No More Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  Police officers gathered near the entrance. I was relieved but shaken. I had no interest in explaining what I was doing here. It was enough that I’d seen Bill’s car. Wait until he found out. He would be so happy!

  “Bill, take a look at this.” One of the officers motioned to a guy whose shape I knew intimately. I’d recognize that spikey hair and NFL physique anywhere.

  My mind spun. Bill’s behavior since the theft of his car was beginning to make sense. Somehow he’d gotten himself involved with the state unit investigating car thieves. I was totally flabbergasted, excited for Bill, but annoyed that he’d kept his participation a secret. Was this where he’d been for the last few days? Now I really had to scram. I couldn’t imagine what he’d say if he found me crawling through the underbrush at this crime scene. I half ran, half race-walked to my MC. Inside, I switched on the ignition and held my breath as I slowly rolled out from between the trees and onto the lane. The commotion at the factory served as an excellent diversion. Only Tiny might have figured out that I was eavesdropping, but I doubted that he’d be talking.

  * * * *

  I jammed my foot on the gas pedal and tore down the road away from the old machine tool building, retracing my route to Candle Beach. I didn’t slow down until I was on the outskirts of town and could attempt to sort through all I’d witnessed tonight. Probable facts: Tiny was involved in the car theft ring; Vinnie was aware of the operation; the organization was on hold for the moment. Was Sam onboard somehow? Why did Vinnie die? His planned “revenge” must have had something to do with the little black book.

  I phoned Jackson and left a message: “Things have taken a strange twist. We have to talk tonight. I’ll be at the theater. Meet me there.” The message was terse but clear. Things were at a crisis point. I was glad I had promised Lola I’d be at the performance tonight. I needed some amusement to cool down.

  Since I was running late, I drove directly to the theater and parked on a side street. It was eight forty-five. The gazebo and park were empty, signaling that patrons had returned to their seats for the start of the second act. I opened the door to the lobby and moved swiftly past the curtain barrier. It was standing room only! I motioned to an usher that I would stand in a far aisle of the house, out of the way in case an emergency should arise.

  The cast of The Sound of Music was onstage giving the audience the whole enchilada. Dancing and frolicking and mugging to the patrons, who loved the musical theater assault. Apparently, the community theater from Cape May decided to pull out all the stops tonight in an effort to win spectators’ approval and the grand prize. They’d saved the best for last. All of a sudden, the cast marched off the stage and into the house!

  Even from where I stood, I could hear a hubbub emanating from the stage manager’s booth. Maddy was no doubt going berserk. As they sang “So Long, Farewell,” the Von Trapp Family, led by Maria and the captain, hiked up one aisle and down the other, shaking hands and waving. The light crew scrambled to keep the actors visible with an improvised spotlight that swept from house left to house right, making the theater look like the subject of a grand opening. There had to be mass confusion in the lighting booth as first the house lights rose, then dipped down, then rose.

  There would be some noses out of joint before this night was over. Not content with keeping the actors in the light, Maddy erupted from her stage manager’s box, gesturing frantically to the cast. “Get back onstage!” she seemed to be saying. Everyone ignored her and Maria proceeded to pull a spectator to his feet, encouraging him to sing along. Amazingly, he obliged. People guffawed and cheered and applauded the effort. I had to laugh too. The New Jersey Community Theater Festival had been reduced to bedlam. However, there was no denying it: The audience loved the improvised performance. Arlene Baldwin strode purposefully to Maddy’s booth while John Bannister stood and joined in the applause.

  The Von Trapps trooped back onstage, hit their final notes, and bowed to the standing ovation. Poor Lola and the ELT. No way Arsenic could top this. Everyone sat, settled down, a ripple of amusement reverberating around the auditorium. Folks were certainly alive with the sound of music!

  “Yo.” Jackson appeared at my side.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” I said. “Where have you been?”

  “Got your message to meet here. Wassup?”

  I edged closer to him. “Plenty. Someone rifled through your clothes, Tiny’s arrested for car theft, and we have to find that black book.”

