Show Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  Walter rejoined the pallbearers and they rolled Jerome down the aisle, all of us filing out of our pews behind him. When the organist started in on “The Strife Is O’er,” I saw Chief Thompson and Suki Shung still with neutral expressions, probably in shock from the whole affair. As far as the investigation was concerned, the strife had just begun.

  * * *

  After the prayers, we left Jerome’s casket in St. Andrew’s cemetery and moved into the church for refreshments.

  I brushed a bit of apple strudel off my sweater as I observed the crowd; some were huddled around the dessert table noodling over their options while others, in groups of twos and threes, chatted in hushed tones. Occasionally, someone would let out a honk of a laugh and the place would go silent for a few moments before the general level of noise would ratchet up again.

  “Jerome had a lot of friends,” Chief Thompson said at my back.

  I spun around. He was even more handsome in a suit than in uniform, his pale blue shirt and matching tie accentuating his eyes. I had to pull myself away from his stare. “Yes, he was well-loved.” Was now the time to mention the engagement ring?

  “Dodie, I think I’m ready to leave.” Lola turned to face me. “Hi, Chief Thompson.”

  “Hello. Mrs. Tripper, right?” he said.

  “Yes. Lola please.”

  There was some commotion over near the dessert table. “What’s going on over there?” Lola said.

  “Probably a run on the pecan Danish,” I said.

  Lola turned away again and did a double take. “Oh my. No. It couldn’t be. . . .”

  “Lola?” I watched her, zombie-like, approach a cluster of ELT folks, insert herself into the center of the group, and fall into the arms of a man I’d seen before, in the Etonville Standard photo with Jerome and Walter.

  “Who’s that,” the chief asked, suddenly alert.

  “His name is Elliot Schenk. He was a member of the Etonville Little Theatre until he just up and disappeared two years ago. According to Lola, he and Jerome were best friends and had been in touch recently.” Lola leaned comfortably into the arm he put around her shoulders.

  He must have been about sixty, tall, with perfect white teeth, streaks of gray at the temples of his black hair, and prominent cheekbones. Elliot was a more dapper, less sunburned version of George Hamilton. The newspaper photo didn’t begin to do him justice. “Now that is a handsome man,” I said, probably a little more enthusiastically than I’d intended.

  “I wonder how he heard about the funeral?” the chief said, ignoring my comment.

  “Good question. Maybe you should—”

  “—have a talk with him. I was thinking the same thing,” he said wryly.

  “Good idea.”

  “You’re in the theater a lot?” he asked.

  “I will be more than usual in the next few weeks, helping out.”

  “Do me a favor, okay?”

  My heart did a loop-de-loop. He’d actually asked me to do him a favor?

  “Keep an eye out over there.”

  “For what?”

  He shrugged. “Anything that strikes you as suspicious. Anything out of the ordinary.”

  I’d been around the ELT long enough to know that much of what happened over there was out of the ordinary. “You think someone knows something?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Will do.”

  Lola waved me over, and Chief Thompson followed.

  “Dodie, I’d like to introduce you to Elliot.” Beaming, Lola snaked her arm through his. “Dodie and Jerome were good friends.”

  “We shared reading habits,” I said.

  Elliot flashed a blinding smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. I wish it were under other circumstances.” He took my hand and shook it warmly.

  “And this is our new police chief, Bill Thompson,” Lola said.

  Chief Thompson grasped Elliot’s hand firmly. “Hello. Are you in town for long?”

  Elliot gazed at Lola. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, if you are, I’d appreciate five minutes of your time.” He handed Elliot his card. “We’re interviewing anyone who knew Mr. Angleton for the investigation.”

  Elliot nodded politely. “I understand. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elliot rejoined some theater folks, the chief said good-bye, and Lola had a final word with Walter.

  * * *

  “This way,” I said to Lola when we reached the foyer, pointing to a side exit that would open directly onto the parking lot. “You didn’t tell me that you and Elliot were ... ?”

  “Just friends,” she said, her face flushed.

  “I’d say pretty good friends.”

  Lola swatted me teasingly on the arm. “We went out a few times.”

  “What did Walter have to say about it?”

  “Walter wasn’t on my radar then,” Lola said pointedly.

  “Did Elliot tell you why he left town?”

  “Something about a business opportunity. What’s important is that he came back. For Jerome.”

  “No wife?”

  “Divorced. Like Walter.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s my destiny.”

  We crossed the vestibule and pulled open the side exit door.

  I almost bumped into someone who stood on the outside, a massive and thick-necked man with powerful shoulders.

  I caught my breath. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  He brushed past us without a word.

  * * *

  The Windjammer was packed for lunch. Many folks simply trotted over to the restaurant from Jerome’s funeral. Henry’s homemade tomato basil soup sold out. I had one eye on the few remaining customers and one eye on my watch. Henry was busy in the kitchen experimenting with a parmesan cream sauce for the broccoli on the dinner menu, and it was nearing my three o’clock break. I had already decided how I was going to spend the next hour or so.

  “Benny, I’ll be back soon.” I searched my purse for my car keys.

