Murder Most Meow
Page 4
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the scene. "I'm not sure. It could be an accident."
Hazel nodded. A terrible unfortunate accident, but those sorts of things did happen.
There was nothing to say this was murder yet.
“I’ll go look around backstage, if that's okay," Hazel said. Looking at the actor’s body made her stomach queasy, and the corset didn’t help matters.
Sheriff Cross nodded, and Hazel slipped around the outdoor stage.
Christopher Allen charged around the corner as she did, and nearly bumped right into her. That would've been an expensive mishap if he slammed into her camera. Thankfully, he didn’t
His face was ashen white, and the hair that normally flopped over his bald spot hung around his ears instead. “What was that crash and scream?"
He didn’t know? Hazel carefully took his arm. "A light fell on Dominic Dane. He's dead."
"What? How on earth –" the man started and shook his head.
“Who does the stage lighting work?"
It was easiest to focus on the immediate questions than wallow in the fact that a man had just been killed. For her, at least. Especially when her legs shook and her heart hammered like it wanted to leap out of her throat.
Mr. Allen's face took on a greenish hue. "Are you implying that our stage work was faulty in some way? I'll have you know that everything in this festival is done above board. I'm responsible for the construction of the scaffolding and the hanging of the lights, and I would never hire people who were not completely capable of doing such work."
Hazel blinked. Well, she wasn't expecting that. "I didn't imply anything of the sort. But if it was an accident, I was wondering who did the lights so we could find out what went wrong."
"If it was an accident? What does that mean?"
Hazel pinched her lips into a frown. "It means that this just happened so there's no telling if it was an accident or something more sinister. That's all."
Mr. Allen slowly shook his head. "I don't understand."
Hazel sighed. “Then you can talk to the sheriff, and he can explain it to you. And make sure no one, especially your cast or crew, leaves until they’ve talked to the police."
He gave her a look that said he wasn't sure if he should listen to her orders or not. For a moment, Hazel thought he was going to bring up the fact that he was, in part, her boss at the festival. Then he probably remembered Hazel's closeness to the sheriff and changed his mind. Not that Hazel would hold it over his head, but it was easier than arguing with him.
Without another word Christopher Allen scrambled away in a huff, and Hazel turned to look backstage as she’d originally planned.
Like the front of the stage, it was open to the elements in the back, and whoever was supposed to have been back there wasn't now. At least, not at first glance.
A metal ladder leaned against one of the pieces of scaffolding leading to where the lights were suspended. Hazel pushed aside part of the heavy red velvet curtain to get a better look and hit something solid.
Something warm.
Something that squeaked when she poked it.
“Who's back here," Hazel said and tugged the material side.
Violet blinked at her, her eyes wide and cheeks streaked with tears. "Hazel, I—I swear I don’t—" she said and her face crumpled.
Hazel didn't know Violet to be particularly melodramatic, and she wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulder. "It's okay. It was probably an accident."
Violet trembled under her hold, and her tears soaked through the chemise that Hazel wore under the corset.
"Did you see anyone back here? Anyone messing with the lights?"
Violet quickly shook her head. "Well, besides when they set them originally. I mean, they do that at the start of each play. And. . . .” Her voice petered out into more sobs.
Hazel squinted above her. She could see the spot where the light had been, but in the darkness it was too difficult to see what had attached it to the scaffolding in the first place.
She was going to ask Violet to hold the ladder while she climbed up and got a closer look, but realized that the metal might have fingerprints on it and abstained. Instead, she stood with her arm draped around Violet’s shoulder and waited for Sheriff Cross to finally make his way back there.
As she did, she noticed another person lurking backstage—Darcy Allen.
He stood so still in the shadows it was difficult to make him out. But a slight movement and the crunch of pine needles under his feet gave him away.
"We know you're there, Darcy!” Violet cried and buried her face in Hazel’s shoulder again.
“Did you see anything suspicious, Darcy?" Hazel asked.
The boy stepped forward. There were only a few dim LED lanterns lit in the back of the stage, probably for those who worked back there to see their way while the production went on without drawing the attention away from the stage itself.
They lent an air of foreboding to the scene that wasn't necessary. Especially in Darcy’s presence.
Hazel was sure he was going to shake his head and mumble something incoherent.
Instead, he looked bright and intense. And, for once, he wasn't staring right at Violet. His gaze fixed on Hazel. "I didn’t see anything suspicious, but I know it wasn’t an accident. Dominic was murdered."
Chapter 6
Hazel licked her lips, and Violets sobs increased in volume. "Why do you say that?" She felt her heart throbbing in her chest.
The boy shrugged. “The lights aren’t gonna fall unless someone sabotaged them. And everyone knew where he stood at that moment. It’s the place in the play that has the least blocking. Dominic had to stand there while he decides that yes, he's going to go through with the murder. It’s a perfect time to drop a light on his head and make it look like an accident. Plus, one of those things weighs about fifty pounds. There's no way it could land on your skull and you’d live to tell about it."
It was the most Hazel had ever heard Darcy Allen talk, and she felt her mouth drop open. "You realize it sounds pretty suspicious that you know all this, right?"
