by Rayna Morgan
"Not bad," Tom said, mulling over the idea.
"Another thing, Lieutenant," one of the men threw in. "Don't mean to hurt your feelings, Jones, as gorgeous as you are, but Mickey will be a heck of a lot more interested in dealing with Pat than with you."
Jones threw a mock punch at the speaker and all the men laughed.
"Okay, guys, settle down." Tom turned to the recruit, rubbing his chin. "You're pretty green for this. I don't usually send someone undercover until they've got a couple more years of experience under their belt."
"I understand, but we may not have another opportunity like this. I promise I'll call for backup if I run into any trouble."
"We can rotate a couple of guys into the club as card players," Jones suggested. "We'll set up a code with Pat to let us know how things are going by which drinks she serves or what she says when she serves them."
"You mean like if I serve you a beer, everything is okay. If I serve you a screwdriver, I'm telling you to wait around; I may be about to get screwed." The men laughed.
"See, Lieutenant, she's a quick study. We got it covered."
"Alright, let's put this game in play. Jones, use the employee list I picked up the night of the mugging. Get hold of one of the cocktail waitresses and arrange for her to call in sick.
Pat, go over to the Finish Line. Apply for a job but make sure to interview with the manager. By that time, he should have received the call from the waitress pretending to be sick. He might hire you on the spot for the afternoon shift.
When you get off your shift at the Finish Line, head over to the Card Room to talk to Mickey about working evenings. You and Jones work out a way to keep in touch so he can let me know your status periodically. Tie up any loose ends at the precinct; you won't be coming back here until this assignment is over. Leave your company phone in your locker. We don't want to risk someone getting hold of it and tracking calls back to the station." He pulled her aside as the other men filed out of the room. "Give me a minute, Pat."
"Thanks for letting me do this. I won't let you down."
"Just be sure you keep your eye on the ball. Remember what we're really after here. I want the Kingpin whose pulling the bookie's strings."
"Don't worry, boss. I'll keep my eyes and ears open for any hint of who that person is."
"Most important, don't let your guard down. Mickey was probably already under some pressure when his boss found out about Hector's screw-ups. Unless his boss gave the order to knock Hector off, he might not be too happy with the way that was handled either.
All the attention should play to our advantage. Mickey's more likely to make a mistake and the Kingpin is more likely to show his hand to get things under control. But it could play to your disadvantage. The more scrutiny Mickey's under from his boss, the more dangerous he'll be. He's going to start acting like a stalked animal; not anything you want to tangle with. Don't hesitate to call for help. This isn't the time or the place to try to be a hero."
"Don't worry. I know what's expected of me."
"Okay, get out of here," he ordered. His parting shot made Pat smile. "Stay safe. We're starting to get used to having you around."
• • •
By late afternoon, Pat was in the swing of serving cocktails and raking in decent tips. She would ask the Lieutenant if the tips would be confiscated as part of the investigation or if she could keep them. The lingo she learned as a cocktail waitress earning school tuition came back to her quickly putting her in good stead with the bartender. She made a point of striking up a conversation with the waiter running the bettor sheets. She was almost at the end of her shift thinking things couldn't get any better when they did and in a big way.
Turning away from the bar with a full tray of drinks, she almost collided with a dumpy, bald man with ferret-like eyes who fit the description Jones had given her to a T.
"Be careful, young lady," the bookie said. "You're carrying quite a load."
"No problem, sir. I'm used to it," Pat said, flashing her most dazzling smile. "If you're sitting in my section, I'll be right there to serve you."
"I'll be sure to do that." He waved at the bartender calling him by name and settled into the large corner booth, accompanied by two beefy men who remained standing on either side of him.
As soon as she finished delivering her order, she headed for the booth where Mickey was sitting. She placed a cocktail napkin in front of him and took a step back to wait, smiling at his bodyguards. As soon as he turned off his cell phone, she stepped forward. "What would you like, sir?"
"First thing I'd like is your name. You're new, aren't you? I don't make it over here too often, but I'd remember you if I'd seen you before."
"My name is Pat. Today is my first day. I just got into town. I've been working a club in Reno, but I got homesick," Pat told him, reciting verbatim the cover story Jones had created for her.
"You from around here?" he asked pulling a cigar from the case in his pocket and rolling it between his fingers without lighting it.
"Yep, I grew up on a small place outside of town. My folks have moved away, but this area is still home to me."
"You must have been making pretty decent tips if you were at one of the casinos."
"The good thing was I got in a lot of skiing, my other love besides surfing. The bad thing was, I spent most of what I made on ski lifts and partying. I'm hurting for dough right now. I'm looking for a second gig so I can get my car fixed. My old beater's getting ready to bite the dust. If I can save enough, I'll trade it in for something better."
"You can make some extra money with me," Mickey suggested.
"I don't make money lying on my back," she snorted, backing away from the table.
