Lisa held her gaze hard in concentration, did a double take, then giggled helplessly.
The underlying tension that had built up in the room let out. Rowan looked to Walter. “Did I say something amusing, Williams?”
She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.” Her laughing fit started again but she fought through it. “It’s just the way you talk.” Walter grinned as Lisa leaned forward, almost childlike, and deepened her voice to mimic Rowan’s. “How were you able to raise the capital for such an endeavor? What a strange way to ask me how I got the money.”
He turned a shade red. “I am verbose.”
“You talk a lot, too. It’s from my writing days. I can’t stand two words when one will do just fine.”
“Uh… How did you get the money?”
“It was from an inheritance. Our dad died last winter. To my surprise, he left everything to me. The Red Rising Theatre was born.”
“My sympathies about your father.” Does she not see the obvious angle?
“It was for the best. We didn’t communicate with him a lot during his last years, but, as I understand it, he was in a great deal of pain.” Lisa spoke with sudden determination, as if trying to convince Rowan of her sincerity. “Jenny and I have been working in theater for a long time. We started in high school. Then we farted around flops and dives in Chicago for seven years. I did every job you could imagine. I sewed buttons, I took tickets. A few times I sat in the audience and laughed at the jokes. After a while, we went to New York and studied. Later we taught. Add in the little shows we put on for our parents when we were children, and you could say we’ve been in theater our entire lives. You can imagine how much this newfound freedom and independence meant to us. This is the first time we’ve been able to do exactly as we wish. Our father’s money could not have been put to better use.”
Rowan twisted a cigarette together and brought a bit of the tension back. “But…”
“But what?”
“From your wording, am I to deduce that your sister did not receive any part of the inheritance?”
She flinched, and beneath her airy confidence appeared a slight anxiety. “No, she didn’t.”
“Did that trouble her?” Rowan asked.
“Not a bit. In fact, it’s rather a great source of entertainment for her.”
“How is that?”
“As Jenny likes to remind me, our father left everything to the older daughter. But that’s Jenny. She’s always been a smart aleck.”
Walter licked the tip of his pencil. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but could you put a bee in my bonnet and tell me the full names of everyone we’re dealing with. The names are important. Your sister is Jenny Pluviam?”
“Yes, she’s the writer and director.”
Rowan said, “Do you live together?”
Lisa nodded. “We always have. Our father owned a house on the north side. We moved there when we returned to Chicago.”
Walter said, “And this gentleman with the face?”
“I met Grizz on The Farmer’s Daughter, and I was impressed with his work. His full name is Sam Thompson. We hired him as a carpenter to build the sets, but he ended up wearing many different hats.”
“You recommended him to Jenny?” asked Rowan.
“Yes, I did. He’s a talented man, a little cranky, but Grizz gets the job done.”
“I take it from your description that he is older?”
“He’s got to be in his early sixties.”
Walter wrote suspects at the top of the page. “And the actors?”
“Maura Lewis plays my daughter. Maura’s the only one not from Chicago. I think she moved here from Iowa or Ohio. I’m not sure.”
A snickering breath escaped Walter’s lips. “Not really much of a difference, is there? It’s either corn fields or corn fields.”
“She told me once, but I can’t remember,” Lisa said, without much apparent interest.
Rowan continued, “Is she a nice girl?”
Lisa nodded. “It takes a while to get to know her. Maura can come off a little abrasive at first, but deep down, she’s sweet. Just needs a little guidance. Next, there’s Edward Filius.” She spelled the last name. “He plays my neighbor. We fall in love during the course of the play.”
“Why is the play called The Balcony?”
“The gist is, Edward and I meet on the balconies of our apartments, and slowly get to know one another. On the right side of the stage, there’s a twenty-foot-high tower with the two balconies side by side. It’s quite the visual.”
“Did you know Edward, previously?”
“No. The only people I knew were Jenny and Grizz. None of the actors were my choice. My sister is directing so she makes the decisions.”
