Introductions were made all around, except for the ghosts, for obvious reasons—though Maxie continued to look at Josh the way she might have looked at a juicy steak when she was alive (I’m assuming).
Paul, who has had jealousy issues whenever I have shown even passing interest in a breathing man, hovered in a corner and stroked his goatee, but he did not look particularly peeved, which was really all I’d have asked.
Nan and Morgan were cordial. Morgan was probably catching every other sentence, since ambient noise is a problem even with hearing aids, and stood there with a fake smile plastered on his face while Nan exchanged the requisite pleasantries. Tony assessed Josh coolly. He tends to act like a father figure when I least require one, but he smiled and shook Josh’s hand, apparently deeming his grip acceptable. I’m not sure, but I think Josh probably expected someone to check his teeth by now. So far, things were going fine. Being me, I expected to hear an entire Payless store drop shoes any second.
We grow sunny dispositions in New Jersey.
Mom had timed the dinner perfectly, and we sat down to pot roast, sautéed onions, asparagus, salad (I had contributed by putting baby carrots on top, the one thing Mom trusted me to do), rice pilaf and sourdough bread. Still, she apologized for, as she put it, “the rushed dinner.”
“It’s delicious, Mrs. Kerby,” Josh volunteered. “I can’t imagine anything being better prepared.” His parents were right; he was wasting his talents in the paint store. He should have been involved somehow in diplomacy.
Mom blushed.
“What version of Peter Pan is the one they’re doing?” Melissa wanted to know, perhaps trying to give Josh a break from the constant scrutiny. She’s a sensitive girl.
“It’s one Jerry Rasmussen wrote himself,” I told her, omitting the eye-rolling that Lawrence had performed when passing the information on to me. “Apparently he writes music and lyrics, too.” Okay, so it was hard not to eye-roll.
“Uh-oh,” Jeannie intoned. She was letting Tony feed Oliver, because Jeannie eats first. That’s the deal. You don’t get between Jeannie and her dinner. I’ve been there when some have tried; it wasn’t pretty. That’s all I’m saying.
“Keep an open mind,” Mom said, sounding close to sincere. “You never know.”
I would have joined in, but as good as Mom’s cooking is, my stomach was still a little nervous while I watched Josh take in the scene.
“I can’t imagine what this one sees in you,” Maxie helpfully told me from her perch just to Josh’s right. “He cleans up nice.”
“Are you a big Peter Pan fan, Melissa?” Josh asked. Rule number one of dating a single mom: Show interest in the child. Well played.
“Not really,” Liss told him. “I’m more of a Star Trek fan. Or Harry Potter.”
Josh nodded. “Both good.”
Morgan, who had complimented Mom’s dinner (as had everyone else), found his way back into the conversation, clearly having missed much of what was being said. “Here’s what we should be looking for tonight,” he said out of the blue. “Any signs of tension between the group members would be interesting. But we also want to see if any of them tries to get some residents aside and talk privately.”
I immediately looked to Josh. You never know how a guy will react to talk of cases and suspects. Some might be, let’s say, a little put off by the idea of a woman they’re dating being involved with violence and crime. They might feel the need to be the “protector” or to feel threatened that the woman is more macho than they might be.
He was intent and hanging on every word, like it was the best movie he’d ever seen.
“That would mean they were probably trying to sell some drugs, right?” Melissa asked. Criticize my parenting. I dare you. She’s intelligent and interested. Hasn’t had a nightmare in three years. Go ahead.
Morgan nodded. He didn’t seem at all fazed that the question had come from a ten-year-old. To him, everybody thought like a cop, or should. “But I don’t want you anywhere near that, Melissa. You tell me or Nan or your mom if that happens, and we’ll deal with it, okay?” Liss nodded earnestly; she was going to follow Morgan’s orders because he commanded respect, and because she really was a smart kid who knew enough to be wary of anything shady.
“Also,” Morgan continued, “I want you, Alison, to talk to Rasmussen and Tyra Carter, just so I can see their faces when you do.”