He laughed, admiring her spunk. "I mean at my club. I got part interest in this place, but I'm the sole owner of the Card Club across town. My cocktail waitresses tell me they make good tips especially from the guys whose cards are falling right for them. Business is booming; we're in the middle of tourist season. You'd have to talk to my bartender, but you should be able to schedule as many hours as you want."
"Wow, that's great. I could start right away. I'm anxious to score some bread."
"Come over to the Club when you get off here. The bartender's name is Tim. Tell him I want him to fit you in the schedule."
"Thanks a lot, sir. You don't know how much I appreciate this."
"Call me Mickey," he smiled in a way which made Pat's skin crawl. "Now get out of here. I lost my bagman. I got to find me a replacement."
"Anything I can help with, Mickey?" she asked innocently.
He leaned back dividing his attention between her and the unlit cigar. He replaced the unsmoked cigar in the case with a slight blush of embarrassment. "Trying to give up the habit but still love the smell and feel of a good cigar."
He gave her another once-over before arriving at a decision. "Maybe you can be more useful. My bagman brings me something from this place every night. Nothing of consequence," he emphasized brushing a hand across his face as he spun his fabrication. "Just a list of tomorrow's races. I'm not a betting man when it comes to cards," he guffawed at his own joke, "but I like to bet the ponies. One of the waiters here picks up tips from the best gamblers so I can lay down bets for the next day's races. See that kid over there?"
Pat turned in the direction he pointed, but she already knew who he was talking about. "Yeah, I met him earlier."
"Good. I'll tell him you'll be picking up the sheet starting tonight."
Pat wanted to make her cover seem as real as possible. "Will I be making extra money as a runner?"
He laughed. "Enterprising young thing, aren't you? I like that. Yeah, yeah. There'll be a couple of extra sawbucks in it for you. Just make sure you get to the Club on time."
As soon as she got off her shift at the Finish Line, Pat headed for her favorite burger joint. Waiting to place her order at the drive-through window, she sent Jones a text message. ‘It’s a go. I start tonight, and I'm
running the list'. Stuffing a handful of fries in her mouth, she tossed the burner phone in the trash bin as she drove out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lea arrived at the Theatre early for her appointment with Julia. She wanted to get the vibe of the place absent the presence of other people. This time, she found the building unoccupied and serenely quiet. One night light shone in the foyer. Without spotlights illuminating the actors' pictures, the images seemed eerily like specters looking down on her, watching her every move.
She pushed through the door to the auditorium. This room, too, was in darkness except for one lighted incandescent bulb mounted in a wire cage on a portable light standard on the stage. Lea sat in one of the front row seats staring into the solitary beam, mesmerized by the heavy feel of the Theatre without the hustle and bustle of personnel.
The voice behind her caused her to jump. "The light is called a ghost light. It's left on when the theater is unoccupied and would otherwise be completely dark. There are superstitions about ghost lights in relation to the supernatural."
Lea started to stand, but Julia sat down beside her. "Don't get up. I often sit here myself enjoying the ambiance before the throngs arrive."
They both turned back to gaze at the light as Julia continued. "A popular superstition holds every theater has a ghost. Some theaters have traditions to appease ghosts which reach far back into their history. One example is leaving a light burning in an empty theater to ward off spirits. The light is placed downstage center, illuminating the stage when it's not in use to give ghosts enough light so they can see. The Palace Theatre in London keeps two seats in their balcony permanently bolted open to provide seating for the ghosts."
Lea felt an involuntary tremor run up her spine. "What other superstitions are there?"
"One of the most popular ones suggests ghosts be given an opportunity to perform onstage. Doing so appeases them and prevents them from cursing the theater or sabotaging the production. It's the reason most theatres are closed one day a week, to give the ghosts their chance to perform."
"The reason for the Theatre being dark today?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe the superstitions?"
"To be honest, the last couple of days, I've been asking myself if my husband's come back to haunt the Theatre. I don't believe in most of the superstitions theatre people cling to, but I've made sure the ghost light stays on every night," Julia admitted, a thin smile on her lips. "I want him to feel free to perform to his heart's content so he won't curse the Theatre or disrupt our productions."
Lea's body twitched again. Julia noticed and made a quick suggestion. "Let's go downstairs to my office. We'll turn on all the lights, and I'll put the coffee pot on."
• • •
Lea pulled papers out of her briefcase spreading them in front of Julia. "Are you sure this isn't an inconvenience? It all happened so quickly after I talked with Dianne. I'm so sorry for your loss; I know this must be a terrible time for you."
"I prefer to keep busy. Besides, a good portion of my career has been spent moving from one challenge through another. I'm always amazed the finished productions turn out so beautifully on stage because they're usually wrought with mishaps from beginning to end."
"It sounds nerve-wracking."
"It can be, but you adapt. Either you adapt or you find another profession. Barrett thrived on the chaos; it's what got his heart pumping every day. He loved the ups and downs, compared it to being tossed about in a tempest. I've always been the steadying influence at the helm."
"You'll miss him terribly."
