A trembling voice spoke up from behind the theater crew. "That's me." Susana pushed weakly through the group. "What's happened?" She hurried to the stage and peered up onto it. Her face and lips went white. "Amanda," she looked urgently at Briggs. "Is she sick? I'll call for an ambulance."
Briggs shook his head. "I'll take care of this. Just get everyone out."
For a moment I could see why Susana wasn't exactly stellar in her director's position. She stood stock-still with a dumbfounded look, seemingly not sure what to do.
One brave crew member, a tall, well-built woman with a tool belt around her hips, broke free of the stunned group. "Kevin, get everyone out of here." She continued on toward the stage to retrieve her sickly looking stagehand. "Bobby, I'm on my way. Don't faint."
"Thank you, Patty," Susana uttered weakly. She'd pulled herself out of a trance but wasn't much more help.
Patty managed to get to Bobby and pried him from the spot his feet had frozen to. She led him down the stairs to the audience area and sat him firmly in a chair. Briggs had walked to the back of the stage to make a call. I was sure he was calling his evidence team and the coroner, but he wasn't ready to distress the flustered director with all that shocking information.
The tent was cleared. Briggs finished his calls and walked down the steps to talk to Susana. He placed a bracing hand under her elbow and walked her away from the stage, so Amanda's body was out of view. I was left alone on the platform with the victim dressed prettily in her gingham pinafore and shiny leather shoes. And, in this case, there was no doubt that she was indeed a victim . . . a victim of murder.
Chapter 12
The coroner will be here soon," Briggs said as he reached me on the stage. Like the wobbly kneed Bobby, Susana had to be helped out of the tent for some fresh air. On top of the terrible tragedy, she now had to contend with a cold, angry audience who had been waiting in the wet fog for a play they were never going to see. Briggs told her to wait for his backup team before delivering the bad news. Not that he expected anyone to get unruly but you never knew, and the crowd had reached somewhat of a boiling point. It would be harder and less feasible to get unruly when wearing your nicest clothes.
"Do you think you can do a proper nasal inspection before Nate's team arrives?" Briggs asked.
I had to suppress a frown. "Do you doubt my abilities?"
"No, no"—he shook his head—"definitely not that. I just thought your head cold might be an obstacle to a proper sniff around."
"I suppose that makes sense." I tapped my nose. "Samantha might be in a bit of a fog, but I'm sure I'll be able to detect any odors that are out of place."
I took off my scarf and handed it to him before kneeling down next to Amanda. She was on her back with one hand on her stomach and the other fallen to her side. Both hands were empty. It was easy to see the red line on the fingertips of the hand resting at her side. She had fought off her attacker but failed.
"Before I start, I want to point out this long piece of straw in her left pigtail. Just in case it moves or something as I hover over her."
"I saw that earlier. Thanks for the reminder." Briggs walked over and took a picture of the straw.
I peered up at him. "The Scarecrow has a great deal of straw on his costume, and I know a few things about the relationships and dynamics between the cast members."
"I would expect nothing less from you," he said with a tempered smile (due to the situation).
I leaned down over Amanda's face and instantly sat up with a sneeze. I'd barely pulled my tissue out in time before it exploded.
"Bless you," Briggs said. "The cold? Or something else?"
"There's only one way to find out." I held my breath, leaned low, took a cautious sniff and sneezed again. "Definitely something near her neck area that is making me sneeze. I'm getting a slight scent of it but not exactly sure what yet. I hope it doesn't make my nasal inspection impossible." I pushed to my feet. "Let me move to the other side. I think the scent is coming from the right side of her neck."
As I knelt down, something sparkly caught my eye. "Glitter," I mumbled.
"What's that?" Briggs asked. He'd just finished a text and put the phone in his pocket.
I pointed at Amanda's cheek. The skin was pale beneath the exaggerated pink cheek circles the makeup artist had added. "There are a few pieces of glitter clinging to her face." I drew my gaze along her neck, shoulders and dress. Bits of glitter sparkled up from various locations all over the victim.