You provide the money, but Jenny is the boss. “Did you disapprove of the casting decisions?”
Lisa froze for a moment. “What does this have to do with the note I found?”
“Humor me, Lisa,” Rowan said. “I am simply trying to gain a comprehensive understanding of the situation. If there is any animosity, however deeply buried, it could be the cause of this threat.”
“I did disapprove, but I’m happy to say my initial feelings were wrong. I was particularly worried about working with Edward, this being his first play. It didn’t bother Jenny; she recognized his talent straight away. The only thing an actor needs is a set of ears. I mean metaphorical ears, of course. You can be deaf and act. Edward has big ears.”
“Metaphorically speaking?”
“Yes. He’s a natural. The other two actors are professionals. Timothy Brown and Allison Miller. They both graduated from the Goodman School. They’ve done two or three plays, small scale stuff. They’re really good though. Everyone’s really good. People are going to like this play. In fact—”
Rowan lifted an eyebrow. “Sweethearts?”
“Sweethearts?” She blinked.
“Are Allison and Timothy sweethearts?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“You said their names together.”
Lisa smiled. “Of course, I did. I hadn’t noticed. Yes, they’ve been a couple for a long time.”
“But not married.”
“No.”
Rowan sensed a hollow and dug a bit. “How have things been between them during production?”
“What do you mean?”
She knows exactly what I mean. Why would she bide for time? “They say that couples should never work together. You know how they bicker now and then.”
“If there are any problems, they don’t bring them to work.”
Rowan pretended to pick at a cuticle with his thumbnail. “A pity they don’t play a couple on the stage.”
Lisa furrowed her brow. “I didn’t say that, did I?”
“And yet it is true. Maura plays your daughter and Edward plays your neighbor. That leaves you short one husband and Edward, one wife. Naturally, Timothy plays your husband, and Allison plays Edward’s wife.”
“That’s right.” She eyed him with curiosity. “You’re quick.”
“Not as quick as I once was.” If only we had met twenty years ago. “Describe them for me. Paint me a picture of Allison and Timothy.”
“Allison is a bit flighty. Everything that happens to her becomes dramatized, and then endlessly discussed.”
“Typical actor behavior then?”
Lisa tapped her nose and gave a knowing, lopsided grin.
Rowan copied her grin without thinking. It is as if I am a puppet that will perform as suggested. Having started this train of thought, he couldn’t stop. Does she realize she has this power over me, or is it natural to her like a siren singing sailors to their deaths? Have I been doing it this whole time? Good lord. And why—
“Don’t you think?” Lisa asked.
“What?”
Lisa repeated herself.
Rowan stammered. “I… Yes. Of course. That is always true, is it not?”
Her nose wrinkled in co
nfusion. “It’s always true that Allison should be more confident on stage?”
He fumbled with a pencil on his desk, catching up to where they were in the conversation. “No, but women in general need to be more confident.”
“I don’t need to be more confident. My confidence is perfect.” Lisa gave a subtle tug at her flutter skirt, exposing a bit more of her thigh.
Walter rescued Rowan. “And Timothy Brown?”
“Timothy… God, how do I describe Tim—? He grew up on a farm and in his heart, he’s still out working the fields, getting his hands dirty. I can’t say he’s terribly bright, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s what the kids nowadays would call cheesecake. That’s everybody.” She threw her arms in the air and let them fall to her side. “None of them have a reason to want me dead.”
“You said this death threat was lying on your script. Tell me, was the script opened?” asked Rowan.
“It sure was.”
“To which scene was it opened?”
“The first balcony scene. Act one, scene four.”
“Think back. Was the script opened to that scene when you left the office yesterday afternoon?”
She looked into the air as if trying to remember the image. “I don’t think so. No. In fact, I’m sure it was closed yesterday.” She gasped. “Whoever left the note must have opened the script to that page. Is that important?”