Darcy shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "You know a lot of stuff. Does that make you suspicious?"
Hazel snapped her mouth shut. She decided not to mention that she had worked with murder detectives before in the LAPD when she was a forensic photographer. Or that she was also a good twenty years older than him, and obviously knew more than he did, because he was bating her. And, from the way his parents treated him, she almost couldn't blame him.
Unless, he was the one who killed Dominic Dane, of course.
Before she could question him further, Sheriff Cross stepped backstage.
His brow furrowed when he noticed Hazel comforting Violet. "What's going on? Are you hurt?" He put a hand on Violet’s shoulder.
She flinched away from her uncle’s touch and shook her head wildly. "I'm fine. Just—I'm staying with Hazel from now on. She already said it was okay, so you can't try to sabotage it."
Hazel groaned internally. This was probably not the best time to bring up her invitation to Violet. She gave Sheriff Cross a pleading look. "She's really upset, and I know you guys have been having a difficult time lately. I don't mind if she stays in my spare room. Really. If you're okay with it," she said in the soothing tone of voice she used when trying to calm down Anthony Ray after he spotted a skunk outside.
Sheriff Cross let out his own sigh. "Fine. I—it's fine. I'm sorry you're upset, Violet. But you're not hurt?" His voice dripped with concern.
Hazel's heart clenched.
Violet bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "Besides the fact that Dominic Dane is dead, I’m fine!” she cried.
Sheriff Cross rubbed the bridge of his nose, and spotted the ladder behind Hazel. "Was that there?"
Hazel nodded. "And it's right above where the light that fell hung. Darcy Allen thinks he was murdered," she said and her eyes locked on the teenage boy.
Darcy Al
len stood still, staring at his scruffy tennis shoes. He looked like he wanted to comfort Violet himself, but Hazel knew that would go disastrously wrong.
Sheriff Cross asked Darcy the same questions Hazel had asked him, but his responses were much shorter than they had been.
Pretty suspicious, overall.
While the sheriff and his deputies dusted the ladder and the surrounding scaffolding for fingerprints, Hazel shuffled Violet away from the scene.
The remaining members of the audience huddled nearby, murmuring amongst themselves. Hazel quickly found her parents and left Violet in their care. Her mother pulled the girl into a tight hug. “Oh, poor dear. Shall we take her to our place for the night?"
Violet shook her head. "No. I’m staying with Hazel. I can wait."
"That's fine, but they can take you over to the apartment and you can get your things. That way, when we’re done here, we can go straight home,” Hazel explained.
Violet conceded to that, and Hazel watched her parents walk the girl away. Esther and Ruth had already gone, so Hazel assumed the deputies had made the rounds and talked to most of the people in the audience. Those remaining looked to be among the cast and crew. Including Sophia Allen, who sat on a bench and stared at her hands as if they weren't there.
Hazel slowly sat next to her, but Sophia didn't acknowledge her presence.
After what felt like an age, the woman spoke. "I can't believe Dom's dead," she said in her voice sounded like the whisper of wind between the trees. Or like a ghost speaking from beyond the grave.
"Did you see it happen?" Hazel asked carefully.
This was the same woman Hazel saw sneaking into Dominic Dane’s tent before the show. The same woman whose husband implied something nasty when Hazel told him, though Hazel didn’t know if it were true or not.
She figured she’d give Sophia the chance to explain herself, if needed.
Sophia's hands balled into fists. "I wasn't in the audience tonight. The understudy needs to be backstage waiting for a cue in case something happens to the star," she said the word like it was poison.
"Was anyone near the scaffolding?"
Sophia shrugged, and her hands relaxed again. "Do they think—do the police think someone did this? Or do they think it was an accident?"
Hazel chewed her bottom lip. She wasn't sure how to answer that. Especially because she didn't know what the police thought yet. "I'm not sure."
That was truthful enough. Though, what Darcy Allen told her still wrung in her ears. But Hazel didn't feel like telling this woman that her son thought the actor had been killed. Especially because his explanation was all kinds of suspicious.
A few minutes later, Sheriff Cross summoned her back toward the stage. Hazel excused herself and tried to look as attentive as possible. Funny how death could wipe the weariness from her bones that way.
Before the light killed Dominic Dane, Hazel had been exhausted.
Now, she was fine.
"I think I'm going to have to enlist your services, if you don't mind." Sheriff Cross said and nodded toward the stage.
His deputies were already putting up yellow and black crime scene tape, and her stomach twisted. "You're sure?"
Sheriff Cross nodded once. "The cable that held the light in place was cut. Looks like sabotage that led to murder."
Hazel sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the bile that rose in her gut. "Okay. Let me get my Pentax."
In all Hazel's years as a forensic photographer for the LAPD, she never had a situation where looking at the crime scene photos after the fact was worse than actually taking them.
This case was a bit different.
Especially because the crime scene photos weren’t what turned her stomach—the photos taken before the crime did.
Sheriff Cross sat next to her in her studio’s office, his eyes bloodshot and weary. They only had to get this over with and then they could both go home and get some rest, for the time being.
Since she'd taken plenty of photos in burst mode, they got to watch the accident happen in slow motion.
