Killing Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  “Short lunch hour?” I asked. Penny often came by for a midday meal, usually taking her sweet time before sauntering back to work.

  “Nah. Got some errands to run.”

  “I’d go with today’s soup special. It’s butternut squash. Yummy. And a cold sandwich. Tuna or chicken salad. Quick and easy. Also works with your Mediterranean diet.”

  Penny nudged her glasses a notch up her nose. “O’Dell, you ever been on the Mediterranean diet?”

  “Me? No.”

  “Too much counting polymonosaturated fats. Too much green stuff. I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.”

  “You want the bun?” I asked in all seriousness.

  She squinted at me. “You yanking my chain?”

  I wrote up the order and sent it off to the kitchen. “Heard Carlos had a hissy fit last night.”

  Penny sighed. “Temperamental actors.”

  “According to Lola, he didn’t want to hear any more talk about the murder.”

  “Which wasn’t a murder anyway,” she reminded me.

  I had a brainstorm. “Penny, do you think Carlos Villarias is his stage name? You know, the name he uses in the theater? And his birth name is different?” I asked.

  “No way, O’Dell. First of all, if Carlos used a sudohym—

  “You mean pseudonym?”

  “Whatever. I’d know it. Because I’m the—”

  “—production manager. Right.”

  “And second of all, how do you come up with this stuff? You need a hobby.” She glared at me. “Why do you think it’s a stage name?”

  I withdrew Dracula Through the Ages from under the bar, where I’d stashed it earlier, and pointed to the cover photo. “This guy played Dracula in a Spanish-language version in the 1930s. His name was Carlos Villarias. Maybe our Carlos liked that idea and changed his name for this production.”

  Penny stared at the picture, then at me. “O’Dell, people don’t go around changing their names for no good reason. Unless they’ve got something to hide.” Her mouth formed an O. “You think Carlos is on the lam?”

  “Probably not.”

  Gillian brought Penny’s lunch, and the ELT production manager attacked her sandwich. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears on the ground,” she muttered.

  “Meanwhile, don’t mention the name thing to anyone. Wouldn’t want to trigger the gossip mill.”

  “Etonville is nuts about gossip.” Penny dunked a French fry in ketchup and cocked her head in my direction. “Didya hear about Walter’s ex? Might be taking him back to court,” she hooted.

  Geez.

  * * * *

  At three o’clock I settled into my booth for a break, butternut squash soup and inventory sheets in hand. If sliders were the specials for next week’s menu, I needed to get Henry on board and up to speed. I opened my laptop and cruised through a handful of culinary websites that were my go-to research sources for Windjammer options. Everyone liked the basic, small burger sandwiches. No issue there. I wanted to shake up the menu, mix in some real foodie alternatives that might up the Windjammer ante. And compete with La Famiglia. I listed slider possibilities: pulled chicken or pork, barbecue brisket, turkey with slaw, cheesesteak, a BLT with avocado, nacho cheeseburgers, pimento cheeseburgers… My mouth watered. Customers would go wild for them.

  “Hey.”

  I looked up into Pauli’s cat-who-swallowed-the-canary face. “Hey yourself. Have a seat.”

  He plopped onto the bench across from me, swinging his backpack off his shoulder.

  “Your text was intriguing,” I said.

  “Like yeah.” His laptop was now on the table.

  “You hungry?” Benny brought a soda to the table and I smiled my thanks.

  “Nah. Having an early dinner with Janice.”

  “Things are going well in that department?”

  “Going to her winter formal next month.” He grinned shyly. “We’re both exclusive now.”

  “In the old days, that was called going steady.” I studied Pauli. He was a different guy from when I met him a few years ago: confident, more talkative…and in love.

  “So you found something?” I asked. Last night, I was ready to cancel Pauli’s digital forensics exploration. No need to dig into the newspaper page that Carlos had saved. But in the light of day, I convinced myself that there was no harm in poking around the obits. Besides, Penny’s off-the-wall comment about the actor “being on the lam” had fired up my vivid imagination.

