Offed Stage Left

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “I’m serious. If you really think something’s up, call him. You have his number.”

  Isobel pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled back until she found it. She glanced questioningly at Delphi, who crunched her toast and nodded. Isobel dialed. She frowned and hung up.

  “It says his mailbox is full.”

  “Probably fans calling demanding to know where his column is. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Morning, ladies,” Sunil said from the doorway. “What’s the news?”

  “None, as it happens,” said Delphi. “Roman Fried didn’t write about us.”

  “He didn’t file a column at all, and his voice mailbox is full,” Isobel added.

  Sunil poured himself a cup of coffee. “So he chose not to reveal the secret of the surreptitious shrimp?”

  Isobel shook her head. “What should we do?”

  Sunil took a sip and swore. “Crappy coffeemaker. I don’t know. I guess at this point we should ’fess up.”

  “You say that as if we were the ones who did it,” Isobel said.

  “You know what I mean. Tell them we identified the problem. We don’t have to say we figured it out yesterday, but we can say that we remembered reading about a similar prank and suggest that might be it.”

  Isobel rustled the paper absentmindedly. “I’d be surprised if the exterminator didn’t get to the bottom of it. I mean, it took us what, like, five minutes? You just follow your nose.”

  “And yet, Felicity canceled in advance, knowing help was on the way,” Sunil mused. “Almost makes you wonder if she just plain didn’t want the show to go on last night.”

  “You think she would purposely deny her beloved nephew the chance to star in his own so-called musical?” Delphi asked.

  Isobel paced to the kitchen window and looked out, half-expecting to see Detective Dillon watching her from his unmarked car, but there was only the usual intermittent traffic.

  “I’m still trying to figure out who put money behind it in the first place and whether it’s connected to the embezzling or not. Fried said Thomas told him trips to New York, meals, hotels…”

  “I don’t see why the two things wouldn’t be connected,” Sunil said. “And as you correctly point out, all of this turns on the question of Felicity’s taste. I don’t care how much she loves Jethro like a son, business is business.”

  “Business is business, but love is blind,” Delphi said.

  “I’m with Sunil,” Isobel said. “The woman is running a theater, possibly into the ground for all we know, and she’s got to know this is no cash cow. So what is she up to?”

  “And where is Roman Fried?” Delphi finished.

  “Did you try his hotel?” Sunil asked. “You know where he’s staying, right?”

  “Oh! Of course.” Isobel searched for the number of the Hilton Garden Inn and dialed. “Hello, may I speak to Roman Fried, please? He’s a guest.”

  There was a pause on the other end.

  “I’m sorry, he’s checked out,” said the clerk.

  “When?”

  “Yesterday evening.”

  “Can you tell me if he was always scheduled to check out then, or was that an early departure?”

  “One moment, I have to look up his reservation.” After a minute, she returned. “He was originally booked in through the weekend. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Isobel hung up and turned to the others. “He’s gone. Checked out yesterday ahead of schedule.”

  “I wonder why,” Delphi said.

  “We can add that to our list of questions,” Isobel said. “I hope somebody’s keeping a log.”

  “Is this a private meeting, or can anyone join?” Hugh said from the doorway.

  “We’re just discussing the case.” Isobel waved him in. “Join us.”

  She noticed his hesitation, but he accepted the olive branch and entered the kitchen. She glanced behind him.

  “Do you know where Talia is?”

  “She just left to go to the market.” Hugh poured out the rest of the coffee and joined Isobel and Delphi at the table.

  “It’s time to take stock,” Isobel said. “I’m confident that none of us is responsible for any of the hijinks, fatal or not, that have ensued. I’m sure we all have thoughts banging around our heads, so let’s compare notes and see where we stand. Suspects?”

  Three pairs of eyes blinked uncertainly back at her.

  “Come on, really?”

  Hugh cleared his throat. “I keep coming back to Geoff and, I hate to say it, Oliver. That prank with the orchestra parts seemed very pointed to me, not to mention the fact that whoever did it knew exactly how to wreak the most havoc with the fewest crotchets.”

  “What the hell is a crotchet?” Delphi asked.

  “Sorry. A quarter note. You can take the boy out of Cambridge…” Hugh said with a laugh. “But seriously, Geoff must be furious that Jethro tossed his score aside.”

  “I agree that the musical prank implicates Geoff,” said Isobel. “But do you think he would actually murder an innocent person, bitch though she was, RIP—”

  “Talk about circular logic, but go on,” Delphi said snidely.

  “It damages the show and Jethro going forward, so if that was his goal, maybe,” Hugh said. “Who would touch a musical with that kind of bad luck? Though murder is extreme, I grant you.”

  “I’m giving you Geoff,” Isobel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Find Geoff and chat him up. Find out what happened between the first workshop and opening night. Will you do that?”

  Hugh opened his mouth to object but then nodded. “All right, but I want to make sure you all know exactly where I’m meeting him and when, so that if I don’t reappear…you know.”

  “Good idea.” Isobel looked around. “Any other suspects?”

  “Now that we know you’re making assignments, I pick Chris,” Sunil said. “The cops may not have had enough to hold him, but if he and Arden were engaged, and his love turned to hate, and then he was forced to endure her abuse while playing opposite her—well, that seems like a perfect storm.”

