Speak Now

by Margaret Dumas

  “Good Lord,” Simon whispered. “It’s Brian.”

  Our missing director. With a small round hole between his eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Simon moved toward the body, reaching slowly for the dead director’s shoulder.

  “Don’t!” a voice commanded from the back of the room.

  We all jumped. I may have screamed again.

  “Don’t touch him!” It was Flank, standing in the doorway with his gun drawn. Finally, he’d said something I was able to understand. And agree with.

  “He’s right,” I said. I looked at my three colleagues, staring wildly at the body, at Flank, at me, at each other. Flank advanced into the room, holding his gun upwards and moving more swiftly than I’d have given him credit for. He looked down at the body, then at us, and holstered his gun.

  “Out,” he said to me, then he tapped the earpiece he was wearing and began muttering into his sleeve.

  “We need to get out of here without disturbing anything,” I said softly. “We need to call the police.”

  We took a collective step backwards. Chip bumped into a birdcage and knocked it off its stand. Simon yelped.

  “Calm down!” I yelled. “There’s nothing we can do for him now except try not to mess up the crime scene.” Paris started to protest, but Simon cut him off.

  “Listen to her, guys, this isn’t her first dead body.”

  I stared at him. “Can we leave now?”

  We left. We didn’t stop in the prop room. We didn’t stop until we were onstage and realized everyone was looking at us. I didn’t suppose we were a sight to inspire confidence in cast or crew. The four of us stood in a cluster, turning various shades of green, trying not to let our legs go out from under us. Flank hung back in the shadows. He was soon joined by the rest of his squad.

  “Do something with them,” I whispered to Chip, nodding at the cast. “Take them somewhere.”

  “Where’s Lisa?” he said automatically, having learned the finer points of delegation from me. When he didn’t see her handy, he made a visible effort to pull himself together. “All right, everyone!” he called, clapping his hands. “Can I have everyone’s attention here!” I thought for one horrible minute that he was just going to blurt out our discovery. But once everybody was looking at him expectantly, he seemed to run out of steam. “Um…”

  “Nobody panic.” Simon took over, his clear, aristocratic voice lending him authority. “I’m going to have to ask that everybody stop what they’re doing and leave the building immediately.”

  There was a general murmur of surprise and protest. “Please, darlings, as quickly as you can,” Simon went on. “Everybody just take the rest of the day off and be back here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Victor demanded, stepping forward importantly.

  Simon looked from the aging actor to me with a feverish light in his eye. Then he took a deep breath. “Bomb scare,” he said loudly. “Probably nothing, but better to be safe than sorry. Now, if you’ll all just…”

  But he didn’t have to continue. People began grabbing for their things and rushing toward the doors.

  “Calmly! Calmly!” Simon yelled. “Paris, go make sure everyone is out of the basement workshops.”

  Paris opened his mouth as if to reply, then just nodded and dashed off.

  “Chip, go upstairs and make sure there’s nobody in the office.” Chip set his face grimly and headed for the stairs.

  Suddenly we were alone, and I stared at Simon in amazement. “We didn’t actually have to clear the building.”

  He was trembling visibly. He sat down and ran his hands through his hair. “Thanks, but I didn’t see you coming up with any clever ideas.”

  “Yes, but the police will probably want to talk to everyone.”

  “Oh, please. The man had obviously been in that refrigerator for weeks.” He turned a deeper shade of green and swallowed forcefully. “I hardly think whoever put him there is still hanging about.”

  That was a point.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea?” He really did look awful.

  “You can get me the hell out of here,” he snapped. Then he sighed and reached for my hand. “Failing that, you can get me that charming detective chap.”

  I sat down, pulled out my cell phone, and thought how optimistic Jack had been not to have put Inspector Yahata on speed dial. He had, however, included the policeman in the address book of my organizer.

  I dialed the number with a certain fatalistic dread. “Inspector? Charley Fairfax. I’ve found another body.”

  ***

  Once again, I was amazed by the meticulously detailed approach the police took to violent death. Inspector Yahata had arrived within minutes of my call. The crime scene team had shown up only a little behind him. When the detective asked me to show him the body, Simon held me back in my seat. “I’ll do it,” he said, swallowing. I was profoundly grateful.

  After we’d told Yahata everything we knew, he accompanied us up to the office to go over every piece of paper regarding Brian we had. Chip pulled the file that held the employment information he’d provided, including his local address. I dug up the note he’d left when he’d gone. I’d tossed it in the desk drawer after showing it to Martha.

  “Martha!” I yelped.

  The detective gave me a curious glance.

  “She’s our costume designer,” Simon explained. “What about her?” he asked me.

  “She…” I paused. Oh, hell. This was no time to keep a girlish confidence. “She was in love with Brian.”

  Chip looked thunderstruck. They all did, except Yahata. “Were her feelings returned?” he asked.

  “She seemed to think so. She couldn’t understand why he’d just gone off like that without…” My voice trailed off. It seemed pretty clear now why he’d just gone off like that.

  After more questioning the detective left us alone in the office. For a while we just sat around in still-stunned silence.