“We shall see.”
She nodded, lost in thought and then shifted her cracked eyes directly at his. “Rowan?”
“Yes?”
“Have you deduced anything about me?”
He paused. Yes. There is something or other you are afraid of saying. I have a vague impression you said it once accidently, and I should have observed it then, but I let it go. “What would I possibly deduce about you?”
“I’m an actress; I’m curious about what I communicate.”
Rowan’s voice trailed off. “Just a few frivolous things. Nothing important.”
Lisa’s interest piqued. “Tell me.”
“All right. You play a rich woman in The Balcony.”
“What’s your evidence?”
“When we met last summer, I noticed that your ears were not pierced. The slight scarring on your lobes suggests that you have recently had them pierced just for this play, and your body is rejecting the change. I imagine this was done to demonstrate wealth.”
Lisa covered her ears. Her mouth gaped. “I never wear jewelry. My skin doesn’t react well. When I wear the earrings it covers up the scarring. I should be more mindful when I’m not wearing them.”
“Use hydrogen peroxide to kill the infection. Iodine is murder on the epidermis. I can also tell you wear a necklace.” Rowan pointed at her chest. “There is a nearly imperceptible greenish hue. The necklace must be at least partially made of copper alloy. Copper is easily made to look like gold on stage. When it comes into contact with perspiration, oxidation occurs and it sometimes stains the skin. You have done your utmost to hide it with powder, but—”
“But when someone stares at your tits long enough, he’ll notice it?”
“No. No…I…”
“Relax, dollface. I’m just joshing you. Anything else?” Lisa smiled with a Cheshire grin.
Rowan sat back in his chair, scarlet with mortification. “I can tell that you are not terribly worried about this note. That will change. As opening night gets closer, you will begin to dwell on the horrific implications of this threat. What is now theoretical will soon become reality.”
“I do take it seriously. I was hoping you would tell me not to worry.”
“Someone has threatened your life, and this someone must have had access to the theater in the allotted time frame. That means six suspects. Grizz has perhaps the strongest opportunity, given he works in the theater alone during the evening. Motive is unknown.”
“Grizz and I are good friends.”
“Your sister Jenny.”
“Jenny wouldn’t—”
Rowan raised his hand, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “For the moment, let us leave out our wouldn’ts and couldn’ts and just speak in mights. Motive is very strong. Opportunity ditto.”
“She’s family.”
Walter said, “Money is thicker than blood.”
Rowan nodded. “My awkwardly-tongued friend is correct. Trust me, the motive is strong. As to the others, Edward will be the closest to you during the balcony scene. Based on your description, you will be twenty feet in the air and quite vulnerable to an attack.” He picked up the pencil and dropped it on the table. “One push is all it would take.”
“He can’t push me. There’s a partition between us that divides our balconies.”
“Nevertheless, this is the very scene on which the threat was so lovingly placed. It could be a message within the message. I imagine the others will also have ample opportunity, if not on the stage, then in the seclusion offered by the curtain. What are the ages of the actors?”
“They’re all in their early twenties.” Lisa snorted. “So there I am, a fifty-two year old woman farting around on stage with a bunch of kids.”
Rowan twirled the pencil back and forth with his thumbs. “Why did you come to me?”
“Because I trust you.”
“You barely know me; we have only met once.”
“You make a good impression. I can tell you know what you’re doing, that you are reliable. I don’t think anything is going to happen on opening night, but on the off-chance someone does want to kill me, I’d feel a whole lot better if you were there watching over me.”
Rowan drummed his fingers on the desk.
Lisa smiled. “So?”
He smiled back. “We will take your case.”
“Wonderful.”
“There are conditions.”
“Shoot.”
“The cast must be addressed as to the situation,” Rowan said. “If one of them has planned a murder, I want him to know that I know. I will inform them on Friday afternoon. That way no alternate plans will be made. Williams will be backstage during the play. When you are not onstage, he will be your shadow.”
