I had to find Lily right away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ages ago, when all this stuff started, I had promised to be in only one play that summer. So, since I wasn’t going to be in The Merry Marinade, I now had my mornings free and spent them doing the job my parents had originally planned for me, filing and typing at the lumber yard office. It was a bit boring, but it was a way to earn a little extra money and pass the time until the evening performances of The Last Leaf.
Lily had a small speaking part in Marinade, so I didn’t see much of her that last week. When I did, before the performances, she spent her time making snide comments about Neil Claussen’s every move and commenting on just how far gone Dierdre was over Danny.
“I feel a little sorry for her. She follows him around like a sick puppy, but he won’t give her the time of day anymore.”
“What happened to none of our business?” I asked her.
“What can you do when it’s all happening right before your eyes? I can’t help it.”
I loved being in The Last Leaf, but after a while, the songs became a constant noise in my head, especially when I tried to get to sleep at night.
I’m doing this for you, your heart will see you through . . . blah, blah, blah.
Gilly was right. The lyrics were insipid. I gradually became sick to death of them. I was both relieved and sad to see that the last performance, what Terence termed our field trip, was coming up the next day.
It was a long trip to Lake Placid in the early morning hours. Dierdre had tried to grab a seat beside Danny on the rented bus, but he’d deftly managed to do a kind of doh-si-doh maneuver and plopped down beside plump, middle-aged Adele Foster.
He probably regretted that move. Adele spent most of the trip whispering probing questions. If she thought she would get some kind of gossip scoop, she was disappointed. Danny shrugged and smiled wanly, slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes as if he was sleeping.
Janey found a seat near the driver. The whole trip, she chewed her nails and gazed anxiously through the bus window at the slowly-awakening countryside.
Lily pointedly ignored Neil. She’d claimed not to believe a word of what Gilly told me about the bet, but there was still a definite chill wind blowing in Neil’s direction.
Fahrenheit-wise, things began to warm up as we walked in the side entrance of the Belle Colline Hotel.
“Whew! Muggy in here,” Lily said to me, pulling her shirt away from her body. “I’m sweating already.” She picked up a hotel towel from a neat stack on a nearby table and mopped her forehead.
“And that chlorine smell,” I added with a grimace. “I can’t stand chlorine.”
The pool area of the hotel was luxurious, equipped with tropical-looking plants and beach-oriented furniture, but the humidity was undeniable. I had a strong aversion to that particular chemical.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right, I remember why. You flunked the swimming test, didn’t you?” Lily’s tone was more sympathetic than my classmates’ had been at the time. “You do know, don’t you, that you have to pass that swimming test to graduate from high school?” She dropped her vanity case and her hanging bag on a nearby patio table and took a seat in a chair.
I followed suit. “No, you don’t. I researched it. You just don’t get some little stamp thing on your diploma. Big deal.”
So what if I couldn’t swim? My plunge to the bottom of the YMCA pool had been a source of much embarrassment, and I didn’t want to go back over it.
“Is everybody here?” Terence stood near the edge of the pool and called the group to order. “All right. As you can see, this isn’t going to be the easiest job in the world, but we can do it.”
The ensemble swept their collective gaze balefully around the large, rectangular, high-ceilinged room, half occupied by a beautiful blue swimming pool.
At one end was the entrance to the hotel lobby and a flat expanse filled with reclining chairs and a few tables. This was where the audience chairs would be. At the other end was the pool, entrances to the men’s and women’s locker rooms and an exit to the parking lot.
“It’s pretty simple,” Terence explained, waving his arms to take in everything. “This is exactly like a big gymnasium with a pool in one end of it. How hard can it be?”
We all chuckled, but hesitantly. We had rehearsed this over and over, but how on earth could we change scenes, let alone dance, with all that water in the middle of everything?