  “Great. Hugh’s ground rules apply. Make sure one of us knows when and where you’re meeting. We don’t know what we’re stepping into, so we all need a lifeline. Like that game show.”

  “Great, now we’re playing Who Wants to be a Murder Victim,” Delphi grumped.

  “You’re next. Who’s your pick?”

  “Do I have to? I’m the new kid.”

  “Yes. There are more of them than there are of us.”

  Delphi blew an exasperated raspberry. “Okay. I guess Kelly.”

  “Why Kelly?”

  “She’s the stage manager. Nobody else has unimpeded access to every element of the production. And I still think it’s weird that her book went ‘missing’ with your note,” Delphi said, applying air quotes.

  “You think she pretended to lose her own book to get rid of the evidence?”

  “And throw suspicion on someone else, yeah,” Delphi said.

  “I can’t imagine a stage manager sabotaging her own ability to call the show,” Sunil said. “I think even if her brain wanted her to do it, her body would resist. It goes too hard against the grain.”

  “Not even if her ultimate objective was to shut the whole thing down?” Delphi asked.

  “But what motive could she possibly have?” Hugh wondered.

  Delphi winked. “When I find out, I’ll let you know.”

  “I love confidence in a woman. It’s hot,” Sunil said.

  Delphi ignored him and jutted her chin at Isobel. “You’re up.”

  Isobel gazed at the ceiling and gathered her thoughts. A strange idea was taking shape in her mind, and she wasn’t quite sure what it meant. She had three people in mind, none of whom had been mentioned. But for now, she could only pick one. In the interest of dispatching the least likely suspect, she made her choice.
>
  “Ezra.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting,” Sunil said. “His name is attached to this piece of crap, and he can’t be happy about the result.”

  “The question is, would he resort to murder to keep the show from having a future?” Isobel mused. “Would anyone?”

  “Someone did,” Delphi said.

  Isobel pushed away from the table. “Let’s go find out who.”

  Sunil and Delphi left the kitchen, heads together, chattering. Hugh held back.

  “Isobel.”

  She smiled expectantly, praying he wasn’t about to launch into another relationship conversation.

  “No matter what we decide after this is all over, I want you to know I appreciate being included. I know that sounds silly, and like I’ve reverted to primary school social games, but I think you know what I mean.”

  Isobel nodded.

  “I also wanted to say that you’re simply lovely as Jennie. But then, I always knew you would be.”

  “I did, too,” she said impishly. “But it’s much better hearing it from you.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “IS THIS OKAY?” Hugh gestured to a small table by the window in Starbucks.

  Geoff lifted his shoulders laconically. “Fine with me.”

  Hugh figured that in addition to having alerted Isobel to his plans, sitting in full view of the street wasn’t a bad idea. Not that he thought he was in imminent danger. Even though he’d picked Geoff, imagining him to be a cold-blooded killer seemed as impossible as imagining himself capable of such an act. They were both artists: composers, conductors, pianists. Birds of a feather. Now, sitting across from him, Hugh decided there was no way Geoff had killed Arden and Thomas.

  “Did you kill Arden and Thomas?”

  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he realized to his consternation that he was channeling Isobel.

  Geoff paused with his coffee midway to his mouth. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “I figured we’d bazooka the elephant in the room so we can talk about what really interests me,” Hugh punted, wondering what had possessed him to say such a thing.

  “Which is what?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What interests you? Why did you want to meet?”

  Hugh took a long sip of his chai before answering. “I’ve been having a rather rotten time of it. Jethro is constantly putting in his oar. I prefer my writers dead. Present company and self excluded, of course,” he added quickly.

  Geoff opened the plastic lid and tapped more sugar into his coffee. “What kind of stuff do you write?”

  “Theater songs, art songs. Music and lyrics. I’m working on a musical.”

  Geoff crumpled the empty sugar packet. “Everyone in New York is working on a musical.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I’ve got very little experience with getting a show produced. I know you had a bumpy road with Sousacal—”

  Geoff snorted. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  “But I thought perhaps I could learn from your experience.”

  “You mean how not to spend several years of your life collaborating on a piece and then having your contribution kicked to the curb?”

  Hugh felt his face go warm. “Yeah, that.”

  “Mmm.” Geoff sipped his coffee. “First piece of advice, choose your collaborators wisely.”

  “What made you pick Jethro?”

  “I was musical director for A Colonial Christmas Carol, and Felicity introduced us opening night. She wanted him to meet me because she knew I was a composer, and Jethro had been wanting to write a musical about John Philip Sousa for years.”

  “And you honestly thought that sounded like a good idea?”

  “Anything’s a good idea if you’re getting paid.”

  “Wait, Jethro paid you to collaborate?”

  “Not Jethro. Felicity.”

  Hugh took another sip of tea and tried to look nonchalant. “I suppose you had to return the money when Jethro scrapped your score?”

  “No chance! I did my job. I turned in a score—a damn good one, I’ll have you know.”

  “So what happened?”

