Murder Most Meow: A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Four

by Louise Lynn

Violet and the costume mistress, Farrah Todd, hurried around, bustling Angela’s understudy, Sophia Allen, out of the tent so the esteemed Mrs. Dane could finish dressing on her own. They were the only two women in the play, save the weird sisters, and they were in their own tent.

  Angela Dane was too important to share with the plebes. She hadn’t said as much, but it was highly implied.

  “And you had better not be snapping any pictures of me for the tabloids. I’m not perfectly made up yet,” she said and sneered at Hazel.

  Hazel clutched the Nikon that hung from her neck, and gave the woman a plastic smile. She wasn’t about to tell Angela what her husband had done earlier that day—hit on Hazel while he was either drunk or hungover or somewhere in between the two. But suddenly his actions made a little more sense. Not that Hazel ever condoned cheating. It was the reason she’d divorced her ex. But still, with an attitude like this…

  Violet found the headpiece and carefully handed it over to Angela Dane.

  The actress placed it on her head, and glared at Farrah. “Makeup. And don’t make me look like some painted trollop either. I know what you yokels think is stage-makeup.”

  Hazel could tell Farrah was biting the inside of her cheek as she settled in to fix Angela’s face. She glanced at Hazel, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

  What they said about high profile actresses seemed to be true, at least when it came to Angela Dane.

  Farrah had been a theater kid in high school, and Hazel knew her well enough. She’d heard that Farrah moved to Reno, but came up to Cedar Valley for the festival every year. Apparently, she did the make-up for some of the shows in Reno, which was a pretty big deal in a small town like Cedar Valley.

  Not a big enough deal for a star like Angela, apparently.

  By the time she finished, Farrah had managed to cover the dark circles under Angela Dane’s eyes and make her sallow cheeks look rosy. Though, Lady Macbeth did need to have a rather desperate look about her, which Farrah had managed as well without making Angela look ugly in the least.

  Not that the woman wasn’t beautiful—she was an actress and all—but her personality really had a negative effect on her appearance.

  Like Hazel herself, Angela’s hair was a deep coppery red, but it looked dyed instead of natural, much like Sophia Allen’s own. Her eyes were a deep and soulful brown, but she looked a touch too thin to be comfortable.

  From what Hazel had seen, the woman only drank smoothies, which couldn’t be healthy, but Hazel wasn’t one to talk. She ate at least a cupcake a day, on average.

  When Farrah finished, Angela turned in her seat and settled her hands in her lap. “You may take your pictures. Make sure the light is good. No wrinkles.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Dane,” Hazel said and lifted the camera to her eyes.

  The woman scowled at her. “Don’t call me that. It’s Angela. I was the bigger star before Dom and I got married. Taking his name was a mistake,” she said, almost to herself.

  Hazel raised an eyebrow and shot a series of portraits. The mirror reflecting Angela’s face at an angle gave them an interesting effect. She was Lady Macbeth. Exactly the kind of woman Hazel could imagine prompting her husband to kill someone for power.

  Maybe that’s why Christopher Allen cast her instead of his own wife. Sophia Allen wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Angela Dane, even in a photo.

  When Hazel was done, Angela let out a breath. “Send those to my publicists. You’re not to print anything unless it gets my okay, understood?”

  Hazel bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

  Before Angela could come up with any more demands, Darcy popped his head in the tent. “The reporters are ready for you, Mrs, uh, Angela,” he mumbled.

  The woman rose, regal as a queen. “Stop mumbling. You sound like you have marbles in your mouth. And of course they’re ready for me. The only person you should be prompting is my husband. He’s probably too drunk to remember his lines,” she snarled and walked out, head held high.

  Farrah shook her head. “I have to go make-up the rest of the cast. Violet, can you cleanup?”

  Violet nodded, and Darcy stayed hovering near the front of the tent after Farrah left. “Hi, Violet,” he said and his eyes locked on the teenage girl.

  Hazel felt as if she wasn’t even in the room anymore.

  “Hi, Darcy. I’ve already seen you like fifty times today. You don’t have to say hi every single one.”

