The sight of Renata, on the floor of her dressing room, sobered me. She really was dead. This wasn’t just theatrics on her part, which deep down in my heart I’d expected. She was on her back, her eyes wide open but filmed with death. Her lips were a bright terra-cotta against her pale and lifeless skin. In her hand was the tube of Almond Mocha Retreat she’d been so determined to have. At least she’d died with her lipstick on.
“Sarah Booth!” Tinkie gasped as she said my name.
“What?” I looked around. Tinkie wasn’t a mind reader. She couldn’t have known what I was thinking. She pointed at the mirror where letters in terra-cotta spelled out, “Burn in hell you heartless bitch!”
“She was murdered!” Tinkie’s eyes were moon-sized. “Someone killed Renata Trovaioli. Oh, my God! Who would do such a thing?”
All eyes turned to me. The moment dissolved as Graf burst into the room and went down on one knee beside the body. “Renata! Renata!” He grasped her hand and held it. Bobbe, the makeup artist who’d discovered the body, stood in the doorway sobbing.
A petite woman pushed her way into the room, and I recognized Kristine Rolofson. In her arms she carried a small reddish dog. She put the dog on the floor and it immediately went over to Renata, growled, and hiked a leg. Tinkie swept it into her arms just in time to avoid a seriously embarrassing moment. She handed the dog to Kristine, and Coleman stepped between all of us and the body.
“Everyone out!” Coleman pointed to the door. “This is a crime scene, and it’s already been contaminated enough. Tinkie, get Doc Sawyer over here right away.”
“He’s around somewhere. He was in the audience.” Her voice trembled, but she kept her composure. Tinkie was always great during a crisis. She’d saved my life more than once.
“Get him in here and get everyone else out. Find someone to stand by the door! No one except Doc is allowed in this room.” Coleman was in charge and snapping out orders.
I eased to stand beside him as Cece swept through the door. Before Coleman could stop her, she snapped a photograph.
“Cece, that’s enough. This is a murder scene and you shouldn’t be here.”
“Murder?” Cece arched perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Maybe she had a heart attack.” She made a face of surprise. “Oh, I forgot, she didn’t have a heart.”
“Tasteless, Cece. The woman is dead.” Coleman grasped her shoulders and started to ease her from the room.
“She might have died of natural causes or an accident,” I pointed out, following them out into the hallway. I started to add that we should check for falling houses, but I could see Coleman was in no mood for the sick humor of me or my friends. Someone had died in Sunflower County, and he took it very seriously.
Tinkie returned and Coleman pulled her aside. “Who might want Renata dead?” he asked.
“Just about everyone who ever crossed her path.” Tinkie shuddered. “She was one of the most disagreeable people I’ve ever met.”
“But was there someone in particular? Someone who would gain from her death?”
Keith Watley swept into the corridor outside the dressing room. “Sarah Booth! Sarah Booth Delaney!” He was yelling my name like it was a fire drill.
“She’s here.” Tinkie motioned him over to the doorway to Renata’s dressing room. “What’s wrong, Keith?”
His gaze fell on me and all others were excluded. “Get into costume. The show must go on, and you’re replacing Renata.”
“No!” I tried to sound shocked and disappointed, but I couldn’t conceal the delight. Hey, it was the rule of showbiz. The show went on, no matter what.
“We need costumes!” Keith was looking around wildly. I could never wear Renata’s things. She was an official zero and I was five sizes bigger. “You can’t go on in jeans! No woman with class wore jeans in the fifties.” His face was red with stress.
I cleared my throat. “I have something in the car.” My mother’s dresses. Thank goodness I’d brought them.
“You do?” Tinkie and Cece said in unison.
“I was a Girl Scout.” I held up my fingers in the official sign. “I’m always prepared.”
“For the death of the leading lady?” Coleman’s tone was unreadable.