  Geoff took the lid off his coffee again and to Hugh’s disgust tapped in another packet of sugar.

  “We did a staged reading up here, and then a workshop in New York. Ezra had been recommended to me as a director, and I brought him on for that. He had a pal at the Donnelly Group and got some bigwig there to see it. Apparently, Donnelly, or whoever it was, made the mistake of commenting to Jethro afterward that it seemed strange to write a musical about Sousa without any of his music, so out went my score. I said no way was I going to MD what I was certain would turn out to be a disaster—no offense—and I walked away.”

  “But Ezra stayed on. Why?”

  Geoff shrugged. “A job’s a job? Who knows, maybe he has gambling debts or something.”

  Hugh wondered briefly if this was more than a casual suggestion and filed it away to tell Isobel.

  “Jethro must have pulled the score together pretty quickly, because I was brought on only a few weeks later, or so I was told.”

  “They didn’t have a score in place when they were holding auditions,” Geoff said.

  Hugh sat back. “Let me get this straight. Felicity paid you to write a score for Jethro’s Sousa musical, presumably because she didn’t think he had the talent, and then your score got scrapped because of an offhand comment by Donnelly, so Felicity held auditions for a show that had no music?”

  “More or less. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I would guess Jethro must have shown her something to reassure her that he was on the right track and would get it done.”

  Hugh shook his head. “That’s almost worse. I mean, listening to any of it would send any sensible producer screaming for the hills. The idea of lyricizing Sousa marches is completely daft.”

  “You still don’t get it,” Geoff said. “This was never about quality. Jethro is the son Felicity never had. I wouldn’t say she’s blind to his imperfections, but she’s certainly willing to make allowances.”

  “Even if it goes against her best interests?” Hugh asked.

  “If it does. More likely she has some interest in the show that nobody knows about.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Want something else? I’m craving a donut.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  Hugh watched him saunter up to the counter to increase his already shocking sugar intake. Geoff was so confident, so full of swagger. Hugh wondered how talented he was. Maybe his score wasn’t as good as he thought. On the other hand, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what they’d ended up with.

  “You must have been pretty angry when you got cut loose,” Hugh observed when Geoff returned, glazed donut in hand.

  “At first, yeah. But I calmed down. I mean it’s not like this was ever going to put me on the map.”

  “It seems the Donnelly Group has lost interest now.” Hugh stirred his tea. “Any idea why they didn’t make it opening night?”

  “Oh, probably a little birdie told them it wasn’t worth the gas.”

  Hugh looked up. “You?”

  “I hadn’t seen it yet. I didn’t know,” Geoff said innocently.

  “Oliver must have told you.”

  “Oh, he did. But I never make recommendations on someone else’s word. Even my brother’s.”

  “Why did he stay on after what happened to you?”

  Geoff’s expression softened. “Ollie’s young. He’s still building his resume, and this was his first contract with Livingston. I think you’ve been good for him. You’re a talented conductor.”

  Hugh felt a rush of pleasure. “Thanks. You’ve seen it then?”

  “I was there opening night. Pretty shocking.” Geoff took a longish sip of coffee as if it were a bracing whiskey.

  “Did you know Arden well?”

  Geoff smacked his lips. “Didn’t know her at
all. She came on board after I was thrown over. I mean, I knew who she was. Miss New York and everything. But we never met.”

  “Then who did the workshops?”

  “Talia.”

  “As Jennie, I mean.”

  Geoff licked honey glaze off his fingers. “Yeah, as Jennie.”

  “And she was bumped for Arden?”

  For the first time, Geoff appeared uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and glanced into his lap before he answered. “Arden was a draw, obviously, but beyond that, Talia isn’t much of an actress.”

  “And she was willing to stay on in a smaller role after originating the lead?”

  “I got Felicity to put her on an Equity contract. Talia wanted to join the union and get a solid theater credit on her resume. Thinks it’ll make her more marketable. I don’t have the heart to tell her it won’t make a difference unless she takes some acting classes.”

  “And Felicity was willing?”

  “She felt bad about drop-kicking me, so yeah.”

  “Did you ask for anything else?”

  Geoff laughed. “A royalty point. Didn’t get that, though.”

  “So you and Talia, what’s the deal?”

  “We went to grad school together. Dated a little, off and on. You know.”

  “Are you on again or off again right now?” Hugh asked.

  Geoff smiled cryptically. “Yes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He took a bite of his donut and wiped a stray crumb from his chin. “Exactly what you think it means.”

  Hugh sighed. “Yeah, that sort of sums up Isobel and me, I guess.”

  “That girl’s got talent,” Geoff said appreciatively. “And sangfroid, the way she jumped into the fray. She must have been a Girl Scout.”

  “I was proud of her.” Hugh consciously tamped down a twinge of sadness. “But listen, I have to ask you. If you don’t care about the show and what’s happened to it, why did you bother to come back to see it?”

  Geoff’s face drew in on itself as if he’d sucked a lemon. “I don’t know what makes you think I don’t care. I put two years of my life into this show, and I wanted my work to see the light of day. That’s a lot of wasted time. Put yourself in my shoes. You’d feel the same way.” Geoff glanced at his phone and stood up abruptly.