Jackson smiled his hundred-watt grin and put a hand on my shoulder. “Babe, you don’t need to stew about me.”
I shrugged his hand off me. “Somebody has to, because you’re not taking all of this seriously enough. The police think Vinnie might have been murdered.” I was shrieking.
“What’re ya talking about? Vinnie drowned because he probably had a few too many and fell off The Bounty. Anyway, who’d want to murder him?” Jackson asked.
Who, indeed. I shoved the MINI Cooper into Drive and eased back into traffic. Candle Beach was awake, and a steady line of cars made their way toward the parking lots by the boardwalk. Which reminded me. I had to hurry if I was going to meet Lola on time. I drove to Atlantic Street and parked in the driveway.
“Hey, where’s my man? No BMW,” Jackson observed.
Bill’s gold luxury car was one of his prized possessions. “Up north. Lucky for you, because he’s getting a little tired of you overstaying your welcome,” I huffed.
“No way. We’re buds.”
I unlocked the front door, then requested that Jackson leave the bathroom presentable and stay out of trouble. I had no idea where Jackson would spend his day or what Bill would say if he ran into Jackson in the house without me there.
* * * *
When I opened the door of the Candle Diner, Lola beckoned from a booth in the back of the restaurant. I scooted onto the bench. “Like Coffee Heaven, right?” Coffee Heaven was Etonville’s old-fashioned Jersey diner that featured typical dishes plus updated coffee choices such as caramel macchiato, my obsession.
“But without Jocelyn and a ton of eavesdropping customers,” Lola said and sipped her coffee. Coffee Heaven was also one Etonville location where folks, including waitress Jocelyn, met to chatter and gossip. “Upset?”
“Jackson,” I admitted.
“What’s he done now?”
I filled Lola in on his latest antics, and we ordered breakfast. I missed my Coffee Heaven caramel macchiato and cinnamon bun, but the diner’s omelets and homemade pastries were superb.
Lola swallowed a forkful of her spinach and goat cheese omelet. “You think Jackson had something to do with Vinnie’s death?”
“I don’t know, and that’s what scares me. He’s so nonchalant, like he’s in surfer-dude mode, that he’s got to be guilty of something. Besides, he’s been tugging on his ear a lot lately.” I had to explain Jackson’s nervous tic that always gave him away. “Do you think I’m being too judgy? Maybe I should leave him alone.”
“Dodie, you might have to do some snooping around down here. It’s not Etonville, but you’re a terrific investigator—”
“Oh no! Not me. I’m keeping my distance from Jackson’s problems. Sure, I’m concerned because he’s not and we have a history from years back and even if he hired a lawyer, which he can’t afford, he’ll need someone else on his side. Of course, this could be a moot point if he doesn’t become a suspect, but I can’t imagine Bill’s reaction if I said I was digging into a murder case in Candle Beach that involved Jackson.” I took a breath.
“You sound awfully involved already.” Lola wiped her mouth.
I hadn’t intended to get involved.
“Hi, Dodie! Lola said you’d be here.” Carol Palmieri, my other BFF from Etonville, the hair and makeup specialist of the Etonville Little Theatre and the owner of Snippets salon, Etonville’s primary rumor central, arrived. “Isn’t this exciting? The ELT a finalist in the NJCTF.” She giggled.
I shoved over and she plopped down, then squeezed me.
“Only by default. If it hadn’t been for the Cranford theater’s food poisoning epidemic, we’d be in Etonville. The company had a picnic at their town park last weekend and everyone ended up sick. They thought it was the potato salad,” Lola said. “Still, it’s a compliment to be included.”
“I’ll say. It’s an honor,” I added.
“It means the ELT is among the best community theaters in the state,” Carol said proudly. “Along with Westfield, Cape May, Hackettstown…I heard that Cranford is steaming over having to withdraw.”
Lola glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, I have a meeting with Walter and Penny at the theater. We have a tech rehearsal this afternoon, and Walter wants to ‘commune with the space.’ I told him we could do it during the tech but he was insistent.” She moaned. “Some things never change.”