Instinctively, Briggs and I surveyed the set. Glitter was not a part of the set decoration, yet there seemed to be bits of it everywhere, even on the stage floor and the tent canvas.
"I suppose it probably doesn't mean much because glitter is one of those substances that is pervasive like crabgrass in a front lawn. I once sprinkled glitter on a fourth grade art project. That glittery project haunted us for months. My mom was seriously ready to sell the house just to get away from the glitter."
Briggs laughed quietly as he reached for his buzzing phone. "You might be right about it being insignificant. But we'll collect some as evidence."
"The Munchkin costumes were adorned in glitter, so that might be why it's everywhere. You know how they like to dance around and sing," I quipped before remembering the somber task in front of me.
Briggs answered the phone. "Briggs here."
The fabric of her costume, Dorothy's iconic pinafore, smelled mostly of laundry detergent and starch. It made my nose tickle, but that could also have been from the mystery scent that caused me to sneeze. I was far enough away from it to avoid a sneeze fit.
I'd always found the hands revealed the most of what the person had been up to hours before. This time was no different. Amanda's injured fingers curled lightly in toward her palm. My guess would have been that she ate a tuna salad sandwich for lunch.
I could hear the coroner's deep voice rumble through the tent as my nose hovered over her fingers. Briggs jumped off the stage to greet him and fill him in on details.
Nate Blankenship's arrival was the reminder for me to finish up. I stopped mid-sniff and lingered over one particular spot on her arm. "Rosemary," I said to myself. "The Tin Man smelled like rosemary too."
Nate stopped to give instructions to his two assistants. Briggs joined me after giving the evidence team a few directions. He gave me a hand up. "Anything interesting?" he asked.
"I think she ate a tuna sandwich for lunch. Have you ever had a tuna sandwich that contained rosemary?"
He looked rightly confused. "I'm not too well versed on tuna sandwich recipes, but I think I'd remember if I ate one with rosemary."
"That's what I was thinking. I smell rosemary on her forearm. Seems out of place. Just like it was out of place when I smelled it on the Tin Man this afternoon."
Briggs rubbed his chin, something he did when he was thinking or highly puzzled. "Why on earth were you sniffing the Tin Man this afternoon? Are you sure you're not just smelling the remnants of our ravioli dinner?"
I lowered my face to look pointedly at him. "I would know if I was smelling the remnants of our dinner because there would be a decent amount of garlic and oregano involved."
"Pardon me for questioning the master nose. Let's get to the first part of my bewilderment. Why were you smelling the Tin Man?"
"It was quite accidental, I assure you," I started, then we were motioned away from the area as the coroner crew moved in. Briggs and I walked down the steps to the floor of the tent where rows and rows of chairs had been neatly arranged for the audience. I could still hear a plethora of noise and conversations outside the canvas walls. I could only assume members of the theater group were standing around in the gray fog consoling each other and waiting for questions to be answered. It was also easy to assume that Amanda's killer was standing amongst them. After all, who else would have had access to the tent except members of the cast or crew.
"I need to interview some of the group so fill me in on the Tin Man and anything els
e you already know." Briggs pulled out his notepad.
"I was heading back to Pickford Way after leaving the mayor's office. Just after I hung up with you, I walked around one of the theater trailers and ran sort of smack dab into the Tin Man, in full makeup and costume. And let me tell you that man's hubris was not muted by the silver makeup, boxy costume and funnel hat. He was very forward," I added but quickly decided I should not have gone off on that particular tangent.
Briggs' eyes narrowed. "What did he do?" He then shook his head. "Probably better I don't know before I interview him."
"Smart thinking. Anyhow, I think his name is Johnny. A crew member called him while I was talking to him. After our near collision, I smelled tobacco and rosemary. I decided to ask if the two were related." I shrugged. "Thought maybe it had been some kind of herbal cigarette, but it turned out that Tom and Gigi ran out of regular oil at the Corner Market so the prop crew filled his oil can with rosemary infused olive oil. That's what I smelled mingled with the pungent tobacco. I just happened to have smelled a light amount of it on Dorothy. I mean Amanda."
