A line formed outside the door, soon running up and around the block. Wealthy theatergoers chatted away about the positive reviews and worried about the cast of unknowns, except for that Lisa Pluviam woman who had been so fine in that play they couldn’t remember the name of. A female director was such an eccentric strategy, and surely the drama would be a far more emotional experience, but perhaps a bit technically deficient.
At twenty to seven, they were admitted into the red velvet maze of the front of house, past the ticket booth, and through the candle-lit hallway, scarcely noticing the shadowed policeman eyeing them as they entered.
The entire stage was lit with each of the three sections displaying their designated lighting scheme. The dining room at the right had a rather harsh glare bouncing off the plates and silverware. The sofa and bookcase in the middle appeared quite comfortable due to some thick gauze. The balcony was lit with a filtered, pale light, creating weak, nearly transparent shadows.
Grizz stood at his position on the catwalk. Jenny leaned on the iron rail in front of her office. The actors were ready backstage. Walter stood by Lisa and Timothy’s side in the crossover. Rowan knelt next to the first row and lit a cigarette. The Balcony was ready to begin.
As the lights went down, a hush overcame the auditorium. For a few seconds, the world was black and then…
The audience burst into applause when the dining table was lit. Lisa entered with Timothy following behind her. Peeking through the sliver of the curtain, Walter watched the drama unfold.
Timothy began the play, his country accent vanished.
I don’t see how you can be disappointed by roses. They are the most accepted and sought after flowers in the world. Everyone from kings and queens down to your mother thinks they are marvelous.
It isn’t the type of flower, my dear. It’s the color. Red suggests passion. It would be unseemly for me to present them to your employer unless you want me to make an advance. Yellow would have been a far more tasteful option. Anyway, they’re half-dead.
I’m half-dead myself, matter of fact. I had to go right down to Michigan Avenue…
You’ve only been gone twenty minutes.
I ran into our neighbors. They recognized me and offered me a lift. I say, the wife is a smasher.
How many times have you been warned about discussing another woman in front of me?
Maura crept into the crossover and tapped Walter on the shoulder. He whirled around like a panicked child. “Don’t scare me like that.” She gave a silent cackle and put on an extra coat of lipstick.
Caught them necking in her room. Most unbecoming.
As long as it’s relegated to the neck and above.
Where is that girl? Lana?
Maura poked Walter again. “Walter, do you want to hear a good joke?”
“Isn’t that your cue?”
Lana!
“How do you get Jenny Pluviam to fall from a tree?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wave to her.” She slipped through the curtain. Another wild round of applause greeted her entrance.
Rowan crouched at the corner of the stage, rivulets of sweat curving down his pale cheeks. His hands and feet grew numb. The more he tried to slow his breath, the faster his heart beat against his chest. Where was it going to come from? How long until the balcony scene?
Daddy leaves whenever he tires of you and whenever he fears me. Perhaps if he grew a backbone and you had any sense of fun, we’d have him round the house more often.
Laura, sweetie, I’m not afraid of you. I’ll have you know I killed several Krauts during the war.
A minute before the scene was to end, Edward and Allison came through the wing to the crossover. She peeked through the slit. “Timmy’s dying out there. He’s lost.”
Edward squeezed her hand. “The only thing we can do is focus on our scene. Timothy will get it together.” He leaned toward Walter. “Anything strange?”
“No, but we have a long way to go.”
The lights faded on the first scene and, with the applause booming behind them, Walter and Lisa trailed Maura and Timothy down the wing into the dressing room. Maura kicked the folding screen, knocking it sideways. “Come on, Tim! My name is Lana, not Laura.”
He combed his hair with his fingers. “I’m sorry. I got Maura in my head and then I remembered Lana and they done got mixed together.”
“Lisa called me Lana, you call me Laura. What’s my damn name?”
