Who's Kitten Who?

by Cynthia Baxter

  “The last time she came in—and I remember it like it was yesterday—she started screaming at me about how I was making all this up just to rip her off. I tried showing her some articles from professional journals, but she wouldn’t even look at them. She was too busy acting like I was some kind of scam artist or something.

  “On her way out, my receptionist innocently asked her if she needed to schedule another appointment. Gloria went absolutely ballistic! She started yelling and throwing magazines around the waiting room. When she knocked over a lamp and I came running out to see what the noise was all about, I saw her chuck the Ladies’ Home Journal at my receptionist. It was at that point I suggested we part company.”

  Suzanne’s report was chilling. Here I’d thought Gloria Stone was just rude. Instead, she sounded like a psychopath. How her seemingly charming, even-tempered husband managed to put up with her was beyond me.

  “That was at least six months ago,” Suzanne concluded, “and I haven’t seen her since. Good riddance!”

  “Do you still have her address on file?” I asked.

  “I’m sure I do. And I’d be happy to give it to you—especially if you intend to go over there and start throwing rotten tomatoes at Gloria Stone’s house.” She hesitated before adding, “Okay, so if that’s the really bad news—and a friend of Betty’s being murdered certainly fits into that category—what’s the news that’s bad but not as bad?”

  I swallowed hard. As I expected, this piece of news was even harder to deliver. “Nick and I broke off our engagement.”

  “What?” she shrieked. “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding, Jess!”

  I took a deep breath, hoping I could manage to talk without sounding as if I was about to choke. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Jessie, I know you’re the type to get cold feet. But you’re making the biggest mistake of your life! Go back and tell him that you changed your mind about breaking up, and—”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” I explained. “It was his.”

  “Oh.” All of a sudden, Suzanne was speechless.

  “I feel like a complete idiot,” I went on, desperate to fill the silence, “but I made this stupid deal, and now I have to go out on a date Saturday night.”

  “A date?” she repeated, obviously confused. “And what do you mean, a deal?”

  “Forrester Sloan agreed to share whatever he learned about Simon Wainwright’s murder if I agreed to go out with him if Nick and I ever broke off our engagement. Of course, I never thought it would happen. But…” Rather than continuing, I simply sighed.

  “Forrester Sloan. He’s that Newsday reporter, right?” Suzanne asked. “The one who’s so crazy about you?”

  Before I had a chance to protest, I realized her characterization was pretty accurate.

  “It’s just one date,” I said lamely. “We’ll go out, grab a burger, maybe see a movie, and I’ll be done with it.”

  “From what I understand, this guy isn’t likely to see it that way,” she countered. “But you know what I’m thinking? That going out with a man who’s really into you might be the best thing that could happen right now.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

  “It’ll help your morale, for one thing,” she replied. “It also might not hurt if Nick is reminded that he’s not the only fish in the sea.

  “Besides,” she continued, “this could be the start of a beautiful new relationship. If you go into it with the right mind-set, that is.”

  At the moment, my mind-set was that nothing sounded better than spending Saturday night with a pint of Cherry Garcia, my beloved pets, and a good book. It was a comforting scene.

  And definitely one that had no room for Forrester Sloan.

  Chapter 12

  “Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”

  —Roger Caras

  Once Suzanne gave me the address of the Stones’ weekend house in East Brompton, I could hardly wait to get out there. But first I had my own foray into show biz to deal with.

  I thought I’d pretty much mastered the basics by this point. But as soon as I walked into Theater One with Betty for the Thursday evening rehearsal, I gasped.

  The entire theater was in chaos. Tremendous canvas drop cloths covered the rows of center seats, and long metal bars were laid across the arms. So were dozens of heavy-looking metal lights. Large cardboard boxes haphazardly packed with scenery, props, and even costumes cluttered the aisles. So did the dozens of fat black cables that snaked around the seats menacingly. A tall ladder I’d noticed stashed backstage stretched up to the ceiling. Plastic trash bags stuffed to capacity were scattered everywhere, along with wadded up bits of paper and strips of cardboard that hadn’t made it inside.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded as soon as I emerged from my state of shock. “Is there a leak in the roof? Has there been a flood?”

  I cast a look of desperation at Betty. For some reason, she looked amused. “None of the above, Jessica. It’s tech week.”

  A young man dressed in jeans and a Rent T-shirt had just wandered by. “You noticed,” he said, laughing.

  I guess I still looked confused, because he explained, “The tech people descend upon the theater about a week before opening night to set up the lighting, the sound, and all the other behind-the-scenes stuff that’s required to make the show run smoothly.”

  “Corey is the lighting designer,” Betty noted.

  “That’s right,” he said. Pointing toward the ceiling, he added, “See all those lights up there?”

  I glanced up and for the first time noticed that metal bars just like the ones lying on the seats had been attached to the ceiling, with lights hanging at different intervals.

  “Those are all the lights we need for the show,” Corey explained. “They’re controlled by the lighting board. It’ll take me three or four days in total to set up the lighting cues.”

  “‘Lighting cues’?” I repeated.

