MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “A learning curve, my favorite. It’s also my first time working directly with Daddy.” She placed a slender knuckle against her red painted lips and stared at Penelope. “What if this turns into a nightmare?”

  Penelope crossed her arms at her waist and thought for a second. “It’s not going to be a nightmare. Your dad loves you more than anything.”

  “Yeah, but working with family...I don’t know.” Arlena said, tapping her knuckle against her chin. “I couldn’t say no to him, of course. So it’s a moot point. Max too. We want to make him happy, especially after all he’s done for us.”

  “There’s that silver spoon again,” Penelope teased.

  Arlena set her mouth in a line.

  “I think it’s exciting,” Penelope said, reassuringly. “The Madison acting clan coming together on a project about the Big Apple Dancers. I never knew your grandmother was one of them.”

  “Daddy had mentioned it a couple of times when I saw him growing up,” Arlena said. “But we never really talked about her a lot until recently.”

  Penelope cleared her throat and brushed a few crumbs from the table. “Do you feel weird talking about it? I know things were hard sometimes, you know with your dad not being around.”

  “No,” Arlena said. “He’s around now, with a vengeance. I would’ve liked to have met my grandmother, though. Too bad she passed away before I was born.”

  “Well, maybe this way you’ll get to know her a little better,” Penelope said.

  “I think that’s why I said yes to this project so quickly. Learning about my grandmother, well, that was too hard to resist. I’m glad you’ll be there with me.” She leaned over and motioned for Penelope to lean forward too. She rested a cool hand on top of Penelope’s on the table. “I know I have sisters out in the world. Probably quite a few of them, knowing Daddy. But you’ll always be the closest one to me.”

  Penelope blushed and flicked her eyes to the table. “That’s so sweet. I feel the same.”

  “So, we should head over soon,” Arlena said. “Thanks for meeting me here. I know you’re busy, but I wanted to get that scarf.”

  “I love Steiners, and I got some things too,” Penelope said. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without a walk through the store.”

  Arlena looked down at her half-empty cup and then at the counter. The line had dwindled to just a few people, with the two elves slowing their pace during the brief lull.

  “Ready to go?” Arlena asked. “We’re supposed to meet the director soon.”

  “Yeah,” Penelope said. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 2

  Penelope and Arlena’s boot heels tapped the sidewalk as they made their way up New York City’s bustling Fifth Avenue. They walked at a brisk pace, in keeping with the crowd around them, pausing a few times on their journey to admire the elaborate holiday display windows of the different shops and boutiques they passed. They had to dodge around a tourist or two, unused to the rapid flow of pedestrians on the avenue that had come to a dead stop in the center of the sidewalk, pointing their camera at a building or take a selfie in front of a famous address.

  Penelope and Arlena stopped when they came to a window where a small crowd had gathered. A little girl in a pink winter coat and matching earmuffs pointed at the glass as she tugged on her mother’s hand.

  A couple dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus were in the display window. Mrs. Claus tipped back and forth in her rocking chair as she knitted a pair of tiny elf leggings. Santa was in a matching rocker, rubbing his swollen belly with one white gloved hand and grasping a yellowing scroll of paper in the other. Santa’s list pooled at near his black boots on the floor, presumably with scrawled names of naughty and nice children on it.

  “I think he saw me,” the little girl whispered to her mother, who smiled and nodded.

  “This is the best time of the year to be in the city. I can’t wait to watch the parade,” Arlena said after they’d begun walking again.

  “Me too,” Penelope murmured.

  “You seem a little off today. Is everything okay?” Arlena asked as they paused at the next corner, waiting for the light to change. A yellow cab whizzed by on the cross street, blowing its horn for some reason.

  Penelope shook her head and smiled, tugging her dark purple knit hat over her ears, her long blonde hair streaming across her shoulders. “I always miss my parents more this time of year.”

  Arlena stepped closer to Penelope and their shoulders touched. “Why don’t you invite them up for the holidays?”

  “I don’t know,” Penelope said with a shake of her head as they crossed the street. A van inched toward them, the engine revving in anticipation of the light turning green. “I’m not sure how much time I’d have to spend with them. We’re going to be busy with this new project.”

  “Pen,” Arlena said as she dodged around a woman pushing a stroller, “there’s a billion things to do in New York during the holidays. They’re originally from New Jersey, right?”

  Penelope shrugged and nodded. “Yep.”

  “Look, it’s Christmas, family time. Our house is more than big enough for them to come and stay as long as they like. Please, just think about it.”

  “Okay, I will,” Penelope said. “But they’d probably want to stay at a hotel. They’d feel like they were imposing at our place.”

  “Well, that’s silly. They haven’t even met Joey yet,” Arlena said. “It’s time they got to know your boyfriend. They should come. For a lot of reasons.”

  When they arrived at the next corner, they turned and walked down the street, stopping halfway down the block in front of the Vitrine Theater. A few homeless people were huddled under coats and blankets, bundled up against the cold wind several yards away from the door. The smell of cigarette smoke and body odor mixed with stale liquor wafted over to them.

