"I need to look at something for the murder case." I'd found it was always best to leave out words like coroner's report and body when talking to people outside the investigative business.
"James hasn't found the killer yet? Two of the girls from the theater group just walked into the diner as I was walking out. It seemed they were excited about putting on a show after all."
"Yes, I suppose it's true that the show really must go on," I said.
"But wasn't the dead actress playing Dorothy?"
"Yes but there's another cast member who knows all the lines," as I said it, I nearly jumped out of my shoes. "Of course. Another motive." I was talking to myself. Franki looked rightly puzzled.
"Motive?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Ignore my wild woman ramblings. By the way, can you describe the two actresses who just entered the diner?"
She shrugged. "Young and talkative. One had white blonde hair. Oh, and one had on a jacket that Kylie nearly fell over herself asking about."
"A vintage bomber jacket?" I asked.
"That's it."
"Thanks, Franki. Enjoy your massage." I hurried off. I needed to read Nate's report and then hurry back to the diner. With any luck, I'd catch Joan and Carly still eating. I had a few questions about the cast, and they were always free with information.
I headed across Harbor Lane to the station. Hilda was busy on a dispatch call when I walked inside. She glanced up and continued talking but smiled and waved at me.
I paced rather anxiously in front of the counter until she finished the call. "Sorry about that, Lacey. Two important traffic signals went on the blink over in Mayfield, and they were causing all kinds of chaos. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I talked to James and he told me I could look at the case report on his desk."
Another call came through but Hilda kindly buzzed me in before answering it. I gave her a silent thank you and headed into Briggs' office.
The worn leather chair sitting behind his desk smelled vaguely of his soap. I allowed myself a second to breathe it in before setting to work. Nate Blankenship's report was sitting right on top. The photos he took of Amanda at the scene were clipped to the front of the report. They weren't going to help my new quest because Amanda's face had been covered with stage makeup, the stage makeup that was, according to Constance, giving the actress a rash. It was the reason she gave for lending Amanda the Miracle Salve.
I skipped over the preliminary observations and flipped through to the details with the body graphics where Nate marked in areas where he discovered marks or wounds. Briggs was correct. The coroner was very thorough. Aside from the lacerations on her neck and fingers that were caused by the cable, he listed moles and bruises along with a small scar on her left arm that he determined resulted from an injury in childhood. There was no mention of any rash.
I sat back and thought about the night of Amanda's murder. I had been somewhat out of it with that rotten cold, but the first time I leaned over her and my nose neared her neck and face, I sneezed. At the time, I couldn't sort out what the out of place scent was but now I was convinced it was eucalyptus. It would explain my allergic reaction. So Amanda definitely had Miracle Salve on her skin but why? There was no rash. Constance had conveniently forgotten and then remembered that she lent the ointment to Amanda. Or maybe it got there a different way. Maybe it came off of Constance's hands when she held the cable around Amanda's neck. It was still thin evidence, but my intuition was pinging like a microwave timer.
I sat forward and thumbed through the report again. I skimmed through some of the science-y stuff and was rewarded for my efforts. Nate had swabbed the neck area, near the wound, and discovered a greasy substance that contained mineral oil, lanolin, glycerin and, naturally, eucalyptus oil. Nate had theorized that the victim was using some ointment to soothe dry skin, only I knew better.
I closed the file. I had everything I needed to bolster my theory. I needed to head across the street to the diner to talk to Joan and Carly. Something told me there was more to Constance's act of revenge than jealousy over a boyfriend.
Hilda was just writing a note for Briggs when I came back out of the office. She spun around on her chair. "That was fast. Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked.
"Yes I did."
"I'm just writing a few messages for Detective Briggs," she said. "Would you like to add anything?"
I was feeling pretty spunky and proud of myself. I decided to leave Briggs a cryptic message to see just how quickly he solved the case with my clue. "Yes, thanks, Hilda. Please write this 'Lacey says victim had no rash'."