  Jackson regarded me blankly. “Huh?”

  “Never mind. When the show’s over, I have a plan,” I said.

  “Cool. I’m going to get a drink. I’ll see you after.”

  I grasped the back of his shirt. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re staying here until I leave,” I said grimly.

  Jackson leaned against the wall. “Yes, Mother.” The house lights dimmed.

  “By the way, why didn’t you tell me about Tammy?” I whispered.

  In the dark it was difficult to read Jackson’s expression, but his vocal smirk was unmistakable. “Jealous?”

  “No,” I hissed and crossed my arms.

  The blue light rose, the black boxes rearranged to accommodate the home of the batty old Brewster sisters who poisoned old men. For some reason I was nervous. I knew the scene forward and backward by now. I also knew Abby and Edna had a competitive streak a mile long. How would they react to the shenanigans of The Sound of Music? I soon had my answer.

  “Hey, O’Dell,” Penny muttered and squeezed in between Jackson and me. “Had to see this from the house,” she said smugly.

  Uh-oh. “Walter’s restaged scenes?” I mumbled.

  “Nah. Edna and Abby hatched this one on their own.”

  I’ll bet. Abby and Edna entered and sat. The stage went black. When the lights came up, the two elderly characters were no longer sitting on their black boxes. Instead, the Brewster sisters, arms hooked, each held a bottle of elderberry wine with one hand, smiling wickedly, and had hiked up their skirts with the other. Edna did a tap step, Abby followed suit. The two of them posed together. Then Abby and Edna leapt into a tap routine to “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” singing, acapella, a parody about bumping off old gentlemen and burying them in the basement. OMG. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I recognized the number. A year ago Abby and Edna had created the musical spoof of Arsenic and Old Lace for the ELT end-of-the-year awards banquet. In their minds this must have seemed like the perfect occasion to resurrect it.

  A titter was launched from the left side of the house—Mildred and the Banger sisters. Maddy ripped off her headset and threw it on the floor. The NJCTF had gone rogue. Meanwhile, the audience, warmed up by the cast of The Sound of Music, went wild, cheering and clapping as Abby and Edna executed their final steps, shuffled back to the black boxes, and took their seats.

  “Yo. They killed it!” Jackson whistled through his fingers.

  I had to admit, it was a fun, kind of appropriate way to begin their scene. If Arsenic had been a musical.

  “This’ll put the ELT on the map,” Penny said, shooting a glance at Maddy in the stage manager’s booth.

  Romeo dashed onto the stage, ripped off the opening dialogue to get the scene rolling. The laughs continued to build, peaking with Lola’s entrance. Spectators couldn’t get enough of the kooky Brewster family. And then it was over. The stage went black, lights rose on the cast taking a sedate bow. The applause reached a crescendo as Abby and Edna stepped forward, then back, allowing Lola and Romeo to get their moment in the sun. Not too shabby. I had no desire to hang around and see if King Lear would attempt to outdo the two previous shows.

  I tugged on Jackson’s arm. “Come on.”

  He knew better than to resist at this point, and we sneaked out of the theater before the lights rose on Shakespeare.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.
>
  “To the boardwalk.” I strode swiftly, pausing only when we reached the marina. “I went to a warehouse tonight where I saw Tiny, who works for Sam, arrested for his part in a car theft ring. Luxury automobiles all stored—”

  “No way.” He sat on a bench.

  “Yes. And Sam might be a part of it,” I added, sitting beside him.

  “Sam’s an all-right guy. He got me a job. No way is he a car thief. Anyway, the guy’s loaded. He doesn’t need to steal anything.”

  Sam Baldwin certainly seemed to be loaded. Never mind his bankruptcy.

  I was curious. “What kind of job?”

  Jackson looked chagrined. “Basic construction. Helping hang Sheetrock. Cleaning up the site. Assisting wherever. It’s temporary until something happens with the charter business.”

  “Sam didn’t mind that you’re out on bail?”

  Jackson shrugged. “I report to the foreman.”