I looked at the closed door to the dressing room. I’d behaved callously at Renata’s death. I didn’t like her, but I shouldn’t have gloated. I was tied to the lipstick and of all the people in Zinnia, I was the only one who stood to gain by her death. I wasn’t in a place where I should be cracking wise.
“Certainly not for Renata’s death. She just didn’t seem interested in the role any longer. I thought she might decide not to perform the whole week.” Even as I spoke I knew I sounded defensive. “I wanted to be ready in case she quit.”
“Has Renata ever missed a performance?” Coleman asked softly.
“I don’t know.” My tone was cold. He was my date and he was grilling me like I was Jack the Ripper. “And furthermore, I don’t care. I need the keys to your truck.” I held out my palm. When Coleman placed the keys in it, I stormed down the hallway and into the cold night to retrieve my dresses. I wasn’t sorry Renata was dead. I couldn’t make myself even pretend to be. I hadn’t killed her, and I wasn’t going to miss my chance to be on the stage opposite Graf, no matter how black it painted my motives for murder.
I heard footsteps behind me and could tell by the quick tattoo of spike heels that Tinkie had come outside. I was a little agitated at her, too. I kept walking, knowing my long stride would force Tinkie to jog in her heels.
“Sarah Booth!”
I stopped and turned to face her. “What?”
“I’ve called Oscar. Listen, I don’t want to panic you, but I think you should call a lawyer.”
The fright on her face convinced me that she wasn’t needling me for the fun of it. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”
“I believe that. I know you couldn’t harm a fly. But I do think Renata has been murdered. You’re bound to be a suspect, if not the prime suspect. Think about it.”
“That’s hogwash. My date was the sheriff of Sunflower County. How silly to think I’d slip from his side and kill Renata. Besides, she looks like she had an aneurism or a heart attack or something like that. There wasn’t a mark on her that I could see.”
Tinkie dug the toe of her shoe into the concrete and wouldn’t look at me.
“What? Was she shot? Stabbed? Tell me.”
She took a breath. “Coleman thinks she was poisoned.”
I stumbled back against his truck and leaned on the cold metal fender for support. “Shit.”
“You can say that again.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m afraid you could be in serious trouble, Sarah Booth.”
I got the dresses from the truck and started back inside.
“You’re not going on the stage, are you?” Tinkie grasped my arm.
“Of course I am. If people are foolish enough to think I killed a woman so I could be on stage for a few minutes in Zinnia, Mississippi, I won’t disappoint them.” It was the most ludicrous thing I’d ever heard. If I’d wanted to kill Renata for some stage time, I would have done it in New York City, a town where theatre mattered.
“Please reconsider, Sarah Booth. Think how it will look.”
“Think what will happen if I don’t. The show will close.”
“I don’t care. You’re more important than a show.”
Her words slowed me, for a split second. “I’m going on, Tinkie. I want to. I need to get this behind me.”
She sighed and her grasp on my arm loosened as she fell into step beside me. “I think you’re nuts to do this, but if you must, I’m with you all the way.”
The applause was better than I’d ever dreamed. Graf and I stood center stage, flanked on either side by Sir Alfred and the rest of the cast. The auditorium reverberated with the clapping and foot-stomping and whistles. Graf’s hand exerted excited pressure as we took our fifth bow.
At Keith’s directio
n we hustled off stage, and in the wings Graf pulled me into his arms. “You were fabulous!” His face told me he wasn’t lying. “Whatever you’ve been doing this past year, Sarah Booth, it’s paid off in spades. Everyone in the audience couldn’t take their eyes off you.”
His words soothed the scars my New York debacle had left on my ego, and I took even more satisfaction in his embrace.
Keith Watley hustled into the wings, a smile a mile wide on his face. The director flung his arms open and clasped me in a bear hug.
“Sarah Booth,” Keith said, laughing, “where were you when I cast Renata? You’re the ultimate Maggie the Cat. Had she not died, I’d never have seen your talent.”