  “Sorry. You look really pretty and stuff. I brought you violets. I found them growing and–” He held up a pile of limp purple flowers.

  “Those are pansies. Violets don’t grow around here,” Violet snapped and started carefully folding the costumes.

  “I can help with those,” Darcy said, unperturbed. He carefully set the limp pansies near Violet’s bag and reached for some of the costumes. As he did, the pile that teetered at the edge of the table tipped and fell onto the tent’s floor.

  Violet stared at the pile of sprawled silk and her cheeks burned.

  Darcy bent to grab them, but the girl got to them first.

  “If you touch the brocade one more time, I swear on all that is holy, I will kill you, Darcy Allen,” Violet snarled. She clutched the pile of costumes to her chest and glared daggers at him.

  Darcy had the sense to look crestfallen while also not arguing with her. “I just… wanted to… you know…” he said.

  Hazel put a gentle hand on Violet’s shoulder to prevent things from getting worse. “Darcy, how about you go help the stagehands. I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

  Darcy nodded and left, like a dog with a tail between his legs, and Hazel waited for him to disappear behind another tent before she spoke again.

  Violet’s shoulder trembled under her hand. “I know it was mean, okay? You don’t have to scold me. I’m acting like Amber Ross, or one of those nasty girls in high school. And I hate it but–” Tears filled her eyes, and she swept the back of her hand over them.

  “Is something the matter?” Hazel asked and pulled the girl into a tight hug.

  She expected Violet to say something about missing her brother or grandparents. Perhaps she was grieving for her parents who had died in a car crash several years before.

  Instead, Violet pulled her face back and her bottom lip wobbled. “It’s Uncle Colton. I just… I love it here. Okay? It’s so much better than Santa Rosa. Mostly. I mean, yeah, some of the people in Cedar Valley High are kind of annoying, but most of them are graduating this year, so it doesn’t matter. I made some friends, and even though Darcy is a gross toad, he’s even better than the boys in Santa Rosa.”

  Hazel thought she knew where this was going. “Did Colton say you were going to have to move back with your grandparents?”

  As far as Hazel knew, Violet’s grandparents had custody of their deceased son’s children. Violet was only there because she’d been having trouble in school, and they thought she could use a break.

  “He never said it, but I know it’s what he wants. He’s tired of having me sleep on his couch, and I’m tired of sleeping there. I don’t know why it’s taking him so long to find a place to live that’s bigger than a closet,” she said and more tears dripped from her eyes.

  Hazel sighed. “Listen, buying a house is not as easy as it sounds. And your uncle is trying. I know the two of you living in a one-bedroom apartment isn’t easy. How about you stay with me for a bit? I have a spare room, and I’m sure Colton won’t mind. I know you’re a good houseguest, as long as you promise not to sneak off in the middle of the night.” Hazel gave Violet a pointed look.

  She had the sense to look abashed and nodded. “Really? You’d do that.? I mean, you have an amazing place. And Anthony Ray is great and—Thank you so much, Hazel,” she said and hugged Hazel tightly.

  Hazel squeezed her back, and hoped what she said was true. That Sheriff Cross wouldn’t mind Hazel stepping into a family matter. Despite what Jay implied, Hazel wasn’t sure they were boyfriend and girlfri
end. They’d gone on a handful of dates, both lunch and dinner, but that was it.

  Plus, with everything going on that day, she wouldn’t be able to ask him until after the final play.

  With that settled, Hazel helped Violet pick up the costumes that Darcy had accidentally knocked on the ground, and then went to finish photographing the actors for Macbeth.

  The weird sisters were a joy. Cackling and staying in character and not constantly worried about being beautiful—which they couldn’t be with all those prosthetic noses and sprouting warts on their faces.

  Her mother would’ve been perfect for the part, though she didn’t have any warts, Hazel thought, and smiled to herself.

  Then came Dominic Dane.

  Hazel tried not to scowl as she stepped into his dressing tent. Farrah had already been there, and though she worked magic with a makeup brush, she hadn’t quite been able to cover the bags under his eyes. At least it smelled as if he’d showered and brushed his teeth. Whiskey didn’t roll off of him in waves any longer.

