A Christmas Peril

by J. A. Hennrikus

  “Clive seems integral to your family,” I said. “Were he and your father good friends?”

  “He was my father’s conscious.”

  “Did you really not want him to leave you the business?”

  “Terry kind of pushed me out of the line of succession,” Eric said. “When he became the anointed one, it took me off the hook but made Emma’s life more difficult. She got passed over. I thought he’d leave it to Terry, or put him in control. Or leave us all equal parts. Any one of them would have kept Emma trapped. But he didn’t do it, did he? He left Emma the business, and Clive and me with enough shares to have a say but not enough to override Emma. He trusted her with his legacy.” As traffic was down to a crawl, Eric looked over at me and smiled. He looked so much lighter, I didn’t want to remind him about the cloud that still hung over his head.

  “But he left Terry a good chunk of change, didn’t he?” I said. “What was it? An amount equal to 25 percent of the company? I have no idea what the company is worth, but that’s not nothing … that’s a lot of something.”

  “That’s a lot of nothing, and won’t be for a while. Sully, he left him 25 percent of the net worth of the company at the time of his death. The company is going through a huge transition right now. We were thinking of taking it public.”

  “Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

  “No one has. Top secret stuff. That’s the reason Dad brought Gus on board, to help get the groundwork laid.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning … I don’t understand a lot of it, but what it meant for the short term was taking all of the company capital and reinvesting it in the company to strengthen the infrastructure.”

  “All of the capital? Isn’t that a risky move?”

  “Yes and no. Not having capital was risky, but it’s not like we all weren’t still drawing salaries. It did mean that the net worth of the company was next to nothing, though.”

  “How long was that going to be the case?”

  “For the next few months at least. A year at the outside.”

  “So your father left Terry an amount that seemed very generous but was relatively worthless for the foreseeable future. But the gesture was there, so it would be tough to take to court. And he added that divorce or proceedings clause in Terry’s part of the will.”

  “And the chances of an impending or actual divorce are pretty good.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Yeah. Something happened recently, I don’t know what. Emma has seemed a lot better, especially lately. She told me that she was going to talk to Terry about a separation after the holidays.”

  “When did she tell you this?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Did your dad know?”

  “I imagine so. She never would have kept something like that secret from him, especially since it was bound to impact the company. Maybe that’s what prompted the change in his will.”

  Of course, my mind switched to a different gear. The new will actually gave Emma a motive to kill her father. And it gave one to Clive. And to Eric. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but the new will didn’t take him off the suspect list. Instead, it put a star by his name.

  For that matter, the new will added one more name, at least to my eyes. Gus Knight was now on the suspect list.

  I needed to ask someone when, exactly, the new will had been drawn up. If it was within the last month, then the “no divorce” codicil had more sinister implications than a father’s concern for his daughter and his family name. An idea that had been swirling around in my brain began to take some shape. But before I could nurture it further, I had to deal with some ghosts.

  • Fifteen •

  Normally, A Christmas Carol opens the first Friday in December. Thankfully we’d decided to open a week later, adding extra rehearsals, more previews, and a grander opening. If only I knew then what I knew now. For this year’s production, someone (okay, it was me) had come up with the brilliant idea to have the dress rehearsal for invited guests, which made it more like a performance. The size of the invited audience was fairly substantial—actors had generous ticket access, folks who couldn’t afford to come were invited, and a couple of retirement homes made the trek in. In normal years, there were always opportunities to find room for a guest or two during the run, but this year the only comped tickets were for the dress rehearsal.

  In my own defense, usually the show was so tight by Thursday that having an audience was actually helpful for the actors before the Friday night performance. This year, however, hours before an audience warmed the seats, Marley was being played by a last-minute replacement and Scrooge was … troubled. The show needed a few more rehearsals, but, as good a general manager as I was, I couldn’t stop time from ticking. Like it or not, Friday was our first preview.

  The set looked much better than it had yesterday. Happily or not, depending on how you feel about one’s potential being wasted, my well-honed observation skills got me up to speed about the status of the production within minutes; my skills in combination with Connie, who’d seen me come in and met me at the top of the aisle as I surveyed my kingdom.

  “Hi Connie. How’s it going? Still calm?”

  She shrugged and smiled, but that told me little. Stage managers repurpose tension, so the smile could mean things were fine, or things were beyond horrible and she was in fixing mode. “Do you want the long or short version?”

  “Short, for now. I assume your report will have the long version?” Connie’s rehearsal reports were legend. They were frequently longer than the plays themselves, and occasionally more entertaining. “How’s Stewart doing as the Ghost of Christmas Future?”

  “That scene was the only one Patrick couldn’t get a handle on. He kept pushing for Gabe Roberts—he was playing the part—to feed him the lines, but Gabe couldn’t do it. The only way we got Gabe to play the Ghost in the first place was that he didn’t have any lines. So Gabe decided he’d rather do crew … and since Stewart is done with Marley early on, he agreed to play the part.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what, Sully my darling?” Stewart’s arms circled my waist from behind and he kissed the back of my neck.