“And where will you be?” Lisa asked.
“I’ll be watching from the front row. Nothing is going to happen to you. Now,” he pulled a card from his wallet, “please write down your address. Walter will come round at seven o’clock to pick up a copy of the script which he will read tonight.”
Walter’s eyes shot over to Rowan. “I will?”
“That is correct. Tomorrow, after rehearsal, we shall have a look around the theater. Say, one o’clock?”
Lisa jotted down her address. “Terrific. That’s just terrific. We haven’t discussed your fee.”
The detective shook his head. “We will arrange something later. Perhaps the drink you mentioned previously.”
Lisa shook Walter’s hand. “Tonight then.” She turned to Rowan and bypassed his extended hand to plant a delicate kiss on his baggy cheek. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rowan fixated on the empty door frame as the click-clack of her heels faded down the steps. He turned to Walter’s disbelieving stare. “What is the matter, Williams?”
Walter’s emotions were eminently readable. The lines of his face had become more pronounced with age, but they could not hide the smooth hints of perfectly placed, cherubic baby fat that continued to project a boyishness even now in his early forties. When he was worried about something, everyone in the room knew. “Are you sure this is wise, Manory?”
“Perhaps not. There are some irregularities in Miss Pluviam’s story.”
“Irregularities? I’m dumber than a second coat of paint, and even I realize this is off-kilter.”
“You know as well as I, people react differently to life threatening situations. She’s an actress. They are emotional and…and…complex.”
“I’ve never seen you take a case based on indulging in the client’s charms. It’s not your style.”
“She is ver
y charming, isn’t she?”
“And you think she likes you?”
“I have no idea what the woman likes. I know she is possibly in danger, and she requires my assistance.”
“She came to see you after one chance encounter—out of the proverbial blue.”
“There is nothing about the blue in proverbs. There is nothing proverbial about the phrase.”
Walter fell back into Rowan’s chair, kicking his long legs up onto the desk. “God, you’re a hard man to talk to, Manory.”
“Words have meanings. Otherwise, why use them?”
“At least trim your nose hair. It’s really unbecoming.”
Rowan’s face turned hard. “Williams, where are my mustache scissors?”
Walter’s eyes drifted to the door in the pale, slowly waning process of remembrance. “I think they might be in the kitchenette.”
“The kitchenette?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure that’s where I left them.”
“Why would the mustache scissors be in the kitchenette? What possible purpose could they serve there?”
“I use them to open the coffee, old man. They fit the slot of the canister perfectly. You used to drink Gerbolds, and I could use a butter knife to open those containers. After they went out of business, you switched brands to Silver Cup. The lid is all funny; knives don’t work because the slot is too thin. Your mustache scissors are the perfect size. You can see my dilemma.”
Rowan glared at Walter.
“What?”
“Were you born this way, Williams, or is this the culmination of all your hard work?”
Chapter 2 final Rehearsal
7:35 a.m. Thursday, April 4th
Edward Filius took hold of his Aunt Christine’s hand, her skin squishing onto the bone like glop under his fingers. He gently raised it in the direction of the marquee above the door. “I told you I would do it, Christine.”
The old woman doddered her head back. “The Balcony. Written and directed by Jenny Pluviam. Starring Lisa Pluviam.” Her mouth tightened into mild disapproval. “Why aren’t you on the marquee, dear?” Christine forgot why they were at the theater as soon as she asked the question. It was far too early for her to be out and about, away from the snug, cool sheets of her bed. Her feeble muscles tightened in frustration as she looked up and down Halsted. The line for free breakfast stretched from the butcher’s window past the end of the block. A woman stood near the curb with her young daughter. They balanced a handmade cardboard sign in front of them. MUST WE STARVE? Christine circled round until she came back to the pale young man smiling at her. “What did you ask me?”
The Opening Night Murders Page 2