  Arlena and Penelope climbed the slate steps and Arlena pulled on the theater’s heavy wooden door. When it rattled against the deadbolt, she reached over and pressed the buzzer on the doorframe.

  After a moment a fuzzy voice called over the speaker. “Hallo?”

  “It’s Arlena Madison,” she said into the speaker.

  “Oh yes, be right there!” the man’s said quickly.

  Arlena stepped back from the door and gave Penelope a shrug. But Penelope could tell she was excited to have arrived at the historic site.

  The door opened and a man leaned out, glancing up and down the sidewalk briefly before saying, “Welcome, Miss Madison, please come in.”

  Arlena and Penelope stepped inside the darkened theater, and the man closed and bolted the door behind them.

  “You certainly are Randall’s daughter. There’s a clear resemblance,” the man said. His silver hair was swept up in a gravity defying swoosh, and a burgundy and gold scarf was tossed over the shoulders of his charcoal-colored wool suit. A small diamond stud twinkled from one of his earlobes. “I’m Armand Wagner,” he said with a slight bow. “And you are Arlena Madison, who needs no introduction.” His eyes shifted to Penelope.

  “This is Penelope Sutherland. She’ll be assisting me and providing catering for the crew and performers during the documentary filming.”

  “Oh wonderful,” he said cheerily. “We’re very happy to have you here for your project. And I must add your father’s donation to the theater was very much appreciated. It certainly came at a good time and kept the wolves from the door, as they say.”

  Arlena smiled. “Well, when he heard there were some…”

  “Financial troubles,” Armand replied helpfully. “My dear, it’s been in all the papers we were considering Chapter 11.”

  “Right,” Arlena said, clearing her throat. “When he heard that, he just felt it was right to step in and help.”

  “Help? My dear, he saved us from a possible forced bank sale. Who knows who might’ve taken ove
r this place and turned her into lord knows what? A coffee shop or a tattoo parlor? Midtown is prime real estate for anyone of course. They wouldn’t care about our history.” Armand’s smile went all the way to his eyes. “But now, the tradition of the theater will carry on into the future. A few more years, at least.”

  “So, you’re the director?” Arlena asked, peeling off her gloves.

  “Artistic director. Yes. For as long as I can remember,” Armand said with a faint laugh. “Since the mid-eighties, when you were just a girl, I assume.”

  “I see. So far, I’ve only worked with film directors,” Arlena said. “What’s the difference?”

  “Less cameras, for one,” Armand said. “But there are similarities too. I oversee the creative direction of the theater, and all the projects and plays we produce. Of course, our biggest event of the year is the Christmas Extravaganza. People come from all over the world to see our show and the Big Apple Dancers. We’re a holiday tradition for thousands of families. Come, let me show you around.”

  Armand led them through the foyer past a vintage ticket booth with gold-etched glass windows. A brass tray on the counter, worn from years of theater goers sliding money and tickets back and forth, glowed in the dim overhead lighting. Penelope pulled off her glove and touched the cold metal, imagining what it must have looked like when it was brand new.

  Armand flipped a switch on one of the walls behind a heavy red curtain, and the overhead lights brightened, highlighting the dust motes they’d disturbed by opening the door and letting in the frigid air. On the left of the main room was a large wooden bar with shelves lined with liquor bottles in front of a gold-rimmed mirror that matched the ticket booth.

  “Please, let me stash your things in the coat check so you’ll be more comfortable.” Penelope and Arlena shrugged out of their coats and handed their shopping bags to Armand. He put their coats over his forearm and carried their things through a door, the kind where the top half swung open and created a small counter. Penelope imagined a coat check girl leaning there in a pillbox hat, like the ones she’d seen in black and white movies on the classic film channel.

  “And this,” Armand said after closing the door to the closet and waving them forward, “is where the magic happens.” He ushered them through a set of double doors and into the main theater.

  “Wow,” Arlena said, gazing up at the four half-circle seating balconies lining the walls. Everything was draped in gold and burgundy, the same colors as Armand’s scarf. He moved easily down the aisle, his long slender body moving like a dancer’s, his familiarity with the space around him obvious.

  “The girls will be here soon,” Armand said over his shoulder as he strode toward the massive stage.

  “This place is amazing,” Penelope said under her breath to Arlena. “It looks a lot smaller from the outside.”

  “The magic of the theater,” Arlena whispered.

  Armand ducked behind the curtains on the left-hand side of the stage. A few seconds later the stage lights flipped on and the curtains rolled slowly apart to reveal a set designed to look like a winter wonderland. An oversized sleigh attached to a cluster of animatronic reindeer glittered with artificial frost. Snowflakes of all different shapes and sizes dangled from invisible wire overhead, and stacks of brightly colored gift-wrapped boxes dotted the stage.

  Armand stepped out to center stage and took a quick bow in their direction. “The Christmas Extravaganza opens this weekend. We always time our debut each year with the Steiners parade, when the city’s holiday tourist season really gets going.”

  The muffled sound of the front door rattling open caused Penelope to turn away from the stage and look toward the lobby. The curtains separating the entryway from the lobby swayed gently from the rush of outside air, and a woman appeared at the top of the aisle.

