Murder, Take Two

by Carol J. Perry

  I was so engrossed in watching every detail that several minutes passed before I realized that Bruce Doan had joined us. He stood behind my chair, not speaking until the segment ended and Wanda the Weather Girl appeared on screen. He reached for a slice of pizza.

  “Mind if I have a slice?”

  Rhonda handed him a paper plate. “What did you think?” she asked. “Good job, huh?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. I put my halfway-eaten slice on my plate, almost holding my breath.

  “I’m surprised about the girl being arrested,” he said, pulling up a chair. “The front of the courthouse intro looked good, Ms. Barrett. Of course, you didn’t have to say much, did you? I mean the action—the judge—the cop with the handcuffs—that said it all. Damn good job, Francine. Considering you didn’t have a sound man, you did fine capturing the conversation. All in all it was a good segment. One thing though, Ms. Barrett . . .”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes.

  I gritted my teeth and waited to be chastised for letting all of the principals simply walk away without pursuing them with questions. He picked up his empty paper plate and tossed it into Rhonda’s wastebasket. “I don’t appreciate your giving a big on-air plug to a competitor.” He shook his head. “Street Beat. I can’t believe you did that.”

  He turned and faced Francine. “Great camerawork, Francine. Ending with the girl like you did, nice dramatic touch. Liked it.” He disappeared into his office.

  Feeling as though I’d dodged a bullet on that one, I high-fived Francine, finished my slice of pizza, and helped myself to another.

  Rhonda tossed her plate away and returned her chair to its regular position beside the window. “Looks like it’s going to be a pretty afternoon for some outdoor work,” she said. “You two ready to do the farmers’ market?”

  My mouth was full, so I nodded. Francine agreed that the farmers’ market would be fine, and that she’d be eating vegetables for a while to make up for the pizza.

  “Me too,” I mumbled, wiping crumbs from my lap and standing. Francine returned the flower arrangement to its original spot while I got rid of the remaining paper plates, pizza box, and plastic cups. By one-fifteen we were on the road again, heading to Old Town Hall. “After we finish the shoot, let’s take a quick detour past the Toy Trawler,” I said. “I want to get those costumes and weapon props he showed us.”

  “You’re going to do the Murder party?”

  “For that Salem history class I’ve inherited,” I told her. “And I’ve got less than a week to pull it all together.”

  “I went to one of those parties once. I was Miss Scarlet. Wore a great red dress. I still have it.”

  “I might have to bring you in to play her again,” I said. “I don’t know whether the students will be the characters or not. Up to them. If they don’t want to do it, maybe I’ll get some actors from the Theater Arts Department at the Tabby.”

  “You should use your aunt and her girlfriends,” Francine suggested. “Then find three guys.” Long pause. “Maybe the hot professor and the dance teacher would do it. Then you only need one more.”

  I had to smile at the idea. “It would make for an interesting production,” I agreed, “but one that’s unlikely to happen.”

  We searched around for a parking space for a while. Landed a good one almost next door to the town hall. This market is always full of color, and this day was particularly pretty. Flowers, fruits, and vegetables—brilliant greens, yellows, reds, oranges, blues, and purples—were bright against the mellow red and pink bricks of the building and street paving, all below a cloudless blue sky. Rhonda’s prep notes gave me a tiny bit of history on Old Town Hall. Most everybody in Salem knows about it, but maybe the kids don’t, so we usually lead with that on market days, then do a walk-through and talk to the vendors. It’s not all about fruit and vegetables. T-shirts, jewelry, books, assorted tchotchkes, and the usual witch-related items are there too.

  Francine and I had strolled onto the busy brick concourse, when I heard a male voice. “Hi there, Ms. Barrett! Francine! Over here.”