“I’m not sure I want to ask Tyra anything even a little bit touchy,” I said, having cleaned my plate and noting that others had done the same. I nodded to Melissa, and we began to clear the table. We’d decided on no dessert right now, with the possibility of something after the play if it wasn’t too late.
Josh asked no questions. He hadn’t heard some of these names before, but he was taking it all in. I assumed he’d ask me later what he needed to know.
“You don’t have to ask her anything about Laurentz,” Morgan told me. “I just want to see her manner when you approach.” Paul, wanting as always to learn from a more experienced professional, pursed his lips—this was something he hadn’t thought of before.
“Anything I should do, Morgan?” Jeannie asked. She was getting a little bit too into this detective sideline, I was starting to think.
“Watch your baby,” Morgan answered. Shockingly, Jeannie looked a little disappointed. “If a situation arises, I’ll be sure to let you know what to do. That goes for everybody else here.” Josh looked a touch surprised, but he didn’t say anything and helped, over objections from Mom and myself, to clear the table and load the dishwasher. “You should all be watching for anything unusual, and let Alison or me know about it,” Morgan concluded.
“Should we get going?” Mom asked.
Many coats, sweaters and other garments were donned, and the party headed for my Volvo and Tony and Jeannie’s minivan. Paul stopped me as we were starting out, and called me over toward him.
“One last thing you need to watch,” he said quietly. “Try to keep Melissa with Jeannie and Tony, and away from the others. Make the seating seem as if it’s a coincidence these people are all together.”
That sounded ominous. “Why?” I asked.
Paul looked just as ominous as he sounded. “Because none of the Thespians have ever seen you with anyone except your mother or Jeannie before. If someone there is a killer, and they think you’re getting too close, they’ll look to see who means something to you. Those are your weak spots, and they can be exploited.”
I quickly tried to think of a way to dissuade Melissa from going, but there was no way she’d be talked out of it. I’d make sure she stayed close to Mom and away from me. “Gee, Paul, thanks a heap for that one,” I told the ghost.
“Enjoy the show,” he said.
Twenty-seven
It had gotten dark sometime around five that afternoon, and the sky was now that combination of gray and pink that makes you think snow is on the way, though there was none in the forecast. The front gate at Brookside Assisted Living Facility was less of a wrought-iron cliché and more like the tollbooth at a rather sedate theme park. I gave my name to the young man in a polo shirt sitting in the little structure, he pushed a button and the gate in front of us rose up to let me drive through. The same thing had happened a moment before with Jeannie’s minivan, and she was waiting for me to go through to push on ahead, having gotten directions from the polo shirt guy.
“Why do they call this place Brookside?” Melissa wanted to know as I drove the Volvo through the gate. “I don’t see a brook.”
“Well, my development is called Whispering Lakes,” Mom pointed out. “There are no lakes there, either.”
“It’s just a name, Liss,” I said. “It sounds nice, that’s all.” I had lost the argument in which Liss was to ride in Jeannie’s van in case anyone was watching when we got out. She wanted to stay with me, Mom and Josh, mostly because she wanted a less crowded venue to vet Josh. My daughter doesn’t miss a trick.
For his part, Josh had kept up
the conversation, but it was clear he saw I was on edge and was waiting until we were alone to ask what was wrong. I had to put on a better show to convince him that it had nothing to do with him, which it didn’t.
“Maybe there’s a brook in the back,” Mom suggested. We drove on.
Melissa thought it strange that I kept standing in front of her as we got out of the van, and then seemed to abandon her into the custody of Jeannie and Tony (Frances and Jerry knew Mom) once we walked into the clubhouse, a large, more or less octagonal building at the front of the facility. A sign directly out of someone’s home printer was taped to the door—“Peter Pan by the New Old Thespians”—and listed the date and time.
Inside, I strode rapidly ahead, to put distance between me and Liss and Mom. Josh kept pace with me but took the opportunity to ask, “Should I not have come? Am I going to be in the way?”
