There was a mood of excitement in the diner, and I was beginning to think that this might not turn out to be a total embarrassment and pain in the neck after all!
“Clear zee set!” Junior commanded. “Geeve me zee narrator only, s'il vous plaît!”
Well…there was one issue that scared me a little.
Junior was taking his directorial debut seriously – maybe too seriously. He wasn’t acting in the play, but he was in character during all the rehearsals. For some reason, he was taking on the persona of an elite French film director. He had an extra-wide director’s stool set up facing the staging area, and he wore a black shirt, red bow tie, and a red beret. His new mustache was filling in, though he still could only pretend to be twisting the ends of it as he watched the action. Today they were rehearsing Act Three, from the beginning.
Deloris delivered her lines, and he picked up his small megaphone. “No, no, no, Deloris! You are not feeeeling it, mam’selle!” He made a gesture that looked like he was trying to pull the feeling directly out of his heart as he slid off his stool and took a step toward the waitress.
Deloris had agreed (with much coaxing) to be the narrator for the play. The narrator was a scullery maid at the Berkshire Mansion in Olde London, and she gave us insights into all the characters and the behind-the-scenes drama and conflict in the household. She wasn’t involved much in the action of the play, except to pour wine and collect dirty plates for the actors as well as our regular diners. It kind of made us all feel like we were part of the play, at the same dinner party as the actors. All of her speaking lines, though, were to the audience.
“Not feeling it? You better cool your jets there, Sparky,” she said to Junior with a scowl, slapping the script against her palm, “or you’ll be feeling the pointy end of my size seven Nine West flats in your…”
“Deloris!” I said, trying to keep a modicum of decorum in this afternoon’s rehearsal. I gave her a facial expression to tell her that she should reel it in and try to cajole Junior.
“Yeah, yeah, Mercy. I’ve been trying to play nice. It’s bad enough that I have to wear this silly short-short maid’s uniform with my boobs served up like a tray of macaroons. But when Cecile B. Dumbass here tries to tell me how to do my role, it puts a bee in my bonnet.”
“You mean een your beehive, Madame Deloris,” Junior said, referencing her tall hairdo. He realized his mistake immediately, and his face reddened as she glared at him.
“I hope you like spit in your soup, Junior, ’cause I’m saving up a loogie for you!” Deloris snarled as she stared him down.
There was a short silence, and then Junior dared to speak. “Zat’s eet! Just like zat, Madame. Channel all zat, um – how you say – negateev energy you are feeling for me right now, and deliver your line again.”
He sat on his stool, crossed his arms, and nodded at her. Deloris looked at me. I shrugged and then nodded, encouraging her to do it.
She huffed. Then she slowly raised the script, and, in her best Cockney accent, she read:
“That miserable old miser! Aaooohh! He deserved everything he got, ’e did! Why, I can tell you that every one of those loverly people at his dinner party wanted to put a bullet in his foul brain. Blimey, that bloody geezer was mean as a snake, ’e was.” She paused dramatically and scanned the small crowd with her eyes. “But who’s the killer? Ooo’s the killer?”
Red and Jake applauded from their stools at the counter. “Wow! That was better, Deloris!” Red said. “It seemed like you really hated that dead guy. And your British accent isn’t half bad either.”
“The dead guy is you, Red. Remember? So, maybe that’s why it was easy to sound like I wasn’t acting.”
Junior rapped on the wooden arm of his director’s throne. “Shhh! Places, everybody!”
Red laid on the floor with his head on a plastic pool of red blood from a novelty store, and the others took their places on antique armchairs and sofas in the stage area.
“Lights full!” Junior commanded, even though no one was doing lights for the rehearsal, “aaaaand enter Signora Cavalachi, the Countess of Tuscany.” He pointed his finger briskly at the green shower curtain in the corner, and Babs came out, parasol in hand, to address the group of dignitaries and suspects at the observatory, which looked more like a tea room.