  I felt enough of a spark to know that I wasn’t dead. Damn, life is complicated.

  “I guess someone has recovered from their morning bike ride. Why are you willing to play a Ghost without a face?”

  “The Christmas spirit has flowed forth … you’re not buying it, are you?” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Okay, how about this. It’s boring as hell to sit backstage for well over an hour to take my bow. And Patrick needs the help.”

  “And?”

  Stewart leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “And there but for the grace of God go I.”

  I was about to make a smart retort, but the look on his face stopped me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “It’s a long story, Sully, but yes, I’m serious. You called and asked me to help, and I’m helping. And glad that you asked.”

  “Stewart, could you try this on again?” Gabe was on stage, holding up the Ghost of Christmas Future cloak. Regina’s son was a head shorter than Stewart, so they’d obviously been reworking the costume. I was glad Gabe seemed happy. He was a good kid; I’d hate to lose him.

  “Sure thing, Gabe. Be right there. Sully, will you be around a while?”

  “For the rest of today.”

  “Great. Let’s talk later, okay?”

  I found Dimitri and sat next to him. For the next two hours there were costume and tech checks and other flurries of activities that allowed Dimitri and me to have a mishmash of a conversation. I offered to cancel the audience for Thursday night, but he declined.

  “It’s the final dress, so we can start and stop if we need to. We always make that announcement before we start. This year we mean it.
Who knows, maybe the audience will be thrilled by the chaos. Besides, I have a feeling that Patrick may be better with an audience. Even having Stewart as a new face to impress has given him more game.”

  “What’s up with that? Stewart seems … ”

  “Yeah, I know. He’s a big fan of Patrick’s work, did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t either, until he confessed about an hour ago,” Dimitri said. “I mean, a big fan. From childhood. Saw him on stage when he was a kid—it inspired him to be an actor. He hasn’t worked with Patrick long enough to hate him, and Patrick is reveling in the idolatry. Go figure.” I knew that Dimitri had been a similar fan before rehearsals started. I didn’t doubt that he envied Stewart’s naiveté, just a little.

  Connie went to get food during the dinner break, and I went into my small office at the high school. Frank was using the computer.

  “Oh hi, Sully.” He blushed pink. I was afraid to see what he was looking at on the computer, but I walked over anyway. It looked blank.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Frank looked really guilty about something. Not criminal guilty, but “I didn’t want you to find this out” guilty. If I had kids of my own, I would have known how to break him, but I don’t, so I didn’t. My old techniques of intimidation might have been a little harsh.

  “Um, you remember what I told you about Mr. Whitehall’s house?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Well, I um, kinda went over there, to see if I could get the hard drive. I figured maybe whatever was on it might be useful, you know? I brought Gabe with me. I didn’t tell him where we were going until we were almost there … and then … ”

  I waited for a few seconds, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed to put him out of his misery.

  “And then he said he needed to tell his mother if we went in.”

  Good boy, Gabe, I thought. If Frank had gone to the house to look around, no matter how noble his intentions, it would have tainted the evidence. Regina needed to know.

  “Did he tell her? Or did you?” I asked.

  “I sent Gabe all the links, figuring he could pass them on. I don’t like to get too involved. Some of this stuff skirts the law … ”

  “Frank, do me a favor and send Regina the links yourself, okay? She might have some questions.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  There was a chill in the air that I needed to thaw. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m looking at the live feed to see if anything is going on at the house. So far, nothing. The hall isn’t too focused. And Mr. Whitehall’s study is dark.” He flipped screens and showed me the two views. The study was in fact dark, too dark to make anything out. I recognized the hallway, but Frank was right. The sight lines were horrible, and the view seemed a little unfocused.

  “I’m not sure what the problem is. It should be self-focusing. And I swear the camera was in a better position. I mean, this is pretty lame. You can barely see anything.”

  “Maybe you can see enough. I assume the police are watching this as well.” I stared at the screen, willing some sort of answer to come into focus, but nothing. A thought occurred to me, and I looked at Frank. “Frank, should you be able to see this?”

  At least he had the good grace to seem embarrassed. “Like I said, we weren’t done with the setup yet. I don’t even know where all the cameras were. The final step would’ve been to walk Mr. Whitehall through the password change and other administrative tasks. That would have shut me out of the system. And put him in control. We never got that far.”

  We both stared at the screen and saw the hallway by the library. “Do you have a view from the camera on the staircase in the main foyer?” I asked.

  “He had one on a staircase?” Frank asked. “That must have been one of the new cameras he was playing with.” He hit a couple of buttons. Nothing. He looked at another website. Still nothing.

  “Was there one in the library?” I asked.

  “Not that I could see, but it was tough to really look around. Why do you ask?”

