Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “We have to tell Dillon,” Isobel said. “But first we should make sure the photo is still there.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t,” Delphi said. “I mean, if you were Chris, wouldn’t you go back to retrieve it after the girl in the photo dropped dead on your watch and you were afraid someone saw you burning it?”

  “You’re probably right, but I think we should look.”

  They filed out of the dressing room and down the stairs to the wings. The light was switched off at Heather’s desk. The cast had dispersed, and only a few crew members lingered backstage. Sunil pushed open the door that led to the alley and the loading dock.

  “It was right on the ground behind the dump—” His hands shot out to either side, barring the way. “Holy fuck.”

  “What?” Isobel asked, her heart skipping a beat.

  “Get Dillon. Kelly. Anyone.” Sunil’s voice was harsh and crackling.

  “Is it the photo?” Delphi asked.

  Sunil looked at them over his shoulder, his face slack.

  “It’s Thomas.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “HERE, YOU NEED MORE whiskey.” Isobel closed the living room door and refilled Sunil’s glass with a healthy dram.

  He brought it to his lips, hand shaking, and took a sip. “Poor Thomas. I’ve never seen a…you know…before.”

  Delphi moved closer to him on the sofa. “It’s awful. But at least you weren’t immediately swarmed by cops who thought you killed him, like I was my first time. But I know how you’re feeling. It’s not something you get over easily.”

  Isobel curled up in the armchair opposite and reflected that this was the fourth dead body she’d seen. Sunil had done his chivalrous best to shield them, but while Delphi had taken the directive to run for help, Isobel had pushed past his outstretched arm. Now the image of Thomas, his blood-soaked blond hair matted across the back of his head, was emblazoned in her mind. The other three victims she’d come across had either not been known to her personally, or, after a brief association, had been strenuously disliked. Thomas was different. She had enjoyed his flamboyant personality, and he had been unstinting with both his compliments and his gossip. Plus, he had taken care to make sure they all looked good onstage. All of which made her feel guilty for thinking him a possible murderer up until the moment they’d found his splayed corpse next to the dumpster.

  Dillon and Pemberthy had returned to the theater to question those who were still there about their whereabouts during intermission and act two, but nobody had noticed anyone leaving the theater through the loading door, and, unsurprisingly, nobody confessed to coshing Thomas on the head with the blood-covered C-clamp found near his Bruno Magli-clad feet. Hugh wasn’t feeling well and had gone back to the condo right after the show to go to sleep. It was a good thing he wasn’t there. When Dillon asked what the three of them were doing in the alley, Isobel found herself answering with a lie.

  “I lost an earring,” she’d said. “I was out here before the show getting some fresh air and collecting my thoughts, and I thought I might have dropped it then.”

  Delphi had picked up her cue. “We were helping her look for it.”

  Sunil had remained silent during the interview, but now, bolstered by the whiskey, he confronted Isobel.

  “What possessed you to say that about your earring? I was about to tell him what we were looking for.”

  “It was stupid, I know.” Isobel examined her hands. “I wanted time to think.”

  “About what?” Sunil asked. “They need to know what Chris was doing out there. Especially now. Maybe Chris went back out to look for the photo and Thomas caught him.”

  “During the show? Impossible. Chris practically never leaves the stage.”

  “Sure he does. What about after Sousa’s death scene? We’re onstage for the entire finale without him.”

  “Chris wouldn’t duck out and kill someone during the finale,” Isobel said. “You’re not thinking like an actor.”

  “No, I’m thinking like a murderer,” Sunil returned. “Trying to, anyway.”

  “Fine, but how would Thomas even know Chris burned a photo of Arden?” Delphi asked. “He wasn’t out there with you, was he? Say he was looking out the window or something, he wouldn’t have known what Chris was burning.”

  “I don’t know.” Sunil threw himself back against the sofa in frustration. “Thomas always seemed to know everything.”

  “Isobel’s right about one thing,” Delphi said. “Whoever it was followed Thomas out there intending to kill him.”

  “But what was he doing out there?” Sunil asked.

  “Looking for the bustle,” Isobel said quietly. “We sent him on a wild goose chase. It’s our fault he’s dead.” Tears leaked out the sides of her eyes.

  “What? No.” Delphi’s face paled. “Sunil is right. Thomas must have known something.”

  “Not necessarily,” Isobel said, her voice growing husky with anguish. “If the bustle wire was poisoned, the killer must have panicked when they saw you come on for the first-act finale without it. The person probably thought Thomas figured it out and got you to take it off.” She wiped her cheek. “But it was me. I made you take it off. I don’t think Thomas had any idea.”

  “There is another possibility.” Delphi turned to Isobel. “I know you like to think you’re a genius sleuth, but the poisoned bustle might be a figment of your imagination. Something else entirely could be going on.”

  Isobel hugged herself. “Like what?”

  “Chris might have pricked Arden with some other sharp implement when she sat down. You couldn’t see his hands. She did give him a nasty look, which indicates that it was something she knew he did, rather than sitting on her own costume. You should have let Sunil tell Dillon about the picture.”