Lisa put her arm around Tim. “Enough, Maura. It’s just a small mistake. He’s supposed to be forgetful anyway. Are you okay, Tim? You seem preoccupied.”
“Of course I’m preoccupied. What’s gonna happen to you, Leece?”
She wrapped her hands around the side of his face. “I can take care of myself, Tim. Don’t worry about me.”
Maura threw her arms in the air. “Some of us are trying to put on a play.” She stomped down the wing with a huff.
Walter gave Timothy a sympathetic pat on the back. “You’d better go with her, son. Lisa will be safe with me.”
Timothy gave one last look to Lisa before dropping his head, and slumping down the wing after Maura.
Walter waited a few seconds to make sure he was out of earshot. “Christ almighty, he didn’t just screw up the name. That man rewrote significant portions of the play. I met Jenny; she’s going to have Tim’s ass for dinner.”
“That was a horrible start.” Lisa collapsed in the chair, her head stuffed into her hands. “Can you get me a glass of water, Walter?”
He pulled a cup from the little cupboard above the chest of drawers and ran some tap water through the groaning pipes. “Feeling rough?”
“Headache. Only two more scenes before the balcony. That’s when Rowan thinks it’s going to happen. He may be right.”
“He’s been wrong once or twice.”
Rowan shuffled down the hall to the front of house. With Allison and Edward on stage, he thought it a good time to check in with Officer Young. “Anything suspicious?”
Young was smoking and chatting up Horus, the house manager. “A few homelesses staring through the windows. Other than that, nothing.”
“Good. Be alert.”
Young tipped his cap and smiled. “The world needs more lerts.”
“Amusing.” Idiot.
Back on stage, Allison was lounging on the sofa with her feet dangling over the edge.
Carey, you’re just plain confused. Goodnight Irene is a song.
No, it isn’t, darling. It’s a book. A dreadful book filled with even more dreadful murder. Couldn’t read a word of it.
That’s true, but it was a song first. Don’t be so daft.
As daft as our neighbor friend, whatsisname?
Ugh. Did you see the flowers he chose? Half dead they were.
I suppose someone has to adopt dying flowers or they’ll never escape the florists.
The voices on stage carried through to the dressing room, ghostlike and hollow. Lisa smiled. “They’re good together, Allison and Edward.”
Walter said, “I’ve only been around them today, but I had the impression that Maura and Edward were good together.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I mean onstage.”
“Oh, right. I know much less about that kind of chemistry.” He cleared his throat. “By the by, after this is all over and you survive the performance, I think you should give Manory some thought?”
“Some thought?”
“I mean to say that he’s available.”
Lisa gave a mischievous look without saying anything.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think Rowan was much interested in women if you get my drift. I tried every trick in the book.”
“No. Oh, no. He’s virile, a real Butch Masterson. He’s just a bit socially…” Walter searched for the word. “…inept. He likes you. Trust me.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Walter. Thanks for the tip.”
Walter bit his tongue.
That’s what the prostitute said to the leper. “No problem.”
Scene two came to a close. Allison jumped onto Edward’s back and he carried her down the wing. She was beaming when they got to the dressing room. “That was positively ginchy, Eddie. They loved it.”
Edward sighed. “First scene down. Thanks for saving me, Allie. I forgot that line about your dad.”
Lisa said, “Sounded great, you two.” She stood and took a deep breath. “Ready, Eddie.”
Edward took her by the hand, twirled her round, and dipped her. “It’s…” He held the pose for a few seconds then pulled her back to a standing position. “I was going to say something clever, but there’s nothing that rhymes with Lisa.”
Almost apologetically, Walter stepped between them. “You go first, Edward. We’ll follow you.”
“Of course.”
They left Allison alone in the dressing room. She gazed longingly at her reflection. “Everything’s going to work out. Timmy will come around. This play is a hit. Even my hair… Oh, shoot. I didn’t put my hair clip in.” Her hand swept across the table in an effort to find it. “Where did I put it? I have to talk about it in my next scene. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” She rifled through the messy pile of silk scarves in the chest of drawers. “Fiddlesticks!”