“Oh, horrid, scorching anguish! Anguish, I say!” She stepped over the dead body, comically catching her toe as she stumbled over old Red. “A pain that burns like a thousand hungry flames within the ashes of my tortured heart! I was to be Lord Feffelmeyer’s bride at noon tomorrow, and instead I am widowed before I am wed.”
“You’re no widow, Countess,” Liberty said, in the character of the young Lady Feffelmeyer. “As you were never wed, you are nothing. I am his daughter and sole heir to his fortune.”
“Which is exactly why you killed my beloved before he could wed and bed me!” She stepped toward Liberty in a menacing manner as two of the men at the table held her back. “You know he wanted me to have this mansion, the family jewels, and everything he owned. It was I who pleased and delighted him and catered to his every whim. It was I! Not you…”
Professor Zorn (aka Duke Middlewick of Surrey) stood up from the table, giving four slow, sarcastic claps. “Bravo, Countess. Nicely acted. But you’re not fooling anyone. We all know that you already had the old fool transfer the title to his estate into your name as a condition of your agreement to marry him.”
“What?” Lady Feffelmeyer shouted, very distraught. “No! It can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it’s true, dear girl,” the Duke said, morosely.
“And you, Duke Middlewick, have been trying to get your grimy clutches on his estate for years, so you can carry on your dalliances with strumpets like Duchess Vandershallow!” Babs declared, pointing an accusatory finger at Randi Taylor.
Randi clutched her pearls. “Why, I never!” she said, and then turned to the Duke, winking and licking her lips seductively.
“Andrew!” Josie Jones stood up and addressed the Duke with shock. “I thought I was the only...” She looked around timidly, realizing that she had outed her affair. “I mean…never mind.”
The Duke shrugged his eyebrows. “So many women, so little time. And I would be willing to wager that the ruby-encrusted chest of Feffelmeyer jewels is already in Countess Cavalachi’s carriage – including your diamond and sapphire tiara, princess. I’m guessing Daddy’s bank account has been emptied by now as well.”
Lady Feffelmeyer wept copiously as Sherlock Jones entered the room. All heads turned toward the tall detective in a long herringbone cloak and a white cowboy hat. It was my main squeeze, Sheriff Brody Hayes. He didn’t want to be in the play, but I do have a power of persuasion over my man. He refused to do a British accent, however. Instead, he was Sherlock Holmes American cousin, Sherlock Jones.
“Ah! Be still my heart!” Randi, the college girl, exclaimed, rising to her feet and rushing to the detective’s side. She wore a black bustier and a feathered barely-there skirt as she took his arm and brushed herself against him. “It’s the world-famous cowboy detective, Sherlock Jones!”
Sherlock pushed her away and looked at the body on the blood-stained floor. We all chuckled when we heard old Red snoring. Then the famous detective looked at each of the people in the room. “My powers of observation and deduction tell me that neither of these ladies killed Lord Feffelmeyer.”
Deloris, as Dierdra the scullery maid, poured a glass of red wine and handed it to him. He nodded and took the beverage.
“But I assure you,” he said, pushing his cowboy hat back further on his head and then placing a fist on his hip, “the killer has a heart of stone and a devious criminal mind – and is among us here in this room this night.”
“Cut!” Junior hollered into his megaphone. “Ҫ’est magnifique!” He pressed his four fingertips to his thumb and kissed them in a show of approval for a job well done.
The actors all got casual and comfortable, shedd
ing hats and tight jackets, and meandered toward the counter and booths.
“I didn’t know you could speak French, Junior,” I said to the director as Libby gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Yeah. Libby taught me some French stuff.”
“I’ll bet she did,” Deloris said as she came by with a tray of cold beverages for the cast and crew.
I scowled at her as poor Libby turned a bright red. Deloris just raised her eyebrows and shrugged.
“So, how do you spell C’est magnifique, Junior?” Deloris asked him.
“Um…s-a-y…m-o-n-n-y…f-e-e-k!”
She smirked and nodded. “Yeah, you know French, all right, Monsieur Jaque le Deuxième.”
“Bye, Deloris,” I said. “Go take care of your thirsty co-stars.” She didn’t have to make fun of Junior like that in front of Libby.
