by Sammi Carter
“He just told you Laurence died without any family. I’ll give you three guesses who gets the money now.”
Jason pulled his gaze away from the door. “Mr. Manwaring?”
“Bingo. Give the kid a gold star.”
“And he owes some of it to you?” I asked.
“He owes at least half of it to me.” Alexander brushed dirt from his sleeves and hitched his pants. He grabbed a thick file folder from the table and started toward his office. “Ask him to tell you about our production of Cabaret in Seattle sometime. And then throw out 75 percent of what he tells you as total bullshit.”
With that parting shot, he disappeared, leaving Jason and me alone. “Well,” I said with an uneasy laugh, “I think that went well. Are you sure you want to get into this life? Maybe you should cut your losses and find a nice, safe job at Home Depot.”
Jason grinned. “Maybe. What do you think that was all about?”
I shook my head and replayed the last bit of the argument we’d just witnessed. “Gee, I could be wrong, but I don’t think there’s any love lost between those two. I’d really like to know what happened in Seattle, and why Alexander blames Laurence for it.”
“I don’t think you’re going to get a straight story out of either one of them,” Jason said.
“Neither do I, but there must be someone who knows what happened.”
“I guess you’re right.” Jason started to follow Alexander from the room.
“Jason, wait.”
He turned back uncertainly. “Yeah?”
“The day Laurence died, you seemed really concerned about Colleen Brannigan. Would you mind telling me why?”
“Well, because she . . . uh . . . she just seemed upset.”
“Not because you thought she had a relationship with Laurence?”
His cheeks burned red. “You heard what she said. They were friends.”
“But you thought they were more than that, didn’t you? Why?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I did think that, but I was wrong.”
“Maybe. How well do you know Colleen?”
Jason hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. “Pretty well, I guess. Why?”
“Have you ever met her husband?”
The kid snorted a laugh. “Yeah. He hangs around her all the time. The day Laurence told her to get rid of him, I thought he was going to lose it, y’know?”
That was news to me. “When did Laurence tell her to do that?”
Jason shook his head as if he was having trouble remembering. “The day before he died maybe? Or the day before that. I’m not sure.”
“But you do remember Doyle’s reaction. What did he do?”
Jason met my gaze slowly. “I probably shouldn’t say anything. I’m sure it looked worse than it was.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “It was a couple of hours later. I was getting some stuff out of the scenery shop and I heard the two of them arguing. Mr. Brannigan was saying all this stuff about Laurence and Colleen, and Laurence was laughing. But not a nice laugh. It was like, ‘Yeah? What are you going to do about it?’ ”
Now we were getting somewhere. “And how did Mr. Brannigan take that?”
“Not well. He got really mad and told Laurence to leave Colleen alone or . . . or it would be the last thing he ever did.”
Chapter 18
As soon as I could leave Divinity the next day, I packed Max into the Jetta and aimed for Leadville. Like Paradise, Leadville is an old town settled by miners back in the 1800s. It’s not hard to navigate, so it only took me a few minutes to find the address I’d copied from the phone book earlier.
Colleen lived in a two-story Shaker-style house just off Alder Street. A sagging chain link fence encircled a tiny neglected yard; an icy trail the exact width of a snow shovel blade led to the front door. I left Max in the car and followed the trail, crossing my fingers that Doyle wasn’t home in the middle of the day.
Colleen came to the door wearing jeans, a peach-colored sweatshirt, and an apron dusted with flour. She brushed a lock of blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand and smiled broadly when she recognized me. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
Leadville was a bit out of my way, so I couldn’t just claim to be in the neighborhood. I gave her a watered-down version of the truth. “I had some business nearby. Since I was coming this direction, I looked up your address but I probably should have called—”
She cut me off with a laugh and motioned me inside. As she started to shut the door, she stopped and jerked it open again. “Do you have a dog in the car?”
“That’s Max. He goes almost everywhere with me.”
“Will he bite me?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Not a chance. If anything, he’d lick you until you fell over.”
“Well, then, bring him in. It’s too cold to leave him outside.”
I hustled back to the Jetta for Max and his traveling water dish, and the two of us followed Colleen into a gleaming kitchen filled with the aroma of ripe bananas. With its simple wooden cabinets and granite counters, the Shaker-style kitchen showed all of the care and pride the house was missing on the outside. Except for the mess on the counter, the kitchen could have been a snapshot in a magazine.
“I hope you don’t mind if I finish up here,” she said, perching a pair of glasses on her nose. “I’m in the middle of this banana nut bread, and if I stop now I’ll never finish.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said with a grin. I settled Max near the back door and sat at the table where I could watch her work. “It’s strange to see you looking so domestic,” I said with a laugh. “I still picture you as seventeen and heading for the slopes.”
Colleen grinned and attacked the batter with a wooden spoon. “I still ski . . . sometimes. Doyle’s not big on skiing, though. He’s a certified couch potato, so that kind of slows me down.”
Questions bubbled up in my throat, but I didn’t want to offend her by asking about Laurence’s death the first time Doyle’s name came out of her mouth. Telling myself to be patient, I made myself go through the motions. Small talk first. That’s how the game was played. “How long have you lived here?”