Meaning Walter’s demands on Lola’s attention. She was a good sport where her former paramour was concerned. Was I the same with Jackson? Patient, understanding…not really. “I’ll go with you. A stroll on the boardwalk will wear off a few calories.” Besides, I felt antsy once again and needed to take my mind off Jackson. His behavior was mystifying…and frightening.
5
Lola opened the door to the theater, and we were met with a blast of commotion. Some crew members put the final touches on the false proscenium announcing the New Jersey Community Theater Festival while others sprang up and down ladders adjusting lights on battens and poles, calling back and forth to one another. Super stage manager Maddy yelled at clusters of actors gathered in the house to “keep it down.” Sam Baldwin stood, arms akimbo, center stage facing outward as if surveying his kingdom. I’d spent enough time viewing the ELT crews during technical rehearsals that I recognized this last-minute mayhem. Sam’s wife, Arlene, sat in the first row, her head bent over papers in her lap.
“I see some people from the Westfield Drama Club. I’ll be back.” Lola scooted down a side aisle and joined a group in a heated discussion. They greeted Lola warmly.
“Hey, O’Dell.” Penny stood beside me in the aisle, slapped her own clipboard against her leg, and pushed her glasses a notch up her nose.
“Hi, Penny.”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Can you believe her?” Penny pointed at Maddy.
“She’s certainly in control.”
Maddy threw her clipboard to the floor and charged some wandering visitors who emerged from the back of the stage, apparently lost.
Penny observed me warily. “Kind of goes overboard, don’t you think?”
I swallowed a chuckle. Had Penny ever seen herself in action? “As you always say, production manager means managing the production.”
“O’Dell, you yanking my chain?”
“Me?” I asked simply.
“It’s not even performance conditions,” Penny griped. “Can’t wait till tech this afternoon.”
“Are you all set?”
Penny pulled herself up to a ramrod-straight five-foot-two. “Of course the ELT is ready. We’re pros, O’Dell.”
Well, actually, they weren’t, being a community theater.
“Even if we are a community theater,” she said.
Penny’s habit of reading my mind was alarming most of the time. Today it didn’t bother me.
“The competition could be rough,” Penny muttered.
“Lola said the ELT’s happy just being one of the finalists.”
“Finalist shminalist. We’re in it to win it. But some of the big guns have been here before. Harvey was the odds-on favorite, but since they got deep-sixed by food poisoning, word is that Mousetrap and Death of a Salesman are the ones to beat.” Penny was pleased with herself. “I did my homework.” She narrowed her eyes. “Spoiler alert. Cinderella could be a dark horse. People love that fairy-tale crap.”
“What about King Lear? It has gravitas. Shakespeare?” When the ELT did Romeo and Juliet, the word “gravitas” was tossed around like a freshly made salad.
Penny hooted. “Not a chance. Anyway, who wants to see scenes about an old guy blinding himself and then marrying one of his three daughters.”
Penny’s mash-up of King Lear and Oedipus Rex was obvious even to me, and I hadn’t been an English lit or drama major in college. “I think you’ve got your kings mixed up.”
“Whatever. The ELT’s got to pull up its bootstraps. Later, O’Dell.”
Penny sauntered off. Across the theater, Walter chewed his nails and gestured to Lola, whose attention was focused on an attractive, gray-haired man from the Westfield company. I glanced at the stage. Sam Baldwin paced back and forth and talked on a cell phone. Was Grody on the other end of the call telling Sam about my theme food suggestion? Sam didn’t look overjoyed at whatever he was hearing. My hors d’oeuvres weren’t such a hot idea? Ultimately, it wasn’t my responsibility. Grody and Sam could work it out.
I waved to Lola, who now stood, patient, as Walter spoke urgently in her ear. I headed out into the sunshine. After all, this was my vacation, and the surf and sand were calling. I strolled down the boardwalk and over a block to my rental, feeling more relaxed. The shore had a way of doing that to me. I even felt calmer about Jackson. I should trust him and let him work out his own issues as far as Vinnie’s death was concerned. And encourage him to find a motel before Bill’s arrival.
I was happy about my decisions and bounded up the steps to the bungalow. “Jackson? I’d like to talk to you.”
