The Showstopper

by Robin Merrill

  Gloria turned and stared at her. “Us? Are you planning to take one of us with you?”

  “Um ... I mean me. Sorry, it’s been a long day. Let me get out first. And kids, would you do me a favor while you wait for the police?”

  They backed away from her, looking petrified.

  “Would you look for a cell phone in here? Treasure’s is missing.”

  They nodded eagerly. Not such a scary favor after all.

  “If we find it, can I play with it?” Corban asked.

  “Of course not,” Gloria snapped.

  “Sorry, Corban,” Sandra said. “It will be evidence.”

  “Just like on NCIS?” His eyes grew bigger. She couldn’t tell if he was scared or excited.

  “Yes, just like on NCIS.” She smiled at Gloria and then stepped out into the hallway, where she stayed until she heard Corban shoving the dresser in front of the door.

  Chapter 14

  Sandra found her next interrogee in the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Matthew whirled around, looking guilty. “I’m starving,” he said, with abnormal slowness.

  Sandra crept closer to him and held her candle up to his face. His eyes were watery and bloodshot. “Are you stoned right now?”

  He held a hand up to block the candle’s faint light, as if it were blinding. “What’s it to you?”

  She lowered the candle. “Oh, wow, I don’t know. There’s a murderer running around, and I thought maybe you’d want to keep your mind sharp.”

  “I think better when I’m high.” He sounded as if he actually believed this, and Sandra knew he wasn’t a very good actor, so he probably did.

  Either way, Sandra didn’t want to argue with him. “Where were you when Treasure fell?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned back toward the cupboards. “When did she fall?”

  Sandra liked him less and less every second, and her opinion of him hadn’t started out very high. She tried to be patient. “I don’t know the exact time, but it had to have been minutes after she was rude to you on stage—”

  “She wasn’t rude to me.”

  Well, rude was a relative concept. Sandra thought. Just when had she fallen? It might be useful to pinpoint the time. She chewed on her lip as she stared at Matthew. She knew her gaze was making him uncomfortable, pot or no pot, and she thought this was a good thing. She hadn’t heard Treasure fall. Wouldn’t she have cried out? And those stairs were old and loud. During a play, cast had to tiptoe up and down them, or the audience could hear them. So surely it would have made some noise to fall down the stairs. Therefore, she must have fallen during the loud snowball fight scene, right? Otherwise, Sandra would have heard something. “She fell when the kids were rehearsing the snowball fight.”

  It was difficult to tell beneath his heavy eyelids, but she thought he glared at her. “I have no idea when that was. I was down here.”

  “She fell at about six-thirty. And where down here? In this kitchen?”

  He looked around, as if he’d just realized he was in the kitchen. “I don’t remember. Maybe the green room. Aren’t you supposed to be looking for your son?”

  She wanted to strangle him. Then there would be two killers on the loose. “Is that what you were looking for in the cupboards?”

  His eyelids came up a little. Definitely a glare this time. “I know you think you’re some sort of super detective because you got kidnapped once, but you’re not. Why don’t you just look for your kid, and let the cops catch the killer.”

  Bob put a hand on Sandra’s shoulder. She’d forgotten he was there. She turned to look at him, and he jerked his head toward the door. He was right. Talking to Matthew was a waste of time. She turned to go, but then had a thought. “Matthew,” she said, stopping and turning back for a second, “you must have been pretty angry when Treasure rejected you in front of everyone.”

  “Easy,” Bob said, but Sandra wasn’t scared of Matthew on his best day. And this wasn’t his best day.

  “She didn’t reject me.”

  “She wasn’t rude to you and she didn’t reject you? Matthew, I saw it. She completely disrespected you. Didn’t that make you angry? I would’ve been furious.”

  Matthew looked down at his hands. At first, he didn’t respond, and when he did, his voice quavered. “That’s just how she was.”

  Sandra couldn’t believe it. He’d really cared about her? “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” Suddenly in a hurry to leave the young man in peace, she stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind her.