“No!” I said a little too loud. “I was afraid you were thinking that. No. It just…occurred to me that if the killer is here tonight…”
“You don’t want to be seen too close to Melissa. Very smart. Do you think Lawrence really was murdered?” Josh had increased his pace when I’d explained, and now I was having just a little trouble keeping up with him through the corridor to the auditorium.
“The only thing I know for sure on this one is that I don’t know anything for sure on this one,” I said. Josh grinned. I was starting to really like that grin.
“This sounds like fun,” he said.
Frances Walters was the first familiar face I saw when we got to the auditorium, which appeared to have doubled as the dining room. A stage of sorts, really, as Jerry had said, risers put up at one end of the room, stood in front of a good number of folding chairs, most of which were empty at the moment. The residents appeared to have left the front three rows almost empty, perhaps so they could leave more quickly if the show turned out to be a stinker. I gestured—surreptitiously, I hoped—to Jeannie for her to find seats for Melissa and herself, then walked to Frances. Mom walked over, having seen that Frances’s face showed recognition. Josh walked to one side of the room and leaned against a post, looking casual.
“I’d heard you were bringing some people,” Frances told me. She assessed the crowd, which consisted mostly of Brookside residents, many in wheelchairs and not a few with oxygen tanks. “I didn’t realize your mother would be one of them.”
Mom smiled and nodded at Frances. “It’s nice to see you again,” she said. “I never knew you were a star.”
Frances laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m just an aging chorine.” But she looked just a tad annoyed when neither of us contradicted her on the point. “I’m glad you came with so many people,” she went on finally. “My son was going to fly in for this, but he had an emergency.”
“Which son?” Mom asked. “The accountant or the pharmacist?”
“The accountant, can you believe it?” Frances answered. “Who knew there could be an accounting emergency?”
“It’s too bad he couldn’t make it,” I said. “But I’m sure he’s seen you perform before, no?”
“Oh yes,” Frances responded. “He’s seen us many times. Both of my boys have been here for shows.”
“It’s an interesting idea for a show,” Mom noted. “Peter Pan for senior citizens?”
“Oh, you’ll love it,” she said. “Jerry’s written a great show. He took the original story of Peter Pan and adapted it for a more mature audience.” She must have seen the look on my face as I fought the urge to glance at Melissa and laughed. “Oh, not that kind of mature! You’ll see; it’s more appropriate for the audiences we usually get. How is your investigation of Larry’s death going?”
I told her that I’d made some progress—let her pass that around the company—but wasn’t specific. “A lot of it has to do with the setup of his apartment,” I lied, thinking of the only thing that would make it sound technical. “Were you ever there?”
“Never. Not even sure where it was.” Frances shook her head. “But I’m certainly familiar with the units in our development.” she said. “Except I guess now there’s no toaster in the kitchen.” She shivered at the thought.
“The poor man,” Mom said.
I had to give Frances something to spread around to the crew, particularly Jerry. “I think I’ll be able to make a definite statement about what happened very soon,” I responded, although I thought the exact opposite of that. I had pegged Frances as the source of information (aka gossip) for the New Old Thespians; I figured a few bits of misinformation placed just so might spur a little reaction. She appeared to take the bait, eyes widening just a touch.
“That’s really exciting,” she said. “Care to give me a sneak peak?”
“Play nice, Frances. You’ll get the skinny when I can give it. Just keep it quiet. I promise you’ll be the first, okay?”
She seemed pleased with that, then “remembered” something she had to do (which was probably to pass my “secrets” along to the rest of the troupe), excused herself and went backstage.
“Please don’t stand near me or Melissa,” I said to Mom once she was gone. “I don’t know who’s dangerous here.”
“You’re not letting me help,” Mom protested.
“Getting one of us—especially Liss—in the sights of a killer isn’t going to help,” I countered. Mom pouted but went to a seat at the far end of Tony. Melissa looked a little puzzled that her grandmother wasn’t sitting next to her but did not protest, since Mom wasn’t making a fuss over Oliver, either.
Josh walked over, not too casually, and pretended to introduce himself in case anyone was watching. He shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Which one was that?”
