“They updated it to ‘under further investigation’ earlier today and said the State Police had been called in. Is that your case?”
“It is but I can’t talk about it much. Whoever did this staged it – on the stage of the theater no less – to look like a suicide. Not convincingly enough though.”
“Okay. Can I ask why you were called in? Why the State Police involvement?”
He chuckled before he answered, still there was an edge to his voice.
“You can ask all the questions you want, Sher. All I can say at this point is there may be some special circumstances involved. That’s the exact wording given to the press. Only time will tell.”
“Got it. You’ve worked with the police department in Altavista before so it should be smooth sailing. And you mentioned earlier you hoped to have it resolved quickly. Do you still think you’ll come to Cold Creek tomorrow?”
“That’s my plan. I should be there for dinner. Maybe we could eat at home?”
Brett’s voice dropped and had a tired, gravelly sound to it. I wondered if he had caught my cold.
“I can do that. We can have a quiet night. Charlie and I both will enjoy your company.”
We talked a few more minutes and disconnected. I wondered at his tone and how stressed he sounded. The news was still on, however not much more was reported on Thompson’s death.
I contemplated the upcoming holidays again. Thanksgiving was coming fast. Hopefully, family issues wouldn’t ruin the spirit of Thanksgiving. Brett was still trying to negotiate whether his teenage daughter, Madison, would spend the weekend with him or his ex-wife. He really couldn’t make any plans until it was settled and that had me on hold as well.
Then, of course, Christmas would be the next hurdle and every holiday after. He’d shared the ongoing conflict around holidays and his frustration on multiple occasions. We’d been able to include Madison on a vacation, but most times Brett only saw her on alternate weekends. I smiled to myself as I recalled the fun yet awkward week with her. She’d also stayed with me when we celebrated Brett’s birthday.
I was a little nervous with the approach of our first holiday season as a couple. Most times, we focused on Madison in our discussions of the holidays. For sure, apart from the religious components, Christmas was about children. Although Madison at 13 no longer believed in Santa Claus, the caroling, sledding, and presents were still important. Thanksgiving though was less about children and more about the whole family.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I had to consider my family in relation to the holidays as well. My mother and sister both asked frequently about meeting Brett. My mother used to call every Sunday and ask every time, but somehow with too many scheduling conflicts on Sundays our calls weren’t as consistent any more. I guess I couldn’t blame them. After all, I’d already met his parents in July.
CHAPTER 3
“Sheridan, did you hear? The death up in Altavista. It’s not suicide like they thought. Do you think this is another murder? I can’t believe it,” rattled Max Bentley. He was another faculty member in the Psychology Department, except he studied mice not people. With Max’s tendency for melodrama and exaggerated responses, theater might have been a good match for him. Instead he added drama to the department. He had a copy of the Cold Creek Gazette, the local paper, in his hand.
“Yes, Max, I heard about it. Don’t worry, it happened in Altavista not here. And I didn’t hear they identified any connection to Cold Creek College, though I guess he could be an alum. All they reported was his age – 38 years old.”
I realized something with a start. Although his website indicated his degree, where he got the degree wasn’t listed. Odd. I didn’t respond to Max’s comment about a possible murder on purpose even though Brett wouldn’t be involved unless they suspected it was murder.
Max’s eyes were wide and he radiated nervous energy.
“I don’t know, Sheridan, I think it’s murder again. Your detective friend will be in the thick of it and you’ll be involved again. I just know it,” he spouted. He shook his head so vehemently his longish and somewhat wild hair flew out. He waved the newspaper as he spoke.
“Max, I’m sure the police will figure it out. What did the paper say?”
“Oh, the paper doesn’t say much at all.” He waved the paper some more.
“Then it’s probably nothing for us to be concerned about.” With that, I shrugged my shoulders to communicate nonchalance. I didn’t want to add any fuel to his drama or encourage him. Unfortunately, Max continued with his ideas on the murder.
“It could be a gay bashing. You know, it happened in a theater and a lot of actors are gay,” Max rambled in a softer tone. His head bobbed up and down. From his smile and bright eyes, I could tell he was convinced he’d identified the motive for the supposed murder.
“Max, that’s all stereotype and generalization. That’s like believing all football players are macho heterosexuals. Besides, the theater in Altavista is made up of people like you and me, not professional actors.” This was an assumption on my part, but famous people don’t usually perform in community theaters, at least not once they’re famous.
“Still, Altavista, North Shore, and especially Cold Creek are pretty conservative, you know. They believe all those stereotypes. Lots of people were upset when the law changed to let gays marry.” He smiled like he knew a secret and his head bobbed again.
I couldn’t think of a response or another topic fast enough to divert his attention and he continued.
“That’s one of the reasons I need to get out of here and work at a big university. It’s too conservative here and there are too many rules about research. People around here don’t respect real science. They only want artsy fluff.”
“Max, you need to chill. It’s not so bad. As for what’s happening in Altavista, it has nothing to do with Cold Creek or the College as far as we know.” I responded with a sigh and I hoped I was right. I didn’t want to reinforce his stereotype about actors, and truth be told, I was tired of hearing about his desire to leave. My head hurt and my patience waned.