“The good news is that there’s adequate floor space on either side and in front of the pool. And fortunately, since there’s that thing up there,” he pointed to the aerial running track that encircled the room and the steps that led up to it, “we can set up Johnsie’s apartment on the stair landing, though we’ll have to change scenes in full view of the audience.”
“Where do you want us?” Irene asked.
She was carrying a large case containing an elaborate electronic keyboard. Gilly stood behind her with a cube-shaped speaker under each arm and miles of electric cord hanging around his neck. They were followed by the drummer, rolling his paraphernalia on a wheeled cart and the flute player bearing her tiny instrument case.
“Well, that may be part of the bad news. We can’t have you too near the water, what with all the electronics, of course, so you’ll be stationed behind the audience.” He pointed to the hotel end of the pool enclosure, where a trolley containing perhaps a hundred folding chairs stood next to the wall. “We’ll need to set up the chairs to see where we can put you. Let’s get started, everybody.”
I used enjoy the old Judy Garland movie where she said, “Come on, everybody; let’s put on a show!” and before you could say “unlikely,” a full-fledged musical in a barn was ready to raise the curtain. While our results weren’t quite so impressive, I really was reminded of Babes in Arms that morning. The male members of the troupe carried in several of the smaller flats, wrestling them through the parking lot entrance. The huge ladder that had literally been Danny’s downfall and played such an important part in Act Two had ridden with us in the aisle of the bus, tripping up anyone who tried to move from seat to seat. Once it was set up next to the stair landing and the landing itself was precariously furnished with a small chair and a tiny cot, things started coming together. The tall flat representing the ivy-covered brick wall stood next to the ladder.
We spent two hours re-blocking scenes to accommodate the pool and after a box lunch provided by the hotel, we did one more quick run-through and were dismissed to the men’s and women’s locker rooms to get ready for the early evening performance.
At least as far as costumes are concerned, it’s good that this will be the last performance, I thought as I stepped into my washerwoman’s skirt and buttoned the waistband. I’d brought my costume home four times during the two-week run, and after each washing and ironing, it looked a little more ragged. Mine wasn’t the only outfit to show the strain. Buttons on Janey’s overburdened bodice had popped off twice, and the shirt of Danny’s Lover costume had torn at the shoulder. Lily and Pat had repaired everything by hand.
Over the past two weeks, we’d learned that Janey herself had dyed her hair reddish brown, and the credit for her enhanced bosom went to whoever manufactured foam rubber inserts.
“Her Highness sure is edgy today,” Lily whispered to me as we applied our Tan #2 in front of the long bank of mirrors in the locker room. “Look, her hand’s shaking. That’s the second time she’s put on her eyeliner.”
As if to confirm Lily’s observation, Celia dropped a hairbrush on the floor, and Janey jumped in surprised alarm at the clatter.
“Don’t do that again!” she said sharply, as if it had happened on purpose. Celia just shook her head and retrieved her brush.
“Oh, shut up,” Dierdre snapped. “You’re not the only one getting ready here!”
“Sheesh!” Lily leaned closer and whispered, “Two prima donnas in one show. We better stay out of their way!”
We could hear
the overture beginning, even from inside the locker rooms. “Showtime, ladies,” Chris said, sticking his head in the door. “Take your places.”
Since we didn’t have a curtain to delineate the scenes, we were required to bring in props, set up and hit our marks in a kind of semi-darkness. As we moved to our designated places, I remembered what Terence had said about the audience being on the same level as the cast. It was a little unnerving to see all those peoples’ eyes watching us in the dim light, and when the lights went up and our first number began, actors and audience were far closer than was comfortable.
Just don’t think about it, I reminded myself, maintain the Fourth Wall.
The overture faded, the Lover stepped forward, took Johnsie’s hand, said, “Do you think you could paint my portrait?” and we were off, just as we had been for the past twelve performances.
There were no problems during the first act. Nobody fell in the pool. Nobody tripped during the dances and the singing went well, though it was a little difficult to hear the band, situated as they were behind the audience.
