Murder in the Balcony

by Margaret Dumas

  After a while I heard the audience erupt in applause. June must have finished, and they must have liked what she said. A few minutes later I was surprised to see Sam at the top of the stairs.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  She came down. “I was hoping there would still be coffee.”

  “I just put a fresh pot on,” I told her. “And there are still a few doughnuts left if you’re hungry.”

  She shook her head and patted her completely flat tummy. “Better not.”

  “Is Marty running the projector?”

  She made a face. “No need. Stan McMillan is speaking, and he doesn’t need slides to hold a crowd’s attention.” Another face. “That’s a direct quote, by the way. He loves telling you how brilliant he is.”

  “Yeah, I kind of got that vibe,” I said, thinking that I might have just found my new best friend. Sam knew McMillan, and she obviously wasn’t a fan. “What’s he like?” I asked.

  She thought about it. “Rich.”

  Which didn’t give me a lot to build on. “He must be good at what he does,” I tried.

  “Oh, he’s good,” she agreed. “Just maybe not as good as he thinks.” The coffee was ready, and she poured herself a cup with a thoughtful look on her face. “He’s one of those guys who lets everyone around him do all the work, and he somehow winds up with the glory. Like today—June put it all together and arranged everything, and he just steps in at the eleventh hour and—there, hear that?”

  A roar of laughter from the auditorium.

  Sam shook her head. “He turns on the charm and gets all the credit. I don’t know why June puts up with him.”

  “Have they worked together a lot?” I asked.

  She didn’t get a chance to answer, because just then one of the lunchtime food trucks pulled up outside the theater and tapped their horn. I needed to go out and move the traffic cones so they could park.

  “Sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t mean to keep you from everything.”

  “No worries,” I told her, making my way around the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

  But when I got back she was gone.

  As soon as I could, I left Albert overseeing things and went up to the balcony to catch the rest of McMillan’s talk. Someone had posted a ‘Crew Only’ sign on the door but I assumed that didn’t apply to me.

  Callie was sitting at the table covered with equipment at the front of the balcony. She was wearing a headset with a microphone and had monitors showing her the feeds from the three cameras. Her assistant noticed me as soon as I got near and leapt up to meet me at the end of the aisle.

  “Do you need something?” she whispered.

  I shook my head, whispering back “I just want to hear this guy’s talk.”

  She nodded and went back to Callie, who glanced in my direction before ignoring me.

  McMillan ignored the podium and stalked around the stage as he spoke, working every segment of the audience. He was in the middle of a long story that had the entire auditorium in his thrall. I looked around the crowd, who all seemed to be hanging on his every word. Except for two lone blondes in the front row. One, wearing a pink tweed suit and checking her phone, was Ingrid. The other, wearing a vintage usherette’s uniform that caught the light with its rows of bright buttons and gold braid, was Trixie. She was sitting in the seat McMillan had vacated, yawning and buffing her nails.

  McMillan, I had to admit, was a good speaker. He was one part Alec Baldwin’s sales monster from Glengarry Glen Ross (1992, Baldwin, Jack Lemmon, and no women to speak of) and two parts Burt Lancaster’s charismatic con artist from The Rainmaker (1956, Lancaster and Katharine Hepburn.)

  This did not seem like the kind of man who would set a fire in a bakery. On the other hand, he totally seemed like the kind of man who would have a guy on retainer for that kind of thing. Was he the kind of man who would commit his own murders? Or would he have a guy for that as well?

  I hadn’t really been listening to what he was saying, so I jumped when the audience exploded in laughter and applause. McMillan was done. He put his hand to his chest in a gesture of incredibly fake modesty and jogged to the center of the stage and down the stairs as everyone stood and stretched and began ambling toward the lobby for lunch.

  I knew I had to go, but I stayed just for a moment to watch McMillan. Trixie stuck with him as he shook hands and chatted with the circle that had instantly formed around him. I noticed June wasn’t part of the circle. I glanced around the theater but didn’t see her or her assistant Cora.

  They’d disappeared. And so, I realized, had Ingrid.

  The lunch trucks were a huge success. I circulated and kept an eye on things until I was satisfied that everyone was happy and the hired crew from the party rental place had everything under control. June and her team reappeared in time to claim one of the tables up on the landing, and McMillan and his flock of acolytes took the other. Positions on the high ground had been established.

  I still didn’t see Ingrid anywhere. Not in line at the trucks, or at any of the tables. I had no idea where she’d gone after talking to McMillan. I didn’t see Callie either.

  I slipped up the back stairs to the breakroom, where I found Marty and Albert sharing dim sum from one of the trucks.

  “Have either of you seen Callie?” I asked. I didn’t like to think of her wandering around alone when I didn’t know where Ingrid was. If she had actually killed Warren over Callie, would she go after Callie next? Did people wear pink tweed suits to commit murder?

  “She’s in the balcony with the film crew,” Albert said.

  “Eating tacos,” Marty concurred.

  Okay. Callie was with her crew. Good. But I’d still like to know where Ingrid was.

  Albert yawned, which reminded me that he was in his nineties.

