by Sandi Scott
“What is it, honey?”
“She told me she knew what kind of person I was. She said I’d never amount to anything more than an understudy—always in a shadow.” Her eyes welled up. “She said my days were numbered.
"That's just horrible," Georgie replied.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
“But, you are still there. You’re taking Madame Bray’s place, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Jenny exhaled. “I’m also doing a better job than that stuffed sausage ever could. I’m not sorry she’s gone. I’m not. If that makes me guilty of anything, it’s guilty of being honest.”
When Georgie left she wasn’t sure she had learned anything new. But an intense rivalry among stars is a huge motive to kill someone. As much as Georgie might have liked Jenny, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more there. Jenny had never explained her relationship with Taylor Bray. That alone was enough to keep her in the circle of suspects.
Chapter 10
"She sounds like a real live wire," Aleta commented after Georgie described her visit with Jenny Holt.
“You know, you’ve got to be a little crazy to be in this type of business. I’m convinced of it.” The twins sat in the garishly decorated dining area of the neighborhood McDonalds.
“You’ve got a point there—these smoothies are delicious.” Aleta took another big sip of her strawberry smoothie.
“I know,” Georgie agreed. “Sometimes it’s nice just to walk here from the house instead of getting in the car or hailing a cab to go to a place that may or may not have what you’re wanting.”
“I wonder if I should eat anything?” Aleta turned and looked at the menu board behind the counter.
“What about your health kick?” Georgie asked.
“Would a couple nuggets really kill me?”
“Only if you didn’t share with your sister.”
After hemming and hawing for about five minutes they settled back at their table with ten pieces of chicken nuggets and large fries to share, plus an apple pie for each.
“The thing about Jenny is that Madame Bray was strangled. There is no way that girl could have taken down that large woman. Just because you have two torpedoes on your chest doesn’t make you strong.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Georgie said, “but she could have had someone do it.”
“How?”
“It’s dark on the stage when the curtain is pulled. They’ve got to have a rotating schedule of stagehands. What are the chances that everyone knows all of them? Some random guy walks back stage with a broom or a prop and I wouldn’t think twice.”
“Good point.”
“I got in through the side door and not a single person saw me. When they did I gave them a fairy story of waiting for Tammy and no one said ‘boo’. The whole situation was really quite interesting.”
“To me, I’m glad people are still believing that the majority of folks are good. Go ahead. Leave that side door open. No one is going to hurt you,” Aleta added. “The chances of there being a second murderer are pretty slim.”
“Really? I’ll still be locking my doors tonight.”
They finished their evening snack together and on their way back ran into three very handsome, very familiar men. “My favorite fellows!—,” Georgie called and waved down the street, “and Stan.” Andrew and J.R. strolled up to the ladies.
“We are going on an evening tour of some of the architecture in the neighborhood. Want to come with us?” Andrew said after kissing his mother on the cheek.
"That would be a nice way to walk off our McDonalds’ food," Aleta suggested.
“Sure, sounds like fun,” Georgie said as she hugged J.R. and made her way to Stan. Aleta slipped in between Andrew and J.R. linking her arms with theirs as Georgie walked with Stan.
“So, what brings you down to this neck of the woods?” she asked. Obviously, something was on Stan’s mind. “What’s the matter?”
“Andrew tells me you have a date coming up this Saturday.”
Georgie felt like she was a teenager caught with cigarettes in her purse. What was this? She had the tiniest little bit of social life and it was like the National Guard had to be called out. “That boy takes after you. He just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“So, you weren’t going to tell me about it?”
“No, Stan. I wasn’t.” She pinched her lips together.
“Don’t you think that is something I should know about? What if things get serious? Or, what if you go missing? I need to know the details about this guy.”
"Do you really, Stan? You know, I've never asked you if you were faithful to me when you went off on your little jaunt of self-discovery," Georgie firmly stated. In the past, Georgie had always trusted Stan had been faithful even out West. One look at Stan's face told her she might want to ask, just to be clear on a few things. Guilt comes in one color, and Georgie was sure it was that specific red on his cheeks.