  Isobel waved at Sunil. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”

  Sunil rubbed his forehead wearily. “Chris will deny it, unless we can produce the picture.”

  “It’s probably not even there anymore,” Delphi said.

  Isobel unfolded herself from her fetal position. “Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “No,” they said together.

  “Yes, you are. You’re both chickenshit. We have to go back for it.”

  “Now?” Delphi exclaimed.

  “When else? We don’t want to be seen poking around in the daytime.”

  “I don’t think we want to be seen poking around at night,” Sunil said. “Besides, don’t you think they’ve found it by now? I’m sure they examined the ground thoroughly.”

  “Maybe they missed it,” Isobel said.

  “Or Chris went back for it yesterday and it’s long gone,” Delphi said. “Either way, the simple fact of his burning the picture doesn’t prove he killed her.”

  “I know it doesn’t, but it does indicate a depth of feeling that I, for one, had no idea was there. You’re right that he was the only person in close proximity when she collapsed.” Isobel stood up. “This might be our only chance. You guys can come with me or not.”

  Delphi and Sunil exchanged resigned looks.

  Sunil pulled Delphi to her feet. “Come on. You know we’re not letting her go alone.”

  They donned their coats, left the condo, and set out toward the theater in the frigid night.

  “Shouldn’t we tell Hugh?” Delphi asked.

  “He really wasn’t feeling well, and there’s no reason to wake him up just to upset him,” Isobel said. They walked in silence for another block before she spoke again. “Chris obviously hated working with Arden, but when I told him she was dead, he seemed genuinely distraught. I don’t know how to factor that in with the photo.”

  “Relationships are complex,” Delphi opined. “They obviously had a past of some kind.”

  Their steps slowed as they reached the theater.

  “The street access to the alley is around here,” Sunil said.

  They followed him down the block, where the alley snaked along the back of
the building to the loading dock. The area was marked off with yellow and black tape. There was nobody around.

  Delphi rocked from side to side to keep warm. “Are you sure about this? We’re disturbing a crime scene.”

  Isobel ignored her. “Where exactly was the photo?”

  Sunil pointed to a spot on the far side of the dumpster. “Right around there. But it might have been kicked or blown away. I think Delphi’s right. This is a bad idea.”

  “But it’s my bad idea,” Isobel said, ducking beneath the tape.

  She was under no illusions: this truly was a bad idea. But she also knew it was their last chance to look for the photo. She knelt down next to the dumpster. To her surprise, the area didn’t look as if it had been swept.

  “Is this going to take all night?” Delphi called. “It’s freezing!”

  Isobel stood. “Are you sure this is where it was?”

  “Positive.”

  She knelt down again and used the flashlight app on her phone to sift through the assortment of paper, dead leaves, bottle caps, and other detritus. Lost to herself for several minutes, she focused on her search but found no charred pieces of paper. She rose, empty-handed.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Hello.”

  A deep voice broke through the stillness, and Isobel caught her breath. Detective Dillon emerged from the shadow of the loading dock, his hand extended.

  “Looking for this?”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “I WAS WAITING TO SEE who would come back for it,” Dillon said, stepping forward. “Thought it might be you. You see, when a person loses an earring, usually they’re still wearing the other one.”

  “Wh-what?” Isobel stammered, her heart pounding.

  “When I asked earlier why you came out here, you said it was to find a lost earring. But you weren’t wearing earrings. You were looking for this, weren’t you?”

  He held up a plastic evidence bag, and Isobel saw the charred image of Arden’s face, just as Sunil had described.

  “So it was still here,” she murmured.

  Dillon put a hand on her arm. “Suppose we go down to the station, and you tell me why you were burning a photo of the actress you were understudying?”

  Isobel flinched, but Dillon’s grip held firm.

  “I wasn’t burning it. Chris was.”

  “Chris?”

  “Chris Marshall, who plays Sousa. Sunil saw him.” She hollered over her shoulder, “Sunil! They found the photo!”

  There was no response. Dillon gave a nod, and Pemberthy appeared from behind him. She walked back out to the alley entrance and looked up and down the street.

  “There’s no one else, sir.”

  “What? Delphi and Sunil were here a minute ago! You’ve got to find them.” Isobel clutched Dillon’s other arm, suddenly terrified. “Something’s happened to them.”

  “Are you sure they were with you?”

  Isobel gaped at him. “Of course I’m sure!”

  “They seem to have left you in the lurch,” Dillon remarked.

  Isobel’s eyes blazed. “Okay, you’re right. We came back tonight to look for the photo. Sunil told us about it after the show, and I insisted we come out here to look for it, and that’s when we found Thomas.”

  Dillon eyed her. “If that’s the case, why didn’t Sunil come to us about the photo as soon as Arden’s murder came to light?”

  “I think he forgot about it until now.”

  Dillon gestured theatrically around the alley, empty but for the three of them.

  “I would, but he doesn’t seem to be here. Let’s go.” He led Isobel toward the alley entrance.

