“So...you insisted that Pavlov be put in mortal danger instead?” I barely managed to refrain from unleashing a torrent of expletives at him.
“Nothing happened,” John cried defensively. “It was all fine.”
“But you didn’t know that at the time,” Baxter said.
“I knew that chances were.... Look, I just couldn’t risk Flint’s life and the collapse of all my dreams in one fell swoop.”
“Did you remove the bolts from the light?” Baxter asked.
“No! Like I just said, that had to have been Sam. That’s when I knew he was trying to get back at me for my cheating his brother.”
“So you killed him in self-defense?” I phrased it that way to see if I could get a confession out of him. The killer had clobbered him with a rock, and he’d broken his neck in his fall.
“No.”
“Was it just an accident?”
“No, Allie. Baxter.” John scooted off the chair and let himself drop onto the floor in a heap. He started sobbing. “God. I’m in so much trouble now. Everything I’ve done has only made things worse.”
We let him cry. For my part, I was simply too stunned to know how to react. After a minute or two, he got control of himself and rose to his feet.
“I didn’t kill Sam. I’m telling you the truth. I know you don’t believe me. How could you when I’ve lied to you all along? I’ve been a complete shit head. I know that. But honest to God, I thought this was going to be the perfect plan that would be great for Creede’s theater, great for your business, great for me and Flint. This was my one big chance.”
Once again, he dropped into the chair and started sobbing so hard he couldn’t continue. To my relief, Flint quickly rushed over to comfort him. If he hadn’t acted, I’d have felt obliged to put my arms around him and let him cry on my shoulder.
Baxter’s and my eyes met. I was certain he, too, believed his deeply flawed friend.
When he seemed to once again be getting his emotions back under control, I asked, “Have you talked to anybody about this since you were arrested?”
He nodded. “My lawyer. I told him the whole story. He thinks it incriminates me. Which is true. But he also told me I had to come clean before Valerie did.” John cleared his throat. “My lawyer went ahead and had me tell the D.A. how I’d been manipulating Geller.” He dropped his face into his knees. “I’m going to lose Sally over this. I probably already have. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And I already gave away my chance to stay with Felicity, once it seemed like I’d have Sally. I’m going to be alone. Even if I don’t go to prison. For a murder I totally didn’t commit.”
“The police have to think the killer was a man to have enough strength to hit him that hard with a rock,” Baxter said.
“Sam lied about meeting with someone to get lumber,” John said. “Or maybe the killer fooled Sam into thinking he’d be meeting the lumber guy there. In any case, that’s who killed him.”
“There’s a copse of trees right where he was killed,” I said, thinking out loud. The killer could have hidden from view while you and Sam were arguing.” I paused, thinking. “A woman could have hidden and slung the rock like a pair of nunchucks by tying it into a shirt or something.”
“You’re thinking it was Felicity?” John asked, his voice taking on hopeful tones. “She could have washed her clothes and a bloody shirt, along with the costumes.”
“Or some other person could have done the deed,” I said.
“The thing is, Sam was bad news,” John said. “He didn’t just turn bad because of me. The guy with the lumber could have had a grudge against Sam. He could have been killed for a number of things that have nothing to do with me.”
“Maybe a stranger heard you argue and put your torn pocket in his grasp,” Baxter said, but without much confidence.
John cursed and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What am I going to do? My lawyer says I could plead self-defense, but I won’t do that. I didn’t do it, and I didn’t see who killed him.”
“If the D.A. believes your story is credible,” I said, “he’ll tell investigators that he needs more evidence. Maybe they’ll find something that clears you.”
John shut his eyes. After a while, he opened them. “You know, you two should just go back to Boulder. It’s my ass that’s on the line, and I betrayed your friendship. I’ll just have to hope the killer reveals himself and the police...sheriff...whatever...withdraws their charges against me.”
Baxter looked at me and I gave him a nod.
“We’ll stick around,” Baxter said. “Allie was involved in a murder case when she and I first met. She helped the police identify the killer. We can have your back.”
He snorted. “Thanks. It’s a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it.”
“You didn’t see anyone or hear anyone?” I asked, though I knew the question was pointless.
“No. But it was just a fifteen-minute walk from the theater where we got into the argument. And you can reach that abandoned strip-mine in another ten minutes. Someone could have easily gone there and back during their lunch break.”
It all seemed so unlikely, though, I thought. “Who else knew about this donor with the lumber, John?”
“There’s Andrew Yates, who builds the sets,” John said. “Valerie and Felicity knew about it from the...” He paused and winced. “All of the actors knew, too. I spotted Yates during a rehearsal and asked if he would have plywood. I’d been considering constructing a floor on top of the stage, so we could run wires underneath it. Geller figured out how to rig the chair more easily when Blue is supposed to move it in front of the door.”
So much for winnowing down the list of suspects.
Chapter 21
We worked with Flint on his solo scene the next day, with me standing in for Sally, and Baxter calling out Hammond’s couple of lines and working the wires that shut the door and moved the chair. He and I made more mistakes than Flint, so I doubted our efforts had any effect on his performance.