  It was our new friend, Captain Billy, decked in his full captain’s regalia, waving to us from behind a red plastic dory decorated with nautical flags and a prominent TOY TRAWLER sign. “Glad to see you ladies again so soon,” Captain Billy said. “That TV spot you did on me and the store brought in plenty of business. I want to thank you. Hey, Ms. Barrett, have you given any thought to doing that Clue party we talked about? I have all the makin’s of a good time right here!” He gestured toward a stack of Clue games and plastic bins filled with the make-believe weapons.

  “What a happy coincidence,” I said. “I’ve been talking about you.” And maybe I’m starting to believe in coincidences.

  “Nothing bad, I hope.” He watched Francine as she panned across the colorful merchandise.

  “All good,” I assured him. “I’m planning to do a Clue party after all. I’ll need a game and a set of those weapons and a few of the brochures about how to run a party.” I studied the display. “Did you say you have some costume components?”

  “Back at the store I do. Sometimes I come here to sell some of my overstock. I don’t have a lot of the costume stuff left.” He’d already begun to fill a handled shopping bag with game, weapons, and brochures. “Shall I call the store and put a complete set aside for you?”

  “That’d be great.” I handed him a credit card. “So glad we ran into you.”

  “Me too,” he said. “Say, by the way, right after that TV spot ran a fellow came into the store asking questions about you.”

  “Questions? What kind of questions?”

  “Like, you seemed to be especially interested in the murder—you know—the new one, not the old one. He’d like to discuss it with you. And did I happen to know where you live. That one bothered me.”

  “Bothers me too,” I said. “What did you tell him? Did you get his name?”

  “No name. He didn’t buy anything. I told him you seemed most interested in the giant game pieces and that I never share information about my customers.”

  “Thanks. That’s good. What did this guy look like?”

  He frowned. “Youngish. Average height. Average weight. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap. Nothing special about him.”

  “What kind of ball cap?”

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Red Sox, I think.”

  Chapter 28

  Francine tugged at my elbow. “The light’s so pretty right now. Want to do a walk-through starting with the local honey display over there?”

  “Okay.” I put my credit card back into my wallet, told Captain Billy I’d pick up my purchases on our way out, and followed Francine. I talked with vendors, admired produce and pottery, sunflowers and sushi. I discovered Hawaiian sweet potatoes and New Hampshire clover honey. We spent half an hour or so and were both pleased with the result. I told Captain Billy I’d stop at the Toy Trawler soon to buy the costumes, then picked up my Clue collection and packed it into the van along with mic and camera.

  “You’re kind of quiet,” Francine remarked as we neared the station. “You haven’t said two words since we left the market. Anything wrong?”

  I told her what Captain Billy had said about the guy who’d asked questions about me. “Probably it’s another fan who thinks he’s in love with you,” she said. “Good thing he didn’t get your address.”

  “That wasn’t the question that bothered me most,” I admitted. “Why would anyone care about my interest—or lack of it—in the Samuel Bond murder?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “it’s probably nothing, but if I were you, I’d tell Pete about it.”

  “Don’t worry. I will. Today.”

  When we unloaded the van, I carried my Clue party purchases over to the Vette, along with the two Hawaiian sweet potatoes and the jar of New Hampshire white clover honey I’d been unable to resist. I opened the trunk and put the game and the toy weapons in, pausing for a moment to exami
ne the plastic gun and the neatly tied noose. I picked up the make-believe lead pipe—smooth and light in my hand—and tried to imagine Cody McGinnis bringing the real-life version down onto a sleeping man’s head. I balanced the plastic knife in one hand and thought of young Lucy repeatedly plunging a real one into a dead man’s chest. Couldn’t do it. I couldn’t picture anyone else doing it either, so maybe my objectivity was still intact. I closed the trunk and walked slowly back to the WICH-TV building.

  I spent a half hour in the dataport again, contacting the Salem history students I’d be meeting soon. Since all of them had day jobs, I knew I’d be leaving voice or text messages but wanted to get their input on my Clue mystery party idea. Since Lucy’s arrest, the student pool was down to six members—Harrison, Conrad, Carl, Kate, Penny, and the other student who’d dropped out when Cody left, Shirley. I asked each one to contact me ASAP, and promised I’d see them on Monday.