His words reminded me that I’d gotten my golden moment at the cost of Renata’s life, and suddenly the applause was hollow. I’d been cold and brutal about her death, because deep down inside I wanted my chance on the boards. She’d been a bitch, but that didn’t excuse my selfishness.
“I need some water.” I felt faint. The excitement, the reality of my desperate need—all of it had combined to make me feel lightheaded.
As I started toward the dressing rooms, I faltered. I couldn’t go in there. The kitchen was the best place. I could get a drink of water and avoid the crush of people who were pouring backstage to congratulate the cast and crew. Something I’d craved all of my life now unsettled me. I wanted to go home. I wanted to have a moment to explain to Coleman that I was sorry that Renata had died. And I did hope it turned out to be some medical problem, something that would point the finger of blame at no one. Especially not me.
The lipstick on the mirror spoke of murder, but it wasn’t necessarily so. Someone could have written the message and it might have shocked Renata into a coronary. Who knew, and it was pointless to speculate until Doc Sawyer had performed an autopsy.
The staff at the kitchen gave me a warm welcome and a stool at one of the stainless-steel counters. Trays of pink shrimp and crab claw tarts whisked through the door, along with slabs of roast and ham, chicken salad, tiny sandwiches decorated with peppers and chives. All beautiful and no doubt wonderful. My appetite had fled, and I was glad to be in the kitchen with people who ignored me as they went about their jobs.
I had five minutes to myself before Tinkie found me. She looked at me with proud awe. “I am amazed, Sarah Booth. And afraid. After that performance, I don’t think we’ll be able to keep you in Zinnia for long. New York is where you belong.”
Her words frightened me. This year was supposed to be about letting go of the past, not falling back into it. “Don’t get the cart ahead of the horse, Tinkie. And speaking of horses, it would be mighty hard to have Reveler in New York City.” I gave her a grin even though I felt awful.
“Everyone is looking for you. You have to come out of the kitchen.”
“No, I’m happy here.”
“Half the town is talking about you. You have to acknowledge the performance.”
I considered. “Where’s Coleman?”
She looked down at her shoes. “He went into town with Doc and the body. He asked me to give you a ride home.”
Right. “Did he see any of the show?” I hated myself for asking.
She shook her head. “No. He was back here with Doc and he never left the body. Something about chain of evidence.”
He was only doing his job, but it still left me feeling cold and unwanted, especially in light of the questions he’d been asking before he left.
She sighed. “I still think you should go out and accept the congratulations. You did a stupendous job, Sarah Booth. I would think you’d want to enjoy the glory.”
“Not tonight.” I just wanted to go home and crawl into my bed and sleep. Tomorrow, in the light of day, I’d feel more like confronting the cause of her death.
As Tinkie and I walked across the parking lot, she put her arm around my waist. “Do you think we’ll get the case?” she asked.
“What case?”
“If Renata was murdered, there’ll be a big case. High profile. It would be good for the agency.”
“As long as we have a paying customer,” I said, getting into her car.
Dahlia House was dark when Tinkie parked in front of the porch.
“Shall I come in with you?” she asked.
“You have a party at Hill Top. I’ve been selfish enough getting you to drive me home. Go and play host.”
She frowned. “I’m worried about you.” She touched my cheek. “You’re pale and cool.”
“I’m tired. You have to admit, it’s been a harrowing night. Performing is exhausting to me. It never came naturally, which is probably why I don’t have any real desire to do it for a living.”
“Really?”
I could see the hope in her face. “Really. I don’t want that life anymore, Tinkie. This business tonight was fun. It scratched an itch that’s been bothering me for a long, long time. Now I’m not a failure anymore. That’s all I really needed—to do it and succeed. Now I can truly put it behind me.”
“But you’ll finish the show?”
“Of course. If Keith wants me to, I will.”
“But you won’t run away to Hollywood with Graf?”
I laughed and it sounded real, even to me. Maybe I was an actress. “No. Not Hollywood, and certainly not Graf.” But her words had opened a hole in my heart where Coleman was concerned. He could have taken the body with Doc and returned to see me home. I understood chain of evidence, but once the body was delivered to Doc for the autopsy, he had no need to stay with it.