“That was different.”
“How? Because we were still married?” Georgie rarely got angry with Stan these days. He could be annoying and dismissive but no more than any other fellow who had work and sports and home improvements on his mind. This conversation, though, was making her angry, and she didn’t like it.
“Georgie that was years ago, and this is now.”
“So.”
“So, like I said. There are real weirdoes in the world, and a guy who seems nice and cultured could be a lunatic. Ted Bundy was a real sharp tack.”
“Obby is not Ted Bundy. Do you need to request a vacation? I think you might. Work seems to be getting to you.”
Stan didn’t say anything but thrust his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. They walked side by side in silence for a while. Georgie listened to Andrew talking to Aleta and making plans to go visit Emily with her tomorrow or the next day. That was one thing she could say about Stan. He made beautiful babies. She couldn’t get over how handsome and beautiful all three of their children were. They were lucky.
“Can you at least tell me where you are going?” Stan was like a child hoping for a hint about his Christmas present.
“Why? So, you could casually show up there?”
“I would never do such a thing.”
"You lie," Georgie said.
“Okay, you don’t have to tell me where you are going. Just tell me when you are going, and when you expect to be back.”
“Are you crazy? Is that your problem?”
“Come on, Georgie.”
“Andrew, where does the tour start?” Georgie changed the topic and strolled past Stan to walk beside her sister and son.
“Just up ahead, Mama.”
“This is a perfect night for a stroll. What a great idea!” Georgie felt a small twinge of guilt leaving Stan to walk a few paces behind them by himself, but he didn’t come for the tour. He came to grill her for information on her date. Surprisingly, Stan was not being very subtle for a detective.
Chapter 11
After the tour, Stan quickly made a beeline for home. He had had enough sightseeing. His ‘fishing expedition’ into Georgie's social life came up empty, but Georgie knew he wouldn't give up that easily. As she walked home, the boys walked ahead, talking about the buildings and designs they had just seen.
“You were in a pretty deep conversation with Stan. Anything you want to talk about?” Aleta asked.
“You know Stan. He was just being his old, nosy self.” Georgie looked off down the street as if something had caught her eye. Aleta took the hint that she didn’t want to talk about Stan at the moment. “I’ve got a gut feeling that Madame Bray’s husband might shed a little light on this situation.”
“Who?”
“Madame Bray’s husband, Taylor.” She rubbed her chin with her index finger. “There is bound to be a funeral for his wife, right?”
“Yes.” Aleta looked at her sister sideways. “What are you going to do? Crash it?”
“It’s not
crashing if I’m really paying my respects.”
“He’s going to be in mourning. You saw how some of those people were at the cabaret. The funeral might not be a good time.”
"I think it might be a perfect time." Georgie nodded her head. "I'll wear my serious black. I'll blend right in."
“That’ll be the day.”
Georgie didn't sleep well that night. Even after the long walk and the excitement of the tour, she couldn't stop thinking of Stan. Part of her wanted to call him up right then, even though the clock said 2:06 a.m., and tell him he had a lot of nerve. But, another part of her wanted to ask him for permission to go out with Obby. What if Stan said no? Would that be fair?
“No,” she hissed into the darkness. Bodhi, who slept in the crook of Georgie’s legs, lifted his head and gave a disapproving snort. “Sorry, puppy. I know you are trying to sleep. So am I. It isn’t working.” Georgie flung off the covers and rolled out of her bed leaving Bodhi to stretch his paws and yawn before closing his eyes to go back to sleep. Shuffling to her kitchen, she changed her focus from Stan to Taylor Bray. The newspaper from this morning was still in its plastic cover. Georgie spread the paper over her kitchen table and took a seat. In a few minutes, she found the listing for Madame Bray in the obituaries. A quarter of the page was taken up by a garish black and white image of the performer, smiling broadly with a feather boa across her shoulders and fishnet stockings.