  He looked up from behind the bar, where he was ensconced cleaning the fountain taps, and eyed me thoughtfully. “You’re doing a lot of running around these days,” he said. “You’re not applying for other jobs, are you?” There was a hint of panic in his voice.

  I laughed. “And leave you and Henry? Nah. It’s like a marriage here. More trouble to get out of than to get into.”

  Benny nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  There had to be a way to find out whom Jerome was seeing, in whom he had invested a decent chunk of money. He was retired and, I assumed, living on a fixed income so where had he gotten the funds for a diamond ring? If I could speak with the person who’d sold him the ring, maybe he or she would remember something he’d said or done that would give me a clue. I intended to turn the ring over to Chief Thompson, but first I needed to satisfy my curiosity about its purchase.

  The inside cover of the ring box was gold-stamped with Sadlers Fine Jewelry, which was located in Creston. Last year, I bought my mother birthstone earrings there, and she loved them. Creston was four miles away but seemed like a different universe. Population twenty thousand, it lacked the charm of Etonville but had all of the features that made it a necessity from time to time: a big-box store, doctors who specialized in various body parts, and fast food places.

  I stepped on the gas pedal of my Metro and eased out onto State Route 53. On the seat next to me was the Etonville Standard with Jerome’s picture on the front page. I hadn’t gone a mile when large beads of rain, like teardrops, splashed down on my windshield. The beautiful morning had turned into a damp and depressing afternoon. I flipped on the wipers, and the monotonous flap-flap of their rhythm was soothing.

  On the periphery of Creston, I slowed to twenty-five and turned onto the main drag. I dashed from my parking space to the sidewalk and shop awning to shop awning to keep dry. As I reached the entrance to Sadlers, a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. I scooted inside and br
ushed moisture off my jacket.

  A clerk, thirtyish and very neat, wearing a dress shirt, creased jeans, and a rust-colored sweater tied around his shoulders, was busy with a customer, so I sauntered around sizing up earrings and necklaces and matching bracelets. Gold was going for nearly a thousand dollars an ounce these days, so trinkets were on the expensive side. I computed the cost of a diamond ring.

  “Can I help you?” The clerk hovered at my elbow.

  “I hope so. May I speak with the manager?”

  “I’m the manager,” he said.

  I pulled the newspaper from my bag and produced the front page. “I’m trying to get some information about this man.”

  He examined the photo, then scanned the headlines. “I heard about this. Terrible,” he said, genuinely concerned.

  “Do you recognize him? He might have made a purchase here recently.”

  The manager took off his glasses and stared at the picture. “Yes. I’ve seen this man,” he said cautiously.

  “Jerome? You recognize Jerome?” I could feel an adrenaline rush. Never mind that that meant almost nothing, only that Jerome had bought the ring here.

  He studied my outfit. “Are you from the police?”

  I hesitated. “No. I’m not. But Jerome was a good friend and I just want to help find out what happened to him.”

  The manager studied me for a moment, then nodded. “I didn’t identify him at first. But now I remember.” He put his glasses back on. “It was maybe . . . a month or so ago.”

  “You’re sure it was him?”

  “Yes. It was him. I remember because he mentioned the theater and some play it was getting ready to do.”

  Must have been Romeo and Juliet. “Do you remember anything else about him? Anything he said or did that seemed strange? Or interesting?”

  “He said his purchase was for someone special. He was very happy. Smiling a lot.”

  Oh, poor Jerome. “Did he mention a name?”

  The manager shook his head. “No.”

  He must have realized there was no sale here because he moved toward a display case in the rear of the store.

  “Do you have a receipt? Could you tell me what he paid for the ring? Some way I could confirm the date?” I thought I was skating on thin ice, but there was no harm in pushing the envelope a bit.

  The manager stopped. “Customer purchases are confidential.” He lowered his voice. “Anyway, he might have bought a ring here from another employee. But the day I met him, he purchased a gold bracelet. Fourteen karats.”

  Chapter 10

  There was definitely someone in the picture and Jerome was wooing her with jewelry. Expensive jewelry, from the look of things. I wondered where he’d gotten the money and if Chief Thompson had sorted through Jerome’s bank accounts and credit card statements yet.

  I called Carol on my way back to Etonville. I offered to pick up Pauli at Snippets and bring him to the Windjammer and set him up in a back booth to work on the website, which reminded me I had to confirm a price with Pauli. But first I had one more stop to make.

  * * *

  As I described my visit to Jerome’s home, Chief Thompson’s expression conveyed surprise and suspicion. He rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt and loosened the matching tie. Guess he’d come straight to the station from the funeral.

  “It’s not really a crime scene, right? There was no yellow tape and the landlady’s father was very accommodating.”

  He ran his hand through his hair for the third time in fifteen minutes. “What did you find? I assume you found something or I wouldn’t be hearing this.”

  I dug my hand into my purse and withdrew the velvet ring box.

  “What the—?” He looked up at me, then down to my palm and tentatively reached out.

  “Open it.”