That afternoon, we rehearsed the play with Pippa in the role of Blue, omitting Blue’s solo scenes, which were out of the question for her. For one thing, to be credible, she would have needed the chair to be on rollers, which would have defeated the illusion that it was blocking the door for Hammond. Overall, though, Pippa was as good in the role as Pavlov, which made me glad for having done at least some valuable work for my salary.
Felicity told us she needed to run home for a few minutes prior to the actors arriving, and we agreed to keep an eye on Pippa. Baxter called John, but he didn’t answer. None of us knew if he was going to plan on cuing Flint himself, or if I would. With no particular pressing assignments ourselves, Baxter and I played a tame game of fetch with Pippa and Flint. Flint would wait his turn to fetch the tennis ball. Pippa would not, but Flint could outrace her to the ball, so Pippa would trot beside him as he returned the ball, as if she had intended to merely be his supervisor.
Felicity rounded the corner. “Thanks for watching Pippa,” she said. “I left Pippa’s costume at home. I’m superstitious about what could happen if she is out of costume during a show.”
I couldn’t help but guffaw. “You think Good Dog, Blue! could get even more unlucky?”
She chuckled. “Meteor strike, wiping us all out?”
“There is that. So are we going to see Pippa in diamond spangles?”
“I’m saving that for tomorrow’s performance. Her Friday night glitter.” She winked at me and led the dog back up the stairs.
Baxter was having problems with his cell phone and had some business calls to make. He took Flint for a potty break while he searched for a clearer signal. I walked around on the stage, mentally going through Blue’s blocking assignments. I stood directly under the now-unlit stage lights that had crashed the evening we’d arrived. None of Flint’s targets were within two feet of the lights. Now that I was intimately familiar with the play, I was standing directly on one of Hammond�
�s most-frequent marks. I looked up again at the light fixture, only to find myself getting dizzy. I closed my eyes until the vertigo passed.
“Are you okay, Allie?” I turned and spotted Karen in the wing.
“I’m fine. I have such bad fear of heights that I was getting vertigo just by looking up at the lights.”
“I made one of the stagehands promise me he’d check the lights every day to be sure they’re bolted tight. So far, so good.”
“Did he think someone deliberately sabotaged them?” I asked.
“He felt certain four of the five bolts had been removed recently,” Karen said. “So, either Sam removed them, or his killer did.”
I peered at her. “Isn’t that nerve wracking? To keep having to perform on a stage that could be booby-trapped?”
“A little. But it’s reassuring that Baxter’s up there in the cat-bird’s seat every night.”
Now that the dog whistle had been discovered and removed, I wasn’t sure he’d be watching tonight’s performance, but decided not to mention it.
“I need to grab my lemon water and get into costume,” Karen said.
“Is drinking lemon water good for your vocal cords?”
“Absolutely. Although I have no idea if there’s anything medicinal about it. But regardless, that’s what I tell myself, so it’s good for my psyche. Are you giving Blue the commands for both shows?”
“As far as I know.”
“Good. You’re much better at that than John is.”
“Thanks,” I said. Maybe at some point, I’d tell her that John had been giving Flint bogus commands, but it felt inconsiderate to tell an actor that shortly before a performance.
I went outside and wandered around for a while—taking an outdoors break from my doing nothing indoors. When I returned, Hammond was standing in a dark corner backstage, staring into space. He jumped a little when a floorboard creaked below my feet.
“How’s it going?” I said.
He shrugged. “Still alive. That’s saying something.”
“Something, yes. Just not that you’re doing well.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been asking myself how I got here. It’s hard to believe. I almost made it to the big-time. I was given a starring role in Chicago P.D. Have you ever seen that show?”
I shook my head.
“This was a few years back. When they created the pilot. The actor who was playing my supposed partner backed out of the role, and the director decided the mix wasn’t right. Recast both of us.” He snorted. “My agent tells me: ‘no worries.’ He assured me that cop show wouldn’t last a full season...whereas he’d already gotten me placed to be the lead in a sitcom.” He cocked his head toward me. “I guarantee, you’ve never heard of it. The script was crap. The pilot episode was so bad it died in a test-audience screening. Never even aired the thing.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That would be extremely frustrating.”
“Yeah. It was. But that’s the way it is in this business.”
“You’re excellent in the play,” I told him sincerely.
He plastered one of his toothy, mocking smiles on his face. “Everybody is very excited.” His face fell. “That’s an old show-business cliché we kick around. The way I see it, John may be right about his show’s potential. He thinks he’s licked the ‘no dogs on stage’ salvo of live theater. If so, he could make a decent go of it. If he’s wrong, he’ll wind up like me...telling his amateur cast members how he almost made it to the big leagues.”
“You’re making a living and doing what you love, though, aren’t you? That’s more than a lot of people can say.”
“True. And that is indeed something to be proud of. That used to be enough for me. It still would be, if I could have won my lady back.”
“Sally Johnson?” I asked.
He nodded. “Rumor has it she’s already let John know it’s over. Hardly matters. She let me know the same thing in no uncertain terms.”
I was uncomfortable and surprised he’d spilled all of this to me. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, unable to think of anything better to say.
He nodded. “Yes, well...on with the show.” He gave me that signature smile of his, emphasized with jazz hands, then walked away.
