrance of the flowers drifted lightly on the breeze. Judy had a heavy hand with scented cleaning equipment and commercial air freshener, but something stronger lay over this end of the hall. I sniffed again. Spilled brandy and the unmistakable scent of illness.
I stepped forward and rapped loudly. I put my ear closer to the door but heard nothing moving inside the room. “Renee! Some people are here to talk to you.”
Silence.
“Maybe she’s in the shower,” Grant said.
“The shower’s not running,” I said. “The radio and TV are not on so she should hear us. If she was in the bath or undressed, she’d call out for us to wait. Something’s wrong.” I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Nothing happened. “Judy, get this door unlocked!” I hammered on the door. “Renee! Wake up.” Judy didn’t arrive, so I turned to Grant. “Kick the door down.”
“What?”
“Do it. Now. Kick the spot immediately below the handle.”
All the blood rushed out of Pat’s face. “You don’t think . . .”
“I do,” I said, pulling her out of the way.
Grant stepped back. He braced himself. “Always wanted to do this.” His foot shot out, and the door splintered. He grunted and struck it again. The door crashed inward. I pushed it aside and ran into the room.
Renee Masters lay sprawled across the bed, facedown. I leapt over a bottle of brandy rolling on the floor to reach her. “Pat, call nine-one-one.” I rolled Renee onto her back. She let out a low moan and her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t open her eyes. A small amount of vomit was soaking into the pretty white bedcover with a trim of pink roses. “Grant!” I shouted. “Get the shower going. Keep the water cold.”
“What’s the heck’s going on?” Eddie ran into the room.
“I need a pen. Who’s got a pen?”
“You’re going to take notes?” Eddie said.
“Don’t be a fool. A pen, anything long and thin. I’m not putting my fingers down her throat, but she needs to be sick.”
“Looks like she already was,” Eddie said.
“Not enough.”
“Will this do?” Pat pressed a spoon into my hand. “It was on the tea tray.”
I pried open Renee’s mouth and shoved the bowl of the spoon in. She gagged and swatted at me. “Leave me ’lone. Go ’way. Let me die.”
I heard the sound of an ambulance approaching. “Grant, bring me a bucket of cold water.”
“Where am I going to get a bucket?”
“You’ll think of something. The flower vase in the hall.”
“I’ll get it,” Pat said.
I shoved Renee’s head over the side of the bed, and she retched onto the floor. I couldn’t help but notice that the pretty cream-and-pink carpet was a perfect match to the bedding.
Grant threw a vase of cold water onto Renee. His aim wasn’t good, and I ended up soaked.
Then the paramedics were in the room, and I left them to do their jobs.
I waited in the hall with Pat, Grant, Eddie, Judy, and other B and B guests who’d been attracted by the commotion. It wasn’t long before the stretcher came out. Renee was covered by a blanket and her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
“Anyone here a relative?” the young female paramedic asked.
“I’ll accompany you to the hospital,” I said.
I was standing next to Eddie. As the stretcher passed, Renee’s eyes flicked open. She extended her hand toward him. He made no move to take it.
As I fell into step behind the stretcher, I heard Eddie say to Pat, “Anything for attention.”
* * *
Either we had gotten to Renee in time or she hadn’t taken much since she stayed awake on the trip to the hospital. I’d found a container for prescription pills—empty—among the bedclothes and given them to the paramedics, as well as pointing out the brandy bottle on the floor. A cell phone had been beside the pill bottle. That, I had pocketed.
“I assume the police have been contacted,” I said to the paramedic as she checked her patient.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll want to suggest they inform Detective Ashburton. This woman was recently a witness in a possible homicide.”
When we arrived at the West London Hospital, I was directed to the waiting room while Renee was whisked behind a curtain.
I took a seat and pulled out Renee’s phone. Conveniently, it was not password protected. I never fail to be amazed at how lax some people are over matters of security and privacy.
Amazed, but highly satisfied.
I checked her messages.
At three fifteen, Renee had texted Eddie, Hey hot stuff. Let’s blow this pop stand after reh
Three thirty: Dump her and we can go back to B 4 afternoon delight
Between three thirty and three forty: three outgoing texts containing significant suggestive content.
In all that time, Renee received no incoming texts.
Then nothing until six fifteen, presumably when the actors were given a break: I saw U checking messages. Answer me.
Six twenty: Don’t U ignore me, Eddie. I no U R hiding in costume rm
Six twenty-two: It’s that blond baker, isn’t it?
Six twenty-four: She’s as empty as her so-called cake
Another long gap until six forty-seven: Eddie. Please. We’re so good together. Don’t you remember?
Finally, a response. At six forty-nine, Eddie replied, Always fun to have a romp for old times’ sake. We’re still finished. Don’t make a big deal of it.