  So that’s where he’d disappeared to this morning. “Let’s forget about Sam. It’s Vinnie we need to focus on.” I explained about the address Maxine found in Vinnie’s pocket, that it belonged to a warehouse in Walker, New Jersey, and that I, coincidentally, had arrived on the scene minutes before the state descended with a SWAT team. The missing link was the black book.

  Jackson whistled. “Nancy Drew. Girl detective.”

  He could be so maddening…

  “Do you want to spend time in prison?” I asked.

  “Sorry. I gotta thank you for what you’re doing, but I don’t see what Vinnie’s book has to do with the car thing,” Jackson said.

  “I’m not sure either,” I admitted.

  “Or his murder. And what’s this about my clothes?”

  “I think someone rifled through your things. The door to the porch was jimmied, and your pile of stuff was…rearranged.”

  “You noticed that?” Jackson tensed.

  “I’m pretty sure. It’s like someone was hunting for something…”

  “Money?” he asked, suddenly alert.

  “The money’s still there.”

  Jackson exhaled. “Whew. Then what? I don’t own anything else anybody would want.”

  True. “I’m thinking the black book. If Vinnie was threatening someone with it, they could have become desperate and murdered him for it.”

  “Then whoever killed him would have it, right?”

  “Not necessarily. They might think you have it. That’s why they went through your stuff.” I paused. “I’d like to search for the book.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “The Bounty. It’s the most logical place.”

  Jackson was skeptical. “I hate to throw shade on your thinking, but don’t you figure the murderer would have, you know, scoured the boat?”

  “That’s where you come in. You knew Vinnie. The two of you used to be thick as thieves. Sorry about the reference…”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said without a trace of irony.

  “If you were thinking like Vinnie, where would you hide something important?”

  Jackson studied me. “Not a clue.”

  “Come on,” I said and coaxed him to his feet.

  “Why can’t my lawyer handle all of this?”

  Good question.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later we plopped onto the beautiful leather couch. Frustrated. In the galley we’d examined the inside and outside of all the spotless appliances as well as the cupboards. We found a case of cold champagne, jars of caviar, and a stack of frozen dinners. There were dishes, pots and pans, and silverware but no black book. Obviously Jackson had not been cooking much on the boat. Next we tackled the bathroom and staterooms, checking the toilet and shower, under the mattresses, and inside a closet. Vinnie had a minimum of clothes on The Bounty—a suit, sport shirts, pairs of cargo shorts, and underwear. He must have kept most of his personal possessions at Maxine’s. Standing at one end of the closet was a surfboard, two feet by six feet, that looked brand new.

  “Was Vinnie still surfing?” I asked.

  “I guess,” he said.

  A small nightstand, situated between two beds, had three drawers that were empty except for a DVD of Super Bowl XLII when the New York Giants defeated the New England Patriots, old copies of Sports Illustrated, and a tube of lipstick. The last item the only hint that Maxine had visited the boat at some point. In the dining area we examined the table, television, sofa, and coffee table.

  “Let’s forget about the book. It’s not in here,” said Jackson.

  I agreed with him, but my stubborn streak wouldn’t let me give up. “Come on, Jackson, think. Where would Vinnie—”

  “I don’t know!” Jackson pouted. “I used to hate it when you got like this.”

  “Like what?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Like you knew best and no one else could have any opinion.”

  Jackson’s words brought me up short. I was like that? “I was never like that when we were together,” I insisted vehemently.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, you were. Remember the time I wanted to take the JV out for a midnight run, just the two of us, and you said you wouldn’t go because it wasn’t safe?”

  “You mean that first summer? I remember that night. It was cold, gusty, you hadn’t operated the JV all that long… It was ridiculous to go out.”

  “See what I mean?” he said.

  Jackson might have a point. “That was the past. I’ve changed. You can ask Bill.”

  “Like I’m gonna ask him about the two of you now.” Jackson slumped down on his spine. At times like this he reminded me of a teenager Pauli’s age… Without Pauli’s common sense.