  Again, Frank looked embarrassed. He was studying the keyboard with great intensity. I walked over and shut the door to the office.

  “Frank … ”

  “You used to be a cop, didn’t you?”

  “I was a police officer, yes.”

  “Don’t you take some sort of oath? That you’ll always pursue criminals, no matter what?”

  “There isn’t that kind of oath.” Frank looked relieved. I hoped he wasn’t about to confess to some horrible crime. There wasn’t an oath, but there was a code. A code I still followed.

  “Mr. Whitehall, see, he wanted to put a camera in the library … ” Frank began.

  “In Terry’s office.”

  “I guess. Anyway, someone, probably this Terry, put a lock on the door. Mr. Whitehall needed to get into the room but he didn’t want to ask for a key … so he asked me for some ideas. I know this guy, who knows this guy … who can get his hands on state-of-the-art lock picks. I put in an order.”

  “Did you use lock picks?”

  “I gave them to Mr. Whitehall for him to use. Showed him how. Not that I know how,” he said quickly. “It was pretty simple.”

  “When did you give them to him?”

  “A couple of weeks ago … yeah, three weeks ago today. I remember because that was the day the DMDEAD virus came out.”

  We all mark time in our own way. So Peter Whitehall had obtained some lock picks about a week and a half before he was murdered.

  “Did he contact you afterward?”

  “DMDEAD kept me pretty busy for a few days. We’d made an appointment for December 4 to finish up the install.”

  “That was the day of his funeral.” I wondered what Peter had found in that week while he played with new technology. “Do you think he figured it out on his own?”

  As if he were answering my question, I saw Terry walk into his office. Before he pulled the library door closed behind him, he looked down the hall toward Peter’s study—and the camera—and made a rude gesture with his left hand and middle finger.

  Could it be that simple?

  • Sixteen •

  It was almost six thirty. In a little more than twenty-four hours an audience would be sitting in these seats, watching a public performance. I shuddered at the thought. An invited dress, and there hadn’t been a complete run-through yet.

  As I waited for things to begin, I mulled over what I knew now that I hadn’t two days ago. On the one hand, there was the new will, Peter’s surveillance predilection, Brooke’s strange behavior, Terry’s fall from grace. On the other hand, though, it added up to nothing. My gut told me to look in Terry’s direction. So far, evidence implicating him didn’t exist. I wanted to go back and look through Peter’s study. Without Mrs. Bridges standing guard.

  The lights went down and I watched the run-through of the first act. At first I tried to pay attention to both the play and my thoughts, but after a couple of minutes I realized I was too tired to pull it off. So I decided to pay attention to the play and give the rest of it a rest. For now.

  Run-throughs this late in the game are often a little painful to sit through, and this was no exception. The realization that your show isn’t going to be everything everyone dreamed of starts to sink in, and the product of weeks of rehearsal seems much worse than it actually is. There were costume malfunctions, missed cues, lighting problems, and a horrific Fezziwig dance scene that resulted in two cast members sprawled on the floor and more than a couple of bruises. Now, if it had been my first year running the theater, I would have been convinced that my professional life was going to come to a grinding halt after the reviews came out. But I’d been around for a while and sat through a lot of rehearsals, and I knew Dimitri’s process. The show wasn’t half bad. It wasn’
t as solid as it had been at this point in years past, but the bones were solid. It even had flashes of brilliance.

  I told Dimitri as much during the break before the second act. He started to list all of the problems, but I could tell he was pleased by my praise. I let him go on for a couple of minutes, then interrupted him. “True, true. It’s all true. But that scene with Belle made me ver­klempt. Dimitri, have you ever seen me verklempt? And the Fezziwig scene needs more rehearsal, true, but it’s lovely. Stewart was wonderful as Marley. Not surprising, since he’s a great actor, but he’s only been here a day. And I love the scene with the ghosts outside Scrooge’s window. That is such an important scene, I’m glad we put it back in … ”

  By now Dimitri was almost beaming, but I didn’t stop. He deserved the praise. I’d been warned by both him and Connie that the first act was perfection compared to the second. They warned me in particular about the Ghost of Christmas Future scene. Hopefully, though, Stewart Tracy and a hidden earbud would give us our own Christmas miracle. I knew Dimitri would dismiss my praise as pity if I held back, and I was about to go on, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. “We’ll talk more after the show, Dimitri. I need to grab a soda before we start up again.” I squeezed his arm and walked out of the theater before answering the phone. Dimitri would have had a fit if I’d left him to answer a phone call.

  The phone stopped vibrating by the time I cleared the door. I was checking the number when it vibrated again. I didn’t recognize the phone number as I hit the button.

  “Sullivan here.” Rude way to answer the phone, I know, but it was a habit from the old days, and I hadn’t bothered to retrain myself. Better if people know they got the person they want right away.

  “Sully, thank God. I didn’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t get hold of you—”