by Rayna Morgan
Next, she went to the dressing room where cast members changed into costumes and applied wigs and make-up. She rifled through dressing tables, closets, and lockers used for costume storage with no luck.
The possibility Barrett had used a safety deposit box or home safe loomed larger as she traversed to her final destination. Lifting a trapdoor on the floor of the stage, she descended the stairs to the trap room. For this production, the trap had been used to allow items to be passed on stage without being seen by the audience. The underground room which doubled as a storage area was unfinished and dusty.
Sifting through boxes of props rendered nothing more than miscellaneous paraphernalia, a granddaddy long legs, and a few dead crickets. Maddy was about to admit her mission was a failure when she spotted a chest of drawers under the stairs leading up to the main hallway. Three of the drawers were unlocked revealing little more than old programs and mementos of past productions, some of them yellowed from age. The bottom drawer was locked.
The sisters had learned useful things from their father while he was a cop. Lea learned how to decipher clues; Maddy learned how to pick locks. During elementary school, Maddy learned her sister's deepest secrets by opening Lea's meticulously kept diary with a bobby pin. One time being caught by their father was all it took to break her of that bad habit.
Sifting through her shoulder bag, she grasped what she was looking for. Twisting two paper clips into the shape required, she inserted them into the lock, patiently turning them in different directions. Within minutes, she heard the gratifying click of the lock engaging.
Bingo. She grabbed the laptop, stuffing it carefully in her bag. She would figure out later if it was, in fact, the one belonging to Barrett. If not, she could replace it exactly as she found it and re-lock the drawer using the same trick she used to unlock it. All she wanted now was to leave without being seen.
Climbing the stairs back to the stage, Maddy was met by a deep voice resonating across the auditorium. “A beautiful woman emerges from the bowels of the earth.” She knew it belonged to the last person she wanted to see.
"Hello, Chad. What are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same question."
"I've asked to use the Theatre as a backdrop for the furniture store's monthly publication. I was scouting possible layouts."
"And you thought that dusty, dark room would make an attractive setting?"
"Plenty of people have storage rooms like that. It could be part of a before and after shoot to show what can be done." She closed the trap door. "I didn't hear your answer to what you're doing here on the dark day."
"Haven't you heard? Now that Barrett's gone, I'll be the main star at the Theatre. I'm here to start reviewing plays to decide which one to do next."
"Isn't Julia going to be making those decisions now?"
"We've already talked. She's going to stay on the administrative side of things. I'll start handling the production end."
"Well, well. You gained a lot from Barrett's death."
A dark scowl crossed his face. He was decidedly less handsome when he wasn't smiling. "I'm as sorry for Barrett's passing as everyone else is, but I'm not going to miss an opportunity to advance my career. Besides, I'll be a big help to Julia. She can't run both ends of the business by herself."
"Did you two make the arrangement before, or after, Barrett's murder?"
His face turned an unhealthy shade of purple. His lips curled into a cruel smile. "Have you had any thoughts about being part of another production? If so, I'd watch who you cultivate as friends. One misstep in the theatrical world can end an actor's career."
"I'm perfectly happy with the work I do. Cultivating your friendship would be too high a price to pay to win another part." She brushed past him, gripping her shoulder bag tightly.
He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "Aw, c'mon, Maddy. Let's be friends. I want you to be in another play. Everyone here likes you. In fact, let's go get high to celebrate my good fortune and our friendship."
She opened her mouth to make a suitably cutting retort but stopped herself, seeing an opportunity to find out more about the elusive actor. "Where are you suggesting?"
"My condo. I'll stir up a bite of lunch and a little bubbly. Then we can toke up and relax in the hot tub."
"I don't carry a swimsuit around with me."
"Don't worry; I've got extras." He winked. "You never know when the opportunity might arise. "You can ride with me. I'll bring you back later."
Getting stuck in Chad's condo without a car sounded like an extremely bad idea. Besides, she needed to get the computer out of her purse and stash it in the trunk of her car where it wouldn't be discovered.
"I don't need to come back to the Theatre. I'll take my car and follow you."
She thought about leaving a note on her sister's car but apparently, the meeting with Julia was over; Lea's car was nowhere to be seen. Her call went straight to voicemail. She left a message as she followed Chad's car on the freeway. "I found Barrett's computer but haven't had a chance to look at it yet. I'm on my way to Chad's condo right now to see what else I can find out, but I can tell you one thing. Chad and Julia are tighter than they appear."
• • •
Chad's condo was immaculate, pictures precisely hung, knick knacks perfectly positioned, throws stylishly draped: not the usual state of bachelor digs.
There were signs of a roommate: two recliners in front of a flat screen television mounted on the wall. When she used the restroom, there were two water glasses, two toothbrushes in a mounted holder, and two robes hanging from hooks on the back of the door. There were no signs of a woman's presence: bottles of creams, tubes of mascara, or makeup brushes.
Maddy sat at the bar between the kitchen and the living room watching Chad prepare turkey avocado sandwiches. Having turned down his offer of champagne, she sipped on a glass of chardonnay. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he had the Adonis look going on but it didn't appeal to Maddy because he also had the narcissism which can accompany natural beauty.