  Pauli cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat. “So I subjected each data point…” He glanced up. “That’s each person who died, to a series of searches in some new, kind of unusual databases. It digs into their backgrounds.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “So the basics. Seventeen obits total. Ten were ancient. Like eighties and nineties.” Pauli jammed a straw into his drink. “Four were old. Seventies.”

  The ages of my parents. Getting older every day. I needed to pay more attention to them…

  “Then two people, a man and a woman in their forties. And the thirteen-year-old kid.”

  “The boating accident.”

  “Really young to die,” Pauli said.

  “Yeah.”

  He refocused. “Everybody died between July 14 and July 21.” He flipped his laptop around to show me an Excel spreadsheet with each of the deceased’s names listed vertically. Horizontally, he put columns of information that listed birth and death dates, cause of death, surviving relatives, education, military experience, careers, and social media used.

  “This is great. A snapshot of the obits on a single day in July in a Chicago suburb.” What, if anything, did it tell us?

  “With this new algorithm, I deep-searched for cross-references in their backgrounds. Like, did they know each another. Were they related. Come from the same towns. Go to the same schools.”

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “Sophisticated stuff.”

  He lit up, his face radiant, flushing slightly. “Yeah. So look.”

  Pauli pulled up a page of notes, cross-references among his “data points.” For example, eleven of the seventeen were born and lived most of their lives in the greater Chicago area. Two of the others were distant cousins born in New York City who died on the same day. What were the odds of that? One of the seventeen was a PhD, though all, besides the thirteen-year-old, had completed high school, with half obtaining college degrees. Eight of the seventeen had military service in their backgrounds, with the oldest having lived through World War II. Pauli’s program also tracked the geographical patterns of the deceased’s lives. Where, in addition to the Chicago area, had they lived? Where had they traveled? Finally, I noticed that he’d been able to create mini family trees for everyone, tracking their immediate relations.

  What did it all mean? How did any of it relate to Carlos? Again, I wondered what had made him save this particular listing of deaths. If that was what he’d done.

  Benny waved to me from the bar. “Pauli, can you hold on? I’ll be right back.”

  He slurped up the rest of his drink.

  “What’s up?” I asked my bartender.

  “Enrico said Henry’s having a garlic meltdown. Doesn’t want to add garlic to the steamed clams or vegetables.” He tossed a bar towel over one shoulder. “Want to handle this?”

  We had one more theme night to get through. For the most part, the garlic-infused dishes had gone over well. Yet customers and chef were at a tipping point. “Maybe we can compromise.”

  By the time I’d convinced Henry to keep the fall vegetables—broccoli, cauliflower, and brussels sprouts—steamed in olive oil and garlic, in exchange for eliminating the garlic in the steamed clams, Pauli had packed up his laptop.

  “Gotta bounce. Meeting Janice.”

  “This is super work, Pauli. Can you send me all o
f this information?”

  “Easy peasy. Already done.” He slung his backpack onto his shoulder. “So like…these obits…are they important?”

  Pauli knew me well enough by now that if I asked him to do some digital forensics exploration, it wasn’t because I was twiddling my thumbs. “I’m not sure. I need to take another look at everything you found.”

  “Sweet. Let me know if you need more digging.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. You crushed it.”

  He ambled off. I checked my inbox and confirmed that Pauli’s research had arrived. Though I was dying to drill down on the data, I knew it would have to wait until later tonight. The kitchen door swung halfway open. Enrico poked out his head apologetically. “Dodie?” he called to me.

  I looked up from my computer screen.

  “Henry needs you in the kitchen.”

  “What now?” I asked.

  The smell of something burning had Enrico scrambling back into the galley. I followed slowly, my mind in a whirl. Who was Carlos Villarias? And Bella, for that matter…

  * * * *

  Dinner was uneventful, the steamed clams a winner, patrons content, though pleased that next week would bring a variety of sliders.