Hilda wrote it quickly but then looked up in question. "Is that all? Will he understand what you mean?"
I smiled. "It might take him a minute, but I think he'll figure it out."
Chapter 33
One of Franki's daughters, Kimi, I was fairly certain because she wore bangs, greeted me the moment I walked into the diner. "Lacey, how nice to see you. Where would you like to sit?"
Kylie was taking an order at a nearby table. She took a second to wink hello then returned with pen to pad and a polite food server's smile on her face.
Everything in the diner seemed to be running smoothly. I hadn't expected anything else. Just like Elsie and her bakery, Franki's diner ran like a finely tuned machine. The twins would really have to mess up to put a hitch in the operation.
I scanned over the tables and spotted Carly's bleached white hair. "Actually, Kimi, I just wanted to talk to the two women at the table near the jukebox."
"The lady with the vintage bomber jacket? Kylie nearly dropped over dead when she saw it. It's not really my thing, but I guess it would look sweet with a pair of jeans. Go ahead then. They just got their bowls of chili and cornbread. Do you want some? I could order it special and bring it to their table."
"No, I'm fine but thank you for the offer."
I walked toward the table. Joan and Carly were deep in a conversation but I forged ahead.
Joan, the more talkative and friendly of the two, spotted me first. "Hey, Lacey, we sure do run into you a lot. Are you sure there aren't two of you?" She had a nice laugh at her joke.
"Actually, this meeting was intentional," I admitted. "I wonder if I could ask you two a couple of questions."
They exchanged perplexed looks, then Joan spoke for the two of them. "Sure, pull up a chair. We were just chatting and enjoying this unbelievably good chili. Best I've ever had. What about you, Carly?"
Carly was still trying to process why I'd sat down to talk to them. She didn't look nearly as eager as Joan to answer questions. Joan's foot jutted forward to lightly kick a response from her friend.
"Uh yeah, it's great chili. What kind of questions?" Carly's nose crinkled to let me know she didn't understand the reason for my visit.
"Jeez, Carly, why are you being so uptight? I'm sure Lacey just wants to know about opening night. It's set for tomorrow night at eight o'clock. We've been getting ready for it all day. Especially Constance. I mean, makes sense since she's taking over the big role and all."
Carly had loosened up now that she thought I was just there to ask about the play. "Yes and Connie has been a bear. Stay clear of her, if you know what I mean. Of course, she's excited as can be about getting to play Dorothy, but it's kind of stressful. It's been like a whole year since she played that part."
I perked up on my chair. It seemed I was going to be able to go right along with Joan's reasoning behind my unexpected visit.
"A year? Has Constance had to stand in for Amanda before? I always knew that main characters had understudies in case they got sick or—"
"Died," Joan added. "Constance wasn't Amanda's understudy." It was Carly's turn to jut her foot out for a polite kick. Joan furrowed her brows at Carly. "What? It's no secret. Constance was a big name back then. She had lots of write-ups about her performance as Dorothy. And she was really good too. It's just that Amanda was better."
"Says who?"
Carly chimed in. "That's a matter of opinion. I think Constance should have remained Dorothy. She's much friendlier and cheery like Judy Garland was in the movie."
"Yes but Amanda was much better at projecting her voice on stage. That was always Constance's biggest problem. Susie always had to yell at her to broadcast the lines for the audience and not just the actor standing next to her."
I followed their back and forth for a moment. The debate was rather moot since there was no chance of Amanda returning to the role. But something told me the details of how Amanda became Dorothy were going to enhance my murder theory greatly.
I rubbed my temple. "Let me get this straight. Constance used to be lead actress and Amanda was her understudy. Then their roles switched?"
Joan finished a bite of chili and closed her eyes to savor it before speaking. "Yes, it was a really a big deal at the time. Constance was devastated."
