Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

  He passed her the sheet and Kate groaned. Six companies, three each, back to the precinct to write up findings, they wouldn’t be getting an early night’s sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Kate kicked off her shoes pleased to be home earlier than she thought. Four of the companies no longer processed the hydrogen cyanide, of the other two, only one had its in the form that was used in the bottle of bourbon – Donald Sutton’s firm.

  Too tired to cook, she decided to order in Chinese and watch a black and white movie from her 1950’s collection. She was heading for the den when the smell of food wafted down the hallway from the kitchen. Who the hell was cooking in her kitchen? Her brothers had a key but it would be a stretch to think it was one of them. Only one other had a key. David.

  He stood by the stove; a huge grin on his face.

  “Hello. Hope you’re hungry. I’ve cooked your favourite meal.”

  She did her best to hide her disappointment however she wasn’t about to hide her displeasure that he showed up unannounced.

  “What are you doing here? Some advance notice, a phone call, would have been nice. I’m on a case, you were lucky to find me home.”

  A wounded look sat square centre in his face. “I guess I should have called – I’d hoped we were past the formality stage.”

  Guilty pitch; I’m the bitch.

  “Look David, our telephone conversation ended on a sour note so let’s not start another one. I’m exhausted; we’ve had two murders in four days; it’s not a good time to discuss what stage our relationship is in.”

  “Right, sorry, have a seat, while I pour us a glass of wine. Come on sit, I know where the wine glasses are.”

  Kate decided to sit and the food did smell inviting.

  “So what did you cook?”

  “In the skillet are sautéed peppers, onions, garlic, celery and chicken. Cooking in the pot is pasta Fedelini, also known as faithful little ones. Warming in the oven is mozzarella basil bread, and here, in my hand, is your favourite Chardonnay chilled the way you like it.”

  She took a long drink. “The food smells delicious but you were taking a chance. I might not have made it home this early.”

  “I chose something that still tastes half decent after reheating. And as for me, the thoughts of you arriving home, late or not, kept me fresh. Come here.”

  Two hours later, they were in bed, bodies cooling, wine glasses, half full, on the nightstands. Kate, bone tired, rolled over and was asleep in minutes. She woke to the smell of coffee perking. Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, she sat across from David at the breakfast nook.

  “I’m off shortly. How long are you in town?”

  “For two days.”

  “I’m not sure when I’ll arrive home. We may not have much time to spend together.”

  “You have to come home at night sometime. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Coffee. I’m having breakfast with a friend this morning.”

  He turned and looked at the clock on the stove but not quick enough to hide the frown. She felt the familiar stab of disappointment followed by annoyance. Last night had been great but the morning wasn’t so hot. Nothing had changed. She felt a sense of shame; she wasn’t playing fair with him. No time now; she stood and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’ve got to leave. I’ll try to get home as early as I can. We need to talk David.”

  The frown reappeared. “What about? Things are fine; every couple goes through their ups and downs.”

  “We need to talk. About us, our relationship, where we’re at and where we’re going. Now’s not the time, I’ve got to run. See you later.”

  She punched in Hanya’s number on her cell and closed the front door.

  Kate decided to walk. At a brisk pace she shouldn’t keep Hanya waiting. Shirley was scheduled to interview her later this afternoon but one of the conditions Kate set with Hanya was that their meeting remain a secret. She hated subterfuge. Screw Gordon, it was his fault, he should have given her the interview in the first place.

  She walked east on Brunswick St. enjoying the architectural hodge podge of one of the oldest sections of the city. On the fifteen minute walk, she passed a historic Church, condos, run down tenements, a hotel, a book store, and one of the best wine shops in the city.

  The cool air cleared her head and lightened her senses. She was all smiles when she walked in the coffee shop and spotted Hanya sitting at the corner table.

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, just got here. Didn’t want to order anything until I heard your recommendations.”

  “Not a problem. I have more than one favourite. There’s the sunburst muffins, granola with blueberries and yogurt, oatmeal patties crammed with seeds, nuts and honey. You can have your choice of potent coffee, coffee like beverages (such as chai tea latte) and then there are those inventive smoothies delightful to the palate. Of course, there’s also...”

  “Enough already. I know what I want.”

  They waited until they finished eating before getting down to business. Hanya was the first to speak.

  “I hope to hell I’m not wasting your time with this as what I have to say is all rather ‘airy fairy’, just something my gut tells me.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Camira and I were very close. We grew up together, lived with our grandmother, had each other’s back. She was the opposite of me – tall, slender, beautiful and talented, I’m large and all the rest that goes with it. She sang beautifully; I croaked. She would make up stories; I would listen. But, I wasn’t at the very back of the talent line, I could win an argument and I could fight. I mean down and dirty fighting. I used my fists, my teeth, my feet; I didn’t waste a body part. I kept the bullies away from her and no one damaged our grandmother’s house.”

  “If you ever decide to leave the Church, you might want to consider the police force.”