The front door opened, and my neighbor and best friend, Ruby, came in with her usual big smile. “Hi, everybody! Did I miss the whole rehearsal? I left school as soon as the bell rang.”
“Just taking a break,” Brody said as he put his arm around the gorgeous, petite brunette and whispered something in her ear. I don’t know what he told her, but Ruby let out an excited shriek. She bounced on her toes and shook her clenched hands in front of her, like a little girl who just found out she was going to Disneyland. Then she launched herself towards him, grabbing him around the neck with both arms.
“Yes, yes, yes! Of course, I will! That’s so exciting!” she whispered loudly to him, through her teeth, unable to control her enthusiasm.
What in the world…? Something fishy was going on here.
They walked over to one of the booths, and we all sat. I sat next to Brody, and Ruby sat on the other side of the table. Brody thinks of her as a little sister – I think – but she’s younger and prettier than I am, so I didn’t want to tempt fate.
Ruby looked across the table at me with huge, glowing eyes and a big toothy smile, like she had just taken a whole bottle of Stupid Pills. Brody sat up straight and rigid, with just a hint of a smile betraying his blank expression when he looked at me with the fire of love in his eyes.
I trusted these two more than any other people in the world, but I looked from one to other suspiciously. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Liberty!” Ruby called out, patting the seat next to her. “Come join us.”
Liberty sat beside Ruby, and Junior pulled up a chair at the end of the table. I guess my interrogation would have to wait.
“So, Junior,” Brody said with a knowing smile, “how come you always call cut right before Liberty is supposed to come over and give me a kiss? We really need to practice that to get it right.” He turned to me and gave me a wink.
“Um, I seenk we need to rewrite that scene, Shereeff,” Junior said, with a timid glance toward Liberty.
“Honey, we’re on a break,” Liberty told him. “You don’t have to be French right now.”
“Okay. I think we should change that to a hug. I mean the two characters don’t know each other very well.”
Ruby fought for her script. “No! We need a little romance. People like romance. It’s just one kiss.” She looked at me for a little support.
Junior obviously didn’t want anyone kissing his girlfriend – and I wasn’t crazy about the idea of my man kissing the young pretty woman either. But Ruby had a point too.
“Well…” I said, scrunching my face and looking at Brody, “I like a little romance. But, you know, Brody, Sherlock just vindicated both of the women, so why don’t you hug Lady Feffelmeyer, and then a jealous Countess Cavalachi will come over and give you a big kiss? How does that sound, Junior?”
He rubbed his chin and nodded with an impressed look on his face. “I like it! Babs!” he hollered to her at her spot at the counter next to Jake, “Sherlock is going to kiss you instead of Liberty.”
She looked a little shocked. “Is that okay, Jakey?”
He shrugged. “I don’t care. Just keep your tongue to yourself, Babs.”
“Jake!” She gave him a slap on the shoulder. “It’s just a stage kiss.”
The customers gave a little chuckle, and Jake gave Babs a wink and a smooch.
Brody leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Thanks, sweetheart – I’ve always wanted to kiss Babs.”
“Mmhm,” I whispered back. “Just trying to help my guy live out his fantasies.”
He nodded. “In that case, I’ve got a couple more fantasies I want to tell you about tonight.”
I pinched his shoulder. “As long as it doesn’t involve a trapeze or a whip, I might be willing to listen.”
He sighed. “Never mind, then.”
Chapter Three
“Tonight’s the night we’ve all been practicing for! Two hours till showtime!” Babs hollered out nervously. “All the ladies in the cast, follow me upstairs to my apartment. Liz Farber brought Connie and Douglasina from her salon to do our hair and makeup!”
A dozen of my favorite women in the world filed out through the kitchen toward the back stairs to Babs’ little apartment.
“Grab your costumes, shoes, wigs…everything!” I hollered after them, gathering up some items from the booths and tables and handing them off to Ruby, who was the last in line. She wasn’t in the play, but she wrote most of it and wanted to help make sure they all looked just right. Plus, she was going to sing a few songs to warm up the audience before the play began. She used to be a singer in a rock band in her college days and often took the stage with the bands at the Legion Club in town.
