McVie nodded. “Pruitt gave me their schedules. I bet we can get one or two of them between classes.”
“And we still need to talk to Cygnus.”
“And we will. What’s gotten into you?”
“Me?” Fenway rubbed the back of her neck and tried to calm down. “Nothing. I’m just—just ready to get the day going. That’s all.”
“You seem tense.”
“Maybe I slept wrong.”
“This is the first time I’ve stayed all night. Does that have anything to do with it?”
“No, of course not.” Fenway lied, eyeing the floor, the bedroom door, the dresser—anywhere but McVie. “Don’t be silly.”
“It’s okay, Fenway. This is kind of a big step for us. It feels a little more real than what we’ve done up till now.” He put his arm around Fenway’s shoulders.
She closed her eyes and fought the urge to throw his arm off. “Really, McVie, I’m fine.” She avoided his eyes but felt his gaze on her.
McVie exhaled audibly, taking his arm away. “See what Dez has to say when we get in. I don’t think there’s a break in Amanda’s schedule until nine thirty, and I want to talk to that Xavier kid, too.”
“What about Denise?”
“Denise?”
“Yeah, you know, Cygnus called her ‘the diva of San Dimas.’”
“Oh, right. The one with the problem being at the right spot onstage.”
“Right.”
McVie put his hands behind his head. “You could give her to Dez, and you and I might talk to Rose Morgan this morning, considering what Piper found out yesterday. We want to know what she has, and if Domingo is there, what he has, too.”
Fenway paused. “Maybe we should see about getting a warrant before we visit Rose Morgan. If she’s got the pc, or if Domingo Velásquez is hiding out at her house, we should have a warrant in hand when we knock on the door.”
McVie nodded. “I don’t know that we can get one, but we’ll see.”
“Sure,” Fenway said. “Talk to Migs. He’s good about figuring out stuff.”
“I’ve gotten warrants before.”
“Yeah, but if you want it to stand up in court, you should talk to him.” She wanted to get up. She wanted to get into the shower and spend time on her hair treatment and wash the night off.
“We’re not in any hurry this morning,” McVie said. “You can relax. We’ve got a couple of hours before the judges even show up.”
“I have to do my hair,” Fenway said, willing her shoulders to drop. She got out of bed and wrapped the sheet around herself. She inwardly grimaced because she hated pulling the sheet off her bed, but felt compelled to cover herself up.
“Your hair?”
“Takes a while.” For all of Amy’s faults, she probably didn’t have to take forty-five minutes to apply three different products just to get her hair not to frizz on damp fall days.
“I can’t imagine anyone taking longer than my, uh,” McVie hesitated and then finished lamely, “ex-wife did in the bathroom.” He put a smile on his face, but it looked a bit stricken.
Fenway forced herself to smile. “I’m quick like a ninja when I don’t have to do my hair.”
McVie chuckled.
Fenway kept smiling, too, begging herself not to say the thing that was itching her brain, but she couldn’t stop it. “Is that the first time you’ve called Amy your ex-wife?”
McVie glanced up at Fenway, a slightly worried look in his eyes, and nodded.
“Did you sign the paperwork yet?”
“My lawyer’s looking it over. In fact, I’m supposed to call him this afternoon.”
Fenway paused, then quickly drew a breath. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you into—”
“No,” McVie said, holding up his hand. “I know you weren’t.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position. “I could get in the shower with you.”
Fenway realized the smile had left her lips and forced it back. “That sounds nice, but you don’t have clean clothes to change into.”
McVie blinked and studied Fenway’s face. “No,” he said slowly, “no I don’t. I guess I’ll head out so I can get ready. I’ll see you at the office?”
Fenway hesitated but then nodded. “Sure. See you there at—I don’t know—eight?”
“Sounds perfect.” He grinned, a little unevenly, and then swung his toned legs out of the bed and stood up, facing away from Fenway. She took in the whole of his body and mentally kicked herself. What was wrong with her? Yes, McVie was older and in the middle of a divorce, but he was kind, he was gorgeous, he was cut. But Fenway was wound so tight she might snap inside.
Fenway stepped around him as he pulled on his boxers—cute, playful ones, with jalapeño peppers on a black background, which she noticed with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Paying attention to his boxers and not looking where she was going, she stepped on the edge of the sheet and almost tripped.
The heat rose to her face as she padded to the shower and turned it on.
“Let me go to the bathroom and I’ll get out of your hair,” McVie mumbled.
Fenway started to open her mouth, but that was exactly what she wanted. So she stepped out and let McVie slip past her and close the door.
Good, Fenway thought, with a trace of relief. She had wondered if McVie was so used to being married that he’d use the bathroom with the door open out of habit. She wondered if most couples were that gross with each other, or if it was just something on Netflix shows.
She stepped on the sheet again but kept her balance. The sheet was wet. Fenway sat down on the bed. She must have gotten it wet when she turned the shower on.
She heard the toilet flush, then the sink turn on and off, and McVie came out. He gave her a smile, reached down, and got his trousers off the floor. He looked at them and shook them out; they were wrinkled, but certainly good enough to wear to his car. He put them on, then walked out to the living room where his uniform shirt was thrown over the chair. Buttoning up his shirt, he walked back into Fenway’s bedroom and kissed her on the cheek. “Okay,” he said. “See you at eight. Remember to lock the door behind me.”