  She smiled. “That’ll never happen, Kate. Anyway, to get on with the reason I’m here. Camira called me before she was murdered. And believe me Kate, she didn’t commit suicide, it was murder. She was spooked, asked me to come by after my meeting to talk. You’ll never know the depth of my regret at not going over earlier, Kate. But that’s something I have to live with, not your problem. Point is I think she knew who killed Jeffrey Stone and that’s the reason she was killed.”

  “I think you could be right.”

  “I had very little sleep last night but I did a lot of thinking. I want to help find her killer, Kate. And I think I know how to do it.”

  “No, Hanya. It’s too dangerous. Trust us, we will find Camira’s killer. Things are tough enough without a civilian stirring the pot. Someone will get hurt and that someone would most likely be you.”

  “Hear me out, Kate. The night I went to her place, her cup was on the table by her chair, the TV on but muted. Camira made tea for her visitor and while she was in the kitchen, her own tea was drugged. There was no sign of another cup in the living room or the kitchen. The bastard washed up after himself.”

  “Why do you say he?”

  “Figure of speech, that’s all. Jeffrey Stone’s funeral will be happening soon and all the major suspects will be attending. The killer doesn’t know Camira called me so I thought I’d let that piece of information slip out in my conversations. I would hit everyone in the room. It’ll smoke the killer out and I’ll be waiting.”

  “Listen to me, Hanya. You can’t do this. You’re not playing around with some bullies on the reserve.”

  “Sorry, but I need to do this.”

  “No you don’t. You want revenge and don’t you dare call it something else. What do you say to the people you counsel who are focused on revenge?”

  Hanya said nothing.

  “Promise me this. Swear on our friendship. Don’t do anything. Give us a chan
ce, once its confirmed she was murder, we will move. And if we can’t uncover her killer, and I believe we will, then, sure, do what you want.”

  “I won’t make any promises but I will think about it.”

  Kate left the coffee shop a very worried woman.

  ***

  The intercom buzzed. Susan, arranging the fresh cut flowers in the vase on the fireplace mantle, asked Alexis to get the door. Alexis laid Laura Lippman’s, The Sugar House, aside, made the trek down the long hallway, opened the door and smiled at the tall, elegant looking lady standing there.

  “You must be Eleanor. Come in, please.”

  She led her into the den where Susan stood waiting, a huge grin on her face. Refreshments offered and accepted, Susan left the room to make the tea. Alexis, ever the shy introvert, struggled to make conversation. She needn’t have worried.

  “It’s wonderful to put a face to a name. Susan has often spoken of you. I believe she said you went to the same school.”

  “Yes, Catherine, Susan and I all attended King’s Edgehill boarding school in Windsor. I was a few grades behind them.”

  “Yes. Beautiful spot. I grew up not too far from there, in Kentville, home of the Apple Blossom festivals.”

  “I understand you two met when Susan moved to the town where you lived. “It must have been quite an adjustment for you moving from the city to a small town.”

  “Not as much as I had anticipated and meeting Susan certainly helped. It wasn’t long before she had introduced me to most of the community.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “At a fund raiser for the town’s library.”

  “Makes sense, you were Librarian, I believe?”

  “It’s how I started my career, yes.”

  Susan entered the room and placed the tray piled high with slender pieces Key Lime White Chocolate Cheesecake, Sour Cream Coffee Cake and Almond Mocha cookie bars on the serving table. Alexis scooted to the kitchen and returned carrying a silver tea pot, cream, and sugar and linen napkins. The three women fixed their tea and filled plates with the assorted treats.

  “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Eleanor, especially on such short notice.”

  “Not at all. The theatre is closed so it freed me up, but once the police release the premises, I’ll be back in the thick of it.”

  “What production will you be working on?”

  “Death of a Salesman.”

  “That’s a heavy one, always found it depressing, but to each their own.”

  “Perhaps if you focus on props, shapes, and colours, like I do, you may find it less depressing. The stage set should be appealing to the audience and viewing a play from different angles does add depths to its meaning.”

  “Yes, I suppose so”, Susan said. “Do you have an assistant?”

  “No. My peers in large scale productions have at least three people working with them. I collaborate with the Director and Production team to create the environment for the overall production. In my New York days, it involved drawing scale constructions, and creating scale models. And of course, there are the administrative details, budgeting and the like, but I won’t bore you with those details.”

  “The scope of your profession is much larger than I thought”, Alexis said.

  “Yes, most people are surprised and I’ve only given a two minute thumb sketch. Like any profession, it has its gruelling side, but the rewards of a well done job are worth all the struggles.”

  “What kind of qualifications do you need?”

  “There are several different ways to approach it, but I would recommend the tried and true for any beginners; an M.F.A. degree in Theatre Art. Do you know someone interested in getting into the profession?”

  “No. It’s an area of the theatre that always fascinated me. So after landing your degree you headed for New York, is that right”, Alexis asked.

  “Yes. I struggled for the first years but Jeffrey and Catherine took me under their wing. It wasn’t an easy apprenticeship but Jeffrey’s talent made up for his temperament. The theatre has lost a great talent.”

  “So Eleanor, I’ve heard rumours of enemies. Did Jeffrey have many”, Susan asked.

  “I don’t know numbers but I believe he had quite a few. He liked to present as a complex man but I believe, outside of his talent, he was a simple man but a bastard when it came to females.”