  “Well, that was weird,” Bob said, “but I don’t think he killed her. Now where do you want to go? Where is everyone?”

  “Maybe they’re back upstairs. But hang on. I want to go back to the green room.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t answer him. She just walked to the green room. He’d find out soon enough. She tapped on the door. “Gloria?”

  “Yes?”

  “Still doing okay in there?”

  There was a pause. “Define okay.”

  Okay was also a relative concept. “Still warm enough? And no one’s trying to kill you?”

  A faint giggle drifted through the door. “Yeah, then, I guess we’re okay.”

  “Hey, do you know exactly when Treasure fell?”

  Another pause. “No.”

  A meek little voice piped up. “I think she fell when we were doing the snowball scene,” Corina said. “Because we didn’t hear her.”

  Smart cookie. Maybe I should take her on the road. “Do you remember where you were during the snowball scene, Gloria?”

  Again, a pause. Sandra leaned her forehead on the door and tried to be patient. “I’m not sure. I think I was in here.”

  Good. “Was Matthew in there with you?”

  “No. No one was.”

  “Okay, thanks. You guys sit tight.”

  She stood up straight and looked at Bob. “So maybe he’s not so innocent. He said he was in here.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. Even if Gloria is telling the truth, her memory isn’t foolproof.”

  A qualm wiggled its way into Sandra’s brain. Why hadn’t Gloria been upstairs watching the snowball scene? Both her kids were in it. What had she been doing instead?

  Chapter 15

  Sandra and Bob found Director Frank and ever-faithful Jan in the auditorium. Frank sat in the front row with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Jan sat a few seats over from him, staring down at her candle, which was dripping hot wax onto her hands. It was a dismal scene. “Thanks for helping me look for my kid,” Sandra said, and then instantly regretted it. Sarcasm never helped anything.

  Neither of them acknowledged her presence. Had Bob made her invisible too? She looked at him for guidance, but he offered none.

  She cleared her throat. Frank raised his eyes without raising his head. “Sorry about Peter.” He paused, leaving her to wonder if he was going to say more. He did, finally. “This is a small theater, and Billy is looking. If he can be found, Billy will find him.”

  “What do you mean if he can be found?” Sandra asked.

  Frank didn’t answer.

  “He means that he thinks the kid is already dead,” Jan said, clearly believing the idea was preposterous.

  Frank’s head finally snapped up, and he shot eye-daggers toward his stage manager. Sandra wondered how many plays they’d done together. At least a hundred? “That is not what I meant, and don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “You don’t think he’s in danger?” Sandra said to Jan.

  She made a contemptuous pfft sound. “I told you what I think. The kid is probably hiding. Where’s the girl? They’re probably in the dark somewhere playing footsies.”

  Sandra stared at her. Just how old was Jan, anyway? “Corina,” Sandra said slowly, “is in the green room with her mother, hiding, scared for her life, and worried sick about her friend Peter. How can you poss
ibly be so sure that Peter hasn’t been harmed, when there’s a murder victim lying on the basement floor?”

  “I’m not even sure she is a murder victim. I think the floozy fell down the stairs.”

  Sandra had difficulty not snickering at the word floozy.

  “Let’s not speak ill of the dead,” Frank said. “Treasure had her attributes.” Did he even believe himself?

  “Yeah. Two of them,” Jan said, pointing to her chest with both hands. Then she chuckled at her own joke.

  Sandra wasn’t sure what to make of it. She’d known Jan was grouchy, but this was something more. This was sociopathic behavior. “Are you just in denial?”

  Jan grimaced, but Frank piped up, “I think that’s it!” His eyes widened in excitement. “Thank you for figuring that out, Susan—”

  “It’s Sandra.”