And thus ended the text messages. Poor, desperate Renee, dumped by text.
Lucky for snooping Gemma, the entire conversation laid out before her. All afternoon Renee and Eddie were in the same building, but they conducted their correspondence by text message. Sherlock Holmes would have been reduced to listening at doors or relying on third-hand accounts.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. What on earth are you, of all people, doing here?”
I slipped Renee’s phone into my pocket. Louise Estrada stood over my chair, hands on hips, glaring down at me. At the end of the corridor, Ryan was talking to a nurse at the ER reception desk.
“Lovely to see you too, Louise,” I said.
“Don’t mock me, Gemma. They told us you’re the next of kin. How the heck did you manage to make them believe that?”
I lifted my hands. “I never said anything of the sort. Someone needed to be with Renee, and as I was the one who administered treatment to her when we found her, I volunteered to accompany h
er in the ambulance.”
“And you just happened to be there when she was found.”
“As a matter of fact—yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
“They say we can talk to her in a couple of minutes.” Ryan joined us. “She’ll be fine. They got to her in time. Or, it would appear, you got to her in time. Want to tell us about it, Gemma?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Pat and Grant burst into the room. “She’s going to be okay,” I said to the director.
Pat let out a puff of air and fell onto the lumpy couch beside me. “Thank heavens. I might have called her a prima donna, and I might not have sounded all that sympathetic, but the last thing I need is to lose another actor in this production.”
“Miss Stapleton doesn’t have too big a role in The Hound,” I said. “Doesn’t Renee have a much bigger part in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?”
“Yes, but The Hound of the Baskervilles is our centerpiece this season. Why—?”
“Save it for later,” Estrada said.
“I need a coffee. I’ll be back soon.” Pat got to her feet and walked away.
Ryan said, “First, is there any doubt, Gemma, that this was a suicide attempt?”
I shook my head. “Not in the least. She took sleeping pills—I don’t know how many as I don’t know how many had been in the bottle—and chased them down with brandy. It’s possible someone could have forced her to consume the pills and the liquor, but obviously that wasn’t done in this case.”
“It’s obvious, is it?” Estrada said.
“Yes, it is. Aside from the fact that no one stayed in the room to wait for events to come to their logical conclusion, Renee told me to go away. She attempted to stop me helping her and resisted when I did so. In short, she did not want me to save her life.”
Estrada and Ryan exchanged glances.
“A suicide attempt is often a confession,” he said.
“But not in this case,” I said.
“Oh, please,” Estrada said. “Bellingham insulted her at the tea party, loudly and publicly. We’ve been looking into her, we’ve been looking into them all, and it’s clear that her career is pretty much stalled, if not on a substantial downward direction. His insults pushed her over the edge, and she lashed out the first chance she got.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Grant said. “I mean, your theory sounds reasonable. Not the lashing out part.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Ryan asked.
Grant stood straighter, lifted his chin, and subtly puffed up his chest. He casually laid his arm on my shoulder. “Gemma and I paid a call on Pat before going out to dinner.”
Ryan glared at Grant’s hand. He pulled back his own shoulders. For a moment there, I expected the two of them to lower their heads, paw the cracked and faded linoleum of the hospital floor, and issue bellowing challenges.
“Grant’s thinking of making a substantial donation to the theater company,” I said. “I suggested he speak to Pat to find out how the festival is doing financially. I know rehearsal ends at seven, so we’d be likely to get her at the B and B if we dropped in.”
The two men eyed each other for a moment. Ryan was the first to break the stare-down. “Gemma, do you have anything to say about the theory that this suicide attempt was a confession?”
“Why are you asking her?” Estrada said.
I ignored her. “I don’t think Renee tried killing herself over anything to do with Nigel. I notice Eddie didn’t bother to come to the hospital.”
“He said we don’t need a crowd. He told me to call when we have news.” Pat returned, bearing a cup of machine-dispensed coffee. It looked as unappealing as it smelled. “Speaking of news, I don’t want this to get into the papers. The last thing we need is word getting around that our cast is unreliable.”
“I would have thought the last thing you’d want would be another one of your actors dying,” I said.
“That too,” she replied.
“I have a feeling Renee will be happy to tell you what drove her to desperation,” I said.
“What do you know that you aren’t telling me, Gemma?” Ryan said.
I smiled at him. He did not smile in return. Not for the first time, I wished Ryan Ashburton was not a police officer. But he was. I sighed. “If I can have a word in private?”
“I don’t . . .” Estrada said.
“A quick one.” Ryan and I moved farther down the hallway.
I didn’t tell him I’d been reading Renee’s phone. “She used to date Edward Barker. They broke up a few years ago when he married someone else. And before you ask how I know, it’s common knowledge, available for anyone to read thanks to the marvels of the World Wide Web.”
