MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “Arlena,” Randall said with a smile, “I of all people know how weddings are done. This will be my fifth, remember?”

  Arlena rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know, Daddy.”

  Penelope cleared her throat. “So, what have you brought for us today?” She glanced at the thick folder in front of Randall on the table.

  “Glad you asked,” Randall said with a smile. “This is my mother’s, your grandmother’s,” he flicked his eyes to Arlena across the table, “personal papers, diaries, and photos—her archive during the time she was a dancer in the city. I’m picturing this as our backdrop, source material for the doc.”

  Randall flipped open the folder and slid a few photos across the lacquered wood toward Arlena.

  “She was beautiful,” Penelope murmured, glancing at a photo. The dancers wore elaborate headpieces in the shape of Christmas trees, with ornaments hanging down, shimmering in the stage lights. The black and white photo caused their painted lips to look black, but Penelope imagined they were a deep red to match what she guessed were red and green bodysuit leotards.

  “That headgear was heavy,” Randall said. “Almost five pounds. My mom talked about her aching neck, sore legs, and blistered feet.”

  “They look so elegant,” Arlena said, flipping to another photo.

  “That’s showbiz,” Randall said darkly.

  “So, the focus of the documentary, the subject really, is Grandma Ruby?”

  “No,” Randall said. His fingers brushed the leather-bound book that sat on more documents in the file. “She’s the focus of the piece. The subject as I envision it is the life of the dancers themselves, from the beginning of the production to now: how these girls get to be Big Apple Dancers, what they go through mentally and physically and how that has changed over time.”

  Arlena jotted a few notes. “Okay, who do we want for director?” Arlena asked, her pen hovering over the pad.

  “I want you to be the director,” Randall said.

  Arlena’s lips curled into a smile. “Really? You said co-producer when we first started talking about this last year. I thought you wanted to hire a friend to direct, an unbiased eye, you said.”

  Randall set his palms on the table on either side of the papers in front of him. “I’ve been thinking about that, and you’re the perfect, most logical choice. We know our family better than anyone, and you can get to the real story.”

  “Everyone is talking about how we need more women in charge,” Penelope chimed in.

  Arlena bit her bottom lip and nodded. “You’ll be there to help me, though, right, Daddy? I’ve never directed before.”

  “Absolutely,” Randall said. “And Max, too.”

  Arlena rolled her eyes. “I know he’s never directed anything. Except a torpedo at my private life.”

  “What are you talking about?” Randall asked.

  “You didn’t see the news yesterday? Somehow the press got wind of my engagement,” Arlena said. “And yours,” she added in a mumble. “Obviously someone blabbed, and the only person who could’ve done it is Max, or his friend Ashley.”

  “So what? I don’t pay attention those gossip rags,” Randall said. “And you shouldn’t either. It will drive you crazy. Focus on your work.”

  “You don’t care what people are saying about you publicly?” Penelope asked.

  “I stopped reading reviews of my movies, and giving attention to reporters over twenty years ago,” Randall said. “Even good reviews or news can distract you from what you really should be doing…giving your best performance and focusing on the job at hand.”

  “It was easier to ignore things when it was just a few magazines and newspapers,” Arlena said. “Now literally everyone is a critic. Or reporter.”

  “All the more reason to tune that stuff out,” Randall said. “I just think if you take all of that in, good and bad comments, it’s going to change the way you act…I don’t want to be reacting to public opinion all the time. Trust me, tune it out. And don’t be mad at your brother. It’s not the worst thing in the world to give a friend a place to go on Thanksgiving.”

  “And spoiler alert the most important news I’ve had in my life?” Arlena said testily. “Unless it was Sybil who spilled the beans and you’re too afraid to tell me.”

  Randall showed her his palms and chuckled. “I swear, it wasn’t her. You can leave us out of it.”

  Arlena drummed her fingers on the wooden table and leveled her gaze at Randall. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, smiling at his daughter.

  “Do we know what crew members we’ll need then?” Penelope said, veering the conversation back to work. Maybe Randall had a point. Arlena should focus on the things she could control and let go of the rest.

  “Yes,” Randall said, plucking a sample call sheet from the stack of papers. “Here are the positions that will need to be filled. As director and co-producer, you can choose who you want to fill them.”

  “I suggest we keep the crew on the small side, for financial reasons since we’re footing the bill,” Randall said. “Plus, I think working with a smaller team will give the film a more intimate feel.”

  “That makes sense,” Arlena said, jotting a few notes.

  “And our working space in the penthouse can only hold so many bodies comfortably, once you get the editorial suite set up,” Randall said.

  “Is it the same building the theater uses?” Penelope asked. “Where the dancers live?”

  “Yep. The penthouse has a kitchen, too,” Randall said. “And you can use the alley for your catering trucks.”

  Penelope wrote the word “alley” on her notepad, and the image of Elspeth lying on the pavement flashed in front of her eyes. Everything at the theater was moving on without her, even in the spot where she was found dead.