  “Jackson, let’s focus on the present and—”

  “Vinnie’s book. Yeah, yeah.” He closed his eyes. “Dodie, I don’t think it’s here. I need to get some food, chill, and hit the sack. I have to be up early.”

  “Did Vinnie mention Sam the night of your argument?”

  “Mention how?”

  “Sam was his partner. Was he angry at him? Could Sam have been the person who was ‘taking him for granted’?” I suggested.

  Jackson glanced at me. “He never said. Sam was his friend.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. “Someone made Vinnie furious that night, according to you. Who could it have been…?”

  “Dude, I don’t know, and thinking about it is making my brain hurt.” He held his head in his hands.

  “Okay. So, it isn’t here.” I picked up my bag and followed Jackson up the stairs to the main deck. We were about to get off the boat when it occurred to me. “We didn’t examine the rear of The Bounty. The captains’ chairs and fishing rods.”

  Jackson groaned. “You search the aft. I’m going to the head. I’ll be back.”

  He unlocked the cabin door and returned to the lower deck. The light flicked on in the bathroom. I walked carefully to the aft of the boat, stepping over a coil of rope. Vinnie, or someone else, had left The Bounty in shipshape condition. Nothing out of place. In the security lights from the marina, I could see the outlines of the chairs and vertical lines of the fishing rods beside them. I felt my way around the seats, starting at the bottom and running my hands around the base on the deck, then the seat cushion, and finally the seat back. Nothing. I moved on methodically from one chair to the next. I didn’t expect to find anything. Who would hide a valuable item like the black book out here where it was subject to the elements? Such as wind, water, beer…

  “Let’s go.” Jackson waved at me from the top of the stairs.

  “Take it easy. Only one more.”

  Jackson grumbled and joined me, collapsing into a seat, swiveling from side to side while I bent down and felt around the base of a chair. Nothing.

  A voice floated down the pier. “Hi, Bob. How’s the fishing today? The fluke running?” Th
e speaker stopped his progress down the dock as there was a faint response to his greeting. A conversation ensued. Goose bumps emerged on my shoulders and arms.

  Jackson sat up straighter and bobbed his head. “That’s Sam.”

  “Shh!” I pushed him into the chair and scooted into the one next to him. “Be quiet.”

  “What are you doing? I’d like to say hi. Thank him for the job.” Jackson tried to stand, I grabbed his arm.

  “What if he asks what we’re doing here?” I whispered.

  “I’m allowed to be here. Vinnie invited me to stay.”

  I’d heard that explanation before. “I want to see what he’s up to.”

  “Dodie, it’s Sam. He’s not up to anything—” Jackson protested.

  “Shush. Keep your head down.” The captains’ chairs had tall seat backs and if we hunched down we wouldn’t be visible from the lower deck. If that was where Sam was headed. “Humor me,” I muttered, folding my legs under me.

  “Whatever.” I could hear Jackson’s cynicism.

  “Have a good night,” Sam called out, his footsteps louder on the wooden slats of the dock.

  He moved onto the deck of The Bounty. Silence for a moment, then the thud of his footsteps descending the stairs, the door unlocked, the lights switched on. I was dying to sneak a peek below deck but we couldn’t risk being discovered. I had absolutely no reasonable explanation for my presence. And Sam and I weren’t exactly bosom buddies.

  “How long are we gonna stay out here?” Jackson whined.

  “Sh. Until he goes.” I plastered my finger on my lips.

  Muffled echoes from below suggested Sam was moving around. Hunting for something? Light poured out of the cabin, sending shadows skittering across the deck. I scrunched down as far as I could and motioned for Jackson to do the same.

  What seemed like hours was only minutes, I realized. I felt calmer. We could get out of this scrape without having to confront Sam Baldwin. The cabin lights flicked off, footsteps grew louder. He was on deck. A match scraped against a striking surface, a flame flared. The smoke of his cigar wafted our way. Was he staring in our direction? A clomp behind us meant he had stepped closer. I tensed my body.