“Ten years?” She stopped stirring to think about it, then nodded firmly. “Ten years. Eleven in April. What about you? I heard you got divorced. Are you doing okay?”
I nodded. “It was tough at the time, but it’s been two years. He’s married again. Got a baby. I’m . . .” This was the part where I should say that I was dating Jawarski, but the words still got stuck in my throat at times.
“Dating a cop. I heard.” Colleen grinned. “The Paradise telegraph system is alive and well, my friend. Nothing ever changes.”
“Yeah? What else did they tell you?”
“Just that he’s ready to make a commitment and you’re not. Accurate or not?”
I wagged my hand back and forth and grimaced. “Kinda. Sorta. Not entirely. It’s complicated.” Which, of course, meant that I didn’t want to talk about it.
Colleen accepted that, even if she did look disappointed. “Well, I’m sorry about the divorce. I can’t even imagine.”
Again, I ignored the impulse to ask her about Doyle. “Your house is terrific. I’ll bet you love it here.”
She smiled and looked around as if she was seeing the room for the first time. “I do, especially since Doyle and I did all of the work. Mostly Doyle, really. I held the Sheet-rock and handed him tools.”
“Doyle did this?” This was the third time she’d brought him up, which I took as a sign from the Universe that I didn’t have to keep avoiding the subject. “It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. Well, okay, I am. I just didn’t realize Doyle was so talented.”
“He doesn’t get all the credit. I designed it. He just did the hard part. I just love the Shaker style, don’t you? It’s so clean and simple, but elegant in a way.”
I’d never given it much t
hought, but I was quickly becoming a convert. “He’s obviously talented. Is this what he does for a living?”
Colleen nodded. “He’s been custom-making cabinets for people in the area for six or seven years now. Until last year, he worked for a general contractor, but his side business grew so much last winter, he decided to step out on his own. We’re just holding our breath to see if he makes it.”
“If this is an example of his work, I’m sure he’ll be successful.” If he isn’t in prison for manslaughter.
Colleen’s smile grew warmer. “I think so, too. I have a lot of faith in him.” She stirred for a minute, her expression growing more pensive as she did. “He didn’t exactly make the best impression on you the other night, did he?”
No way I could ignore an opening like that. “He did seem pretty upset.”
She whipped the spoon around inside the bowl. “I hope you don’t think worse of him for that. Doyle can be passionate at times.”
Passionate. Volatile. You say potato . . .
“How was he after the cast meeting? Did he calm down?”
The spoon stilled and her smile vanished completely. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Apparently, I’d crossed a line with that question. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” I assured her. “But he seemed pretty upset with Laurence.”
“Yeah, and right before Laurence was killed.” Colleen abandoned her bread and gripped the countertop with both hands. “Are you the one who told the police about our conversation?”
Conversation. Argument. I say po-tah-to. “I mentioned it to the detectives.” At her outraged cry, I said quickly, “I had to Colleen. A man was killed. If I hadn’t told them about the things Doyle was saying, I’d have been guilty of withholding information.”
“Our conversation was private.”
“Hardly—you had that conversation in public. I was standing right there. I couldn’t have missed it if I’d tried.”
She sniffed and picked up the spoon again, but that was as far as she got with it. “You think my husband killed Laurence?”
“I don’t know. I just know Richie didn’t.”
“What about Vonetta? You saw her. She was covered in blood.”
“But there wasn’t any spatter. The blood on her came from leaning over him, not from whacking him on the back of the head.”
“So you’re what? An expert?” She scooped batter into a loaf pan, but the domestic feel was gone. Her eyes were wild, and her snarl almost feral. “You watch CSI and suddenly you know all about blood spatter evidence?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, for your information, Doyle couldn’t have cut that cable, and he couldn’t have killed Laurence. He was at the Avalanche all night.”
“All night?”
“He was there for a Caribou meeting. He got there at six and he didn’t leave until after one.”
I hadn’t been expecting that, and disappointment hit me hard. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She set the oven temperature and slid the pan into the oven. “You’re lucky you’re an old friend, Abby. Otherwise I’d tell you to go to hell. My husband did not kill Laurence, and I’m furious with you for even suggesting it.”
I made a mental note to stop by the Avalanche and find out if Doyle had actually stayed for the entire meeting. “I didn’t accuse him,” I said. “I only said that he was angry with Laurence.”
“He was angry with me, not with Laurence.”
“Because he thought you two were having an affair.” I didn’t want to kill our friendship, but I couldn’t avoid the next question. “Was he right? Were you having an affair with Laurence Nichols?”
Fire flashed in Colleen’s eyes. “That’s it, Abby. Go to hell.”
“I don’t blame you for being angry. I would be, too. But you know the police are going to ask you about all of this.”
“Thanks to you.”
“If I hadn’t told them, someone else would have. For all I know, someone else did.”
She raked her fingers through her hair, oblivious to the flour she left in their tracks. “Dammit, Abby. You’ve seen Doyle. He’s not the most handsome man in the world, and he doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence. When he sees somebody like Laurence—and let’s face it, Laurence was a good-looking man—he goes a little crazy. But that doesn’t mean he’d try to kill the other guy.”