  Arlena’s phone pinged on the table next to her and she glanced at the screen. “Looks like we’re getting somewhere now.”

  “We are,” Randall said. “And I’d suggest you review some of these things too, familiarize yourself with Grandma Ruby, some of the history of the place.”

  “Of course,” Arlena said. Her phone pinged again. “Will we see you at rehearsal later, Daddy?”

  “I’ll be there,” Randall said.

  Arlena stood up and left the room, pulling the phone to her ear on the way out.

  “She might need an assistant,” Randall murmured. “She can’t rely on you for everything, you know.”

  Penelope laughed. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.” She picked up one of the photos from the table. “This was Ruby?” A woman stood on a city sidewalk in front of a storefront, a stole wrapped around her shoulders and a cigarette clutched between two fingers of her gloved hand.

  “The one and only,” Randall said with a small smile.

  “What was she like?” Penelope asked, staring at the woman’s face in the photograph.

  “I don’t remember a lot, only that she was always in a hurry, bouncing off the walls. She was a ball of energy. My aunt called her a live wire, which I didn’t understand as a kid.”

  “Are there any pictures of Ruby and your father?” Penelope asked.

  “None that I’ve seen,” Randall said. “They weren’t married. To each other, at least.”

  Arlena’s voice drifted in from the other room. They could hear she was talking about wedding plans, and a time for one of the planners to give a presentation.

  “I don’t remember him,” Randall continued. “He was a Marine, died in Okinawa during the war. Ruby was pregnant.”

  “That’s so sad,” Penelope said. She set the photo down and picked up another one. Ruby was older in this one, and wearing a western costume, with a long skirt and a lace shawl around her shoulders.

  “She was in Oklahoma! in that picture,” Randall said. “1947. The next year she appeared in
the holiday show at the Vitrine, and she did that for four more years until…”

  Randall’s normally confident expression was replaced by a faraway look, an emptiness in his eyes.

  “What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Randall shook his head and “My aunt who I went to live with said my mom’s heart was too big, and it got broken too many times,” Randall said. “I didn’t know what she meant.”

  “Sounds like things were rough for you growing up,” Penelope said.

  “Not really,” Randall said. “Aunt Tula was fun, but she also didn’t take any nonsense from us kids. Tula took us to the theater, and to the movies every Friday after school. I grew up with my cousins, who were like a brother and sister to me. My uncle worked at one of the big record labels at the time, so I met musicians and could get tickets to any shows I wanted. I was very lucky I got to be one of their kids, in the end.”

  “When did you decide to be an actor?” Penelope asked.

  “In my teens,” Randall said, rubbing his chin. “Me and Tula still had our Friday night movie routine and we saw The Great Escape near Times Square. I walked out of that theater knowing I wanted to be just like Steve McQueen one day. A month later, Tula had signed me up for acting classes. She took me to my first audition, too. The rest…” he spread his arms wide, the confidence returning to his face, “is history.”

  “That’s a great story,” Penelope said.

  “Tula showed me a lot of things,” Randall said. “But the most important was how to love, and to follow your dreams.”

  Chapter 19

  Armand met Penelope and Arlena at the front door of the theater, then led them down the main aisle toward the stage.

  “Big night tonight,” Armand said, excitement flitting through his words. “The girls have already been through the numbers three times. They’re on break now.”

  “Armand! We need to finish this before they come back to stage,” someone yelled from the orchestra pit. He waved at the conductor who was holding up some papers.

  “Please, make yourselves at home,” Armand said graciously. “Much to attend to at the moment, but I’ll join you later to watch the final dress rehearsal.”

  “Thank you, Armand,” Arlena said, sliding one of her gloves off. “Don’t let us keep you.”

  “Oh, how stupid of me,” Armand said, glancing at their coats. “I forgot to take your coats in the front.”

  “I’ve got it,” Penelope said. She slipped off her short wool pea coat and took Arlena’s long white one from her. “I’ll go hang them up.”

  “Don’t worry, the front door is locked,” Armand said. “Your things will be safe this time.”

  Armand hurried toward the orchestra pit, waving his hands in the air over his head when the conductor began speaking to him again.

  “I’m going to slip backstage, talk to a few of the performers,” Arlena said. “Scope out who might have the most interesting stories.”

  “Okay, I’ll figure out where my team can set up,” Penelope said with a nod.

  “Oh,” Arlena said, reaching into her purse. “Here’s the key to the office across the street. Seventeenth floor, Suite A. I spent the afternoon making calls and putting together the team, and they’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Got it,” Penelope said. “You want to hang on to your purse?”

  “Um,” Arlena said. “Yeah, I’m going to ask Armand for a locker in the dressing room for our valuables.”

  “Good idea,” Penelope said.

  Arlena went backstage toward the dressing rooms and Penelope took their coats out to the lobby.

  The key was in the lock of the old door, the same tarnished brass color of all the other metal in the room. She swung the door open and stepped inside, flipping on the light switch right inside the door. Stepping to the back wall, Penelope hung up the coats, the empty metal hangars rattling against each other. The door clicked closed behind her and she jerked her head around, the feeling of another presence in the small space suddenly making her feel claustrophobic.