“Dare I ask why you’ve been checking up on these people when you’ve been told not to get involved?”
“In this case, I’m innocent. He’s going out with Jayne. I’m protecting her interests.”
“Whether she wants you to or not, I’d guess,” Ryan said.
I ignored that comment. “Renee seems to think that, seeing as to how Eddie’s single again, they’re going to get back together. He, apparently, disagrees.”
“The oldest story of them all.” Ryan couldn’t help himself. He glanced at Grant.
“Yup.”
A doctor came out of one of the curtained cubicles. She spotted Ryan and headed straight for us. “Detective. Ms. Masters can talk to you now.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’ll be fine. More embarrassed than anything, I think, and she’ll have a killer headache. It doesn’t seem as though there were many pills in that bottle, so it was mostly the effects of all the booze taken at once.”
Ryan gestured to Estrada to join him, and they followed the doctor.
“Out of danger,” I told Pat and Grant.
“That made for an exciting evening,” Grant said. “Ready to go, Gemma?”
“Why don’t you and Pat conduct your business now,” I said. “I’m sure Pat will want to talk to Renee when the police are finished, won’t you, Pat?”
“Darn right, I will. It’s too bad talking is the worst I can do. That girl deserves a good spanking.”
I sat down. “I’d like to give her my best wishes too.”
“Perhaps you could call on her tomorrow. She’ll be exhausted tonight.” Grant checked his watch. “It’s after eight thirty. If we don’t leave now, we’ll lose our reservation.”
“Reservation?”
“At the Blue Water Café?”
“Do we have a reservation?”
“I assumed so. It was your idea to go there tonight, and it’s almost impossible to get a table on the deck without one. Didn’t you make the reservation?”
“I guess I forgot. Sorry.”
“No matter,” he said. “The mood’s been thoroughly ruined. I could use a coffee, though. And not something out of a vending machine. Do you think the cafeteria’s still open?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll check. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll come with you.” Pat threw her cup into the trash.
It was a fairly quiet evening in the West London Hospital’s ER. A nearly hysterical mother came in with a girl of about twelve, bleeding copiously from the side of her head, and an elderly man was hustled past, screaming that they, whoever they might be, were after him.
While waiting, I amused myself by checking to see if Renee had had any contact with Nigel Bellingham prior to his death. According to her phone, they had never spoken or texted. She had also never been in touch with Gerald Greene. I didn’t bother to read her correspondence with Pat or anyone else in the theater group. That would be too intrusive. Even for me.
Pat and Grant came back, carrying their coffees, at the same time Ryan and Estrada emerged from the curtained cubicle.
Estrada checked her phone. “That Reynolds kid’s been brought in again,” she said to Ryan.
“You t
ake it. I’ll finish up here.”
She pointedly ignored me as she left.
“You can go in now,” the nurse said.
Pat got to her feet.
“But only one of you, and only for a moment.”
“Tell her I hope she’s feeling better tomorrow.” I handed Renee’s phone to Pat. “I picked this up off the bed at the B and B. I’m sure she’ll want it.”
“Now can we go?” Grant said.
“I think so.”
Ryan was on his own phone, but he caught my eye and lifted one hand, telling me to wait. I wandered over to see what he wanted.
“How can I go on without him?” Renee moaned from behind the thin curtain.
“Because you have to, you silly thing,” Pat said. “Heartbreak is a part of life. I can’t see that he’s worth it anyway.”
“But I love him.”
“Pooh. Waste of time, love is. Take it from me. You know what’s worth living for?”
“What?”
“Fame, that’s what. A chance at the brass ring.”
Renee groaned. “You can’t possibly mean performing in this two-bit town. In a barn no less! I haven’t been offered a good role in months. Years. I’m washed up. Finished. My mom paid for that car rental as a birthday present. I’d rather have the rent on an apartment in the city, but how can I tell her I’ve been evicted?”
“Something big is coming, Renee. Believe me. I need you to stick with me. You won’t be disappointed.”
“She’s right here.” Ryan offered me his phone.
I tore my attention away from the drama going on behind the curtain. “What?”
“Jayne,” he said. “She wants to speak to you.”
I took the phone. “Hello?”
“Mom’s ready to talk to the police,” Jayne said.
“That’s good.”
“Only Detective Ashburton though. She doesn’t trust Estrada.”
“I don’t know that she can specify the conditions, Jayne.” I glanced at Ryan. He gave me a nod.
“And not at the police station. She’s scared, Gemma. Scared and embarrassed and ashamed. The police station will only make her feel worse. I told Ryan that, and he said we could talk someplace else. She wants you there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”