As soon as I turned the corner, I saw Sally sitting on the staircase. She was holding Pippa on her lap, while straightening Pippa’s gold-Lamé outfit, which, from my vantage point, appeared to be a miniature Star Trek suit.
“Sorry, Allie. I was eavesdropping,” she told me as our eyes met. “I just wanted to know how he was doing. I worry about Hammie. I wish him no harm.”
I took a seat on the step next to her. Pippa immediately climbed off her lap and onto mine. “Ah, the fickleness of us females,” she said, shaking her head at Pippa.
“He certainly made it clear how tough your profession is.”
“It’s much harder to make it as an actress than as an actor. At least men are allowed to age.”
Now that I’d sat down, I was frustrated at my lack of conversation starters. Had it not been for the rumor of her breakup, I would have asked if she’d heard anything from John regarding if he was planning on coming to work today. “Are those Spock ears on Pippa’s hoodie?” I asked.
She laughed. “I think so.”
Another pause. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and John. He was clearly infatuated with you.”
“Infatuated. Exactly the right word. But I’m grateful I found out about his true nature before I’d gotten even more deeply committed to him than I was.”
“So there you are,” Felicity said, heading down the stairs, looking at Pippa.
“Oh, sorry,” Sally told her. She rose and stood at the base of the stairs. “I didn’t mean to hijack your sweet little doggie. I just needed to cuddle with someone who wasn’t going to hurt me.”
“Yeah. I know the feeling, sister.”
She gave Sally a big hug. “And, trust me,” Felicity said, “when it comes to John, we’re both better off.”
Chapter 22
With the butterflies in my stomach increasing as time went on, I roamed the hallways, only to discover a sign in the lobby indicating seating for the matinee was a half hour sooner than I’d expected. “Why are the doors opening so soon?” I asked the ticket taker—a volunteer named Joan.
“For the Good Dog, Blue! Talk,” she answered. “We do it once or twice a season for our featured shows. The director and a couple of cast members sit on stage and have a Q and A with the audience.”
“So Flint doesn’t need to go on stage early,” I said, in a pseudo-question.
“Not so far as I know,” she said.
I thanked her and returned to my meandering. Baxter and Flint were in the hallway, roughly half the way between the dressing room and the stage. Baxter was getting a stronger signal now and was texting someone. I smiled at Karen, who’d just then emerged from the dressing room.
“Still anxious?” Baxter asked as he put his phone back into his pocket.
“Yeah. This is going to be my third time cuing Blue, and it’s gone well each time, but I still can’t wait for the play to be over.”
Karen gave me a sympathetic smile and came closer. “I feel that way right before I go on stage, every single time. And I’ve been in hundreds of performances. Then I’m on stage, and there’s no place I’d rather be. Every single time.”
“Yeah, but I’m never actually on the stage,” I replied, “although you’ve cheered me up a little.”
“Speaking of eavesdropping, which we weren’t,” Karen said to me, “I overheard an interesting rumor about you.”
“Unless it’s complimentary, it’s false,” Baxter quipped.
“It’s neither good nor bad,” Karen said affably. “A couple of days ago, my boyfriend and I were having lunch downtown, and the couple at the table next to ours said that the theater’s dog trainer was an amateur sleuth. That you’ve gotten involved in a couple of murder investigations in
Boulder.”
I nodded. “I have a good friend who’s a detective.” Unfortunately, she’d spoiled my mood again. It had been my great misfortune to know more than one murder victim, and that was not a subject I liked to discuss.
She sighed softly. “I wish your friend was here. I’m not feeling very safe these days. Another bouquet from that secret admirer was delivered to the theater this morning. This time it’s two-dozen long-stemmed red roses.” Quietly, she added, “The handwriting looks suspiciously like Greg’s, and things have been a little awkward between Valerie and me lately.”
“Because Valerie is smitten with Greg?”
She rolled her eyes. “They renewed an old fling, from clear back when they were in high school and interned here over the summers. A fling that nobody was supposed to know about, because it dates back to his getting...crazed behind the wheel, let’s say. They’ve been doing a terrible job at keeping their romance a secret. Word has it that he dumped her.”
“I heard about that recently myself,” I said.
Baxter, I noted, was getting a glassy look in his eye, which signaled he didn’t want to be involved in this conversation.
“All I know is that I truly do not want to find out that he is my secret admirer,” Karen said. “You’d like to forgive someone for their distant past. Hopefully, we all outgrown the crazy behavior of our teens. But Valerie told me he was so jealous over his first girlfriend that he stalked the poor girl. The thing is, I’ve been hoping my significant-other back in Denver was having a florist here pen the notes on the bouquets. But he told me he didn’t send the wildflowers.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, sincerely sympathetic. If I was getting flowers from a secret admirer, I, too, would hope they were from Baxter. Albeit, considering my personal history with sleuthing, an anonymous sender might have hidden a ticking bomb inside my bouquet.
“Since he didn’t send them, I just have to hope this isn’t tied to the murder. Maybe the poisoner and the killer are the same person, and he or she wanted to implicate me.”
Dog Drama Page 18