“Just you wait, Sheridan. You’ll see I’m right.”
With that comment and another nod, Max left. I took some ibuprofen and hoped it would help. With a shake of my head, I graded more quizzes. I wanted to get them done before my seminar.
My next interruption was Kim at my door. She looked tired and still lacked her usual glow. She sat down with a sigh.
“I called Marty early this morning before court, but his phone went straight to voice mail. I tried again, and got the same thing. Sheridan, I’m worried. This isn’t like him.”
“Kim, take a deep breath. Obviously he’s tied up with something or he would at least call you back or text you. Some emergency or something. Unless, of course, you two had a fight or something I don’t know about?”
Kim shook her head.
“Then be patient.”
With excuses of work to do, Kim left. I pulled up my email and immediately deleted the obvious spam and any listserv messages based on the subject line. Some of them I would have to attend to, but seeing the number of unread messages decrease was very rewarding, as was my cup of coffee. The only thing missing was chocolate.
Avoidance behavior for sure, I ventured to the main office to see what the staff knew and grabbed a copy of the newspaper. The departmental staff consisted of Terra and Ali. Terra’s husband Joe worked on the local paper and Terra brought in extra copies every day for the office. Although the paper was available online, I preferred to hold it in my hand, fold the page over for something important, and even write on it.
I glanced at the front page. There was a brief paragraph, almost exactly what was on the Internet, titled “Ongoing Investigation in Altavista.” What was offered didn’t expand much on what I already knew.
Paper in hand, I exchanged pleasantries with Terra and Ali. We weren’t always in our faculty and staff roles. We’d all participated in self-defense class
es together over the past year. We’d laughed at each other while we tried different moves regardless of our different job positions. Brett along with Hirsch, now the Chief of Police in Cold Creek, taught those classes. Ali and Hirsch dated, but she tended to be very private and much quieter than Terra. Terra had the quick wit and sense of humor. She and Ali frequently kidded each other with Terra usually the one coming out ahead.
Grant was in meetings so we chatted for a while. We all complained about the sniffles and worries about the flu. I brought up the death in Altavista. They didn’t have anything new to share and the general sentiment was one of sympathy for the family. It is sad when someone’s life comes to an end, especially someone relatively young and leaving children fatherless.
I let them know we would be available if any of the students seemed upset about the death or concerned about their safety on campus. Ali shrugged and they both expressed the same sentiment as Mitch. In the absence of some direct connection, Thompson’s death was not big news in Cold Creek. Terra didn’t even think Joe would be following the story unless Thompson was somehow connected to Cold Creek or the College. So far there was no indication of a connection. The Gazette didn’t refer to him as an alumnus.
Back in my office, I checked out more of Thompson’s website. One website link to his blog was titled “Will’s Community Theater.” I was taken aback at the presumptive tone not only of the title, but his posts. His last blog post ranted about the cast and their incompetence. His tone was condescending and hostile, his language offensive on many levels.
In the comments, one person, “silverfaery,” spouted back at Thompson with a high level of profanity and passionate pleas for him to be more positive. Another, “alyourpal,” suggested Thompson do something I didn’t think was anatomically possible. The last message, dated the day he was murdered, was from “irabacus” and conveyed the same displeasure.
In response, Thompson reaffirmed his belief he knew what had to be done better than they did. They needed to listen to him because they were incompetent. His mantra conveyed a belief that criticism would improve the performance. Not a great way to make friends or influence others.
I clicked on the previous post “Bored of the Board.” The community theater board members were the target of his attack this time. He’d flung insults and innuendos at all of them. Only one person, “Jule,” had commented with a lot of profanity and not much else. “silverfaery” posted an emoticon of a devil on this post.
I tried the blog post before that and found it was more of the same. Based on the content and responses, no one involved in the community theater would be mourning Will Thompson. That meant at least a handful of people involved with the theater had motive.
There was a link to a video labeled “Oklahoma!” and I clicked on it. I’d expected to see a scene or two, possibly with the refrain. Instead it was a video of Will in the part of Curly McLain performing a soliloquy. Like most people, my memory of the show was of the general plot and the songs so the solo part didn’t ring a bell.
Confused, I checked back with the website and Will was not cast in that part. I checked a few other videos. Sure enough, in each of them he played the lead male character and it was of a scene that only included Will. One video was a scene from Hamlet. I found that interesting with the rest all from musicals.
Reluctantly, I turned back to work. As I read and responded to the remaining emails, the tone sounded from my alert on the case in Altavista. Curious, I pulled the site up. The update indicated a man, Isaac Waxman, was brought in for questioning and an arrest in the murder of Will Thompson was imminent. No information on Isaac Waxman was provided.
It was early in the afternoon. With an arrest pending, Brett would definitely be home for dinner. I made a quick list of what I needed to pick up at the grocery store. Not sure where the time had gone, I ran into Georg’s for my coffee fix and then to my seminar class.
CHAPTER 4
I felt better than I had for days and my appetite was back. Dinner would be chicken breasts, asparagus, and rice, with a fruit salad to follow complete with chocolate vinaigrette and dinner rolls. I had no sooner unloaded the groceries when Brett pulled into the driveway. His eyes looked heavy and bloodshot, his shoulders slumped. He kissed me, which prompted Charlie to bark until he gave her some attention too.
