by Jane Tesh
Kary was in the pit with her fellow musicians. Several were furiously erasing all the pencil marks from their scores while others wound up all the cords that connected music stand lights and amplifiers.
The stage manager was glad for my help and said I could assist the other men carrying the flats backstage to their storage space. After that, I helped a young woman take props to the prop room downstairs. She had two lamps that had been in Henry Higgins’ parlor, and I took the large xylophone he’d used to teach Eliza the tones of proper speech. The huge prop room was filled with every sort of object, wicker birdcages, swords and spears, old-fashioned telephones and radios, clocks, cameras, a piñata, bicycles, umbrellas, and all kinds of dishes and glassware, including bottles.
Wine bottles.
“Do you know if any these were used in Arsenic and Old Lace?” I asked the woman.
“I believe they were.”
She rearranged the shelves to make room for the lamps while I had a closer look at the bottles. Most of them were clear glass, but three were tall and dark green. Two of these green bottles were dusty, but the third was wiped clean.
Wiped clean of fingerprints?
“Who has access to this room?”
She gave the lamps a final shove. “During a show, I guess anyone can come down here. Sometimes it’s locked, but usually it’s open. The only people who would be around would be theater people, and honestly, would you want any of this old stuff?”
I wouldn’t, but a clever murderer might.
I helped carry the rest of the props to the room and then found Camden removing a set of steps from another flat. “I think I’ve found the murder weapon.”
He tugged a stubborn nail loose and put it in a metal coffee can beside him. “Here?”
“In the prop room. There are several wine bottles that were used in Arsenic and Old Lace. All of them are dusty except one. I think Viola’s murderer borrowed the bottle, filled it with poisoned wine, and sent it as a present. When he was sure she was dead, he buried her, retrieved the bottle, wiped it clean of any fingerprints, and put it back in a place where no one would think to look for it. Come see if you get anything off of it.”
Camden came down to the prop room and held the bottle. “Nothing. It’s like you said. Wiped clean.”
***
When the set had been dismantled, all loose nails gathered up, and the floor swept, the cast and crew had a pizza party and regaled each other with backstage mishaps and inside jokes. A few of the chorus members had written parody songs, which Camden helped them sing. I talked to more people, but no one had any information that shed new light on Viola’s murder. As for George, the only one who had worked with him was Millicent Crotty.
Millicent was sitting with one of the young women who played a chambermaid. When the young woman excused herself to join another group, I went up to Millicent.
“Mrs. Crotty, I’m David Randall. We spoke on the phone about Arsenic and Old Lace and George McMillan.”
I could tell by her expression she didn’t remember, but she gave a nod. “That’s right.”
“I really appreciated your information. Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?”
“Not at all.”
She was a lot more mellow than before. Maybe there was something other than soda in her plastic cup. “You told my friend Kary that George tried to make amends with the cast. Was there anyone who didn’t accept his apology or his gifts?”
“No, everyone took that BeautiQueen stuff. I didn’t like it, but I thought at least he was making an effort to act like a decent human being. Don’t know why he thought it was such remarkable foundation. I didn’t find anything special about it. It didn’t agree with me.” A burst of laughter from the group distracted her for a moment. When she looked back at me, her little watery eyes were distant. “You know, I got some very nice gifts for this play, nothing like a little jar of cream. Flowers, candy, even a bottle of wine. Now that’s more like it.”
I came to attention. “A bottle of wine? For opening night?”
“No, it came days ago. Viola got one, too. I had to remind her to take it home and not leave it in the dressing room. If you leave anything in this theater, someone takes it. I lost a perfectly good blouse here and one of my best hand mirrors. The nerve of some people! No respect whatsoever.”
“Who sent you the wine?”
“It wasn’t from anyone in particular. There was a card that said congratulations and…” her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying. “Young man, you don’t think that was the bottle of wine that killed Viola.”
“Did you drink yours?”
“No, I was saving it for my birthday.”
Or you’d be pushing up dirt in your basement. “Do you know where it is right now?”
“In my kitchen cabinet.” Millicent looked stricken. “But we’re always getting presents from secret admirers. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Did the wine arrive on Wednesday, the day you took Viola home?”
“I don’t remember. But I made sure she had hers. If you leave anything in the dressing room, someone will steal it. Did you know I lost a perfectly good blouse one time, and my very best hand mirror?”
“Yes,” I said. “You told me.”
“Did I?” She put a shaking hand to her mouth. “Are you sure?”
“Mrs. Crotty, do you have a way home? The police can meet us there and check on that wine.”
She had regained her normal crankiness. “I don’t need any help driving, if that’s what you mean.”
I signaled to Kary and filled her in. “We’re going to have a look at that bottle first.”
When we arrived at Millicent’s house, she told us we couldn’t come in. We were to wait, and she’d bring the bottle to us. She was gone so long, I thought she might have forgotten why she was in there, but then she returned carrying a bottle exactly like the ones I’d seen in the prop room.