"Do you enjoy living alone?" she probed.
"I have a roommate. Roomie's away for the day so you don't need to worry. If you want to let your hair down and hit the hot tub in the buff, there's no one here but me to see you."
"Thanks anyway but I'll pass, on being in the buff and being in the hot tub."
"Whatever floats your boat," he snickered.
"So how did you and Julia get so chummy? From what I hear, you and Barrett never got along."
"Julia recognizes my talent. Barrett was envious of it."
"Really? You think Barrett envied your talent?"
"Obviously, plus the fact I'm decades younger, at the beginning of my career. Barrett was facing the declining years."
"That's a matter of opinion. But you must have some ideas about who's responsible for his death."
Chad finished his sandwich and leaned back on the barstool. "You mean who would I cast as the villain in this morbid little tale? That's the question of the hour, isn't it?"
Maddy held her breath, hoping Chad would shed some light on the murder. He fooled her by jumping up, heading down the hallway. "But one which doesn't interest me. It's time for fun and games. What's your pleasure? Weed, cocaine, or uppers?"
Pulling a key ring out of his pocket, he grabbed the padlock on one of the back rooms. He returned with several packets filled with colored capsules. She'd seen the Theatre crew with similar packets.
"Have you been supplying the cast and crew with this stuff?"
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Did Barrett know?"
"Are you kidding? Where do you think he got his weed? He took a toke before every performance. Why are you so interested?" He threw one of the bags on the counter. "Let's quit talking about him. I want to find out more about you."
Maddy could see things were moving in the wrong direction. She stood up, reaching for her shoulder bag. "I'll have to pass on the goodies. Didn'
t realize the time. I've got to get moving."
"C'mon, baby. Let's turn this lunch hour into a happy hour." He grabbed her arm. "We can get high and jump in the hot tub."
"I told you I don't have time. Back off," she ordered.
"Don't be a killjoy. You know you got the hots for me. I saw it in your eyes the first time we met." His eyes focused on her breasts.
"What do you see in my eyes now, sugar?" she purred.
As his eyes raised to meet hers, she kneed him in the balls and walked out, calling over her shoulder. "Thanks for the sandwich."
• • •
To make sure he didn't follow her to retaliate, she drove a few blocks before pulling over to call Pat Fisher.
"I know you're busy, but I wanted to thank you for the tip. I found the object in question."
"Did it contain anything interesting?"
"I haven't had time to find out, but here's a quid pro quo. Tell Tom to get a warrant for Chad Stewart's condo. You'll find a back room with a lock on it. From what Chad was offering, he's got quite a stash of drugs back there."
"You didn't use any, did you? We may end up dusting the room for prints."
"No, I didn't go inside."
"Thank heavens. I shudder to think what Tom would do if he found your prints in Chad Stewart's drug room."
"You and me both."
"But this lends a new twist. We hadn't figured the actor for drug use."
"Maybe Tom needs to take a second look at Chad for the murder. Barrett knew about the drugs. It may have been the motive for Chad to shut him up."
"I'll put a bug in Tom's ear. Thanks. If Chad gives you any grief, call me."
"Somehow, I don't think I'm going to be bothered by him."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lea heard the front door open and close. She looked up in time to see the back of Jon's hooded sweatshirt going up the stairs. The next thing she heard was his bedroom door slam.
Setting aside the client's report she was working on, she called the border collie. "Time for us to take a break, girl. I think someone's having a bad day."
Gracie got up from where she'd been sleeping and followed Lea to the kitchen.
Placing some freshly baked cookies and a juice carton in a lunch box, Lea held out the plastic strap for the dog to take in her mouth. "If you can bribe our way in, I'll see if I can get the young man to talk about it."
Lea gave the command 'carry' and followed Gracie upstairs prepared to honor her son's need for privacy if that's what he wanted. She opened the door allowing Gracie to run through to Jon's desk, proudly placing the treat at the foot of the boy's chair.
"What you got there, girl?" he asked, leaning over to let her nuzzle up against him and lick his face. Opening the lunch pail, his face lit up and he looked over to the door.
"Thanks, Mom," he acknowledged.
"Thought you might need some comfort food."
"Yeah, c'mon in," he gestured, moving his jacket and backpack from the chair, making a place for her to sit. "Today wasn't my best day, that's for sure," he confirmed, stuffing a cookie in his mouth.
"Want to talk about it?" Lea asked.
"Not really, but maybe it would help."
Gracie curled up at his feet as he settled back in his chair to tell his mother about his day.
• • •
"Some of us were horsing around between classes. One of the guys made a crack about my being a jock I didn't appreciate. He said the coach gives me good grades because I'm the best player on the basketball team. When I denied it, he kept making fun of me about being a teacher's pet. I finally pushed him and he shut up, but I felt like I wanted to haul off and hit him. I don't know how I could have gotten so mad. Rod's a good friend of mine. I should have known he was only pushing my buttons. I feel bad about the way I acted. I should be better than to blow off like that."