She nodded, watching him go out to the front room, slip his sockless feet into his shoes, and grab his wallet and keys off the table.
Then he was gone.
Immediately a weight lifted off Fenway’s shoulders, and she cocked her head to the side, as if listening for a strange noise, but the only strange noise was in her head.
She dropped the sheet and walked out to the front room, turning the deadbolt of the front door, then went right into the shower.
As she ducked her head under the cold water, she berated herself. It was no way to treat a boyfriend, or whatever McVie was. This is what she wanted—and when she got it, she couldn’t get him away fast enough.
She went over the night before in her mind. Did she feel weird about anything McVie did?
No. She felt pretty good about most of the things McVie did.
Except the fact that he was still in her bed in the morning.
She shook her head to get the cobwebs out and turned the tap to warm. Whatever was wrong with her, Fenway decided, working the investigation with McVie would put it all right again.
She requested an Uber and stood outside in the parking lot. The morning was cold, and frost rimmed the hoods and roofs on all the cars. The Uber had trouble finding her address, so she got to work ten minutes late.
Dez sat at her computer and looked up as the door shut behind Fenway.
“Well, someone finally got a good night’s sleep,” Dez said, grinning. “I barely recognized you without the circles under your eyes.”
“Gee, thanks, Dez.” Fenway rolled her eyes. “You look like a million bucks, too.”
Dez scoffed. “I do not. I was searching Jessica Marquez’s house for hours last night, and I found nothing except pizza boxes and trash. The girl may have looked good, but she was a slob. Lots of fingerprints, though. We’ll see if any
of those are interesting.”
“No laptop? No weird financial ledgers or anything?”
“Nope. Oh, I almost forgot. I did find one interesting piece of evidence.”
“What was it?”
“It was a class ring. Rio de Palmas High School.”
“Interesting.” Fenway paused. “Where did you find it?”
“Ooh, twenty questions. I like this game.” Dez cackled. “Underneath the bed. Wedged a little under the headboard.”
“The bed in Jessica’s room?”
Dez nodded.
“And I take it Jessica didn’t go to Rio de Palmas.”
“We’re still having trouble getting background on her, but it was a man’s class ring.”
“Under the bed. I see. A gentleman caller.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Was there a year on it?”
Dez shook her head. “No, but it’s got two theater masks on the side of the band.”
“That would suggest someone who’s into the dramatic arts.”
“Right.”
Fenway folded her arms and smiled. “And would you like me to ask you which of the Othello actors graduated from Rio de Palmas High?”
“I would be delighted.”
They were both quiet for a moment.
“You have to ask, Fenway.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, so which of the Othello actors—”
“Xavier Gonsalves. The leading man himself.”
Fenway closed her eyes and shook her head. “I was so hoping he wouldn’t be like that.” She grimaced. “Okay. I think we need to question him and Amanda Kohl. Especially Amanda. She’s now the last one out of the office except for Jessica, and the first one with a motive.”
“I’ll drive,” said Dez, grabbing her purse.
“Hang on, Dez. I want to wait for McVie. We thought we might have a lead on the Velásquez case—the accountant who did the books for Central Auto Body.”
Dez set her purse down. “I suppose I should call first. I’d hate to give the students warning, but I also don’t want Dr. Pruitt breathing down my neck.”
“I need to get my kit anyway,” Fenway said. “By the way, has anyone notified Jessica Marquez’s next of kin?”
Dez shook her head. “Jessica Marquez is an enigma so far. The university has no next of kin listed in her file. We may have to do some digging. I thought maybe we’d find something at her house, but no such luck.”
Fenway grabbed her equipment kit and hesitated, and then opened the second desk drawer from the bottom and pulled out an old dictation recorder. She checked the record button—it still worked.
When she came out to the main office, Dez hung up the phone. “We have to hurry. Xavier’s got about an hour and a half to talk to us before his next class. They’re having him meet us at the admin building. Amanda too. We can divide and conquer if we leave now.”
Chapter Eleven
While Dez sped down the expressway in her red Impala, in the passenger seat Fenway texted McVie that they were on their way to Nidever. They parked in the same visitors’ lot as McVie had the day before, and the two of them walked into the admin building.
“How do you want to play this?” Fenway asked Dez in a low voice, walking through the carpeted hall toward the president’s office.
“I say we interview both of them at the same time,” Dez said. “That way they can’t compare stories, or even—I don’t know—shoot each other looks.”
“Shoot each other looks?”
“Or semaphore, or carrier pigeons. You know what I mean. I wish they weren’t coming in together.”
Fenway tilted her head. “Why are they coming in together?”
“I don’t know.”
They arrived at the anteroom in front of the president’s office. The secretary, typing with perfect posture, radiated efficiency, and she didn’t raise her head to look at them.
Dez cleared her throat.
The secretary didn’t look up. “Can I help you ladies?”
“Sergeant Dez Roubideaux,” Dez said, showing her badge. “This is Coroner Stevenson.”