No answer. I stuck my head in the living room, knocked on the guest bedroom door, even peered into the master bedroom, though I couldn’t imagine why Jackson would wander in there. As if. I was irrationally irritated. Jackson had every right to be out and about in Candle Beach, but I had made up my mind to clear the air. Now I would have to postpone our truce.
Never mind. The beach was calling me to get some rays for the next couple of hours. I changed into a blue-striped bathing suit, stuffed a towel, suntan lotion, and my book into my beach bag, and popped on my sunglasses. I locked the door—Jackson would have to fend for himself if he came back before I did—and turned to go. My eye caught his belongings strewn about at the end of the porch, draped over the rocking chair, and partially tucked under an open sleeping bag. Jackson’s sloppiness was one trait from his past that remained. His trail of debris everywhere he went used to drive me crazy.
I dropped my beach bag, scooped up several T-shirts and two pairs of shorts, and placed them into a duffel. I straightened out the sleeping bag and folded a jacket he’d tossed on the chair. My hand grazed the inside pocket and felt a lumpy object. My curiosity was always on high alert, but even more so now that Jackson had been designated a “person of interest.”
I instinctively glanced down the street—no one walking by at the moment. I knew I was trespassing, but someone had to figure out what Jackson was up to. I withdrew the object—an envelope containing folded bills. I flipped through them. This was a lot of money. A scribbled IOU for nine thousand dollars signed by Vinnie and dated the day before Vinnie’s body was found washed up on the beach was also in the envelope. My heart clunked. What was this about? Why was Jackson sleeping on my porch with this kind of dough in his possession? Did the money and IOU have anything to do with Vinnie’s death? I jammed the envelope back into the jacket pocket.
* * * *
“Yoo-hoo! Dodie! We’re over here!” The Banger sisters flapped their aged arms and gestured for me to join them.
Yikes! I had planned on a solo sunbathing afternoon, soaking up enough rays to chill out before Bill’s arrival. That ship obviously had sailed. I waved back and gamely trudged through the hot sand to a spot halfway down the beach, where citizens of Etonville, including actors, had staked out a decent-sized chunk of the Jersey Shore. They were settling in for the duration despite Penny’s warning about sunburn and makeup and the tech rehearsal later this afternoon. Actors Romeo, Abby, and Edna were ramming beach umbrellas into the sand while townsfolk Mildred, her husband Vernon, and the elderly Banger sisters smoothed blankets. Carol and her teenage son Pauli, my personal tech guru when it came to digital forensics, unpacked a cooler.
“Hey,” Pauli said as I approached.
“Hey yourself.” I gave him a hug and he blushed. “Nice to see you here.”
“Janice had to go visit her relatives in Boston so…” He shrugged. Pauli had met Janice, his new, probably first serious squeeze, during an ELT co-production of Bye, Bye, Birdie with the Creston Players earlier this summer. She was a senior at Creston High. As far as Pauli was concerned, a trip to the shore with his mother was better than staying home. “I’m taking shots of the ELT rehearsing today. For their website.” In addition to his extensive knowledge of all things Internet-based, Pauli had been designated the theater’s photographer. He was a young man of many talents.
“Dodie, this is our first time on a beach in years, don’tcha know,” said one of the Banger sisters.
“We’re going to get wonderful tans,” said the other.
“You’d better slather on that sunscreen or it will be a wonderful sunburn,” I warned with a smile.
They nodded in unison, their permed gray hair bobbing around their delighted faces.
“Dodie, how were things at the theater?” Carol asked. “Ready for the tech later? I think Lola’s a little nervous, what with the ELT’s becoming a finalist so late.”
I had an image of Maddy throwing her clipboard around and Penny’s intel on which theaters were the ones to watch. “All good.”
Carol doled out sandwiches. “Because I heard that the groups from Cape May and Hackettstown—”
“—Sound of Music and Noises Off—” Abby interjected and accepted a tuna salad on rye.
“…were the ones to beat.”
Could Penny be that wrong? “I heard The Mousetrap and Death of a Salesman had the inside track.”
Mildred, director of the church choir at St. Andrews in Etonville, opened a bag of potato chips and held it out to her husband, Vernon, who was lying on his back with earphones plugged into his ears. “I wouldn’t believe any of it. The Etonville Little Theatre has as good a chance as any of those other theaters,” she said emphatically. “Vernon! Chips?” she shouted.