"Services are being held at the Wilde Funeral Home tomorrow,” that would be today Georgie realized, “from 10:30 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. Please make a donation to the Blackburn Theater in lieu of flowers." Georgie decided to wear a black skirt with a crisp white blouse and a large brooch at her collar. She was confident that she would blend in with the rest of the mourners, but once she arrived at the funeral home, Georgie realized that she stood out from the crowd precisely because she was wearing somber colors. The cast and crew of the cabaret had arrived to pay their last respects to Madame Bray in a blinding array of colors and styles. Somehow, Georgie thought it all was a fitting send-off. Most of the men were dressed in tuxedos with tails. The ladies had their cleavage pushed and hoisted up almost over the top of their skin tight dresses. They dabbed their eyes with white lace hankies. “My gosh, I look downright frumpy compared to this lot,” Georgie muttered.
As she followed the train of people inside the funeral home, the atmosphere became heavy. Georgie looked around. She recognized some of the girls from the dressing room who were now standing outside the viewing room. Straightening her white blouse, Georgie made her way toward the receiving line.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she heard one man say. His hair was so slick she could see her reflection in it.
"She was so much bigger than anyone recognized." Another man in an all-white tuxedo blew his nose into a tissue.
“Will there be food or coffee and donuts or something?” Two stagehands in plaid shirts were asking as people filtered past them.
“No,” a woman answered with bright red lipstick and slightly crossed eyes. “Mr. Bray said he needed to watch his money and couldn’t afford a luncheon.”
That broke Georgie's heart until she walked into the room and saw the casket Madame Bray had. For starters, Georgie hadn’t realized that caskets came in bright, fire engine red. This was a custom job with spit polished brass and black satin lining; since she was to be cremated, wonder how much rental on this casket was? Madame Bray’s body was dolled up in a green and black striped corset with her arms covered in long black gloves. With a few extensions added, she had a massive pile of hair styled and sprayed into position for her viewing. Long eyelashes kissed her rosy cheeks while the rest of her skin was gray with death.
“She looks so beautiful,” an older woman about Georgie’s age sobbed.
“Did you know her long?” Georgie asked as she stepped closer to the broken-hearted woman.
“I met her about eight months ago,” the woman sniffed. “She mentioned retiring and maybe buying a piece of property somewhere quiet like Utah or Alaska. I told her I had a tiny piece of property in Utah I was hoping to unload.”
“Really?” Georgie leaned forward.
“Even though she decided to go another route, we became good friends.”
“I’m so sorry. My name is Georgie Kaye.”
“Evelyn Saint Eves. Charmed.” She and Georgie shook hands. “I just can’t imagine who would do such a thing. What kind of world is this?”
Georgie patted Evelyn’s arm and proceeded past the coffin where Taylor Bray sat in the last seat of the first row of chairs. They were marked reserved for family or close personal friends. He sat alone. As Georgie watched him mechanically shake the hands of the people viewing his deceased wife’s body, she noticed something strange. Taylor appeared to have something serious on his mind. Of course, he does, Georgie. His wife was just murdered. He is saying his final goodbye along with everyone else. But somehow, Georgie didn’t think that was it.
As people passed by, Taylor looked at his watch, then to the door, then back to the line of people still pouring in to offer their condolences. Absently, he shook Georgie’s hand without expression, giving her the same slight nod, the same wry smile he had given to everyone ahead of her. Hiding in plain view Georgie decided to take a seat at the back of the room and watch. Foot traffic began to wane by twelve-thirty. By one o’clock people had stopped coming through the door. By two o’clock the room was virtually empty with just Taylor and a couple of people from the show offering to give him a lift or help him during this difficult transition. He waved them off with a quiet thank you and a wave of his hand stating he would be fine and was looking forward to having some time alone to think things through. Georgie found it very surreal.
“Nothing odd about that,” Georgie murmured as she stood and inched her way toward to the door. “The man is probably still in some kind of shock. I would be. I wouldn’t take anything that came out of his mouth too seriously.” Slipping out of the room to stand unnoticed in a shadow in the hallway, Georgie watched as the last of the mourners left Taylor alone with his wife. She waited.