  The little black ring case looked miniscule in the chief’s muscular hand. He slipped a thumbnail in the opening, pushed gently, and let out a sound that wasn’t quite an actual word.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He snapped the box shut. “Where did you say you found this?”

  “In the closet. In a suit jacket pocket.” I waited for him to react. “I assume officers searched the room, but I guess they just missed—”

  Bill laid the ring box on his desk. “It should have been Suki, but we were up to our eyeballs in paperwork so I sent—”

  “Ralph.”

  “Yeah. He said there was nothing out of the ordinary, just clothes and bathroom toiletries.” Bill gave me a cool appraisal. “Pretty clever of you, doing police detection. Got anything else planned?”

  I blushed. This was the moment to tell him about the visit to Sadlers Jewelry store, but instinct made me stop. TMI for one visit?

  “Not really.”

  “Okay. I’ll have Officer Shung stop by Sadlers later,” he said.

  “Oh! Well . . .”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Something wrong?”

  “No . . . uh . . . I . . . was just wondering if you were able to pinpoint the time of death?” I asked quickly.

  “Why?” he asked warily.

  “I was gone by eleven-thirty. Only Lola and Walter were still there. I just wondered . . .”

  “Between about three a.m. and five a.m.,” he said. “Anyway, sometime before six a.m.”

  “When the garbage men discovered his body,” I said. “Chief Thompson, did the police take a computer out of Jerome’s room?”

  “No. Why?” he asked again.

  “No reason.”

  “Sorry to cut this short, but I have an appointment.” Chief Thompson rose and picked up his jacket. “You’ve been a big help.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Bill,” he said.

  “Oh, okay. Then it’s Dodie.”

  “You’ll let me know if you have any other ideas?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  His lip turned up at one corner in what was becoming a recognizable facial tic. He wanted to smile but controlled himself. “I admire your ingenuity.”

  I wondered if he’d still feel the same way once Suki Shung had visited Sadlers.

  * * *

  In my back booth, Pauli was creating a menu page for the website, choosing fonts and graphics and arranging the layout. I set him up with a plate of nachos and a large Coke. He ate and typed and grinned at me from time to time. I envied the simplicity of Pauli’s life. Of course, being a teenager was no piece of cake either. I remember battling my parents about my clothes and boyfriends and staying out past my curfew.

  “Do you have a logo?” Pauli asked.

  I popped up from behind the bar, where I was unpacking a carton of cabernet. “A logo for the restaurant? Do we need one?”

  “Yeah, like something for the home page. A picture of something.”

  “How about a picture of the front of the restaurant? Would that do?”

  Pauli nodded. “That works.”

  He ambled out the door, crossed the street in front of the Windjammer, and proceeded to take shot after shot on his digital camera.

  “We’re going to have a Web presence,” Benny said and smiled as he watched Pauli, standing, kneeling, and catching the restaurant from different angles as though he were a fashion photographer.

  “It’s about time. Hey, have you checked the schedule for the weekend?” I had rearranged a few evening hours to accommodate my dropping in at the ELT.

  “Yep. Looks good. I can cover Friday night. Hey, what are you going to do over there?” he asked.

  “Not sure. Organize things once rehearsals start. The place could use some shaping up. ”

  “Jerome’s murder probably doesn’t help.”

  “Benny, let me ask you something. Did Jerome ever strike you as a flashy guy? You know, money to burn?”

  “Jerome? No way. He told me he lived on a modest pension and Social Security. One time, he was invited to take a trip to Europe with a group from the theater and he couldn’t afford it. I kin
d of felt sorry for him. I liked him.”

  “Me too.”

  Pauli loped back in the door. “Got some good ones,” he said and brushed the hair off his face. “Hey, you know what you need?”

  I shook my head.

  “An email address so people can make reservations online.”

  “Great idea. The last place I worked had that capability.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  “Will we need a password?”

  “Yeah, but I can set something up.”

  Those little dancing hairs started to tingle. The mystery woman might have contacted Jerome through email and it’s probable he had an account—Lola said the ELT often sent out messages to its membership. Though no computer was found in his room, the library was available and he was known to have visited there. If I could find his email address . . .

  “Pauli, how hard would it be to check someone’s email?” I asked on impulse.

  “No problem,” he said and closed his laptop.

  “What if you had an email address but not the password?”

  “Why don’t you have the password?”

  “Because it belongs to someone . . . else.”

  “Can’t you, like, ask him. Or her?”

  I paused. “I wish I could, but he isn’t around.”

  “Oh.” He gawked at me. “Like to hack it?”

  “Well, you know, just to check on things . . .” I tried for my most professional voice.

  He gazed at me as if seeing me in a different light. “I could probably do it.”

  “You can find someone’s password?” My heart thumped.

  “It’s not that hard.” He reopened his laptop.

  I put a hand on the lid and slowly closed it. “Not now. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  The restaurant was calming down for the night so I knew I could slip away for a bit. I stepped outside onto the sidewalk. The air was brisk, but low-hanging clouds threatened rain. I turned to face the theater. The lone light in Walter’s office flicked off and I hurried to the entrance just in time to see Penny exit the building.