  “The lighting configuration keeps changing throughout the performance, depending on who’s onstage and what’s happening,” he went on. “Each light up there—and there’ll be about a hundred twenty of them by the time I’m done—is positioned to hit a specific spot onstage. The audience may not notice, but the lighting keeps changing throughout the production. And it’s all planned out in excruciating detail during tech week.”

  “No wonder it takes four days!” I commented.

  Grinning, Corey said, “On Broadway, the lighting crew can spend four hours setting up two minutes’ worth of cues. The cast, meanwhile, is patiently standing onstage to make sure they’re being lit properly.

  “Once the combinations of lights have been computerized, it’s all controlled by the lighting board.” He pointed to the oversize metal board in front of him that was covered with buttons. “The night of the performance, the stage manager sits with the lighting-board operator. Her script is marked with all the lighting changes. Every time one comes up, she says, ‘Go,’ and the lighting-board operator hits this button—which, appropriately enough, is called the go button. That changes the lighting according to what’s been programmed in.”

  “I think I get it,” I remarked.

  “There’s more. The lighting is coordinated with sound, which operates pretty much the same way. During tech week, we set the levels, meaning how loud or soft each mike should be. But we also program in the sound effects. In this show, for example, we add in the roaring airplane engines. We have a dozen speakers throughout the theater, so we can make it sound as if the plane is moving across the sky.”

  Every aspect of the theater was turning out to be fascinating. As a member of the audience, I’d never given a thought to all the details that went into putting on a play. But the more I found out, the more amazed I was that an entire production could ever go off without a hitch.

  “Jessie, into the dressing room for your final costume fitting, please,” Derek called, interrupting my
lesson in the technical aspects of theater.

  That was fine with me, since costumes were something else I found interesting. The costume designer too. I had found Aziza’s claim that Lacey had been stalking Simon hard to believe. It was nearly impossible to imagine the sweet-faced young woman with the big brown eyes in that role. I hoped that talking to her again would give me a chance to uncover her dark side, if she actually had one.

  “Hi, Jessie!” Lacey greeted me brightly as I stepped into the women’s dressing room. Once again, she was wearing her oversize burgundy sweater, and her hair looked as if she’d pinned it up without bothering to look at a mirror. “Have you decided on a class for your nieces yet?”

  It took me a few seconds to figure out what she was talking about and to remember that we’d discussed the Yellow Brick Road’s courses at length at the last rehearsal. “Uh, not yet. I still haven’t had a chance to discuss it with their mother.”

  “Whatever you pick, you can’t go wrong,” she assured me. “All the classes are terrific.” She studied the aviator outfit she’d just taken off the rack. “I hope you don’t mind trying this on one last time. I’m pretty sure I made all the adjustments it’ll need.”

  I pulled on the beige knickers and matching hooded shirt that comprised my costume. Then, standing in front of the full-length mirror lining the back of the door, I put on the goggles and leather helmet that completed the look.

  “It fits great!” Lacey announced happily, her big brown eyes lighting up and her dimples dotting her cheeks. “See, I took it in a little here, and I moved this button a quarter of an inch…”

  Standing alone with Lacey behind closed doors gave me the opportunity I’d been hoping for.

  “It must be hard, being here in the dressing rooms,” I commented, turning away from the mirror to face her. “Since that’s where you found Simon last Saturday.”

  The light in her eyes instantly dimmed. “You have no idea,” she said in a choked voice. “This past week has been one of the worst of my life. I’ve tried my best to put up a good front, but underneath…”

  She hesitated before adding, “Jessie, there’s something that’s been gnawing at me. I keep wondering if I should tell somebody, but I don’t know who I can trust. Since you just joined the company last week, you never knew Simon and or any of the people who were closely involved with him.”

  My heart was pounding fiercely as I waited for her to go on.

  “Simon called me last Thursday night,” she said, her voice lowered to a whisper. “The night before he was murdered. He was really upset. He said he needed someone to talk to, and he wanted me to meet him somewhere.”

  What about Aziza? I thought, surprised.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Lacey said. “What about Aziza, right? But that’s exactly what I was talking about the other day. I always believed that, deep down, he knew she wasn’t right for him—and that it was only a question of time before he came back to me.”

  I wondered if deep down Aziza knew that too.

  “What was Simon so upset about?” I asked.

  “I never found out,” Lacey replied mournfully. “I couldn’t meet him. I wasn’t at the Port Players’ rehearsal that night, because I had a rehearsal for the Yellow Brick Road’s spring recital. In fact, when he called me on my cell phone, I was right in the middle of it. I couldn’t just leave! I’d be letting my little girls down.

  “I knew Simon wasn’t going to be at rehearsal that night either, since I’d overheard him telling Derek a few nights before,” she continued. “But he didn’t mention where he’d gone. The only thing he did tell me was that whatever he was so upset about had something to do with Gloria Stone.”

  Gloria! I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Ever since I’d gone to the library the day before and discovered just how powerful the two Broadway producers were, I’d been anxious to find out more about their relationship with Simon. Especially Gloria, whose behavior at the wake had been absolutely chilling.