"I don't mean to sound callous. There's no denying Barrett brought a dynamic into my life which would have otherwise been missing. But he also brought a lot of heartache and pain. It was hard for my husband to separate the fiction of theatre from the reality of life. If the script called for the leading man to be in love with the leading lady, he played the part to perfection, both onstage and off. A few weeks after the production ended, he would return to the real world and end the affair. He always knew I'd be waiting patiently in the wings, speaking in theatre jargon."
"How did you survive?"
"The only way was to detach myself emotionally from my husband and my marriage. My wounds healed long ago. It's been years since I've felt any passion for him or anything else, for that matter. For all practical purposes, we became no more than the yin and yang of a successful theatre company."
"Do you intend to keep the Theatre running without him?"
"That depends on what options I have." She looked out the window, momentarily distracted. "For the here and now, I've got our annual subscription drive to put together. The sales to subscribers keep the operation running for more than half a year. Its success is critical. So let's see what enterprising ideas you've come up with to promote it."
• • •
After an hour of brainstorming, they had arrived at innovative designs for invitations, brochures, and fliers which pleased them both. Lea began to pack the work product into her briefcase.
"It’s been fun working with you, Julia. You're quite good at this."
"It's the side of the business I enjoy the most. The financial end can be drudgery at times."
Lea was reluctant to expose her ulterior motives but was unwilling to leave without broaching the subject weighing heavily on her mind. "Speaking of finances, the police suspect Angelo Russo in the death of your husband. They're trying to tie him to a reason of financial gain regarding a possible sale of the Theatre."
Julia's response was guarded. "I've heard rumors to that effect."
"Angelo's quite distressed over being accused of murder," Lea continued, noting the tightening of Julia's neck and jaw muscles. "I know you're close friends with him and Camilla. Do you believe there could be any veracity to the rumors?"
"I learned long ago one person never truly knows another."
Her answer sounded unduly harsh to Lea if their friendship was as close as it was purported to be. "Are you saying you believe Angelo is capable of murder?"
"No, of course not. That would be a rebuke to my own good judgment of character. Angelo has been more than a friend to my husband and me. I was smitten by him at one time."
"You and Angelo had an affair?" Lea asked, shock evident on her face.
"I wish, but no. For my part, my feelings weren't uncommon for a woman ten years into a marriage in which the passion had dimmed considerably. By that time, Barrett had started his wandering ways. I used to visualize how my life would have turned out had I married Angelo instead of Barrett. For one thing, I wouldn't have chosen a career connected to the theatre. It was never a consuming passion for me like it was for my husband. I probably would have leaned toward publishing."
"What stopped you from having a relationship with Angelo?"
"Nothing would have stopped me. I would have willingly sacrificed my pride and thrown myself at him if it would have done any good. But he was head over heels in love with Camilla; he never noticed other women. He didn't then and he never has since. He's one of those men who only has one true love during a lifetime."
"So you never told him of your feelings?"
"Never. Ironically, my husband and his wife had an affair several years later. The humiliation of their fling was bad enough. It would have been worse if I'd once been the object of Angelo's rejection."
"It never affected your friendship?"
"Not in the least. I put my attraction to Angelo behind me just as I put everything else behind me. There's no sense lingering in the past." She dismissed the unpleasant thought with a wave of her hand, like batting a fly from her forehead. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have another appointment. So many kind people expressing condolences."
Lea thanked Julia for her time assuring her she would receive proofs for her approval shortly. She left Julia's office feeling more confused than when she had entered. She didn't know how much of what she heard to believe. She had the uncomfortable feeling Julia was as
polished an actor as her late husband.
Walking through the darkened auditorium, she was surprised to hear voices coming from the foyer. She passed a group of men huddled together in the reception area. She paused several moments pretending to search in her purse before extracting a set of keys. It was enough time to hear the topic of conversation and get a glimpse of what they were examining. With the work Paul did for his real estate clients, she recognized a set of blueprints when she saw them. They were talking about the hotel to be built on the Theatre site.
• • •
After meeting with Pat Fisher, Maddy drove into an almost empty parking lot at the Theatre. She wasn't surprised, knowing Mondays were dark days at the Theatre when there was no performance scheduled. Nor was she surprised one of the few cars in the lot belonged to her sister. Lea's scheduled meeting with the widow could prove beneficial to Maddy's new plan to retrieve evidence from Barrett's computer. With her sister diverting Julia, there would be one less person to question Maddy’s presence at the Theatre.
She had thought on the drive over about the helpful hint Pat had provided. Why would a man have a second computer unless he wanted to keep something secret from prying eyes, especially those of a suspicious spouse? Where would Barrett store it? It seemed unlikely he would keep it at the house shared with his wife, but there were places in the Theatre where Julia never ventured. One of those places may have provided the perfect hiding place, and a dark day provided the perfect time to find it.
First on her list was the downstairs lounge known as the Green Room. She walked as quietly as possible past Julia's closed office door. Her search was brief. Not only did it provide few nooks and crannies for storage but it was the spot Julia would most likely have occasion to enter.