  If even one didn’t choose to participate, my all-classmate cast idea would have to be scrapped. I could try asking the theater arts classes to do it, but they were usually pretty busy preparing for their own productions. Maybe Francine’s suggestion had some merit. The Angels in the three female roles were a distinct possibility, but we’d need to recruit three men. Alan was practically a sure thing, I figured, with his fondness for being noticed. Eddie would be good, but if he had a dance class on Tuesday evening, he wouldn’t be available. Another man from the dance class maybe?

  I told myself to stop worrying. If we couldn’t pull the Clue mystery party together, I’d go with Cody’s original lesson plan. No problem. Besides, I knew the game and props I’d already bought wouldn’t go to waste. Planning a party at Aunt Ibby’s house would be a sure thing.

  Next I called to check in with Rupert Pennington. I told him I’d bought basic supplies for the party. “I don’t know whether the class members will want to be the players,” I told him, “but I have a couple of alternative ideas. I’d like to hear your input.”

  “I’m excited about the idea of using the student theater for the production.” I heard the enthusiasm in his voice. “I’ve asked one of our projectionists about the rear-screen idea, and he says it’ll be no problem. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a preliminary script for the narration. It basically sets up the premise, a dinner party at a stately mansion in a remote location. I’ll introduce the invited guests with a little backstory on each one. We’ll distribute some flyers around the school as soon as your plans are firm. I think many of the day students will come back for it, and the dorm students are always looking for something to do in the evening. This is going to be such fun no matter who plays the parts!”

  I felt my fake smile coming back. “I’m sure it will be. Of course I hope it’ll be the class members. If not, I’m thinking of asking Aunt Ibby and the Angels to play the female roles. For the men, I’d thought about Professor Armstrong and Eddie Symonds for two. Don’t know about the third. If you weren’t narrating, you’d be a fine Colonel Mustard.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Shall I ask the two gentlemen you mentioned if they’d consider such a venture? I know them both quite well. By the way, I believe you have an admirer in Professor Armstrong. He wants to send you flowers as an apology. He said he thinks he might have offended you recently and asked for your home address. I told him I’d have to ask your permission.”

  “He can send them to the station if he wants to,” I said, “but there’s no need for him to apologize.”

  That’s two requests for my address. I’ll definitely tell Pete about both. And soon!

  I told Mr. Pennington I’d stay in touch, thanked him for his offer to speak to Alan and Eddie, closed the dataport door, and returned the key to Rhonda, feeling sort of confident that, one way or another, Tuesday evening’s class would be all right. I was also absolutely confident that I’d be extremely happy when Tuesday evening’s class was over.

  I texted Pete. Two men asked others for my address. Worry?

  It didn’t take long to get a phone call. “Heck yes, I’m worried. Who? What men? Who’d they ask? Did they get it? I hope not. Hell, Lee, I wish you’d stop poking around in murder.”

  I kept my voice steady. “Neither one got it. Alan Armstrong asked Mr. Pennington and a stranger asked Captain Billy.”

  “It’s easy enough to get anybody’s address these days. Why did Armstrong want it?”

  “Wants to send me flowers. It’s an apology I guess for being such a jerk.”

  “Uh-huh. And the other guy?”

  “That’s the one I’m sort of concerned about. He’d seen the interview I did with Captain Billy and thought I seemed to be especially interested in the Bond murder. He wants to ‘discuss it’ with me and asked if Billy knew where I live. And Pete, he was wearing a Sox cap.”

  “I’ll check with Captain Billy. It’s the new toy store that looks like a ship?”

  “A trawler,” I corrected.

  “Whatever. Anyway, he probably has cameras all over the place. Maybe we can get a look at the guy. Find out what he’s all about. The ball cap is showing up too often.”

  I had to smile at that. “Pete, remember when we were at Greene’s Tavern the other night? Darn near every person in the place wore a Sox cap. Except me.”