Sweating under the intensity of the light, Timothy did his best to focus on the scene with Maura.
I’m afraid I do ramble on, Laura—
Lana.
Lana. And then I…
Then you forget…
Yes, of course, I forget what I’m rambling about. I’ve lost who I am. My identity has done been... And I…I—
Well, never mind, Daddy. If you have to leave, you just leave. I’ll find you.
You’re awfully good to put up with it like you do. I’m afraid I wouldn’t last long without your mother.
You’re muddled up, that’s all. You imagine things that simply aren’t true. That’s why I hate leaving you in her clutches. What will become of you?
Edward and Lisa watched the scene unfold through the slit. Walter shadowed them, his eyes darting around the crossover. There’s no way it can happen. Allison and Tim will be back here. Maura in the dressing room. Edward behind the partition. Grizz on the catwalk. And Jenny near the offices. A faint creaking sound came from behind. Allison.
She emerged from the wing’s entrance and walked toward them, her expression sour, almost vindictive, and her right hand clasped shut as if it were holding something. Anticipating the worst, Walter moved in front of Lisa with his arms outstretched. Allison called out, “Hey, genius.” When Lisa and Edward turned around, Allison went into a cold, confused stupor. The woman was dumbstruck.
Walter whispered loudly. “What are you doing, Allison? You don’t go on stage until scene five. Get back to the dressing room.”
“Sorry, I…I made a mistake.” She fled back through the wing.
Walter made eye contact with the two actors, in search of an explanation, but they both gave looks indicating ignorance. He glanced back at the wing entrance with a shudder.
Rowan lit his fourth consecutive cigarette with the burning end of the previous one and swiped the pile of ash with his shoe. The balcony scene was almost here.
Timothy said his final line. The lights went down, and Edward began his ascent up the ladder. Lisa waited until he reached the top, paused to give Walter a worried smile, and then climbed up. Grizz held off on any of the balcony lights until Lisa was safely positioned at the back. A pale light shined on Edward.
I know you fellas like the sun, but the truth is, it’s nothing compared to the moon. If the sun had its way, we’d all burn. The moon is what keeps us spinning. It protects us from that fiery psychotic in the sky.
Maura sat in Lisa’s chair, imagining herself doing the scene with Edward. Allison and Timothy stood far apart in the crossover. Walter was watching Lisa from below. Rowan turned to the back of the theater, expecting to see Jenny. She was gone.
The chrysanthemums are for mom. The tulips are for Mrs. Perkins. But this, this single rose. This is for my love. This is for Agatha. Is someone there?
Rowan followed the pathway of the catwalk. Jenny had moved from the offices and was now standing next to Grizz at the edge. They looked to be in a heated discussion.
I said, is someone there?
The detective turned back to the stage just in time to see the light shine on Lisa Pluviam’s half of the balcony. She toppled over the rail, plunging twenty feet and landing face first with a sharp, sickening crack of her neck.
chapter 5 what happened?
8:07 p.m. Friday, April 5th
In the short-lived space between Lisa Pluviam landing on the stage and the piercing screams emanating from the audience, Rowan stood, frozen with consternation. The border between stage and auditorium shattered, the illusory sets reverting back to their cold artificiality when confronted with the repulsive reality of a corpse. Against all logic, and yet exactly as foretold, The Red Rising Theater had become the scene of a murder.
As Grizz signaled for the two grips to turn on all the lights, Jenny Pluviam’s shoes rattled along the iron catwalk over the tumultuous sea of commotion from the audience. On the stage, Rowan raised his hands, pleading for calm. The crowd, far past the point of reason, ignored his words, surging forward in a mindless collective. A few patrons dashed off down the hallway, trampling over Officer Young.