“I’ll come by in the morning with Cece’s review.”
I got out and waved as Tinkie headed down the driveway. As much as I loved her, I needed to be alone for a while to sort through my feelings. I had lied to her about Hollywood. With the tiny success on the stage of The Club, my ambitions were reborn. I wanted to be an actress. A star. Time was running out, too. At thirty-four, I didn’t have a lot of good years left. Hollywood wasn’t kind to aging women. In a way, Renata had died at her peak, which wasn’t all bad—as long as she wasn’t murdered. And in order to sleep, I had to believe that her death was from natural causes.
As soon as I opened the front door, I knew Jitty was awake and waiting. She stood at the staircase, the most beautiful red dress I’d ever seen swirling about her ankles. I couldn’t pull my gaze off her dress, which looked vaguely familiar.
“How does it feel to be swept off your feet?” she asked, giving a little shimmy that set the dress rocking. “Nothin’ like bright lights and applause, is there?”
Somehow, Jitty knew my every move. “It was a vindication.” I tried to brush past her and head for my bed, but her skirt filled the staircase.
“I thought you was lettin’ go of the past.”
“Not everyone operates by your set of rules, Jitty. Maybe this is how I’m letting go of the past.”
“By struttin’ around on the stage and knowin’ you were born with a talent?”
I’d never hoped to hear Jitty admit that I had a talent. That in itself was another tiny helping of vindication. “I do have talent. When I was in New York, what I lacked was nerve.”
“And comin’ home to Zinnia, you found that.”
“Can I please just get some sleep?”
“Gone be hard to sleep with that guilty conscience.” She pressed her skirt aside with her hands.
I saw my opening and darted past her on the steps. “Why should I have a guilty conscience? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
She floated up the steps after me. “You wished that woman dead.”
“I’ve wished a lot of people dead. No one has ever obliged me before. Why should I think that Renata keeled over because I wished it?”
“Because maybe she did.”
That stopped me. And it made me furious. “You and Coleman, what is it? Both of you have teamed up to make me feel bad about something I had nothing to do with. Sure, I took her place in the cast. I don’t regret it for a minute. I learned somet
hing valuable about myself—that I can act. That I have talent, that I could go back to New York if I wanted to—”
Before I could finish my tirade, Jitty began to fade. The dress was a mesmerizing red swirl as she departed.
“You come back here!” I hated it when she slid out of a conversation just because she was losing. “Jitty!”
But she was gone. And then I remembered the dress. Scarlett had worn it when Rhett swept her off her feet and carried her up to their New Orleans wedding suite for a night of blissful sex.
I climbed the steps slowly. Jitty’s point was well made even in her absence. Ego was cold comfort on a January night.
Chapter 5
The rapping on my front door—incessant and loud—finally woke me. I’d had trouble going to sleep, and as I forced my eyes open, I realized bright morning sunlight was flooding through my bedroom window.
Bam! Bam! Bam! The rapping turned into pounding. I got out of bed and hurried to the door. Whoever it was sounded desperate.
“You’ve got to read this!” Tinkie thrust a newspaper in my face as she raced into the house and toward the kitchen. “I need coffee! Maybe even a Mimosa. We should celebrate or pack up and flee! You decide.”
I took the paper and followed in her wake. She’d conveniently turned it to the page with a blaring headline, HOMETOWN GIRL WOWS THE AUDIENCE.
Living in New York, I’d fantasized about picking up the Times and reading a review of my work. This wasn’t New York, and it was the Zinnia Dispatch with a review written by a close friend, but nonetheless, I felt chills race over my body as I read Cece’s delicious words.
I was halfway through when I hit the part about Renata’s death. Cece hadn’t tempered her thoughts with kindness toward the deceased. She called Renata a prima donna and noted the play was vastly improved by her absence.
Ham Bones Page 4