"And rightly so," Carly noted. "We were in New Jersey. Constance came down with a terrible flu two days before opening night. There was no way she could perform. Amanda was new to the group, hired as an extra. She didn't have a permanent part yet, but in her spare time she'd learned all of Dorothy's lines."
"Not just Dorothy's lines," Joan explained. "Amanda had graduated from some snooty private college with a drama degree. She was super smart. She memorized the lines for every main character. That way she figured she would have a main part anytime one of the lead cast members got sick or was called back home for an emergency or whatever."
Kylie stopped by the table. "Hello, Lacey, are you ordering?"
"No, thanks, I just stopped by to ask about the play."
"How are you guys enjoying the chili and cornbread?" she asked her customers.
"Divine," Joan said. "Beats my Uncle Ray's chili any day. But don't tell him I said that."
Carly rolled her eyes. "Sure, that's what she's going to do when she walks away from the table, Joany. She's going to grab her phone and text your Uncle Ray."
Kylie laughed. "I'll avoid the Uncle Ray phone call. Let me know if you need anything else."
"That reminds me," Joan said. "I've got to send my cousin a birthday gift. Do you think it's tacky if I just sent a gift card?" she asked Carly.
"That's what you always give me on my birthday," she reminded her. "It's nice but it doesn't exactly say 'I put a lot of thought into this'."
Joan shuffled on her seat and sat up straight. "That's what you always tell me to get you. You always say 'just get me an Amazon gift card, so I can pick my own gift'."
"That's because most people buy me things that I would never wear or use or ever pick for myself," Carly countered.
The momentary diversion had steered the girls away from the previous topic, and now, I felt as if I was intruding on a conversation between friends. Something told me it would be easy enough to pull them back to the Dorothy topic.
"I'll let you two finish your meal. It's good to know that there will be an actress with experience playing Dorothy on the stage tomorrow night."
Joan buttered some cornbread. "Yep. Constance played Dorothy for eight months, and like I said, she was a great Dorothy. But then she got sick and Amanda stepped in. People thought she was outstanding. A couple of the producers happened to be in the audience that night, and they told Susana to switch the lead actresses. They wanted Amanda to be Dorothy. Constance was petite so she got moved to a Munchkin role. She plays a flying monkey some nights when we're short on extras."
"She must have been devastated when she lost that role," I said.
The girls exchanged glances.
"Who wouldn't be?" Carly said. "She quit at first but then she couldn't get parts so she came back to the group. But she hardly ever spoke to Amanda after that."
"That's a shame." I pushed up from the chair. "Well, enjoy the food, and I guess I'll see you two on stage tomorrow night."
Joan laughed. "We'll probably meet again since we keep running into each other."
"Lacey"—Carly's tone had turned serious—"if they haven't found the person who killed Amanda, do you think we need to be worried?"
It was a good question, and I had only one good answer at the moment.
"They haven't found the person yet, but my intuition tells me they're going to catch the culprit very soon."
"Really?" Joan nearly slipped off the front of her seat. "Who is it? Is it someone from the group?" She sat back with a pout. "Opening night is going to be ruined again"
I didn't have the heart to tell her that there probably wouldn't be an opening night. "Thanks for letting me sit in on your chili break. Take care."
"You too," Joan said as I walked out of the diner.
Chapter 34
The sun was setting on the horizon and the temperature was dropping fast. I crossed the street from Franki's Diner and headed to the town square. The temporary light poles that had been erected for the theater group's stay in Port Danby popped on as I reached the pathway to the square. I pulled out my phone for the umpteenth time, but there was no text or call from Briggs. It seemed I was on my own. Unfortunately, the distance from the diner to the town square was not nearly long enough for me to develop any kind of plan, so I was going to have to play it by ear.