  There were a thousand questions running through my mind. Eventually Chip gave voice to one I hadn’t thought of yet.

  “What are we going to do about the play?”

  “We’ll just do whatever we can,” Paris said defiantly.

  Simon cradled his head in his hands. “What can we do?”

  I checked my watch. It was a little after five. I should have called Jack hours ago. It didn’t cross my mind for an instant that Brian’s murder might be unrelated to Nancy’s. Or to Cece’s abduction. I reached for my phone.

  “Good,” Simon said when he saw me dialing. “Call Eileen. She’ll know what our options are.”

  I stared at him. At the three of them. And I knew I was responsible for everything that had happened. And that I couldn’t abandon them now to go chasing after a criminal shadow figure that I hadn’t even told them about. Who was probably long gone. I sighed, hung up, and dialed Eileen.

  ***

  “Of course you have to go on.” Eileen knocked back the glass of whiskey Simon handed her and held it out for a refill. After we’d called her, Simon and I had sent Paris and Chip home. It was the theatrical equivalent of not arguing in front of the children.

  “How can we just go on?” I asked. “Our playwright and our director have been murdered. Don’t you think that’s going to have an effect on morale?”

  “Morale be damned.” She tossed back the second whiskey.

  “Eileen, if it’s about the money…”

  “Money be damned.”

  Money be damned? Who was this woman? “Leenie—” I started.

  “Charley,” she interrupted. “This company is not strong enough to survive a cancelled season.”

  “Maybe not the whole season,” Simon said, “but surely one play.”

  “On top of one disastrous play and three mediocre ones last season?” She raised her eyebrows. “If you cancel now, you may as well just shut down the Rep and sell the theater.”

  Simon began to sputte
r. “Naturally I admit that the bloody space thing was a disaster, but I really don’t think—”

  “Look,” Eileen cut him off. “I’m sorry to be so harsh about this.” She turned to me. “Really. But the fact of the matter is that the company is already on the brink of collapse. People already regard it as the vanity project of a wealthy woman with too much time on her hands, and we can’t keep carrying on in an unbusinesslike—”

  Too late, she saw the effect her words had had on me. “Oh, God.” She closed her eyes. “Charley, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Do they?” My voice came out in a croak. “Do they think that?”

  “Of course not!” Simon said.

  Eileen shook her head mutely, looking like she’d give anything to take it back.

  I was stunned. I don’t know how long we sat in silence before I spoke. “We haven’t exactly done anything earth-shattering here, have we?” It was painful to admit, but I knew it was true. “We’re just… And now with…” I was depressing myself to the extent that I couldn’t go on.

  Simon looked from Eileen to me and back again.

  “Balls!”

  Eileen and I jumped.

  “Absolute bloody bollocks.”

  We blinked at him.

  “Complete crap!”

  “Simon,” Eileen said.

  “Shut up, Eileen. Both of you. You two need to stop wallowing in whatever it is you’re wallowing in and figure out how we’re going to get on with things.” He glared at us.

  “We are wallowing a bit,” I admitted.

  “Bloody right you are. Darlings,” he said earnestly, “since when have we cared what people say about us? And so what if we haven’t achieved brilliance yet? We do this because we love it, and sometimes—just sometimes—it isn’t complete crap. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Simon,” I protested, “a few minutes ago you were moaning and wailing and wondering how we could ever go on.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’m over it. We’re bloody well going on.”

  Eileen looked at me expectantly.

  I thought about it. It was true that a lot of theatrical companies fail. And yes, the Rep might one day go under. But if we did, it would be because of our own mistakes, not because some homicidal maniac was terrorizing us. And it damn well wouldn’t be without a fight.

  “Charley?”

  I met their stares. “We’re bloody well going on.”

  ***

  I finally called Jack. He arrived at the theater nine minutes later and went directly into a consultation with Flank and his team. Then he had a few words with Inspector Yahata.

  Jack and the detective seemed to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement in the weeks since we’d discovered Nancy Tyler’s identity. I knew they’d spoken almost daily, and had shared what little information there was. Jack still hadn’t told the policeman about his own covert past—at least not that I knew of—but Yahata seemed to have taken Jack off his personal list of the five most suspicious men in San Francisco. I didn’t exactly know why.

  When Jack and I finally left the theater, I was surprised to find it dark outside. We climbed into the Lexus and Jack headed for the freeway.

  “We’re going to Harry’s,” he said. “Mike will meet us there in half an hour—”

  “We have to make a stop,” I interrupted him.

  He slammed on the brakes. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “But we have to go see Martha. I don’t want her finding out from the police.”

  Jack looked like he was about to argue, then relented. “Fine. Where’s her coven?”

  “She lives in Hayes Valley, off of Gough.” I gave him a warning look. “And no witch jokes.”

  Martha’s home was a perfectly normal live/work loft space. With the exception of the enormous knitting machine in the middle of the living room, it could have been anyone’s. I could sense Jack was a little disappointed not to find black cats and cauldrons. Although we did find the lady of the house clad in a filmy black knit sort of Stevie Nicks number.