“Frances Walters. And she’s backstage right now passing on everything I told her was in confidence, just as I planned.”
“You’re very smart,” he said. It seemed I was fooling everyone I needed to tonight. Looking just over my left shoulder, Josh smiled again and said loudly, “Really! I could have sworn I met you at the Steam Fitters Convention in Atlantic City!”
I turned and saw Jerry Rasmussen was approaching. Behind him, Jeannie, Tony, Oliver, Nan and Morgan were settling into front-row seats, probably to accommodate Morgan’s hearing, although he was hardly the only one in the room with such difficulties. Jerry held out his hand and took mine as if we were old friends.
“Alison!” he gushed. “I’m so pleased to see you!” He gave Josh a look that was something other than adoring. “Who’s your friend?”
Josh missed a beat, then chuckled. “Oh, we just met!” he said, extending his hand so Jerry would have to let go of mine. “I’m Michael Ellis. Stanhope Pipe Fitting. And you are?”
Jerry straightened like a soldier brought to attention. “Jerome K. Rasmussen,” he said.
“The one who wrote tonight’s production?” Josh said, looking as awed as if being introduced to Abraham Lincoln. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Wrote and directed,” Jerry corrected, but he was smiling broadly. “So nice of you to say, Mr. Ellis.” He gestured toward me. “Might I have just a word with Alison?”
“Of course!” Josh held up his hands in contrition. “I should take my seat, anyway, shouldn’t I? Again, a great pleasure to meet you!” He backed away. I thought it a small triumph that he didn’t salaam as he went. “Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Kerby.” He went to a seat two rows behind Mom and Melissa and put his coat down on the one next to him, no doubt saving it for me.
“What a nice young man,” Jerry said. “Now, may I ask about your investigation?”
What, you haven’t gotten the six thirty news from Frances yet? “I can’t tell you much,” I said, and then proceeded to tell him everything I had told Frances, adding, “I think it was clearly not a simple heart attack.” That covered my bases, since it would be true even if Lawrence had died of natural causes; an arrhythmia is not a heart attack. But it gave Jerry that little extra nugget of information that might make
him feel he’d gotten something out of me more than I might have entrusted to Frances. I wasn’t sure this was getting me anywhere, but it was a strategy Paul had endorsed, so I was playing it through to the end.
And suddenly it seemed to pay off a dividend. “Oh, my,” Jerry said. “That’s very distressing.” But he didn’t look the least bit distressed until he spotted Penny Fields, whom I wasn’t even aware would be here tonight, entering the auditorium. Interesting; I hadn’t realized these two knew each other. “I really must go backstage. We go on in five minutes.” Jerry nodded at me, then turned to walk away. Suddenly, as if getting an idea on the spot, he turned back and asked, “Would you like to watch from the wings? You might get a more ‘inside’ look from back there.” I got a very strong vibe that he wouldn’t mind getting me away from Penny, either.
I thought it over, noting that it would help keep me from being seen with Melissa and would also get me closer to some of the other suspects, so I said, “That would be exciting! May I meet you back there in a minute? I’d like to get a bottle of water first.”
Jerry looked quickly at Penny, who hadn’t seen him yet, and nodded. “Certainly,” he said, wiping his forehead. He was gone backstage before I could blink twice.
I walked near where Josh was sitting and dropped my glove next to him. While bending over to pick it up, I told him I would be going backstage for the performance, then added, “Michael Ellis?”
“It’s from a Monty Python sketch,” he said. “It’s a man who is never seen.”
“I know what it’s from. I’m impressed.” I stood up with the glove in my hand and casually added, still not looking at Josh, “Keep an eye on Mom and Melissa, would you?”
“Sure.” He barely opened his mouth saying it. No questions, no arguments.
I thanked him with my eyes and walked down to the front row, where Jeannie was bouncing Oliver on her knee, Tony was going through the diaper bag and Nan and Morgan were watching opposite sides of the stage, occasionally turning to scan the crowd. The couple that surveils together stays together.
Chance of a Ghost Page 43