“I’d say Arsenic’s a 10-45A,” said Edna proudly.
“Translate, please,” begged Mildred.
Edna chuckled. “The patient’s in excellent condition.”
I popped the top off a can of seltzer. Carol rubbed lotion on her arms and legs and passed the bottle to Pauli. The Banger sisters, taking my warning seriously, covered themselves with oversized beach towels. Romeo, oblivious to the sun’s dangers, refused Edna’s offer to share her suntan lotion and stood, stretching and scanning the beach. Flexing muscles, he slipped on his sunglasses.
Carol ogled the actor and murmured, “Could those swim trunks get any tinier?”
I opened one eye. “What swim trunks?” We giggled like schoolgirls. Romeo modeled his bikini beachwear until two teenagers traipsed by, giving him a second glance. He followed them to the water.
Geez.
“Where’s Bill today?” Carol asked.
“He had a last-minute court appearance. Couldn’t be postponed,” I said.
“That’s too bad. And during his vacation.” Mildred tsked.
Edna sat up. “The wheels of justice never stop turning.” She bit into a potato chip. “The chief has to deal with that.”
“It’s still too bad,” said Carol.
“How’s Jackson doing?” Edna asked.
“Who’s Jackson?” asked one of the Bangers.
Did Edna have to bring him up? “He’s…an old friend,” I said.
“An old boyfriend, I hear,” Carol teased.
“Lah-dee-dah,” said the other Banger.
“He’s been sleeping on Dodie’s front porch,” Carol murmured.
Heads swiveled to see my reaction. How did Carol find out this quickly? Had to be from Lola. No place was safe from Etonville gossip…not even the Jersey Shore.
“He happened to be in town and needed a place to stay,” I said lamely.
“He was nice.” Edna.
“Kinda cute. I liked his man bun.” Abby.
Right. A gull swooped in squawking, then dove onto some food half-buried in the sand. Saved by a bird! Pauli wandered down to the water, and soon he and Romeo were splashing and diving and swimming through the waves. The Banger sisters tiptoed hand in hand to the waterline, making footprints in the wet sand, retreating up the beach when the ocean swells rolled in. Carol fell asleep, and Edna, Mildred, and Vernon played a game of gin rummy. I settled into the warm sand and pictured the money I’d found in Jackson’s possession.
The sun ascended.
* * * *
My cell buzzed, and I opened one eye. It was three o’clock. Had I been sleeping for an hour? Bill texted that he was sitting in Parkway traffic due to an accident and not to count on him for happy hour. More like dinner. I texted that it was fine and to meet me at the Sandbar whenever he arrived. I’d kill time jawing with Grody. Then Lola texted: Stop by the rehearsal if you’re bored! Haha!
The ELT crew packed up their beach paraphernalia and headed to the Windward to shower before the tech rehearsal. I planned to do the same. Even if I stopped by Grody’s before dinner, I had a couple of hours to kill. A good opportunity to give Lola some moral support.
I said good-bye to Mildred, Vernon, and the Banger sisters, who opted to give the sun another half hour, and ambled back to the bungalow. The porch was empty, Jackson’s belongings exactly where I’d left them. I sprang into the shower and scrubbed the afternoon’s oil and sweat off my skin. Then pulled on white three-quarter pants and a pale blue tank top that flaunted my tan and muscled upper arms. No harm in letting Bill see what he’d missed the past twenty-four hours…
The boardwalk was filling up with strolling sunbathers, kids running in and out of the arcade, and tourists heading to happy hour. I power walked its length until I reached the end, glancing at the line of luxury boats moored at the pier and shivering at the memory of being unceremoniously kicked off the premises. Vinnie’s boat was exactly where I’d seen it last night.
Unlike my previous two visits to the theater, milling groups swarmed around the entrance and spilled into the gazebo, many in costume. Actors in modified Elizabethan dress lounged next to a handful of nuns and young children in lederhosen. The cast of Arsenic and Old Lace, sporting 1940s gear, stood under a cluster of palm trees. Romeo’s face and arms were red. Penny wore her you-should-have-gotten-off-the-beach-sooner expression. Pauli fiddled with his camera, snapping casual, unposed shots.
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