Briggs dashed off a few notes. "Guess I should interview Tin Man. But first I'm going to talk to the director and find out the schedule and logistics of the group during the last few hours. She was still slightly warm when I felt for a pulse, so she was killed just a short time ago."
"Good idea and you might ask Susana about the fight she had with Amanda this afternoon."
We headed toward the exit. The entire tent was lit up with Nate's bright lights. They put up a screen around their examination area.
Briggs stopped so short, I had to back up a few steps.
"What fight?"
"On my walk to the mayor's office, an excursion that is proving more and more fruitful by the minute, I overheard Susana and Amanda having a very loud fight. According to Tin Man, they rarely saw eye to eye. Even though Susana was the director, it sure seemed that Amanda had the upper hand in the fight."
He wrote down a few notes, stuck his pen behind his ear and shook his head.
"What would you do without me?" I asked airily.
He held open the tent flap. "I'd find a new profession."
Chapter 13
Once we were outside the protection of the tent, the frosty air reminded me that I was under the weather. The aspirin had temporarily put me back on my feet, but as the chilly, damp air seeped through clothes and skin, some of my aches and chills had returned. Briggs was always so tuned into my mood that he knew instantly the cold weather was getting to me.
"Lacey, I'll have one of the officers drive you home. You shouldn't be out here in this damp ocean air. You've already been helpful enough, and you know I'll fill you in on any details tomorrow."
I was close to accepting his offer, then I saw Susana heading toward one of the trailers. She was dragging her feet as if heavy stones had been wrapped around her ankles. Her head hung low, and she had her director's cap pulled far down over her face.
"I want to hear what the director has to say. Then maybe I'll take you up on the ride home."
He scrutinized me with his caring brown gaze. It helped warm me a bit from the inside. "If you're sure."
"I am. I saw her go into that white and gray trailer." I pointed across to the line of trailers parked on Pickford Way. We headed that direction.
It seemed most of the theater group, actors and crew members had wandered into warm trailers to finish processing the terrible opening night. Word had gotten to Briggs that a group wanted to walk over to Franki's Diner for some coffee and to commiserate about the tragedy. He gave his approval but mentioned that everyone was to stay in town and near the theater camp.
Haze seemed to bounce out of the cold, dewy lawn as our feet tromped across it. The fog was heavy enough to obliterate natural light from the stars and moon, but the lighthouse swung her beautiful warning light around to illuminate the area.
Briggs had his notepad and pen ready as we climbed the steps to the trailer door. He knocked. "It's Detective Briggs. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
The door opened slowly, and Susana peered around the edge of the door. "Detective Briggs, I figured you'd come see me. I'm sorry if I seem weary. It's been a long night. I'm afraid I sent away a lot of angry, disappointed folks. Please come inside, and excuse the mess. I was helping with some of the costumes this evening."
Several brightly colored blouses with glittered trim, the Munchkin outfits, were hanging from a rack in the center of the small living area. The tiny sofa was littered with script pages that had been highlighted and marked up with red pen. An empty cracker box and half empty bottle of root beer sat on a fold-up television table. Susana leaned over and snatched up the various script sheets. She placed them on the tiny kitchen table next to an open laptop. "Please have a seat."
"No need for that. We won't be long. I appreciate that you've been through a great deal of stress tonight so I'll keep it brief," Briggs said. "It's Ms. Damon, right? By the way, this is my assistant, Miss Pinkerton."
She nodded and had the funny look people wore when they were trying to remember when and where they'd seen someone before. "Yes, Susana is fine," she said.
Briggs and I found a small clearing to stand in. "First of all, could you give me a brief summary of what was happening on this site in the last four hours. Lots of activity, I imagine?"