“This will be hard for him,” she mused. “Such a shame, really.” But, Taylor seemed to be handling himself better than she expected. Once alone, he loosened his tie. Taking a look at his watch again, he strolled up to the casket. Without much of a second glance, he closed the casket lid. Georgie pressed herself into the corner from where she was observing and held her breath. Taylor walked out of the room and to the funeral home director’s office. She heard him explaining how he would not be staying for the cremation and that they should call him when her remains were ready for transport. It was a quick conversation. Before Georgie realized it, Taylor was leaving the funeral home and heading into the parking lot where he was about to get behind the wheel of a dark blue Cadillac. Once more, he checked his watch.
“Where is he going in such a hurry?” Georgie wondered to herself.
Without even thinking about it, Georgie was again tailing a suspect in Madame Bray’s murder. She expected Taylor to head in the direction of Jenny Holt’s condo. After all, sex was one of the top two reasons for murder, but Taylor didn’t head in that direction. Instead, he drove only fifteen minutes from the funeral home before turning into the gated parking lot of the South Shore Country Club.
“This is interesting.” She watched as the car turned into the Members Parking Only area. Georgie waited as long as she could to see where he’d leave his car before following a winding drive to the guest parking lot. Once Pablo was settled under the shade of a tall oak tree, Georgie returned as quickly as possible to Taylor's car. From a distance, the Cadillac looked quite elegant, but upon closer inspection, Georgie saw the exterior rust spots and the interior was messy with stains, scratches, and trash scattered on the floor.
“So, he keeps a messy car.” She shrugged to herself and strolled confidently to the entrance.
“May I help you, ma’am?” A young man in a red vest and black pa
nts met her at the front door.
My goodness," Georgie acted flustered, "that is quite a walk from the guest parking lot." She slipped her arm through the young man’s. "I'm meeting my grandson, Taylor. My doctor says having a drink before five o'clock isn't healthy. He never clarified a.m. or p.m. So, I think I'm good," she giggled. The doorman chuckled at her.
“Yes, ma’am. The clubhouse bar is just down the main hallway straight ahead.”
“Thank you, honey.” Georgie squinted and strolled into the country club without anyone taking notice of her. She considered exploring the facility, but, as luck would have it, she would not to have time. Taylor Bray emerged from the men’s room and strolled confidently into the bar. Georgie followed.
The South Shore Country Club (SSCC) was a very exclusive place. Georgie had no idea what Taylor Bray did for a living, but it had to be something amazing to afford this place. There was no way he could have afforded it on Madame Bray’s meager salary. After all, she wasn’t performing on Broadway. No matter how much they sold out, that theater only held about two hundred people. Plus, that theater crowd was nothing like the patrons of the SSCC. Georgie walked in and was greeted by the shiny, metallic wall of trophies that graced the lobby. Walking up to the huge display she saw they dated back to 1926—mostly tennis, some cricket, plus the Mackinac Island race across Lake Michigan. Then there were the photos of the individuals and teams that helped capture these trophies. They were all men up until the seventies when a spattering of women started to show up in the photos as more were allowed in the club.
While walking towards the restaurant and bar area, Georgie couldn’t help but wonder if the people who belonged here appreciated its beauty as she did. There were beautiful paintings hanging on the walls showing the city of Chicago over the years. Georgie admired them. The details and glorious layers of oil paint that made the objects pop or recede were fun to observe. How much time had the artist put into the painting? "You can tell a lot of time by all the layers of paint," she mumbled. That was the beauty of working with oil paints. With acrylic, piling on more and more made the subject appear stiff, but with oil paints, in order to blend the colors, several layers could easily be used adding a texture that was soothing to the eye. At least, that was what Georgie thought. As she stepped across the threshold into the restaurant she was surprised at its simplicity. Sure, there was a beautiful thick, oak bar taking up the southern side of the room while the tables in the main dining area were covered with starched, white tablecloths. Other than that, plus a few large paintings of the founder of the club and some other Chicago landmarks, the room was relatively casual.