  “Albert, you should go home when you’ve eaten,” I told him. “I couldn’t have done this without you, but the party rental crew will clear up after lunch and Brandon will be here to help out by the afternoon break.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take you up on that,” Albert said. “I’m at a very interesting point in my project, and I’d like to be able to get back to it.”

  “Are you ready to tell me what you’re working on?” I sat at the table for a moment and helped myself to a pork bun from an open container in the middle of the table. Marty watched me, then pulled the rest closer to himself.

  “Not quite yet,” Albert said. “Not until I’m very sure.”

  “I can’t wait,” I told him. “And thanks for coming in today. Both of you. I know it’s your day off.”

  “Of course,” Albert said, while Marty grunted something and scattered crumbs.

  “Have either of you seen Hector?” I asked.

  “He’s the one who brought all this,” Albert gestured to the food on the table. “He was looking for you.”

  “I’ll check the office.” But as I got back to the hallway a timer on my phone chirped, reminding me that the afternoon session would start in twenty minutes. I’d given myself that window to get everything ready for the afternoon’s panel discussions.

  I took the lobby stairs, glancing in June’s general direction. She didn’t notice me. She was at her table on the landing, deep in conversation with Sam, while Cora hovered behind. They were the only three still at the table. McMillan’s table, by contrast, was crowded and lively with conversation, Trixie in the thick of it. She didn’t notice me either.

  I found myself feeling sorry for June as I went down the stairs. She was smart and successful, worked hard and was good at her job. I knew she’d built her firm from scratch after her husband’s death had left her a young widow. But the minute McMillan had walked onto that stage, June faded into his shadow. I also hadn’t forgotten the way he’d swooped in and snagged potential-client Hector right out of her grasp. That so
rt of thing had to sting. Especially if he’d been doing it for years.

  It occurred to me that if McMillan had been murdered instead of Warren, June would probably be my number one suspect. Probably followed by Lisa and anyone else whose property he was trying to snatch.

  The concessions stand was swamped. I’d planned to grab a few bottles of water to bring to the stage for the panelists, but I didn’t want to fight my way through the crowd. Instead I crossed the lobby and took the employee stairs down to the basement. We had a few cases of water in a storeroom.

  I was just rounding a corner when I crashed into someone coming the other direction. A beautiful blonde someone, in heels and a pink suit.

  Ingrid.

  “I’m so sorry!” we both yelped at the same time.

  “What are you doing down here?” I asked.

  “I got turned around when I came out of the ladies’ room.”

  The ladies’ room was on the other side of the basement. Maybe she was lost, but I chose to believe that fate had put her in my path.

  “You’re Ingrid Barnes, aren’t you? You’ll be speaking on the panel this afternoon.”

  She seemed a little spooked at that. “Who are you?” She took a step back.

  “Nora. Nora Paige. I manage the Palace.”

  She put her hand on her chest, as if to still a racing heart. “Oh. Cool. Can you point me to—”

  “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you,” I said. Although I couldn’t exactly come straight out and ask if she’d killed Warren in a fit of jealous rage. “Um, I heard about you and Warren—”

  At Warren’s name she went on full alert again, backing up another step, the color draining from her face. This time she looked beyond spooked. She looked scared to death.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just meant to say, I heard you were dating Warren and I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She held up both hands, as if I were trying to rob her. “Look, Warren and I were totally casual. I’m really sorry if he lied to you, but that has nothing to do with me. Please leave me alone.” She started to back away.

  “No! Wait—I wasn’t seeing Warren!”

  She stopped.

  “I mean, someone who works here was, but it wasn’t me. Look, I’m not—” I took a calming breath. “I’m not accusing you of anything.” Yet. “I’m not angry. I just want to talk.”

  She gave me a hard look. “You swear?”

  “Has someone been harassing you?”

  She shook her head. “I really need to get back upstairs.”

  I held my hand up. “Sure. No problem. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Which was true, but I did want to get her to talk. “It’s just, all we’ve heard about Warren is rumors. I was just going to ask when you saw him last. If you knew what happened.”

  And maybe if she’d killed him because she found out about Callie. That’s all.

  Her shoulders came down a bit. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy. It’s just been so crazy. Everyone on social media has lost their minds.”

  “I get it,” I said. “It must be terrible.”

  “I mean, as if I wasn’t already guilty enough,” she said.

  My heart leapt. Guilty? Was she confessing?

  “I could have done something, you know? If I’d stayed.” Her voice cracked.

  “Stayed where? At the bar?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t go to the bar. I was working late. I told Warren to text me when he was ready to leave, and I met up with him out on the street while he was waiting for his rideshare.”

  I tried to keep my jaw from dropping. She was confessing! She’d been with him that night!

  “You went home with him?” I asked.

  She wiped at her eyes, looking up. “If I hadn’t had that damn Pilates class the next morning I might have been there. I might have been able to do something. Or maybe, if they’d seen two people instead of one hungover guy…”

  “Wait.” She was sounding like Callie. This wasn’t a killer’s guilt. It was a survivor’s. “You’re saying you left Warren the next morning and he was fine?”