Susana glanced toward her coffee pot. The light was on. "I'm afraid I only made one cup," she said. "Do you mind if I pour it? I could make more."
"No, we're fine," Briggs answered for both of us though hot coffee did sound nice. "Please have your coffee," he added politely. Briggs was an expert at making people feel at ease with his questioning. Sometimes people grew instantly defensive, but Susana seemed much more relaxed than earlier this evening.
She plucked a cup from the cupboard. "You asked about the schedule." She reached across the sink and picked up a clipboard. "I have it right here. The prop crew erected the various sets on the stage from one until three. The cast was in makeup and costume at that time. That's when the full cast assembled in the tent for a director's pep talk and the dress rehearsal." She flipped over a page. "Dress rehearsal started at ten past three and ended at half past four. It went smoothly." She stopped and took a wavering breath. "Everyone was on time for their cues, props held up and only a few lines were missed. I considered it a good omen for opening night. We're very superstitious in this business. But I was wrong." Her voice cracked with the last sentence. "I'm sorry." She sniffled and took a sip of coffee.
Susana was in the business of acting and drama, so it would be hard to see through fake emotion but this looked pretty genuine.
Briggs wrote down all the pertinent times and notations, then he looked up. "Where did you go after the dress rehearsal? Did you happen to see Miss Seton, the victim?"
The simple question flustered her more than I would have thought. I knew my partner well enough to know he was making a mental note of the reaction too.
Susana took another sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the counter. "I asked Amanda to stay after dress rehearsal. I needed to talk to her." She seemed to be searching for the right way to explain her meeting with Amanda. Was she avoiding trying to sound guilty or looking for an innocent explanation? It was hard to tell. Drama people, I thought with a mental scoff.
Briggs looked up to let her know he was waiting for her to continue.
She reached for her coffee cup. It had seemingly become her security blanket. She cleared her throat. "Earlier in the day, Amanda and I had exchanged a few terse words," she confessed.
Terse was not exactly the descriptor I would have used for the fight I'd witnessed. She was tempering her confession.
"Terse words?" Briggs repeated as a question. Of course, Susana had no way of knowing that Briggs already knew she'd had a fight with Amanda.
It was apparent that even she was uncomfortable with her choice of word after hearing it repeated aloud.
She sighed.
"Amanda Seton and I did not see eye to eye all the time. Even though I'm the director, she felt that her position as lead actress made her invulnerable to being replaced or told no. She insisted on special treatment all the time. For the most part, I was willing to grant her privileges, but some of the other cast members were growing resentful. Whenever I tried to explain that to her, she'd fly off the handle. She had quite the temper." Susana paused and stared down at the smudged linoleum floor. "I can't believe I'm using the past tense when talking about her."
Briggs gave her a moment to collect herself. We exchanged glances. It seemed we were both trying to assess whether or not the emotion was an act.
Susana lifted her face. It was mottled with splotches that led me to believe the show of emotion was real. "Anyhow, we had a fairly tense argument before dress rehearsal. I felt compelled to be the first person to apologize. Sometimes the boss has to take that initiative," she continued. "While she was off set, I texted her a quick message to remain behind in the tent once the dress rehearsal finished. It was the only quiet place I could think of."
Briggs glanced pointedly around her trailer. "With the exception of this trailer."
"No," she said too abruptly. "This place is rarely my sanctuary. As you can see by the clutter and smudges on the floor, there are constantly people traipsing through here or knocking at the door to talk to me. It's quiet now only because of what's happened. I told people I needed to be alone for a bit."
Briggs nodded. "Fine. So you chose the tent as your meeting place. Everyone else had cleared out?" he asked.
"Yes. There was only an hour for dinner before we needed to get ready for the opening so people took off."
"And Amanda stayed behind?" Briggs asked.
"Yes. We spoke briefly so she wouldn't miss her break. I apologized and told her after opening tonight we would sit down and make a list of some of her requests, and I'd let her know which ones were feasible."
Freesias and Foul Play Page 6