  “I keep wondering ‘What if?’” Lacey went on in the same woeful voice. “What if I’d met him that night? What if I’d been able to help him? What if whatever he wanted to talk to me about is the reason he was murdered?”

  I took a deep breath. “Lacey,” I said, “are you saying you think Gloria killed him?”

  She blinked away the tears that were pooling in her eyes. “I’d hate to think that of anyone, Jessie,” she replied earnestly. “Especially Gloria. She was about to do so much for him. Putting She’s Flying High on Broadway, giving him a starring role—she was on the verge of making all his dreams come true.”

  “In that case,” I wondered aloud, “why would she have killed him?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. But somebody wanted him dead, and I can’t help thinking that whatever Simon was so desperate to talk to me about that night is the reason.”

  “Lacey, have you told the police about Simon’s phone call?”

  She shook her head. “I guess I didn’t want anyone to know what a bad friend I’d been to Simon. I was too ashamed to admit that when he reached out to me for help, I wasn’t there for him.” Choking on her words, she added, “And that maybe I was somehow responsible for what happened.”

  I was about to suggest that Lacey might be wise to go to the police when I heard Derek call, “Attention, please!” He clapped his hands loudly. “If everyone will please assemble onstage, I’d like to introduce you to a very special visitor.”

  Curious, I followed Lacey back onto the stage. I was shocked when I saw who was sitting in the front row with her legs crossed and her arms stretched across the tops of the seats on either side.

  “Speak of the devil,” I muttered in disbelief, exchanging a look of surprise with Lacey.

  “Everyone, this is Gloria Stone, a true diamond on the glittering Great White Way,” Derek gushed. “I’m sure you know all about her, but in case anyone’s been living in a cave for the past couple of decades, Gloria and her husband, Sheldon, have produced some of the biggest hits on Broadway. They include The Hottest Summer, Elizabeth the Queen, and Sad-Faced Clowns, just to name a few.”

  He broke into applause. After realizing he was the only one clapping, several of the cast members, including me, felt obligated to join in. I glanced at Gloria, expecting her to be glowing. Instead, she simply looked bored.

  “Gloria?” Derek finally prodded. “Perhaps you’d like to say a few words?”

  Reluctantly, she rose to her feet. “Not really,” she drawled. “I just wanted to stop by and see what this Theater One business was all about, since I’ve never been here before.” She glanced around, curling her lip disapprovingly. “It’s certainly small, isn’t it? I mean, even for a community theater.”

  Derek looked crestfallen. “We’ve enjoyed quite a bit of success,” he said, trying to sound proud but instead sounding defensive. “The local paper raved about our last production. Even Newsday gave it a positive review.”

  “I see,” Gloria said dryly. “Well, I suppose I don’t know much about the standards out here in the suburbs.” She uttered the word suburbs with the same contempt she’d shown at Simon’s funeral. Just hearing her made me want to run her over with a lawn mower. “And this, I suppose, is your cast?”

  “My energetic, talented, dedicated cast!” Derek exclaimed.

  “Ye-e-es” was all she said.

  “Do stay and watch us rehearse,” Derek insisted. “That is, if you have the time.”

  “Oh, I have the time,” she replied. “Frankly, it’s the inclination I lack.”

  With that, she grabbed her purse, the one emblazoned with PRADA in billboard-size letters, and headed toward the lobby.

  “Please come back opening night,” Derek called after her. “It’s next Friday, a week from tomorrow. I’d love for you to see what a fabulous job we do!”

  She didn’t answer. She was too hell-bent on hightailing it out of there.

  When she was gone, a
heavy silence fell over the theater. It seemed to last an embarrassingly long time.

  “Wasn’t that a thrill!” Derek finally exclaimed.

  Up until that point, I’d only seen him in his role as director. But now I realized he also possessed quite a talent for acting.

  “Okay, people,” he said, clapping his hands once again. But this time he was back to being the no-nonsense head of this production. “The clock is ticking. Opening night is only a week away. Our goal for today is to do as close to a full run as we possibly can. We’ll stop only for a train wreck. Onstage, please. Let’s go to places for the beginning of Act One. And I want to see lots of energy. Dazzle me!”

  The actors scrambled into their places. But somehow, the cast and crew’s usual exuberance had faded. Even with her short visit, Gloria Stone had managed to leave behind a bad feeling. In fact, it lingered in the air like the faint scent of her Chanel No. 5.

  She’s certainly easy to dislike, I thought, crossing the stage. And apparently Simon had come to the same conclusion.

  As I got into my beginning position for Act One, I made a mental note to find out more about what had gone on between them in Simon’s final days. I believed Lacey’s claim that there had been bad blood between them. The question was whether it had been extreme enough to cause real blood to spill.

  It wasn’t until Friday morning that I remembered I’d assigned Patti the task of finding me an animal mannequin for my CPR demonstration. As I pulled into the parking lot of the Sunshine Media building, the home of Channel 14 News, I suddenly got that wrenching I-forgot-to-do-my-homework feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I should have called to remind her, I thought. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a way of doing my Pet People segment without a suitable patient to perform CPR on. I wasn’t having any luck.