  “I love those little sandwiches,” said Mildred. “Don’t you, Vernon?”

  Vernon laid his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. It was time for him to head to the theater and get into makeup. “I don’t care what size they are, long as there’s no garlic in them.”

  Oops…

  “I think they’re dainty. A few bites in each one. You can hold a slider in your hand easily,” Mildred said.

  “I don’t need dainty burgers. What’s the point? Might as well eat one big one as three small ones.” Vernon grabbed his coat, kissed Mildred on the cheek, and saluted.

  He had a point. “Have a good show,” I said.

  Vernon waggled two fingers and exited the restaurant.

  The dinner service slowed after eight o’clock, anyone attending Dracula having already retreated to the theater. I was tempted to run next door to catch the stake-stabbing end of the play again. I had an itch about Carlos that needed scratching….

  “Whew. Glad we’re done with the garlic thing,” said Benny.

  I laughed. “Wasn’t my best idea.”

  “Nope. The menus were terrific. People in Etonville get bored easily. Short concentration spans.”

  “Except for the Banger sisters. They loved the garlic,” I said.

  “As long as they could wear it around their necks,” Benny added.

  We both cackled.

  “I guess all the vampire talk was much ado about nothing. First weekend of the play is finished, no bloodsucking in town, no bodies coming back to life.” Benny stopped himself. “Only tragedy was the stranger who keeled over in the cemetery.” He flipped a bar towel under the sink. “Poor guy. I read he had a bad heart.”

  “Yes.”

  “Made me get my cholesterol tested yesterday.”

  I patted Benny on the back. “I think you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

  “That’s what Bella Villarias told me on Halloween night.”

  “Did she?” Bella…I flashed on her sitting in the makeshift stall, reading palms. In her gypsy costume. I touched the pendant in my pocket that I’d found in the cemetery. Now I remembered where I’d seen it. Bella had worn it Halloween night! She had fingered the piece gently before hiding it away in the folds of her shawl. My pulse jumped.

  “You okay? Look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or a vampire,” Benny teased.

  “I’m fine.” What was Bella doing in the Etonville cemetery?

  * * * *

  I stole into the theater and slowly opened the door to the house, standing behind the last row of seats. The audience was riveted, all eyes focused on Carlos as Dracula throttled Renfield. Accusing the young man of betrayal while Renfield pleaded for mercy, begging Dracula to spare his life. Had the scene played this realistic before? I could have sworn something passed between the two actors that was more “life” than “art.” Van Helsing, Seward, and Harker entered in a rush, forcing Dracula to release Renfield, literally, and confront his three nemeses. Wow! How did Renfield, aka Gabriel Quincey, tolerate that kind of manhandling during every performance? I watched the scene play out, and a moment before Dracula disappears down the floor trap, a movement to my left caused me to look up. In a corner of the house, a man shifted as he took off his coat. How long had he been standing there? I stared at him. It was the stranger from the Windjammer. The man from the Midwest—Chicago?—who sat at the bar and ordered lunch yesterday. Still in town. And killing an evening at a local community theater. Good for him. He was fully engaged with the show.

  I turned back to the stage in time for the blackout. In the dark, I could see a pinpoint of light. Mr. Chicago was texting on his cell. Oops…bad theater etiquette. Streaks of light dotted the stage as the vampire hunters swung flashlights back and forth, seeking Dracula’s coffin. I couldn’t help but notice that the stranger stayed on his cell. It must be important, or else he wasn’t completely engaged.

  Events moved swiftly to the climax of the drama, with Romeo as Harker, raising the hammer and striking a forceful blow to the stake. The audience gasped softly, as it did every time I saw the ending. When Van Helsing intoned his “dust to dust” line, sprinkling Dracula’s ashes over his dead body, the silence in the house was deafening. Except for a slight chuckle to my left. Mr. Chicago was nodding and texting. He found the last scene amusing?