I utilized the last few hundred yards of my trek to mentally list clues that were now forming a coherent case to prove Constance Jeeves killed Amanda Seton. Amanda had some of Constance's Miracle Salve on her skin, but I was certain she never asked to borrow it. Amanda did not have a rash from the makeup. The ointment got there somehow. Constance's hands could have easily transferred it to Amanda's skin during her struggle to strangle her with the cable. Constance was angry the day I saw her in the drug store. I could only assume that she had somehow gotten word that Amanda and Gordon had been having a side fling. That would certainly be the final straw for an actress whose career suddenly took a major hit because she got the flu and her understudy stole the show and her lead role. But probably the biggest clue of all was that Constance had clumsily implicated Johnny Vespo as the killer by adding evidence after the murder. While she managed to commit the murder leaving very little evidence, her brazen attempt to frame someone else for her crime was not well thought out.
As I finished the thought, I caught a glimpse of Johnny's slicked back dark hair standing in the center of several of his coworkers. He was clearly agitated about something. I moved closer. He was absorbed enough in his rant to not notice me eavesdropping.
"Can't believe I had to go through an interrogation," Johnny said. His voice was slightly shaky and filled with rage. "Clearly someone was trying to frame me for murder. Thank goodness Billy was a witness. He knew my costume wasn't ripped. I handed it back in perfect shape."
"But who would do that to you, Johnny?" One of his small audience asked. Johnny was just tall enough to see easily over the circle around him.
Johnny's gaze caught mine. "Maybe it was you," he said angrily over the heads.
Everyone's face turned toward me.
"You're with that detective, that Briggs fella. He pulled me in for no reason at all. Maybe you ripped the costume to frame me." Johnny's nostrils were flared with anger.
I was caught off guard by the accusation. It seemed he was still stinging from my major rebuke on the wharf.
"What motive would I have to do that? I don't even know you. Although, there was that incident on the wharf," I added and looked around at the audience he'd held captive just a moment before. They looked back to him to see if he would tell them about the incident on the wharf.
He drew his mouth in tight. His face reddened. Apparently, he wasn't interested in explaining to his coworkers how he accosted a woman on the wharf and nearly forced himself upon her.
"What's going on, Johnny?" someone asked. "Why would this lady frame you for murder?" Their curious gazes turned far more suspicious.
"Did she kill Amanda?" someone asked.
Feet seemed to be discretely shuffling away from me.
"Oh my gosh,
this is ridiculous." I walked forward and they retreated more. Johnny seemed pleased with what he'd started. His tight lipped expression took on a sinister grin.
"Look," I said. "I was waiting right outside that tent on Thursday night, dressed and polished for a night at the theater with my boyfriend." I looked pointedly at Johnny. "Detective Briggs. The first time I saw Amanda Seton was when she was dead on the stage floor." That statement made a few faces a shade or two paler. "I'm sorry to shock some of you but that's the truth. And while your friend Johnny deserves reprimanding for some of his behavior, he is not a killer. He has every reason to be upset because someone was trying to frame him for Amanda's murder."
Even though Johnny had just finished griping about it, a gasp made its way around the group as if it was the first time they'd heard it.
"Maybe that boyfriend of yours could finally catch the killer," Johnny sneered but his face was less red. He seemed somewhat pacified by what I'd said.
"I think that'll be happening sooner than you think." I might have been getting ahead of myself, but I was feeling more than a little confident that I'd solved the case.
I headed along the pathway, relieved to be out of that tense situation. I had a much bigger tense situation ahead of me.
I pulled my phone out and looked once more. No message from Briggs. He was obviously held up in some meeting in Mayfield. Since I'd walked through the town square so often in the past few days, there was plenty of activity and lots of faces that were slowly becoming familiar. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Constance.
I headed toward the trailers and was lucky enough to spot Susana. I had to make sure I didn't give away my true reason for showing up, yet again, at the town square.
"Oh my, you're here again," Susana said through nearly gritted teeth. It seemed no one was thrilled to see me. I supposed it was because I reminded them that something terrible had happened, and even though they were trying to get on with things and go about their daily business, Amanda's unsolved murder still loomed over them.
Freesias and Foul Play Page 15