  But his smirk was still unpleasant, and the way his eyes sized her up made Hazel wish she wasn’t wearing something as snug as a corset.

  Tomorrow, she’d definitely wear a baggy tunic.

  “So you’re the bird taking photos of everyone. Good. Do you want me sitting or standing?” he asked, his posh accent back in full force.

  Hazel gave him a tight smile. “Sitting is fine. This won’t take long.”

  “As my wife always says.” He let out a crude laugh.

  Hazel tried not to wrinkle her nose and failed.

  He at least, sat still for most of the photos. Shadows filled the tent at that time of evening, and they cast a black mar on his face. It made for a good Macbeth, gothic and foreboding.

  She wasn’t sure how well their dress rehearsal had gone off considering she’d been busy for part of it. What she saw seemed to work, minus Dominic forgetting his lines and Angela screaming at stagehands.

  At least he seemed more sober than he had when she found him at the bar that morning.

  Once Hazel figured she had a good enough portrait of their Macbeth, she was ready to bow out.

  “You could stay a bit. We can have a nightcap before I head on stage,” he said and reached for her wrist.

  Hazel was in the process of yanking her hand out of his grip when Angela Dane burst in the tent. “I can’t leave you alone with another woman for a moment, can I?”

  Dominic gave her a nasty smile. “Oh, it’s me beautiful wife, Angela. Named after the angels. Though if you ask me, she doesn’t do the name any justice. It’s a bit of an irony, isn’t it?”

  Hazel tried to back out of the tent slowly.

  “Oh. So clever, Dominic. You know what doesn’t suit you? Being sober. Ever. I swear. If you mess this up for me, you’re going to regret it.”

  Dominic gave her the full force of his smirk. “Regret it how? Trying to take hold of me cash? You’re not going to get it.”

  “Your cash? It’s my cash, darling. And if you try to fight me on this, I will end you,” she cried, gave Hazel a look that was part pitying and part disgusted, and marched out.

  Thankfully, after that, Dominic Dane scowled at a bottle of scotch, so Hazel slunk out into the falling twilight.

  Her bones ached from working all day, and the corset squeezing her ribs didn’t help matters. But one more play and she’d be able to take the thing off and never think about it again.

  As she turned to make her way toward the stage, however, another shadow moved toward Dominic’s tent.

  A familiar shadow in a long gown with flowing red hair.

  Was that Sophia Allen?

  Well, she was probably going to tell Dominic to get ready for the performance. Though, Sophia did glance around to make sure the area was deserted before she slipped inside.

  Still, it was none of Hazel’s business. No matter how curious she was. Or how tawdry it looked.

  The seats in the outside theater were already full, and torches burned every several yards or so, casting eerie shadows across the stage and audience alike. Of course, the stage did have electric lighting above it, in rafters that had been erected a few weeks before, but the torches gave everything a heavy Shakespearean feel.

  It fit the mood of the day perfectly, and the mood of the play even better.

  “Where is your mother? Every time I go looking for her, she’s gone. She says she wants to be the Lady, but she can’t even show up,” Mr. Allen said and shook his head.

  Darcy walked next to him, shoulders slumped forward and hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch,” Darcy mumbled and kicked a rock.

  Hazel gave him a tight smile. “You’re looking for Sophia? I thought she was going to tell Dominic it was time for him to get on stage?”

  Christopher Allen stopped and looked at her. Darcy raised his eyebrows. “What? You saw Sophia with Dominic?”

  Suddenly, Hazel wondered if she’d said something out of turn. Revealed an accidental secret. “I saw her going into his tent.”

  A frown pulled at Christopher’s lips, one she’d never seen there before. Sure the man had looked unhappy since the start of the day, but not like this. A furious rage burned in his eyes. “Did you know about this?” he said to his son.

  Darcy shrugged. “Mom likes to hang out with Dominic Dane.”

  “Hang out my big toe,” the man snarled and stomped away.

  Hazel and Darcy were left to look at each other.

  “Do they fight like that often?” Hazel asked carefully. Violet might think Darcy was an annoying toad, but all Hazel saw was a boy torn between two selfish adults. No wonder he was looking for someone to latch onto.