The Belle Colline’s guests made an appreciative audience, even better than the ones at the Adirondack Bijou. They laughed at all the right places and clapped longer after the songs. Being so close to them, I could tell when someone was looking at me. To my relief, more people followed Janey and Danny with their eyes than anybody else. There was one elderly man in the front row who seemed especially enraptured. When the first act ended, the audience stood as they clapped, then milled around, talking to each other. Waiters entered from the lobby to take orders for refreshments.
We had thirty minutes before Act Two. The intermission was longer than usual, but the Belle Colline wanted to give the guests extra time to order beverages, Terence had told us.
Back in the dressing room, Lily powdered her forehead. “I’m starving. That box lunch was pretty measly.” She pulled some coins from her purse. “Go tell that hippie to get us some candy bars. I think there’s a machine in the lobby.”
“Oh, Lily, I don’t know—” I began, but I was hungry, too, so I sidled out of the locker room, hid behind a flat and tried to hail Gilly. During Act One, he’d turned music pages for Irene, and he continued to sit there behind the audience, having an apparently cordial conversation with her.
“Psst!”
He didn’t seem to hear me. It was a lost cause unless I wanted to walk out into the midst of the crowd in full costume and makeup.
“I’m going to the bar for a smoke,” I heard an elderly man with an unlit cigar say to the smaller man sitting next to him. “Flo’s coming. You wanna come, too, Gino?”
Though he, too, had an unlit cigar, the man named Gino shook his head. His friends moved through the crowd toward the lobby.
I watched him from my hiding place. He was the one who’d been staring at Danny all through the play. He was short, maybe five-six in his deck shoes—no socks. He had the comb-over hairstyle of the balding and elderly. His seersucker pants were striped pale blue and he wore a sports shirt with an expensive logo over the heart.
Suddenly, he looked around, stood and began walking resolutely along the side of the pool, headed toward the locker room. His stride was strong and confident. He passed the first stage flat and I followed, curious. He was now trespassing into cast-only territory.
Without hesitation and before I could politely restrain him, Gino leaned his head into the men’s locker room and called loudly, “Daniel DiNicco? Is Daniel DiNicco in here?”
When Danny emerged in costume with a towel around his neck and a puzzled expression on his face, the man embraced him.
“Wh-what?”
The old man reached up and patted Danny’s face. “I’d know that kisser anywhere! My boy, my nephew, my little sister’s only child!” said Gino with feeling. “I haven’t seen you since you was a baby, but I knew right away it was you!” He put his hand to his chest. “It’s your Uncle Gino!”
Danny looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Um, hello.”
Gino stepped back. “Let me look at you. Pretty good lookin’ fella, if you took off all that sissy makeup.”
“Now, wait a minute—”
Gino punched him in the arm. “I’m just kiddin’ ya. You got a gift. What a voice! What actin’! I’m proud o’ ya. You got definite talent, kid.”
“Thank you.” Danny was a head taller than his uncle. “I’m glad you like it. About Mom—”
“Oh, sure, I know what your mother says about me. Don’t pay attention to that. We’re blood, kid, blood! That means somethin’!” He slapped Danny on the chest, moved his inert cigar to his other hand and reached into his pocket. “I been followin’ your career with interest, so to speak. Puttin’ in a good word wherever I could.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his wallet and held it up. “See? I carry this with me everywhere. A rave review!” He poked Danny with his bony elbow and grinned. “I had a little somethin’ to do with that. I know a guy who knows a guy, and, well, you know . . . ”
Danny’s eyes widened. He pointed back toward the dressing room. “I have to get ready for—”
“Sure, sure, back to work. Don’t worry, kid, we’ll meet again.” He patted Danny on the cheek again, hard, and began to walk away.
I heard a gasp. When I turned, I realized that Janey had been standing directly behind me, observing this strange reunion too. Feeling a little guilty about my spying, I turned my attention to her.