Walter couldn’t see the ghastly scene in front of the tower, but he surmised what had happened and quickly gathered Timothy and Allison from the crossover. “Get to the dressing room.” When they emerged from the wing, Maura was standing in the center with bleary eyes and a trembling jaw. The first ghostly echoes of screaming had told her what happened. Allison’s voice cracked as she confirmed it. “Lisa fell from the balcony. I think she’s dead.”
Back in the auditorium, a single member of the crowd was allowed through to the stage. “I’m a doctor.”
Rowan said, “Do not touch her. Leave her alone.”
“She may still be alive.”
Rowan looked down at the body. Thankfully, only a little of her face was exposed, but her neck now had three flabby folds of loose skin as if the bellows of an accordion were keeping the head attached. The limbs were twisted pathetically at impossible angles. One hand remained upright, the fingers bent and bloody with cracked scarlet nails, the other folded flush against the forearm. “She’s evidence. Nothing more. Come on now.” Jenny heaved herself up the corner of the stage. Christ. Making a mad dash, Rowan intercepted her path to the body, forcing her head onto his shoulder and whirling her around to keep the horrific image out of her sight. “Do not look. Do not look, Jenny.”
She struggled against him, but all her strength had been sapped just getting near her dead sister. Her voice whimpered as her body melted in the detective’s protective embrace. “Lisa, no.”
As the tenor of the crowd toned down, individual comments became decipherable.
She just fell like a sack of potatoes.
For God’s sake, cover her up. Give the woman some dignity.
That must be her sister. Horrible. Just horrible.
Walter called out from the hall. “Police are on their way.”
Rowan caught sight of Young entombed within the crowd, a trickle of blood dripping from above his temple. “Good. Perhaps some real ones will show up.”
Edward finally climbed down the ladder and took a step toward Rowan. A crunch underneath his shoe stopped him. One of Lisa’s glass earrings had come loose and now lay shattered underneath his foot. “What happened?” he asked with quivering uncertainty.
With the shock finally worn down, Walter managed to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats. The police will be here soon to take a statement from each and every one of you. No one can leave yet.”
They can’t keep us here.
This is outrageous. We have rights.
A woman vomited in the mi
ddle of the aisle and the frenzy began all over again. Fights broke out among the whirlpool of bodies. Young disappeared into a melee of fists and elbows.
Rowan’s eyes caught Edward’s.
Edward asked once again, “What happened?”
In Lisa’s office, Walter sifted through the desk while Rowan tried to talk sense to the man in charge. It was not Sergeant Grady, but rather his corporal, a burly fellow named O’Sullivan. His job was a simple one. He was to restore order and find out if any crime had been committed. The audience had been questioned and allowed to leave. The auditorium was now eerily quiet, save for some small cop chatter and the occasional crackling pop of a camera bulb. Order had been restored.
As for a crime, it appeared that not a single one had been committed. Rowan was good friends with Sergeant Grady, so leeway had been granted and the cast kept in the dressing room after questioning. However, there was only so much leeway to grant and the hour was getting late. “Something might come up in the autopsy, but for the time being, there is nothing here that would indicate a murder.”
Rowan fidgeted with desperation as he paced. “What about the suspects? None of them have fingerprints on file. A trip to the station would be in order, yes?”
O’Sullivan spoke very slowly. “They aren’t suspects. There’s no murder, so they can’t be considered suspects. I have no reason to have them fingerprinted.”
“Even if they did nothing, we have to have their fingerprints to match against the possible prints of an outside agent.”
The corporal snapped, a rising tide of exhausted anger in his voice. “Am I speaking Chink? Is there some reason you aren’t hearing me? There is no murder. We aren’t looking for an outside agent. We have an accident on our hands, nothing that requires further investigation. I took their statements. Everyone in the audience saw the same thing you did. She fell. We’ve got the measurements and the prints of the corpse. That’s all we can do.”
“You’re going to let them go free?”
The Opening Night Murders Page 6