Right before the light fell, Dominic glanced up, as if he heard something.
In the next frame, the light was suspended in the air above his head.
And then it hit.
Hazel felt herself flinch, and glanced at Sheriff Cross.
He frowned at her computer screen and rubbed his chin. "Well, this would've been helpful if there weren’t about a hundred witnesses to the whole thing.”
Hazel nodded slowly. "Did anyone else notice him look up at the last moment?"
“Do you think the killer was up there cutting it at that moment?"
The thought sent a chill up Hazel’s spine. The idea that someone sabotaged beforehand was bad enough, but that the saboteur may have been there during the play was worse.
“If so, it’s very Phantom of the Opera, isn't it?"
Sheriff Cross snorted. “I’ve never read the book or seen the musical."
Hazel shrugged. "It's not my favorite, but Esther—don’t tell her I told you this—was pretty big on it when she was a teenager. She used to walk around the house and sing the songs, and I was dragged to a performance in Sacramento once. Basically, during a ballet in the opera house, the Phantom kills a man in the rafters and then his body falls down. It's shocking when it happens, and that sort of reminds me of this"
Sheriff Cross sighed. "Well, I hope we don't have our very own Phantom of the Shakespeare Festival.”
Hazel silently agreed.
She clicked through the crime scene photos, which didn’t show anything new, and then made a copy on Sheriff Cross’s flash drive.
Anthony Ray wound around her legs, begging for another dinner, and Colton leaned down and scratched the cat’s chin.
As he did, Hazel decided to click through the first set one more time. Something about it bothered her.
As she got to the last photo, the one in which the light landed on Dominic's head, she squinted. Something light was in the shadows around the edge of the stage. She had to adjust the exposure to get a good look at it, and once she did, her heart froze.
“I think you should take a look at this," she said.
He leaned over and squinted at the screen.
Hazel nudged him in the side. "Just put on your reading glasses, and stop being so stubborn."
She swore his ears turned a shade of pink, but he did as he was told. "Who is that?"
Hazel licked her lips. There was a face just offstage, oval and pale with a horrible grin plastered on it. Long red hair fell over her shoulders, and the gown was the one the actress had worn on stage that day.
"I'm pretty sure it's Lady Macbeth. Angela Dane."
And she was smiling as her husband was murdered.
Chapter 7
By the time Hazel stepped into her home that night, she felt like a mere shadow of herself.
She tried not to think about Dominic Dane’s lifeless eyes staring at her as she snapped photos of the crime scene, the dried blood around the deep gash in his head. Or the equally deep gash in the stage’s wooden floor. Angela Dane’s creepy grin also flooded her mind.
Sheriff Cross had been right about the cable being severed, only they still didn’t know if it happened during the play or before.
All in all, the work took well over an hour and the weariness that had left her in the wake of the event crashed back down on her shoulders now.
"The guest room is down here. It has a bathroom connected to it, so you're all set up to go. If you do get up earlier than I do and go outside, don't let Anthony Ray out with you. He's been stalking the local skunk, and that never ends well,” Hazel said around a yawn.
Violet’s eyes were bloodshot and her face was paler than normal. She clutched her duffel bag to her chest. Another backpack was slung over her shoulder. "I probably won't get up earlier than you."
Hazel gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and wandered away up the stairs to her own bedroom and the sleep sh
e hoped would come, for both herself and Violet.
One of the best things about working for the Cedar Valley Shakespeare Festival was the festival itself didn't start until about ten a.m. Which meant Hazel got to sleep in for once.
The next morning, she wished she could have, but Anthony Ray woke her earlier than she would've liked. Or perhaps her dreams had. Most of them were foggy insubstantial things that were chased from her mind as the bright morning sun peeked through the curtains. But she remembered shadows moving through a forest, and the slick surface of Lake Celeste shining at her like a mirror, reflecting the thousands of stars in the night sky above.
She yawned, and Anthony Ray butted his head against her nose, then turned around so his fluffy black tail tickled it. “Okay, okay. Breakfast. I get it. And you're probably mad about the costume too. I promise, no more costumes for either of us," she said and poked her cat on the nose.
Anthony Ray sneezed, hopped off the bed and trotted down the stairs, as if he knew she would follow.
Hazel sighed and did.
Violet had yet to stir, and Hazel made an effort to be quieter than normal in order to let the girl sleep. She'd been close to inconsolable the night before, and Hazel had an idea why. Violet had lost her parents so young, and then to witness something like this—yeah, it’d be hard on a teen.
Though, the last time they'd stumbled across a dead body together, Violet hadn't reacted quite that badly. But she hadn't known the victim either.
Or been a fan of his.
The fact that Dominic Dane was a disgusting sleaze didn't make it any easier to think of him as dead.
Hazel put on a strong pot of coffee and dished up Anthony Ray's breakfast, squishing it in his special stainless steel dish with some warm water—just the way he liked it. He gobbled the whole thing in a few minutes, licked his chops, and then went to a spot near the back door to watch for his enemy the skunk.
Like the rest of the businesses in Cedar Valley, Celia's café, CATfeinated, wasn't running its normal hours, which meant Hazel had to fend for herself at home for once.