“What’s the matter, Janey?” I whispered.
She stood staring after Gino as he melted into the milling crowd. Tan number two couldn’t disguise her sudden pallor. All at once, she wheeled and ran back to the women’s locker room. I followed.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
She ignored me as she ran into a stall and emerged, wearing the yellow sundress. Her beautiful costume lay on the floor of the stall, rumpled and abandoned.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed her odd behavior. Dierdre stepped into her path.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What I have to.” Janey tossed her things into her vanity case, willy-nilly, and snapped it shut.
“You can’t be leaving!”
“Oh, yes, I can. And I am.” Janey thrust her purse under her arm and picked up her case. “Besides, what do you care? You’ll get to be Johnsie. You’ll get your precious Danny back!”
She was trembling uncontrollably. Still in heavy makeup and elaborate hairdo, she shouldered her way rapidly through the shocked group of women and out of the locker room.
I caught up with her at the side of the pool. She was headed directly for the exit.
I stepped in front of her. “Janey, you can’t leave. Not in the middle of the play!” I tried to keep my voice down. “Not now, after all that Terence’s done for you!”
“I can’t help it! Didn’t you see who that was? I’ve got to get outta here!” Her dark eyebrows had climbed almost to her hairline. “I knew this road trip was a mistake. I told Terence! He said the disguise would work, but I can’t take the chance!”
“But where are you going?”
Her eyes were wide. She looked around wildly.
“I don’t know! I’ve got to think. I was stupid to come here.” She leaned close and whispered, “They’re after me; I know they are. I was supposed to be safe up here, but—” She straightened and looked over each shoulder. “Tell Terence I’m sorry.”
I grabbed her arm and tried to spin her around. “You’re not going anywhere!” I pulled her along the edge of the pool, back toward the set. “It’s just wrong, what you’re—”
With one desperate heave, she jerked her arm out of my admittedly inadequate grip and gave me a mighty push. I didn’t see her any more after that, because I staggered backward and fell into the deep end of the swimming pool with a resounding splash.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was the fiasco at the YMCA all over again: me, choking on chlorinated water with arms and legs uselessly goin
g every which way. But this time I had the added weight of a wet costume.
With a frantic flap of my arms, I managed to break the surface. The edge of the pool was just inches from my grasp. Underwater, my legs thrashed frenetically.
Closer, closer, I almost have it . . .
Suddenly there was another tremendous splash. Someone with an iron grip grabbed the neck of my costume from behind and yanked. Under the surface again, I gulped at least a quart of water and grabbed at the collar. I was being choked to death!
Roughly my rescuer-disguised-as-attacker dragged me to the edge of the pool. Someone else pulled me clumsily over the edge and onto the tiles. Then I was on my face, coughing and gagging.
“Does she need artificial respiration? Mouth to mouth or anything?” He sounded hopeful.
“No, thank you, Gilly Dickensen,” I croaked. “I wasn’t drowning! I would have climbed out by myself.”
I coughed again, expelling more water. With all the dignity I could muster, I managed to sit up.
“Yeah,” he said with a snort, “we all know how well you swim.” He squeezed a sizable amount of water from his shirttail. His ponytail had come undone.
“You look like a drowned rat yourself.”
He shrugged and looked back at me with a smug smile. “Better than a drowned mushroom.” He gestured at my head.
I touched my hair. A sopping, tangled mess. So much for Charles Dana Gibson.
Terence appeared in the middle of the throng and squatted beside me. “Amelia, didn’t I tell you to keep away from the edge of the pool? You’re soaked. You’ll have to sit out Act Two in the locker room. Tell Lily to take your line.”
He straightened up. “All right, everyone, it’s almost Second Act. Gil, you go to the men’s and dry off.” He looked around. “Remember, people, the entr’acte music starts in five minutes.”
I scrambled to my feet and grabbed his arm. “Terence, I need to tell you something.” I steered him away from the others.
Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 12