  Eleanor’s hand trembled as she laid her teacup back on the tray.

  Susan smiled at scoring at hit. She studied the two women sitting across from her and surprised by how much they looked alike in their manners, dress, and deportment. Of course, Alexis is warmer of course, more personable, next to Ellie, a cold fish jelly.

  Alexis rose, gathered the empty cups and saucers, placed them on the tray and carried them into the kitchen hoping Susan would soon get to the reason she had invited Eleanor. Emerging from the kitchen a few minutes, she heard Susan’s question and gave a sigh of relief.

  “I suppose you were wondering why we asked to meet with you this afternoon, Eleanor”, Susan said.

  “Yes, I am curious.”

  “Alexis and I have joined the local acting group in our town. We’re a small group with some big talent, especially our playwright and Director, Mary Jane Kempner.”

  “How wonderful for you”, Eleanor said.

  “Yes. Mary Jane has asked us to take on two leading roles, a bag lady and Madam in her new play, Ladies of the Night. It’s about two women who meet up on the street and their friendship leads to an epiphany of sorts. I won’t go into the details of the plot, but the two end up running a shelter for battered women. Rather inspiring don’t you think?”

  Eleanor looked dubious but nodded her head.

  “Anyway, Alexis and I need to understand these two women’s underlying motivations. We have been doing some of our own research for the past couple of nights cruising the night life areas of the city, talking to some of the women who work the street. But we need an acting coach and wondered if you could recommend someone?”

  “Susan”, Alexis said, “we haven’t given Mary Jane a firm commitment. I thought we were going to discuss this more before going hands on in the city?”

  “Really, Alexis,” Susan said, “I’m sure Mary Jane doesn’t have that impression.”

  “Well if she doesn’t, I’ll be only too happy to let her know. I’m not sure the play is ready for production yet. It leans towards the melodramatic; I think it needs more work.”

  “That’s not what you said to Mary Jane.”

  “Of course it’s not what I said to her. I leave that to the theatrical agents.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t realize you felt that way but I’m not surprised. It’s that small town valley upbringing of yours. Really, as a Librarian, I expect you would be more discerning.”

  Alexis was about to rebut but changed her mind.

  “Now where was I? Oh yes. So Eleanor, given all your experience in the theatre, can you recommend a good acting coach?”

  “My background is in set design, not in acting, however if the two of you are serious, I do have a couple of suggestions. First, ask Mary Jane to circulate her play among the local agents. I can recommend some very good ones who would give a qualified assessment of her work. Second, I recommend you contact Natasha Leigh, an excellent drama coach, she’s busy but you might be lucky enough to find a spot in one of her classes.”

  Not giving Susan the chance to reply, she looked at her watch, made her excuses and exited with the speed of an atheist who had walked into a room of Baptists.

  “That went well, don’t you think?”

  “It went down as well as an over done egg. Really Susan, how could you have embarrassed me, yourself and Eleanor like that? It’s time you curbed that tongue of yours.”

  “As soon as you get help to deal with that
repressed personality of yours, I’ll see to my tongue.”

  Ever the pragmatist, Alexis said, “Okay, let’s calm down, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Why don’t we discuss it more this evening over pre-dinner drinks?”

  “Splendid. I’m going to hit the stores while you read. I want to wear something bold to this new avant-garde restaurant.”

  Chapter 8

  Hanya, having waited her turn to express her condolences to Catherine, moved towards the tables of food. Not that she was hungry but she figured it was the best spot to observe others without being noticed. And she wouldn’t have to insert herself into conversational groups, with this lavish spread, every guest was sure to hit the tables and then she would have her opportunity to drop her little bombshell.

  Two long buffet tables were full to the brim, one with 5 on 5 Avocado Dip, Alaskan Cream Cheese Hot Pot, Asian Chicken Salad, spiral sliced Black Forest Ham, tiny, triangular sandwiches, fresh vegetable and green salads, crystal bowls filled with five different condiments, and trays of fresh fruit and cheeses. The other, which ultimately proved to be the most popular, displayed a variety of sweets succulent enough to tempt a diabetic. There were cheese cake squares, carrot cake, caramel squares, brown sugar and peanut butter cake, Nanaimo bars, Butterscotch Berry Tart, caramelized Pear Tart, and Deep Dutch apple pie.

  Uniformed waiters circled the room with trays of wine, sparkling water, larger, and spirits. Two large silver urns of tea and coffee, tall containers of juice and water, bone china and fluted glassware stood on the large oak sideboard next to the tall, narrow, French casement windows for those who preferred a non-alcoholic drink. It too was attracting a lot of visitors.

  She scanned the room and she wondered which one of the nodding, smiling, circulating mourners had killed both Camira and Jeffrey. The killer was in this room, of that she was certain.

  There’s Charlotte, drinking like she’s at the wedding in Cana and heard the host was about to run out of wine. What was it Camira had said about her? Issues, yeah that was it, anger and jealousy issues. Fancied herself at the height of her powers when the sad truth of it, she was beginning to fade. Couldn’t say that about her appearance, however.