“Did he have any reason to be suspicious?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Of course not.” When I didn’t back down, she relented a little. “Okay, so I once had a little crush on Laurence, and he would have gone to bed with me in a heartbeat if I’d said yes. But I love my husband. I would never cheat on him. Never. Doyle blusters a lot, but underneath it all, he knows I’m faithful.”
For her sake, I hoped she was right. “Who do you think cut the cable on that light?”
“How would I know?”
“And the attack on Vonetta?”
“That makes even less sense than going after Laurence. You’ve probably figured out by now that Laurence wasn’t the most popular guy around. He had a loyal fan base, but once you got to know him he lost a lot of his charm.”
“I’ve noticed.” I decided to give the subject of Doyle a rest. “Do you know anything about a production in Seattle that caused some tension between Laurence and Alexander?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Seattle? Do you have any idea how long ago?”
“No, sorry. But Geoffrey Manwaring and Alexander Pastorelli got into a pretty heated discussion about it yesterday, and I happened to be there.”
Colleen rolled her eyes expressively. “Oh. Geoffrey. He’s a piece of work. He was Laurence’s manager for years and years. I’m sure he knows where all the skeletons are buried, and I’m equally certain he never forgets a thing.”
“Are you thinking of anything specific?”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s just a feeling I get. He’s kind of creepy, always lurking, always listening. Sometimes I wondered if Laurence really wanted him around or if he had to keep him around so Geoffrey wouldn’t spill his secrets.”
“What secrets?”
“I don’t know.” Colleen turned away to check the bread. “A man like Laurence always has secrets, doesn’t he? He was a woman-in-every-town kind of guy.”
Was there a note of jealousy in her voice? I couldn’t tell. A new idea occurred to me, so I asked, “Do you think Geoffrey was capable of hurting someone if he thought they threatened Laurence in some way?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him. I think he’s capable of anything. Why? What are you thinking?”
I didn’t feel right talking about Serena’s past, so I shrugged. “Nothing really.”
I didn’t fool her for a minute. “You think Geoffrey hurt Vonetta? But why? Laurence was already dead.”
Yeah, but if Alexander was right, his estate was still an issue. People did strange things when money was at stake. “How often did Laurence and Alexander work together?”
“I don’t know. Once every few years, I guess. Why?”
“Is there any reason someone might want to keep them from collaborating?”
Colleen leaned on the counter, and I thought some of her anger had faded. “Not that I know of.”
“The two of them were close?”
Colleen let out a sharp laugh. “Laurence and Alexander? Who told you that?”
“They weren’t friends?”
“They were competitors.”
That surprised me. “But why? Alexander’s a director. Laurence was a composer.”
Colleen came out from behind the counter and sat across from me. “Alexander might be a director, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have musical talent. Not as much as he thinks he has, but when has the truth ever mattered to a man like Alex? And Laurence was one of the most ambitious people I ever met. He would have steamrolled over Alex to get where he wanted.”
Interesting. Alexander claimed that Laur
ence was a liar, and Colleen made the same claim about Alexander. I wondered if any of these people actually told the truth. “Do you think Laurence wanted to direct this play?”
“I don’t know about that. There wasn’t a lot of prestige attached. In fact, I was surprised they both agreed to do it, but once Vonetta hooked one, she had the other. I don’t think either of them ever turned down an opportunity to work with the other.”
“Why? If they weren’t friends—?”
She crossed her legs and smiled coldly. “You know what they say—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
I thought about Paisley’s claim that she’d seen Alexander and Laurence arguing the day before the murder, and I ran through the night of Laurence’s death again in my memory. I tried to remember what Alexander had looked like when he came into the theater, but I’d been so focused on Laurence, I hadn’t paid attention. And after the attack on Vonetta I’d been too worried about his allegations against me to pay much attention. Now I wondered if he could have been behind both attacks.
Lights swept across the window as a car turned into the driveway, and Colleen’s mood changed abruptly. She shot to her feet, a look of raw panic on her face. “That’s Doyle. You have to go. If he finds you here asking about Laurence, he’ll go ballistic.”
Pretty strong reaction for a woman who wasn’t having an affair. I still had unanswered questions and some mean-spirited part of me wanted to see whether Doyle would actually go ballistic, or if she just wanted to avoid another argument. But the worry on Colleen’s face and a flurry of high school memories won out.
Sometimes I’m too sentimental for my own good.
I grabbed Max’s dish and the two of us disappeared out the front door as the kitchen door opened. I hurried to the Jetta, tossing out Max’s water as I walked and contenting myself with the knowledge that if Doyle’s alibi didn’t pan out, I could always come back.
Chapter 19
“No, no, no! On the count of four, move to your right. And do it gently! You sound like a herd of elephants. That will never do.” Jessica O’Donnell, a petite young woman who looked about fifteen and had the body of a gymnast—all ninety-five pounds of it—clapped her hands as she looked over the ragtag collection of “talent” in the rehearsal hall.