  Applause and cheering erupted as lights rose on the cast. They took their bows in stride by now, accustomed to the accolades. I clapped along with everyone else and failed to notice that Mr. Chicago was on the move. He eased along the back wall and when he was next to me, paused to say “’Scuse me,” and slipped past.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” I asked, stopping him.

  He looked back, frowning, his focus clearing. “Restaurant. Jersey Shore.”

  “Good memory.”

  He grunted.

  “Nice of you to spend the evening at our theater.”

  “Nothing else to do.” He shrugged.

  “Good show, yes?”

  “If you like this sort of thing. Pretty silly when you get right down to it. Vampires.”

  Tell me what you really think!

  “You know them? The actors?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the stage.

  “Sure. Most of them are veterans. A few are new to the Etonville Little Theatre.”

  He turned his back to me and took a step away.

  “Like Carlos Villarias,” I said on impulse.

  His head swiveled to face me. “Who?”

  “Dracula?”

  Mr. Chicago signaled his disinterest and walked away.

  I weighed the man’s responses, wondering who he was and why he’d chosen to watch the show tonight.

  “Dodie!” Lola joined me. “Did you see Act One tonight?”

  “I got here in time to see Carlos strangling Gabriel. You know, that looked very real. Do you suppose—?”

  “Then you didn’t see Walter’s breakdown.” Lola twisted a strand of blond hair. “I think he’s carrying this resigning thing a bit too far.”

  “Breakdown?”

  “He made such a dramatic entrance, changing his blocking, pacing around the stage like he was pouting and demanding that he get his way!”

  “Wow. How’d the other actors react?”

  “They were all good. Kind of went with it. Like, you know, Walter’s in one of his snits.” She bit her lip.

  “Sorry.”

  “I had to go backstage during intermission to give him a talking to, the importance of professionalism, being a role model, tarot cards as a parlor game…”

  “Could be a chardonnay
night? We’re keeping the bar open later so the actors can celebrate after the performance now that they’ve got a few days off.”

  “Just give me a straw.”

  I laughed despite Lola’s theatrical angst and told her I’d see her next door. I marched into the lobby, my mind on prepping the bar for the onslaught of actors. On the other side of the door, Bella stood alone, separated from the hubbub, seeming lost in thought. I paused. “Hi.”

  She glanced up, worry lines replaced with a graceful smile. “Dodie. Hello.”

  “Another great performance. Carlos was fantastic. As usual.”

  “Hmm,” she agreed.

  “Well…I’m trying to beat the cast to the bar. Are you joining us?”

  She frowned slightly, the worry lines returning. “I’m not sure what Carlos wants to do. It’s been a long day. And night.”

  What did she do all day that made the hours lengthy? “Some jobs take it out of you.”

  She nodded, apparently agreeing without divulging anything about her daily life.

  “That’s a beautiful string of pearls,” I said.

  Bella touched her necklace briefly. “Thank you.”

  “I meant to ask you about this.” I withdrew the pendant from my pocket. “I think I saw you wearing it Halloween night? While you read my palm.” I opened my hand to reveal the unusual piece, its colors striking despite the fine layer of dirt on its surface.

  Expressions flitted across Bella’s face—surprise, bewilderment, then a shutting down of any further reactions. She took the iridescent ornament from me. “It’s gorgeous. Do you know what it is?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Ammolite. It’s gem-grade, the shell made of marine mollusks that died out with the dinosaurs. Same material as pearl. Ammolite can only be found in the sediment in the Rocky Mountains. It always features intense colors.” She held up the pendant to allow more light to flood through the material. The green and blue and orange shimmered. “Where did you say you found it?”

  My instincts were on high alert. Best to keep the cemetery part to myself. “One of the cleanup crew came across it the day after Halloween and passed it on to me.” Was that too lame? If it was, Bella didn’t let on.