“You look tired. Do you feel okay? Why don’t you relax while I get everything together for dinner? Maybe you could find some relaxing music?”
“Thanks, Sher. I need to unwind.” Looking to Charlie he added, “Let’s go girl. We’ll find some mood music.”
They both went into the front room. Soon the sounds of Phantom of the Opera wafted into the kitchen. By the time dinner was ready and on the table, I found Brett asleep on the couch with Charlie curled up on his lap. Charlie immediately jumped up when she saw me causing Brett to stir.
“Dinner?” He rubbed his hand over his face and sat forward. He looked like he hadn’t slept while he was in Altavista.
I smiled and reached out my hand. “Ready and waiting.”
I knew better than to ask about the case and didn’t want to share Max’s theory in case it put Brett on the spot. That limited topics for conversation. I had just broached the topic of Thanksgiving again when the doorbell rang.
“Expecting anybody?”
I shook my head and went to the door. Charlie beat me to the door and Brett followed behind me. I looked through the peephole and commented, “It’s Marty.”
I noted Brett’s jaw working but didn’t understand the sudden tension. I opened the door.
“Hi Marty. Come on in. What’s up? Are you okay?”
Marty looked a mess. An attorney, Marty Cohn most often dressed for court even when walking on the college campus. A suit, dress shirt, and tie, all perfectly pressed comprised his standard uniform. Tonight, though, his shirt was half untucked and both his shirt and pants looked like he’d slept in them. His jacket was nowhere in sight. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot – a perfect match to Brett’s. If I didn’t know Marty better, I’d have wondered if he had been on a bender.
Marty didn’t answer. He glared at Brett who stared back at him. Charlie picked up on the tension and emitted a low growl. As if on cue, the crescendo from the Phantom played. The animosity between them was palpable but I didn’t understand it. I felt helpless to diffuse the situation.
“Someone want to fill me in?”
“You want to tell her, DETECTIVE? Or should I?” Marty shouted, his face flushed and his hands clenched. Charlie growled again and I spoke softly to her to calm her. I shifted my gaze to Brett with trepidation.
“Leave her out of this Marty. She has nothing to do with it. You have to know I didn’t take any pleasure in this process. It would have gone down the same.”
“If it has nothing to do with me, then why is he here?”
I looked from Brett to Marty and back again. Marty didn’t answer and he didn’t move a muscle. It was déja vu from when I worked in a residential treatment center with teenage boys facing off over some perceived slight.
“Nobody wants to talk? Then how about we all sit down. Marty, we were eating dinner, can I fix you a plate? Get you something to drink?”
He fizzled out and slithered into the armchair, rubbing his hands over the stubble on his face. Another first. In the six months I’d known Marty, he’d never needed a shave.
Brett turned and went back into the kitchen. I followed. I looked at him with raised eyebrows silently asking him what was going on. He shook his head ever so slightly and got down another plate. Between us, we got the food and wine for all of us out to where Marty still sat, head in hands.
Brett handed Marty a glass of wine. “Here, you need this.”
Marty looked up, opened his mouth but no words came out. He took the glass of wine and then the plate and utensils I handed him. Brett and I sat on the couch with our plates, our glasses of wine nearby. Charlie sat at attention between Marty and Brett in guard mode.
>
I kept shifting my gaze from one man to the other for some hint as we ate. Nobody said a word and the tension remained. Marty picked at his food initially, then cleaned his plate without even looking up. I wondered when he had last eaten.
When all the plates were clean, I asked if anyone wanted more. Both men shook their heads in silence. I picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen. The sound score from Phantom was the only sound other than my heels clicking on the kitchen tile.
I rejoined the men. Neither said a word. I looked to Brett as he seemed more in control and asked again, “Could someone fill me in please?”
“What have you heard about the case in Altavista today, Sher?”
I glanced at Marty, not sure where this was going.
“The last I heard was someone had been brought in for questioning and an arrest was expected. That was early this afternoon. I haven’t checked since and didn’t catch the news tonight.”
“Isaac Waxman was arrested for the murder of William Thompson. Waxman is Marty’s nephew.”
My jaw dropped as I shifted my attention to Marty. I glanced back to Brett once the realization sunk in.
“Were you the arresting officer?”
Brett exhaled and pulled his hands through his curly hair, a sure sign he was stressed.
“I assisted in the investigation and was present when he was initially questioned and when he was arrested. For all intents and purposes, this is still local jurisdiction. The Altavista Police Chief officially made the arrest. Waxman is scheduled for arraignment in two days.”
He hesitated before he added, “One other thing, Sher. Isaac is a sophomore at Cold Creek College. He’s in Fine Arts.”
Brett held my gaze and I felt the tension rise as my eyes opened wider. Marty still didn’t say anything and his head was back in his hands. We sat there for a few more minutes in silence.
“Can you tell me now why you’re involved – why the State Police are involved?”
Murder in the Theater (Cold Creek Book 4) Page 2