  She sniffed and nodded. “I left a little after five, to make my six o’clock class.”

  I blinked. “So you don’t know what happened? Did you see anything…suspicious?”

  She shook her head. “I heard Warren lock the door behind me and I went to my class. Then I got pissed at him when he didn’t return my texts for two days.” She looked at me. “Then the police told me what happened.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said automatically. And I meant it. It really didn’t seem like she was lying.

  “So am I.” She sniffed again. “Look, I think I’d better check my makeup before that damn panel. Can you point me back to the ladies’ room?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed the waters I’d come down for and took her back through the maze of halls, trying to wrap my mind around what she’d told me.

  If Other Girlfriend Ingrid didn’t kill Warren, that left me with one prime suspect.

  And he was upstairs right now.

  Callie and her team must have finished their tacos, because they were gathered on the stage when I got there, looking at the video displays on each other’s cameras and murmuring things about the lighting. I was dying to tell her about Ingrid, but not until we were alone. I called a warning to them before raising the giant screen. They all stood away from it and watched as it rose slowly to reveal the chairs and backdrop behind it.

  Which is why none of us were facing the balcony when we heard the scream and the sharp, sickening thump that ended it.

  Chapter 25

  Trixie!

  That was my first thought as I turned around and tried to make sense of what I saw.

  A woman’s body. Blonde hair and a gray suit. An impossible position, lying across the seats just below the balcony railing.

  Someone screamed. I think it was Callie’s sound ninja. Then one of the cameramen dropped his equipment and vaulted down the stairs and I suddenly understood what had happened.

  “Call 911,” I yelled for the second time in twenty-four hours. I ran down the stairs from the stage.

  The auditorium door opened and one of the realtors stuck his head in. “What—”

  “Stay out!” I ordered him. “Call an ambulance!”

  So he came in and gawked at what was happening.

  “Chris,” Callie yelled. “Keep everyone out.” I hadn’t realized she was right behind me. Her assistant raced to the door and pushed the staring realtor out, closing the door behind him, throwing herself against it to keep it closed. Callie was on her phone.

  Then everything went blurry. Everything except the sight of the broken woman beneath the balcony.

  Sam Beach.

  Someone jostled me and I came back to my senses. I took a step closer to Sam, placing my fingers gently on her neck without much hope. She’d fallen onto the seats to the left of the center aisle. Her back was arched unnaturally, and a thin trickle of blood had appeared at the corner of her mouth.

  But beneath my fingers I felt something. Faint, irregular, but it was there. I looked up at Callie. “There’s a pulse.”

  Which is when the next scream came, this one from above.

  I looked up to find the balcony railing lined with people. All staring, some already crying and turning away, others demanding to know what was going on.

  Scratch that, only one was demanding, loudly and insistently, that someone tell him what the hell was happening.

  McMillan.

  June was there, her hand over her mouth in shocked disbelief. Cora was next to her, gripping the balcony railing. I saw a flash of bright pink and thought Ingrid but lost her in the growing crowd. Callie’s crew, gathered below, was yelling at everyone to get off the balcony. “Don’t lean on the railing!” one of them y
elled, which sent a spark of fear into the crowd. They turned and began stumbling to the balcony doors in fear for their own safety. Cora pulled June away. Eventually they all scattered until there was only one lone figure in the center of the balcony, staring down, her face a mask of unimaginable pain.

  Trixie.

  I made a sound and reached toward the balcony. She tore her anguished gaze from the broken woman beneath her to meet my eyes.

  Then she vanished.

  “She’s hanging on,” an EMT told me before closing the door and taking Sam away. But I’d heard the team of six talking as they’d braced her neck and immobilized her on a board. She hadn’t regained consciousness, but that wasn’t as concerning as the trauma to her spine.

  I stood on the sidewalk, watching the ambulance tear down the street. I didn’t realize I was freezing until Hector draped his jacket around me. I hadn’t realized Hector was there.

  We went back into the theater. Everyone who’d been in the building was now penned in the lobby, waiting their turn to talk to the police about what they’d seen and where they’d been when they’d heard the first scream. They were freaked out, annoyed, and scared. Every single one of them seemed to be on their phone.

  “Nora.” A deep voice, coming from my right. I turned to see Detective Jackson on approach, June and Cora with him.

  “I have to go,” June was saying. “I have to go be with Sam. Cora, have you got her emergency contact information? Can we call someone?” Cora nodded and began tapping on her phone. June turned to Jackson. “I have to go.”

  “You shouldn’t drive,” I told her. She was shaking and had a frantic look in her eye.

  “I’ll have a squad car take you to the hospital,” Jackson said. “Let me know if you think of anything else.” He handed her his card and signaled to a uniformed officer who came and led the two women away.

  Jackson turned to me. “I’d like to see you in the auditorium.”

  I nodded and moved to follow him when he seemed to notice Hector for the first time. “Acosta, isn’t it?” He’d met Hector when he’d investigated Hector’s brother’s murder. “What are you doing here?”