  “Armand!” she shouted. “My girls are standing outside freezing. Why didn’t you let them in?”

  Armand took another bow, this time with a flourish. As he straightened up he said, “Martha, my dear. No one rang the bell. How was I to know they were waiting?”

  The woman took a few more steps across the carpet and eyed him suspiciously. “Are you having a private party in here? Who are these women?”

  Armand crossed his arms and shook his head. “No, Martha, of course I am not having a party. They are theater patrons, Arlena Madison and her associate, Penelope Sutherland.”

  “Because we don’t have time right now for your schmoozing if we want to rehearse enough for this show. My girls need to practice every minute they can!” Martha said, eyeing Arlena up and down.

  “By all means, bring them in, Martha,” Armand said with a roll of his eyes. “Arlena, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve so much more to show you.”

  Martha stepped back through the curtains and shortly afterwards they could hear many voices, chatting and laughing together as they entered the theater.

  Penelope followed Arlena onto the stage at Armand’s urging.

  A stream of young dancers flooded the aisle, laughing and talking with each other as they moved as a group toward the stage. They were all roughly the same height—taller than average as far as Penelope could see—and all with similar body types: slender and long-legged. There were about thirty of them, many with gym bags thrown over their shoulders, wrapped in jackets, scarves and coats. Penelope watched them climb the stage steps and head toward a door behind the curtain on the left. A couple of them threw glances at Arlena and Penelope as they passed.

  “Ten minutes to get changed, darlings!” Martha shouted, ushering them like a mother hen through the door. “I want to see all of you on the stage warming up in eleven minutes from now.”

  “Welcome to this year’s crop of Big Apple Dancers,” Armand said after the last one had passed through the door into the dressing rooms. “And our head choreographer, Martha Shirlington.”

  “Lovely young women,” Arlena said.

  Armand nodded crisply. “Of course they are. Part of the job requirement is to be lovely and graceful. Please, if you’d follow me. Martha’s been in charge of the new class for twenty years now. She never fails to whip them into shape.”

  Penelope pressed a hand to her stomach, which was relatively flat and toned, especially considering she spent most of her time at work cooking and tasting food. Even though she was fit compared to most, she could tell these women were as fit as they come.

  Armand led them through a matching door to the one the dancers went through stage right. On the other side was a darkened space filled with set pieces and a wooden staircase that led straight up, wrapping around three different landings on the way. The air around them smelled of plywood and dust and the steps creaked beneath their feet. When they reached the top, Armand led them into a small waiting room. A set of mismatched visitor chairs lined the walls, and black and white photos filled every space above them. Penelope looked closer at a few of them, recognizing the stage below and what looked like different productions the theater had put on over the years.

  They made their way through another door into a smaller office where Armand took the seat behind a heavy wooden desk. Penelope thought about the rickety staircase and wondered how anyone could have gotten that desk up there.

  “Sit, please,” Armand said, waving at two vintage leather chairs. “And tell me, what will you need from us, the Vitrine staff, to make this project successful?”

  Arlena cleared her throat. “The first thing that comes to mind…I’d love to interview you, and Martha as lead choreographer. It would be great to have your input on the theater’s history, and any insight you can provide on this place. I’m sure you’ve experienced many things our viewers will find fascinating.”

  Armand folded his hands together on the desk and grinned. “Well, of course. We’re happy to. What subjects will you be focusing on, do you think?”

  “Well, we want to highlight
the history of the place, but also touch on a few personal histories, anything compelling that you think would make a good story. Something that ties in with the history, things that have happened here over the years that may have influenced the way you do things here today.”

  “Oh how fun!” Armand rubbed his palms together and smiled. His skin was smooth, almost as if it belonged to a much younger man than what his shock of silver hair suggested. He picked up a gold pen and twirled it in his slender fingers as he leaned back in his chair.

  “We’d like to interview a few of the dancers, too. Get their take on what life is like as a Big Apple Dancer.”

  The pen paused in his fingers and Armand glanced at his hands. “Yes, we should be able to arrange that. I’ll run the idea past Martha…it will probably have to be before or after rehearsal. She’s strict about them not missing stage time.”

  “You said Martha’s been here twenty years?” Penelope asked.

  “Even longer than I have,” Armand said with a shake of his head. “Where do the years go?”

  “We don’t want to disrupt the production, of course,” Arlena said. “We’re aiming for an observational documentary, so the less intrusive we are the better. We can talk with them whenever works best.”

  “And you’ve brought your own caterer,” Armand said, eyeing Penelope curiously. “Do you have any experience working in a theater, my dear?”

  Penelope smiled and shook her head. “Not professionally, but I’ve been here before, many years ago now. My parents took me to see Big Apple show few times as a kid.”

  “Oh brilliant!” Armand said.

  “Until now I’ve worked on movie sets,” Penelope said. “When I was starting out I did a few commercials, a music video one day.”

  “Hm,” Armand said. He pressed a knuckle to his lips and studied her. “The main difference between a long running theater production and a television show or film is we do the same show every day, over and over for weeks. You’ll see after a while you can set your watch by what’s happening on the stage. Precision, that’s our motto.”