  “All the time. If we’d just stayed in L.A, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  Hazel smiled. “I used to live there too. Why did you guys move up here?”

  The change from a sprawling city like Los Angeles to the tiny mountain town of Cedar Valley was huge.

  Darcy kicked at a pine cone. “Some dumb scandal. My dad couldn’t handle the pressure, and he forced my mom to move right after she got a part in a TV show. I don’t think she forgave him for that. And now Dominic Dane made everything worse!” he cried and stomped away.

  Hazel watched him go, mouth open wide, and went back to setting up for that evening.

  Hopefully. She didn’t ruin a family because of her revelation.

  She spotted her mother, father, sister, and niece all sitting together in the front row. Sheriff Cross was near them with a few of his deputies. Violet, however, was hanging out backstage, probably trying to avoid Darcy and Colton.

  Hazel’s heart constricted when she thought about having that conversation with Colton later. But it would probably be for the best if he and Violet took a short break from each other’s company.

  Soon enough, Dominic Dane and the rest of the cast had arrived and were standing backstage, waiting for their cues.

  Violet was tucked back there as well.

  Disgusting jerk or not, the play captivated her from the first moment.

  No matter what terrible things could be said about Dominic Dane, he embodied Macbeth well. The same way Angela Dane embodied Lady Macbeth. They plotted murder against Duncan, and put their marital strife aside.

  Then, as Macbeth was ready to perform the fatal act that would spell his doom, something snapped.

  The sound was like a gunshot or a brief clap of thunder.

  Part of the play?

  Hazel didn’t remember it from the dress rehearsal,

  For a moment, Dominic paused on stage, as if he’d forgotten his line.

  He looked up, puzzled.

  The audience sat still, holding their breath.

  A sick smile filled with dread covered Macbeth’s face as he lunged forward with a knife, ready to stab Duncan in his sleep.

  Duncan’s eyes widened, and he rolled away.

  Hazel didn’t think that was supposed to happen. She snapped a
burst of photos, ready to get the fatal blow captured for all time, when something entirely unexpected happened.

  A light that belonged in the scaffolding above tumbled down and smashed into Dominic Dane’s head.

  Chapter 5

  A great gasp of silence hung over the audience.

  Hazel wasn’t sure how long it lasted. Probably seconds, but it felt more like minutes. As if everything happened in slow motion.

  Dominic Dane crumpled to the ground, and a slow trickle of blood leaked from a gash near his hairline.

  Then, a sudden scream shattered the moment, and Angela Dane charged on stage. “Dom? Oh, no! Dom! Someone get an ambulance. Call 911!”

  That broke the spell, and the audience murmured and moved.

  A strong hand clasped Hazel’s shoulder, and she looked up to see Sheriff Cross next to her. His deputies descended on the stage, and Deputy Simmons carefully pulled Angela away from Dominic’s body. The man felt Dominic’s neck and his eyes met the sheriffs.

  Then Deputy Simmons slowly shook his head.

  Hazel let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and stood completely still.

  He was dead.

  Dominic Dane—dead.

  That was how Macbeth ended, but this was a little premature.

  The Sheriff turned toward the audience and put up his hands. “I’m going to need everyone to step away from the stage, please. However, don’t leave the festival. My deputies need to talk to you.” Then he went on to give instructions where they should wait.

  Hazel caught Esther’s eye and Ruth’s shocked expression. Yeah, her sister was not going to be happy about this turn of events. She couldn’t imagine anyone in the audience would be.

  Angela looked around wildly, as crazed as Lady Macbeth when haunted by a ghost of the man she’d plotted to murder. “Why aren’t you calling for an ambulance? Why aren’t you trying to save Dom?” she shrieked and grabbed the front of Deputy Simmons’s khaki uniform.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but he’s dead. There’s nothing an ambulance can do.”

  Hazel’s legs felt like jelly, and she slumped into a seat as the audience petered away and the voices around her rose. With shaking hands, she looked at her camera and reviewed the last few sets of pictures. It was in burst-mode, taking multiple pictures per second. But was that fast enough to catch the actual act?