“Let’s hope everything goes well tonight!” she said to me excitedly, with her fingers crossed.
“It’s going to be perfect,” I told her with a confident smile. They really did have a terrific cast and a really fun mystery, so I honestly knew it would be well-received. “Break a leg!”
She took a deep breath, nodded, and headed out with the others.
“You already got people waiting outside, Mercy.” Junior was peering out through the curtains that we had installed over the front windows for the occasion and was waving at someone.
“Who’s out there, Junior?” I asked him. We weren’t planning on opening the doors for another hour yet, one hour before the play was set to begin.
“Uh, I guess they were just walking by, except for one guy – some tall, skinny guy I don’t know. He’s on his phone, standing by the door.”
Smoke Kowalski came running out of the kitchen through the swinging doors. “That’s my guest chef for tonight. He went to culinary school at the college and knows Professor Reggie and the others. He’s got a restaurant near the campus and says he’s a wiz with Cornish game hens.” He opened the front door and waved the man in. He was probably in his mid-twenties or so and quite tall with a narrow frame.
Randi Taylor came running in through the swinging doors. “I forgot my purse!” she said in a harried manner.
Dirk was already grabbing it from behind the green shower curtain for her, and he handed it to Randi with an adoring smile. He was about to say something to her when she spotted the newly-arrived chef.
“Jean Pierre!” she said excitedly, without so much as a glance to Dirk. She gave the man a big hug, as her purse swung around behind him, almost hitting Smoke. “Did you come to see the play? Is your brother coming?”
His eyes lit up, and he gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “They’re putting me to work in the kitchen, Randi. So – are we still on for dinner next Friday?”
“Oh…” she said with a disappointed frown. “I totally forgot all about that. I promised Reggie I would spend the weekend with him at his cabin. He just got a new Jet Ski he wants to try out.” She gave him a cute pouty face that no doubt got her out of troublesome situations since she was five years old. “I’m sorry. Maybe next Friday. Gotta go!” She kissed her fingers and patted them to his cheek.
“Sure, sweetie. You can’t disappoint Professor Zorn.” The gleam went out of his eyes as the young beauty turned to
make her exit through the kitchen.
Dirk looked at her longingly. “Randi…” But she was gone. Then he turned and gave the new chef a menacing look and took a seat at the end of the counter.
Popular girl.
“This is Chef Jean Pierre Lamour,” Smoke said, finally able to make his introduction. “Zack is going to be playing keyboard and drum machine for Ruby and some piano riffs during the play, so I’ll need an extra hand.”
Zack was Smoke’s high schooler protégé in the kitchen.
“Call me JP,” the chef said with a smile as I shook his hand.
“It’s really nice of you to help us out, JP. We don’t do a lot of fancy dinners at this place,” I told him. “You look familiar. Have you been in here before?”
“I was here for one of the rehearsals. They were doing Act Two that day.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now. That ends with the murder scene.”
“But I didn’t get to see who the killer is, so it will still be a lot of fun tonight.”
“None of us figured it out until Sherlock revealed the killer in the final act,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be surprised.” I gave Smoke a worried look, and he understood that I was concerned about how much this French chef was going to cost me.
“Don’t worry, Mercy,” Smoke said. “JP here called me up and volunteered to prepare the Cornish game hens for me so he could come and see the play. We were all sold out by the time he heard about it. He’s good friends with the students and faculty at the state college in Calhoun.”
“I noticed,” I said.
“And…” JP looked at Smoke with a smile. “…you promised me a little slice of that prime rib and some of your famous garlic mashed potatoes too, my man.”
“That’s fine!” I said with relief. “Just help yourself to whatever food and beverage you like. Smoke, get him one of your aprons and a baseball cap.”
“I’m good,” he said, patting a small satchel under his arm, and the two disappeared into the kitchen.
Zack was getting his electric keyboard warmed up, practicing some of those short little runs, like the ones you might hear in old radio mystery programs to build tension and tell the audience when trouble was coming.
Murder Ala Mode Page 2