  Even though she thought she heard the sound of someone breathing right behind her, she was alone in the small space. She could hear the orchestra warming up, the sound of the music muffled by the thick walls of the coat closet. Yellow light from the bulb above threw triangles of shadows across the thin carpet beneath her feet.

  Penelope sighed and went to the door. She turned the knob, but it just spun in her hand. She tried twisting it the other way, but it was no use. She was locked inside the coat closet.

  “I can’t believe this,” Penelope said, thinking about the key in the lock on the other side of the door. She knocked on the top half of the door. “Hello? Anyone out there?”

  The music from the theater got louder as the orchestra began rehearsing a song.

  “Hey!” Penelope called loudly. She slapped her hand on the wood and listened to it rattle.

  The light above her flipped off suddenly, plunging her into darkness.

  “Come on,” Penelope said. She reached out toward the wall where she remembered the light switch was. “Leave it to me to lock myself in a coat closet on the first day of work.”

  The wall beneath her hand seemed to vibrate, and she felt a small electrical shock.

  Penelope pulled her hand back and took a few steps back from the door. Shaking out her hand, she dug in her messenger bag and pulled out her phone, pressing the flashlight button.

  Confirming she was indeed locked inside the closet, she dialed Arlena’s number.

  “You’re where?” Arlena said with a chuckle.

  “You heard me,” Penelope said. “Can you come rescue me?”

  “Be right there,” Arlena said. “I say we avoid the closet from now on.”

  “Good idea,” Penelope said.

  Arlena hung up and Penelope pointed her phone around the small space, illuminating the walls and carpet on the floor. Something glinted in the light, in the far back corner. Penelope picked it up, thinking someone had lost an earring.

  She held the small piece of gold in front of her phone, turning it from side to side to see it better. It was a small round token with a picture of a dragon etched on the back. She stared at it for a second then turned it over in her hand. The back had been inscribed but the metal was worn and several of the words had been rubbed away.

  The door rattled open and Arlena stood on the other side.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Penelope said. “I think this closet is possessed.”

  Chapter 20

  After Arlena rescued her from the self-locking coat closet with the timed light switch that was set to turn off after one minute, Penelope joined her in the dressing room to meet some of the Big Apple Dancers.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Penelope said.

  “Anytime,” Arlena said with a chuckle. “I feel so brave.”

  “I was really trapped,” Penelope said grimly. “I freaked out a little in the dark.”

  “Anyone would,” Arlena said, looking up into the rafters. The rigging above the stage where several lights and cables hung, loomed like giant spiders in a web. “If you ask me, all old buildings in the city are a little mysterious.”

  One of the dancers sat in a chair, her foot pulled up in her lap so she could massage her toes with her hands.

  “Did Bainbridge lock you in the closet?” the woman asked. Her eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner, her hair pulled tightly into a bun at the back of her head. She had on a sports bra and leggings, her muscular body twisted like a pretzel in the chair.

  “Excuse me?” Penelope asked. “Who is Bainbridge?”

  “The Vitrine Theater ghost,” the dancer said.

  Arlena turned and looked at Penelope, then back at the girl. “We’ve never heard of a ghost here at the
theater.”

  The dancer rolled her eyes and sighed. “He’s a legend around here. Victor Bainbridge was lead actor here in like, 1900, I think. He fell from the apartment upstairs, down through all the rigging and scaffolds, hanging himself accidentally during a performance. They say he haunts the theater now.”

  “Oh my,” Penelope said. “Well, I was a little creeped out, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  The dancer stood up from her chair and shrugged, shaking out her gracefully long limbs. “I do.”

  After the girl left, Arlena laughed. “There you have it. I’ve rescued you from a haunted closet.”

  “Let’s get back to work,” Penelope said. “I prefer things that I know are real.”

  Chapter 21

  The changing rooms the dancers used were six sectioned off areas with heavy red curtains they could pull across a rod in the front. A tall blonde performer in a dark blue leotard stood outside of one, texting on her phone. She lifted her eyes for a second and gave Arlena a smile, then looked back down at the screen.

  “I’m going to hang out here, talk to a couple of the ladies,” Arlena said.

  Penelope continued down the hall, looking for the kitchen area. There were windows at the back of the theater that lit the space in a hazy warmth.

  Penelope caught pieces of different conversations behind the curtains as she passed. When she reached the final one, the curtain opened, and Penelope came face to face with one from the troupe, her face heavy with makeup. The changing room behind her was strewn with clothes, four tall narrow lockers and two makeup tables with soft lights glowing all the way around the edges.

  “Hey, sorry,” Penelope said. “Is it this way to the break room?”

  “Yes, just through there,” the woman said. Penelope was mesmerized by the thick coating of lipstick on her mouth. “Just around the corner. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Penelope said.

  “No problem,” the dancer said. She was in her stage costume, and the silver sequins shimmered in the light.

  “You look beautiful,” Penelope said.