  “Sorry, Sandra, I’ve been wondering what’s wrong with her, even going so far as to be suspicious of her. That’s why I’ve been sitting here, not out looking for your son. I thought if I kept her in my sights, the only person she could kill would be me. But I think you’re assessment is more accurate. She is in denial. She’s refusing to accept that this could happen or that it could happen here—”

  “Stop psychoanalyzing me!” Jan bounded out of her chair and whirled to face him. “I am not in denial of anything!” She began to storm out of the room, and Sandra was keen to stop her. A suspect having no control over their emotions had to be a tactical advantage, didn’t it?

  “Jan, wait!”

  Jan paused her stomping, but didn’t turn back.

  “Have either of you seen Treasure’s cell phone?”

  Bob gasped, and Sandra tried to ignore him. If he wanted to take over the questioning, he could do so at any time.

  “No,” Jan said, and started for the door again.

  “Will you help me look?” Sandra asked, having no reason to ask it, but just desperate to say something, anything, to keep Jan engaged.

  She finally turned around. “Why would you want my help?” She looked at Frank. “He just accused me of murder. He’s known me for forty years, and he just accused me of murder.”

  Sandra thought that detail was telling. She took a step toward Jan. “Jan, I think everyone is suspicious of everyone right now. I know it’s hard, but don’t be offended. And I don’t know how, but I know you didn’t kill Treasure.” She knew no such thing, but it sounded good.

  Jan’s expression softened. It wasn’t soft yet, but it was no longer flint. “What do you want with Treasure’s phone?”

  “I don’t want anything with it, but I think it’s suspicious that it’s not on or near her body. So, maybe the murderer took it. Maybe if we find the phone, it will help us find the murderer.”

  “I’ll help you look,” Jan said decidedly.

  “We’ve already checked the prop room!” Bob said quickly.

  It took Sandra a second to realize why that was a fact worth spouting. Oh right. “We’ve already checked the prop room and the green room. It’s not in either of those places.” Sandra watched Jan walk away, unable to think of another way to stop her.

  “I’ll go help her look,” Frank said, sans enthusiasm. He stood slowly, as if it hurt to do so, and then, head held high, shuffled away.

  Sandra looked at Bob. “I don’t think either of them did it. Peter said a man dragged him—”

  “Jan smells a little manly.”

  “But is she hairy?” Sandra hadn’t meant the question to be funny, but at the sound of it, she laughed. Bob didn’t. “And I don’t think Frank could drag Peter anywhere. He just had trouble getting out of his chair.”

  “I agree with you on that, but I’m still suspicious of Jan. Maybe there’s more than one killer.”

  Sandra groaned. “Oh please, don’t say that.”

  “Or maybe Jan killed Treasure and then got someone else to help kidnap Peter.”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense. Who would help Jan? And why are you so stuck on Jan as the killer?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like her.”

  “Angels are allowed to dislike people?”

  Bob belted out a laugh. “Oh, of course. Don’t be ridiculous.” He started for the door. “Come on, let’s follow them.”

  “But we still have to talk to Otis and Billy. Shouldn’t we go look for them?”

  “We’ll do both.”

  Chapter 16

  Sandra and Bob picked up Jan and Frank’s trail and overheard Jan berating him in the office. “Why are you here? I am perfectly capable of looking for a cell phone on my own!” Sandra couldn’t hear Frank’s response, but he must have said something because Jan’s ire increased. “Go look in another room! Get away from me! If you don’t buzz off, I’m not going to help look!”

  Bob looked at Sandra with one eyebrow cocked. His silent expression said, I told you so.

  Sandra still wasn’t convinced. If Jan had killed someone, wouldn’t she be doing a better job of acting innocent?

  Frank came out of the office, started when he saw Sandra, and then headed down the stairs.

  “I think we should stay with her,” Bob said.

  Sandra was not surprised to hear that this was the plan. For several minutes, they stood stupidly in the hallway doing nothing, waiting for Jan to search the small office.

  Suddenly, Bob said, “I’m going in,” and vanished.

  Sandra leaned against the wall to wait and flinched when the wall creaked beneath her weight.