Fenway smiled. “It’s Belinda, right?”
The secretary looked up and returned her smile. “That’s right.”
“Dr. Pruitt made a couple of students available to us for interviews. Is he in?”
The secretary shook her head. “He’s meeting with the board of regents, but the two students should be in shortly. I’ll put you in one of the conference rooms.”
Fenway shot a look at Dez. “If you don’t mind,” she said slowly, “we were hoping to interview them separately. Do you have a second room we can use?”
The secretary frowned. “Well, I suppose so. There’s a workroom in the back, if you’re okay with the mess.”
“That’s fine.”
The secretary walked the two of them down the hall and put Dez in a glass-walled conference room, with a huge mahogany table and leather chairs. She showed Fenway to a small office farther down. A photocopier was against one wall, and a bar-height worktable cluttered with papers, scissors, and more stood against the other. There were two folding chairs, but no desk or table in front of which to sit.
Fenway looked around at the beige walls, devoid of personality—no wall hangings, no posters. It was a blank canvas in this unwelcoming building on this unwelcoming campus.
Fenway sat in the office for several minutes waiting, then there was a knock at the door. It opened and Xavier stuck his head in.
“Hi, Coroner,” he said. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
“I did.” Fenway motioned to the chair across from her. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Class in an hour. Our last dress rehearsal tonight. I’ve got a little time.”
“Great.” Fenway pulled the dictation recorder out of her purse and set it on the worktable. “You mind if I record this?”
“Uh….” Xavier eyed the ancient machine warily. “I guess not.”
“Cool.” Fenway hit the record button. “Coroner Fenway Stevenson, interview with Nidever student Xavier—I’m sorry, did you officially change your name to Go, or is it still Gonsalves?”
“Go is just my stage name. My real name is still Gonsalves.”
“Great.” She said the date and time and then looked up at Xavier and smiled.
“You excited about the opening of the play? This is your first lead role, right?”
“I don’t know—I should be excited about it, I guess.” He rested his elbows on the table. “I—uh, I don’t feel so great about it with Jessica, Ms. Marquez, dead. I thought maybe the play would get postponed, but no—Professor Cygnus isn’t changing a thing.” He leaned back in his chair. “I guess it’s better to keep working through this.”
Fenway shrugged. “Everyone processes it differently.”
“Yeah, I guess so. You’ve probably seen a lot of stuff since you’ve been coroner.”
“That I have.” She smiled. “Did you know Jessica Marquez well?”
Xavier looked up at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow and loudly. “Not as well as some of the other actors.”
“Like who?”
“I mean, I never worked with her. Amanda and a few of the other students—they knew her a lot better than I did.”
“Hmm,” Fenway said. “That surprises me.”
Xavier brought his gaze down from the ceiling and fixed his attention on Fenway. “Everyone in The Guild knew her. All the actors were in and out of the office, not just the student workers. Jessica would come watch us rehearse, maybe once or twice a week. She was trying to get us all to do the theater tour in London.”
“Were you going?”
“Me? No. I’m trying to get out of the audience and onto the stage. I don’t have the time to take three weeks and travel to London when I could be auditioning and making money. Plus, it’s crazy expensive.”
“How expensive is it?”
“The special student price is six gra
nd.”
Fenway winced. “That’s a lot for a college student.”
“It’s a lot for me, anyway. Most of the actors are having their parents foot the bill.”
“You don’t think you could learn from the London stage?”
“I’m sure I could,” Xavier said, “but I want to be a working actor here—or in l.a., anyway. Shakespeare’s okay, I guess, but I don’t want to make it my career.”
“Why are you in this play, then?”
“Are you kidding? With Professor Cygnus’s name recognition? This should get me some auditions on some serious films. Art films, the kind that get buzz at Toronto, maybe even Cannes. They’re always doing Shakespeare adaptations. Nothing better on a young actor’s résumé than a Cygnus production.”
“Especially when you’re the lead actor.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Othello. Big, juicy part. Trying to convince directors and producers to drive up from l.a. to see it is a pain, but Professor Cygnus wrote letters for us.”
“Really? Who else besides you?”
Xavier shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, Amanda Kohl got a recommendation letter. She plays Desdemona.”
“Right, we talked about Amanda last time. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Uh, no,” Xavier said. “I mean, you might get a different answer from her, but there’s nothing like, uh, you know, the kind of relationship you have when you’re in a play together. Kind of does a number on you.”
“How long has it been going on?”
“A month or two. I don’t think it’s that serious.”
“You sleep with a lot of your leading ladies?”
Xavier smiled. “I’ve never been the leading man before.”
Fenway smiled back. “Fair enough. Did you go to the office the day before yesterday?”
“The Guild office? No.”
“Not even to see Amanda?”
He smiled. “She and I want to keep it quiet.”
“Keep it quiet? Professor Cygnus doesn’t like his actors to get romantically involved with each other?”
“It’s not that,” Xavier said. “We just don’t want to make it a big thing. Reduces the drama.”
“Does the professor care about his general manager sleeping with his lead actor?”
The Upstaged Coroner Page 13