"We all have moments we're not proud of. In fact, experiences which leave us feeling ashamed or guilty are important to our growth; if we let them, they can help us become better. Don't beat yourself up. Emotional reactions are only debilitating if you attach too much weight to them or replay them over and over in your head."
"But what about the kids who saw me lose my temper?" he anguished. "They probably think I'm a real hothead."
"Don't make up stories in your head about what someone is thinking about you. Use your emotions as a tool to strengthen your relationships and help you feel good about yourself."
"How do I do that?"
"Apologize to Rod first thing tomorrow. The longer we go without making amends, the more extreme the stories become we're making up about the situation."
"I guess I do worry about what kids think of me," Jon admitted. "I want people to like me; I don't want to disappoint anyone. I hate to think about the other kids talking about me behind my back."
"I know you're sensitive about other people's opinions but try to be more concerned with your own growth and less concerned about people around you. The less you care what other people think, the more you grow as your own person."
Jon looked embarrassed. "I guess I overdo the self-conscious bit, huh?"
"You're not alone," Lea assured him. "We all get hammered with guilt and feelings of inadequacy, even from our subconscious. Believe me; I experience more than my fair share of it."
"Really?"
"You bet. Women are famous for burdening themselves with guilt over not being as good as they should be."
"Will it be easier to avoid these feelings as I get older?" Jon asked, hopefully.
"Handling false perceptions of ourselves in an empowering fashion is a challenge all our lives. A common way for many people to punish themselves for feelings of inadequacy is doing things completely contrary to what they want to accomplish."
"Wow, I do that sometimes," Jon agreed. "Like when I've studied a lot for a test, enough to get a good grade, but then I get to class late so I don't have time to finish the exam. I end up with a bad grade in spite of knowing all the answers."
"Maybe you don't feel you're smart enough to deserve good grades," Lea suggested. "We don't always know what message our subconscious is sending, but it can result in our doing things which sabotage the results we're after." She stroked Gracie's head. "What else went wrong today?"
"Mr. Engel's class was boring, as usual. What's worse, I'm beginning to feel like a dunce in his class because he gives me low marks on the papers I turn in. Everybody else is acing his class."
Lea knew Jon didn't like his third-period teacher. Last year, English had been Jon's favorite subject; the teacher had challenged his creativity and encouraged his love of story-telling, showing him how to put his stories into writing. His teacher this year had a different style of teaching, following a carefully constructed lesson plan.
"I'm sure he's used the same outline for the last twenty years," Jon complained. "He never encourages us to develop our own interpretation of the books we read. Instead, he explains all the hidden meanings and nuances from his point of view. I get something completely different than he does from the material. There's no way I'll be able to write a summary of the book that Mr. Engel will appreciate."
"Maybe you're judging yourself by artificial standards."
"What do you mean?"
"You're the one who knows if you've spent enough time and put in enough hard work to merit a good grade. Your teacher has set up benchmarks he uses to help him assign grades. A low mark doesn't mean you haven't done a good job; it means you haven't met those particular benchmarks. Knowing you've done the best job you could on the paper should give you the satisfaction you're seeking. Don't let yourself fall victim to other people's interpretations of success, happiness, or security."
"I guess I use feeling cheated as an excuse when I feel I'm not as smart as the other kids or I'm not as good as I could be in sports," he admitted. "I want to be the best. I try harder, but I don't seem to get better."
"We push ourselves to be more than who we are because
we feel unworthy. We're afraid if we let our true self come through, it won't measure up. But those things we think we need to be are stories about ourselves we make up in our head. We have to stop making stuff up. One of the most important things you can learn as you mature is, unfortunately, something they don't teach in school."
"What's that?"
"How to feel comfortable in your own skin; how to love and accept yourself for the person you are."
"You mean instead of trying to be the person I think I should be?"
"Exactly. Many adults go through their entire life pursuing an image of who they want to be. They see someone they admire or envy and try to mirror their life to look like that. But the image isn't real. Instead of being true to themselves, they become what they imagine other people want them to be.
The only life we can find happiness living is the life which most clearly defines our unique personality. Modeling ourselves after someone else stifles our uniqueness. We aren't like anyone else; we shouldn't try to design our life to copy someone else's life. People think as soon as they have a big house like their neighbor, a new car like their friend, or earn as much money as their boss, they'll be happy. When they achieve their goals, they find out those things don't buy happiness."
"Even if I get over feeling guilty about how I acted in the past, how can I keep from worrying about screwing up in the future, thinking about how things could go wrong again?"
"Sometimes it's because we haven't resolved our past experiences of shame or blame that we project similarly uncomfortable feelings as outcomes into the future. Ironically, two of the most common fears people suffer from are opposites: fear of failure or worrying about things going wrong, and fear of success or feeling uncomfortable about things going right.
Even when we're successful, we suffer from the impostor phenomenon. In your case, you might feel you're not qualified for the spot the coach awards you on the team, you don't deserve the grade a teacher gives you, or you're not as outgoing and funny as your friends say you are. You worry they'll find you out; you won't measure up."
"Whoa, how did you know those things about me, Mom?" Jon asked, surprised. "I've never told anyone I sometimes feel that way."