  She looked terrified when she opened the door. “Did the building explode? I’ve been watching the news but there hasn’t been anything on.”

  “There was no bomb,” I told her. “But there is bad news.”

  She took it better than I expected. She sniffled and said that when Brian hadn’t responded to her summoning ritual she’d known that something was preventing him from returning to her. To his credit, Jack refrained from rolling his eyes.

  It was to Jack that she turned when she finally began to cry. Or maybe weep is a more accurate description. The tears fell gently down her pristine cheeks and she folded herself gracefully against my husband’s chest.

  He looked at me over her head, trying to keep his face away from the dangerous-looking spikes of hair protruding from her French twist.

  “I know the woman just found out her lover is dead,” I said when we were back outside, “but if she puts some sort of spell on you I’ll kill her.”

  ***

  Finally on the road to Harry’s house, we were able to talk about Brian’s murder.

  “Do you think he was just another warning?” I asked. “Like Nancy?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. Nancy was left deliberately where we would find her. Brian was hidden. And he was shot, not poisoned. I don’t think his murder was planned. At least not in the same way.”

  “But you do think they’re connected?”

  “It’s either that or your theater is cursed. And even your witchy friend isn’t going to convince me of that.”

  “That’s what the cast will think, though,” I told him. “Theater people are completely superstitious.”

  “They might be, but Inspector Yahata isn’t.”

  “What does he think?”

  “You won’t like it,” Jack warned. I braced myself. “He’s looking at Simon.”

  I was shocked. But then I wasn’t. “That’s what Eileen said would happen.”

  “Why?” Jack asked sharply.

  “He was the only one who’d actually met Nancy.”

  “He was also the one with the key to the storage room where Brian was found.”

  “Jack, you can’t think—”

  “Of course I don’t think. But Yahata’s leaning in that direction.”

  “Jack, you and Yahata are pretty chummy these days. What did you do to make him stop suspecting you?”

  “Maybe he hasn’t.”

  “Oh.”

  We drove for a while in silence. Then I remembered what I’d wanted to tell Jack earlier in the day. Had it just been that morning? My conversation with Regan seemed weeks ago.

  “Jack, what do you think of Regan?”

  “She’s not my type.”

  “I don’t mean that. What do you think of her as a suspect?”

  “Regan?”

  “Well, we’ve talked about how weird it was that Rix showed up at the right time with the right funding for the theater, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The thing is, if he meant to infiltrate the Rep, he didn’t really put himself in much of a position to do that.”

  “Right.”

  “But,” I said emphatically, “he did supply Regan. And she’s in a position to do just that.”

  “Regan?”

  “Why do men never suspect beautiful women?” I asked. “That’s what made me think about it this morning. She’s so beautiful, and she’s so charming, and so talented.”

  “And?”

  “And so much better than Rix.”

  “You think?” Heavy sarcasm from my husband.

  “I think. I also think she’s better than some second-rate theatrical company run as a vanity project by a wealthy woman with too much time on her hands.” Eileen’s words still stung.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Never mind. The point is, the whole reason for Rix to have come up with the money we needed might have bee
n to plant Regan, on Macbeth’s behalf, within the Rep.”

  “Maybe.” Jack sounded doubtful. “But if she’s as good as you say she is, why would she need Rix?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Damn.” I was quiet for a while. “Before Regan, I had been thinking of Paul.”

  “Based on what?”

  “I was thinking he might have a drug problem. And that might make him easy for someone to manipulate.”

  “Are you sure he’s on drugs?”

  “I don’t have proof. I thought I’d ask Cece for advice.”

  He took that in without comment.

  “Charley, there’s something you should know.” Jack shot me a look. “The man we’ve been calling Macbeth…” He hesitated. “He hadn’t been selling secrets just for the money. He’d been involved with someone in one of the organizations we were…investigating.”

  “I thought you told me he was married?”

  Jack gave me an eloquent look.

  “Okay, okay, so he was cheating on his wife,” I said. “And—Jack, is that why his wife turned him in to you?”

  “I’d like to think her patriotic duty had something to do with it as well,” he said.

  “But you’re saying Macbeth was in league with a woman. A criminal woman.”

  “I don’t think I would have phrased it quite like that, but yes. That’s the gist of it.”

  We turned off the freeway into suburbia. “So this woman could be the person who’s been carrying on with his plans. Who, even before his death, was making things happen for him outside of prison.”

  Jack frowned. “That doesn’t really fit. Mike and I believe her group was behind his death.”

  “It really wasn’t a suicide?”

  He shook his head.

  I digested that. “I guess it wouldn’t make sense for her to kill him and then carry out his scheme.”

  Jack didn’t respond.

  As we turned into Harry’s driveway, I brought the conversation back to its beginning. “Jack, could Regan fit anywhere in this? What do you think?”

  He frowned. “I think I’d better ask Mike to keep an eye on her.”

  Chapter 24

  We were up all night, debating what our next move should be. Harry still assumed the reason behind the mayhem was financial rather than personal, and that the criminal would eventually demand money to leave them alone. Jack didn’t correct him.