  She stumbled along next to him, continuing her story. “We didn’t want to tell you about Chris without having possession of the photo. He dropped it when Sunil surprised him in the act of burning it right before the show opening night. Chris pretended he’d come out here to say the rosary, but Sunil stayed outside after he left and found it. He was going to take the photo then and there, but he didn’t want Chris to figure out he had it. And like I said, he only told me about it tonight. That’s why we came out after the show came down, and that’s why we came back now. Without the photo in hand it would have been Chris’s word against Sunil’s. I promise, if you test that photo, you’ll find Sunil’s and Chris’s prints on it, but not mine.”

  Dillon shook his head in wonder. “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “You’re wasting your time with me. You should be questioning Chris.”

  “Hey! Let go of her!”

  Isobel flushed with relief at the sound of Sunil’s voice. He and Delphi sprinted toward Dillon’s car.

  “Where were you guys?” Isobel yelled.

  “We walked around the block to keep warm,” Delphi said, panting as they drew near. “We told you. Didn’t you hear us?”

  “No, I didn’t. Sunil, tell Detective Dillon what you saw opening night,” Isobel demanded. She tapped her foot impatiently as Sunil repeated, pretty much verbatim, what she had already told Dillon. When he finished, she turned to the detective. “Do you think you could let go of me now?”

  Dillon obliged, and Isobel made a show of rubbing her arm, although he hadn’t really hurt her.

  “Tell me about Chris and Arden. What kind of relationship did they have?” Dillon asked Sunil.

  “We were all annoyed by her diva act, but it seemed to get to Chris more than the rest of us. It got to the point where he’d pretty much stopped talking to her,” Sunil said. “Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”

  Isobel took up the question. “He seemed shaken up when he found out Arden was dead, which is a point in his favor, I suppose.”

  “And Arden was sitting on his knee—the way you do now in that song, the one with the inane lyrics—when she collapsed?” Dillon asked.

  “They all have inane lyrics,” Isobel said. “But yes, that’s the one. Now that you’ve seen me do it, you can imagine it. One minute she was sitting there, and the next minute she was on the floor. But my idea about the bustle might be wrong. Chris could have injected her with something.”

  “The fact that the costume designer is dead makes me think you might be right, but we won’t know for sure until the tests come back.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily rule Chris out. He could have been the one who tampered with the bustle. Why don’t you ask him why he was burning a photo of Arden an hour before he killed her?”

  “Talk about leading the witness.” Dillon opened the car door. “Get in. All of you.”

  Isobel crossed her arms. “Before you rush us to the station, my point—and I actually had one—is that now you have the photo. We came back here to find it to bring to you. So you got here first, whatever. The end result is the same.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dillon asked. “I’m giving you a ride home. It’s freezing.”

  Chagrined, Isobel got into the car, and Delphi and Sunil piled in silently after her.

  “Where do you all live?” Dillon asked.

  “Four blocks down and one over.”

  “Theater put you up?”

  “In a condo.”

  Dillon caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Who lives there?”

  “The three of us, Hugh, and Talia. Chris, Marissa, and Ezra live in another one. Arden lived there too. It’s two blocks away from ours.”

  “That’s it, up ahead on the right,” Sunil said.

  Dillon pulled over and turned around to face the back seat.

  “See what else you can find out about Chris and Arden. What kind of history they had that would lead him to burn that photo.”

  “I thought you were going to question him,” Isobel said, surprised.

  “I am,” Dillon said. “See what you can get from the others. You know, you’re not doing too badly so far.”

  FELICITY BREATHED A SIGH of relief when the detective’s car pulled away. She’d heard voices but couldn’t identify them, and she didn’t dare peek out the w
indow to see who had shown up. She’d known there would be a continued police presence at the back of the theater, but she hadn’t expected a mob. When the last security guards left the building for the night, she had shut the lights off. It didn’t matter; she knew exactly where to find what she needed. Things were getting out of hand, she thought, as she stuffed the file into her oversized bag. If any of this got traced back to her, it would be all too easy for the police to draw the wrong conclusion. At this point, there was nothing to do but make sure there was no trail, paper or electronic. She glanced at her computer screen, which she had dimmed to a faint glow. One minute left. She examined her manicure and contemplated her endgame, but no clear path emerged. There were too many unknowns.

  The computer chimed, and she nodded, satisfied, at her empty trash icon. Then Felicity switched her computer off and slipped out of her office, quietly closing the door behind her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Hugh demanded.

  “Now, don’t go all Mrs. Weasley on us,” Isobel said, shutting the front door. “We went back to the theater to check something out.”

  “You could have at least told me you were going!”

  Delphi and Sunil exchanged a glance and slunk off toward the living room, but Hugh stood his ground in the foyer.

  “I thought you were asleep, and as my mother says, bad news can always wait,” Isobel said.

  Hugh eyed her suspiciously. “What bad news?”

  She swallowed. “It’s Thomas. He’s been killed.”

  He struggled to make sense of her words, but it was too incredible. “Thomas? How? When?”

  “Someone smashed him on the head in the alley behind the theater, probably during the show. We found him after you left.”

  A wave of nausea overtook him, and he leaned against the wall to steady himself. “That’s just awful. Bloody awful.”

  Isobel gave a little hiccup. “Possibly not the best choice of words.”

  “Lord, you’re right. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”