  “You’re right. I’m overreacting. But where you’re involved, it’s hard for me to stay impartial. Please be careful.” He sighed—loudly enough for it to carry on the phone and sounding surprisingly like my Aunt Ibby’s own exasperated sigh.

  “You worry about me too much,” I said. “I promise I’ll be extra careful. And I’ll avoid all men wearing ball caps.”

  “Good. And for God’s sake, Lee. Tell your aunt to keep that damned back door locked!”

  “I will,” I promised. “Now I need to get back to work on my Clue party.”

  “How’s that coming along?”

  “Well, I’ve bought a new game board, ordered costumes, and I have a set of creepy fake weapons. All I’m missing is a cast of characters. Say! How would you . . . ?”

  “Don’t even think about it! Talk to you later. Bye.”

  Back at the reception desk I checked Rhonda’s white board. Nothing there in purple marker. Scott and Old Jim in the VW had been sent to cover a high school soccer match, and Francine was downstairs helping Marty with the farmers’ market edits.

  “Doan would like to see you in his office,” Rhonda said. “You can go right on in.”

  A summons to the boss’s office? Now what?

  I approached the door marked “Station Manager” and gave a tentative knock.

  “Come in, it’s open.” His voice sounded gruff.

  That doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. He almost always sounds that way.

  “It’s open,” he repeated in the same tone of voice. I turned the knob and stepped inside.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes, indeed, Ms. Barrett. Have a seat, please.” He gestured to a purple suede upholstered club chair facing his desk. I sat.

  “It’s about your moonlighting job over at the Tabby.”

  Moonlighting?

  “Hardly moonlighting, sir,” I protested. “Not even a job. The director, Mr. Pennington, has asked me to fill in for a couple of evening classes.”

  “I know. You’re filling in for the Bond murderer.”

  “Suspect, sir. Cody McGinnis is a suspect.”

  “Right. Suspect. How are you doing with my idea about getting a camera in there?”

  Lightbulb moment!

  “Even better, sir. Remember the segment about the Toy Trawler? Captain Billy is ready and willing to sponsor a live Clue party—and it happens that I’m planning one for my class at the Tabby next Tuesday evening. We can get a camera into the school and sell the time to Captain Billy.”

  “Now you’re talkin’!” His tone had changed from gruff to jovial. “I’ll make a good reporter out of you yet! I’ll have Rhonda draw up a contract for the Toy Trawler. You firm up the detail
s, and let’s get moving on this. Pronto.”

  Pete and Old Jim and Francine think I’m pretty good now.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Sure. All I need to do now is assemble a cast and get a production onstage by next Tuesday. Piece of cake.

  By the time I’d closed the office door and reached Rhonda’s desk, she was already typing up a contract. Even though getting all this pulled together in a hurry was intimidating—even a little scary—I was excited by the prospect, excited enough to call Aunt Ibby and ask her to put the Angels on alert for possible onstage appearances within a few days, to call Mr. Pennington to get the slides ready for rear-screen projection, and to leave a message for Captain Billy that a TV broadcast of the Clue party was a go.

  Chapter 29

  The first person to respond to my barrage of Clue party calls and messages was Aunt Ibby. “The Angels are in,” she said. “We’re all willing to do it. Louisa was a little reticent, but if she can be Mrs. White, she’ll agree, and of course Betsy wants to be Miss Scarlet. I don’t mind being Mrs. Peacock. We’re working on our costumes already. Rupert is excited about it too. He’s delighted that you want him for narrator.”

  The next call was from Conrad, who said he was “absolutely terrified” at the idea of appearing onstage ever, followed rapidly by Shirley, who said okay, she’d do it only if Penny would too. The next call revealed that Penny would but now Shirley couldn’t. Carl and Kate were reluctant, but said they’d do it if I couldn’t find anyone else. By then it was obvious that the all-class-as-actors idea was kaput, even though Harrison called and said he’d absolutely love to do it and had once thrown a Clue party himself.