Camden took the bottle and held it for a long moment. “Nothing on this one, either. It’s also been wiped clean.”
Millicent was offended. “Well, of course. I keep everything clean in my house.”
Camden wiped his own fingerprints off and handed it back to her. She went inside. I called Jordan and explained about Millicent’s memory lapses and her possibly close call with a bottle of poisoned wine. He said he’d send a team to her house.
“You’re already there, aren’t you, Randall? Don’t touch anything.”
“I won’t.” And I didn’t.
A few minutes later, the police arrived. Millicent grudgingly let them in. After a short while, a member of the crime scene team came out carrying the wine bottle.
We stood well out of the way by our cars. “I’ll bet Millicent’s faulty memory saved her,” Kary said.
“And if there’s poison in that bottle, we’ll know the killer was after her, too,” I said. “But we haven’t found a murderer. We’ve added a potential victim.”
***
It was late when we got home. J.J. called to say Charlie was up and playing at the Twilight bar, so I decided now was the time to tell him what he could do to win Taffy back.
I hadn’t been to the Twilight bar. It had a reputation as a hangout for Goths and everyone who had a secret desire to be a vampire. Sure enough, it was a dark, mysterious-looking place with lots of black wrought-iron furnishings and red velvet curtains. I expected the bartender to look like Count Dracula, but he was an average sized black man dressed all in black with a red tie. Charlie was at a large shiny black baby grand set on a slightly raised stage area. He was playing, appropriately, “I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good.”
I greeted the bartender with a nod and went up to the piano. Charlie finished the song and looked up.
“Randall.”
“I’ve got an idea if you w
ant to listen.”
There were several cigarettes in an ashtray beside him on the piano bench. He took one, gave it a long pull, and blew out the smoke. “Okay.”
“Surprise Taffy with a recording session at Visions Studios. She can make a CD of her songs to take around to producers. She’ll be amazed by your support of her career. What do you think?”
He took another puff. “It’s great—if Senor Slick hasn’t thought of it first.”
“Fine,” I said. “You deal with it.”
I turned to go, and he said, “Wait. Sorry.” I faced him. He put the cigarette out in the ashtray. “It is a great idea, Randall, thanks. You know I get a little crazy when I see her with another man.”
I know all about that, pal. “Have you talked to her?”
“Not since that night.”
“Have you tried to talk to her, I should say.”
“I called a couple of times, but she hung up on me.” He grinned sheepishly. “I got so mad, I smashed my phone.”
I took out my cell phone. “Try again.” He hesitated. “I mean it, Charlie. How serious are you about getting back together with Taffy?”
I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. “Randall, do you know what it’s like to be absolutely petrified of losing a woman?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Thought you’d been married a couple of times.”
“Twice. All mistakes.” No, no, I took that back. If I hadn’t married Barbara, I wouldn’t have had Lindsey. I would never call Lindsey a mistake. The only mistake was mine, the mistake I made when I lost her.
“You asked me if I was serious,” Charlie said. “I’m damn serious. I love her. I won’t ever be happy unless she loves me.”
That’s what I wanted to hear. I handed him my phone. “Call her.”
As Charlie punched in the number, I went over to bar and ordered a beer. The bartender handed me the glass.
“You get Charlie to cheer up?”
“We’ll see. He’s calling his girlfriend right now.”
“Got plenty of women interested if she’s not.”
As long as Kary wasn’t interested. That’s all I cared about. Charlie was doing a fine job of groveling, and apparently, Taffy was listening this time.
“What do you think, Taffy? I’ll set it up. Yes, you can record all your songs. Then you’ll have a demo to take around. You might get a record deal. I want to make up for my behavior the other night. Yes, I want you to have a career. No, sing what you want, baby, I don’t care.”
Taffy must have said something encouraging before she hung up. Charlie closed my phone and brought it to me.
“She likes the idea.” He took a deep breath. “I think this is going to work, Randall. At least she listened to me.”
“Good.”
“I’ll call the recording studio first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll call and remind you.”
“I’m not getting drunk again, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course you’ll get drunk again, Charlie. You’re an alcoholic. If you want to keep Taffy, admit you have a problem and do something about it.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to punch me. Then he sat down at the bar. “You’re right. What’s the point of having a future with her if I’m not around to enjoy it?” He offered me his hand. “Thanks, Randall.”
I shook his hand. “No problem.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask me about the woman I was petrified of losing, and he didn’t. He went back to the piano. No more “I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good.” As I left the Twilight bar, I heard the much more optimistic strains of “I Got A Woman Crazy For Me.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“A better companion you never will find.”
Monday morning, I called Charlie to remind him about the recording studio. He sounded reasonably alert and promised he’d follow up on my suggestion. Next, I called Jordan to ask about the wine. Kary was right. If Millicent had remembered to take a drink, she’d be just as dead as Viola.