  Just when she was sure the police would arrive before Jan ever left the office, Bob appeared in front of her, grabbed her forearm, and yanked her into the shadows. Then he peeked around the corner. “She’s coming out,” he narrated. “And she just went into the concessions booth.” He vanished again.

  This was stupid. She was wasting her time waiting for Bob to spy on someone who was not the killer, someone who was actually trying to help. She needed to find Otis and Billy. They’d said they would go look for Peter outside, but surely they weren’t still out there? They’d be Popsicles by now. She decided to check everywhere inside before venturing out to look for them, partly because she was sure they were back inside by now and partly because she didn’t want to go out in the storm.

  She went back through the auditorium, which was still empty, and down the treacherous back stairs. She rechecked the kitchen and found Frank shining a flashlight into the refrigerator. “Hungry?”

  He looked at her as if she were stupid. “No, I’m looking for that blasted phone.”

  Oh yeah. She’d just told him to do that, hadn’t she? “Right. Of course. I was just kidding. Have you seen Otis or Billy?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, no. I haven’t seen anyone since I saw you upstairs.”

  “All right. Thanks for your help.” Sandra left the kitchen and headed for the costume room, wondering why they hadn’t thought to look there first. What a great place to hide something, with all those pockets.

  Her stomach sank when she saw Jan with her hand on the doorknob of the props room. Bob stood right beside her.

  “Why is this locked?” Jan snapped when she saw Sandra. “This can’t be locked! This is never locked! We don’t even have a key!”

  “Uh ...”

  “You said you searched it! Did you lock it?”

  “Maybe? I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

  “Accident?” Jan screeched. “How can you accidentally lock a door? The phone could be in there! Your son could be in there! We need to open this door!” She was screaming now, and as Sandra stepped closer, she could see that the woman’s face was as red as a lobster. Was she going to have a heart attack?

  “Maybe we should sit down for a minute.” Sandra reached for Jan’s elbow, but she yanked it away from her.

  “I don’t need to sit down! I need to search the props room!” Still screeching.

  “Jan, I’m concerned about you. I can’t imagine how stressful this must be—”

  “You have no idea h
ow stressful this is. You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve done for this theater.” Her voice cracked, and she turned to stare at the door. “I would do anything for this place,” she said softly, and though Sandra felt bad that Jan was crying, she was so grateful that the screaming had stopped.

  She put a hand on her back. “I’m so sorry, Jan. Really, let’s go sit down for a minute. Maybe if we talk this out together, we can figure out—”

  “I don’t want to talk anything out with you!” Back to screeching. “What I want is to search this prop closet!” She pounded on the door, and for one panicked moment, Sandra worried Ethel might open it.

  Sandra stood there, frozen. What should she do? She looked to Bob for help, but he also looked stymied. They were being steamrolled, and Sandra felt powerless to stop it.

  Otis emerged from the shadows, no longer wearing the “extra layers” he’d borrowed from the prop room. Good, she’d been right. He wasn’t outside looking anymore. “What’s wrong, Jan?” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she let him. Absurdly, Sandra felt a pang of jealousy. Why did Jan like Otis and not her?

  In a normal volume, Jan explained, “Someone took Treasure’s cell phone. I am looking for it.” Her words came out staccato. Sandra had never heard her talk like that. Otis stared at her as if trying to read her, but before he could say anything, Jan said, “Go away. I’ll find it. You go look for the boy.”

  Otis stood there staring for another several seconds, and then walked away.

  Sandra turned to follow him, leaving Bob to deal with Jan and the locked door. “Otis, wait up!” She jogged up the stairs to catch him. “Have you seen any signs of Peter? I sure do appreciate that you’re helping to look.”

  He gave her that same weird stare, as if he was trying to peer into her mind. Did he suspect her? Is that what was happening here? Was he staring into her eyes in hopes of seeing a flicker of guilt? Why on earth would she hide her own son? Oh wait, she had hid her own son, hadn’t she?

  “Sorry, nothing yet. But I’ll keep looking.” He turned and started up the stairs.