“So that means three people who were in the cast of Arsenic and Old Lace were targeted,” Jordan said. “I think we can handle it from here.”
I didn’t tell him I’d already checked with the other actors. I also didn’t tell him about my growing suspicions about George McMillan’s fake suicide.
Then Camden and I went to get our tuxes. We would have been happy to get bargain tuxedos at Suit City, but Ellin insisted we get the best, and Camden had put it off long enough, so I drove to Reynaldo’s, an upscale shop in Friendly Shopping Center.
All the tuxes in this shop were too large for Camden. A serious looking salesman pulled on the jacket, measured, and did some pinning to the back. I grinned. “Wouldn’t you have better luck in the junior department?”
Camden could move his head enough to give me a dark look. “Wouldn’t you like to leave this shop alive?”
The salesman took pins out of his mouth. “I assure you we can tailor this perfectly. You may have to come in for a few more fittings, that’s all.”
“Great,” he said.
To cheer him up, I tried on three different tuxes that fit me exactly. “Which one does Ellin want me to wear?”
“Whatever goes with what I can wear.”
“Excuse me,” the salesman said. “I’m out of pins. I’ll be right back.”
“Not enough pins in the world,” I said.
Camden carefully moved one arm. “I still say we could’ve found a tux at Suit City. I’m only going to wear the thing for twenty minutes, and everyone should be looking at the bride.”
“You’ll notice we’re all in black and white. Is this the mysterious pattern you’ve been seeing?”
“No.”
“How about seeing who killed Viola? And almost killed Millicent? And maybe killed George?”
“I believe that’s what I hired you to do. The first part, I mean.”
“Jordan thinks it’s someone from the cast of Arsenic and Old Lace, but I can’t figure a motive.” I couldn’t figure a motive for either murder. An elderly actress and an eccentric employee of a cosmetics company. Even if George managed to come up with a dynamite idea, where did Viola and Millicent fit in? They wouldn’t steal it or sell it to another company. They didn’t want to have anything to do with George.
“Here we are.” The salesman hurried back with more pins. After pinning, measuring, and marking, the tux fit Camden. With the salesman’s help, I chose a tux that matched. The salesman took our wedding finery off to the alterations department. While Camden was in the dressing room putting his jeans and shirt back on, I had a call from Wesley Lennox, the director who’d cast George in Arsenic and Old Lace.
“I was cleaning out my office and found some things of George’s you might like to see. I don’t know how helpful they’d be, but you never know.”
Right now, anything about George was going to be helpful.
***
I didn’t recognize Lennox’s office. Everything had been cleaned off the desk and the floor. No more stacks of play books, no more piles of paper—even the framed posters were hanging straight.
“There comes a time when you have to shovel out.” Lennox grinned.
“It looks great,” I said. “This is my friend, Camden.”
Lennox shook hands with Camden. “Wesley Lennox. Have a seat, guys. You can actually find the chairs.” We sat down, and Lennox handed me a small photo album. “I found this in one of my file cabinets when I was filing all the papers. There are a few pictures in it.”
There was a picture of Lennox and George McMillan standing in front of the UNC-P sign. College-age Lennox looked the same as he did now: big and husky. Young George had the same scowl and the beginnings of his trademark moustache. The second picture showed them in front of a fraternity house. Lennox was holding a toil
et seat, and George held a six-pack of beer. The third picture was also in front of the frat house, a group shot of eight guys in stupid hats. Standing next to George was a man who could’ve been his twin.
“Who’s this fellow? George’s brother?”
“No, that’s Edwin Bailey, a friend of ours.”
Edwin Bailey was the same height and build as George. Like George, he had dark hair and dark eyes and was attempting to grow a major moustache. “They look very much alike.” I recalled what the woman at the Green Palms Hotel had said about the man George met in the lobby. They acted like they were old friends. I thought they might even be brothers.
“Yeah, everybody said so. You know, Ed might be the one to talk to. He and George were pretty good friends there for a while.”
“Any idea where to find Ed?”
“The college alumni office should have an address.”
“Mind if I take this album with me?”
“Keep it as long as you like.”
“Thanks. Oh, one more thing about Ed. Did he have any luck with women?”
“Oddly enough, I remember he had plenty of dates. I even borrowed one of them to go to a dance. Kinda funny, now that I think of it, he looked so much like George, but George couldn’t get a dog to play with him even with a pork chop round his neck, if you know what I mean.”
I’d been living in the same house with Rufus long enough to know exactly what that meant.
I wanted Camden to hold the album, but we waited until we were back in the car. He turned the little book around in his hands. Then he opened it and carefully touched each picture.
“They were good friends, as Lennox said. Ed was not as bright as George. A follower.”
“Yeah, I could tell that by the matching moustaches. He was someone George could manipulate?”
“I’m getting that kind of feeling. On George’s end, it wasn’t so much here’s a friend, but how can I use this person? So it’s strange that Ed was a babe magnet, and George wasn’t.”
