I grabbed a shaking Rafe and hustled him away from the matchmaking duo. His teeth were over his bottom lip as he tried to keep the laughter from erupting.
I swatted his shoulder at three times the force Fran had used on Shirley. “You wimp. Thanks for letting me squirm away from Busybodies-R-Us!”
He chuckled. “Nice job of sidestepping and tangoing around their nosy little questions. Jeez, what a pair. Miss Danvers meets Betty Boop on acid.”
“Now, now. Be nice. We wouldn't even have had this revival of Bad Business if Fran Watkins hadn't persuaded the other board members of the theatre to do it. They are the very model of opposites attract, though, aren't they? I'm still amazed they've remained such good friends. Maybe Fran was more fun in her younger years or Shirley had a brain then.” I waved a hand at Cortez and the king. “Relative of yours?”
Rafe smiled and ignored the question.
I pointed to a statue that was the image of Nathaniel. “Well, there's a lot of familiar faces here. Didn't the goddess in the other room remind you of Miss Daisy. Flat face, expression of stone, and superior attitude. And those are the nicer characteristics. Believe me, there are many things I could say about Daisy that would be less than kind. I shall try and forego saying them, however. I keep telling myself she truly is a whiz at the piano, but even that is getting difficult to use as an excuse for her constant screw-ups and the fact that I have yet to receive all the music I need to choreograph. Sorry. Why am I talking about her? I'm normally not this catty. And I don't have to deal with her today.”
Rafe's voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I don't think you have a choice. Take a look behind the representation of the astronomy pyramid from Chichen Itza.”
I groaned, then cautiously peeked around. Daisy waved unenthusiastically from a few feet away.
“Hey, Daisy. What a . . . uh . . . surprise seeing you here.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I was supposed to come with Jason. He knows—that is, he knew—all about these Olmec and totem pole people or whatever. So this is my pilgrimage.”
Rafe stared at her. “Jason was interested in Mesoamerican art?”
Daisy glared at him. “No one really appreciated how incredibly gifted Jason was,” she sputtered.
And did you learn to be appreciative, sweetheart?
For a moment I thought I'd said it aloud. Two heads turned in my direction. Rafe's eyes held more than a touch of amusement when I began humming “Love is a Many Splendored Thing” clearly in the key of G.
“Kiely?”
“Hmm?”
“Isn't that Ham Humble underneath the sculpture of the feathered jaguar? Looks good over him, doesn't it? Like a deity descending.”
I turned. It was and he did. I waved, whistled, and jumped up and down. Anything to attract his attention. He waved, whistled, and jumped up and down. We looked like two kids on a trampoline in separate backyards trying to coordinate dinner times.
“Kiely? Rafe? We had no idea y'all'd be here. Good to see you. Oh, hi, Daisy. What a, urn, surprise. I didn't know you liked art.”
Rafe was whistling “I Saw Her Standing There” to cover his laughter. He and I apparently shared music as an avoidance of words. Ham Humble's attitude replicated ours; only he’d been more honest about showing it
I searched the area where Ham had been standing. “Your brother around?”
“Last I saw him he was headed to the snack bar for a soft chocolate cone. Make that two. That was ten minutes ago. I think it's time to hunt him down since one of those cones was meant for me.”
Rafe put his hand over my arm. “We'll help you find him. We were about to leave anyway. Daisy? See you later.”
I politely smiled good-bye as the two men led me down a large hall filled with terrifying images of human sacrifice.
Ham was muttering under his breath with barely enough volume for us to hear, “Damn. Like I don't see enough of her at the theatre? Sheesh. She hates me, you know, because I thought Sharkey was one stinkin' s.o.b. I know it's not nice to speak ill of the recently deceased, but I must admit the thought crossed my mind how nice it would have been if one of these Mayan deities had swooped down on the swine and swallowed him whole and thrown him in the nearest volcano long before rehearsals started.”
“Ouch. Hey. Let it out, Ham. Don't you know it's not healthy to hide your feelings?”
He hung his head, then smiled bashfully at me. “Sorry. I know that was an awful thing to say. But quite frankly, I'm still picking up the pieces of what he did to Amber and I can't find anything nice to say about him, dead or alive. Or his idiot floozy the accompanist.”
Rafe lightly punched his shoulder. “We can see that. And we appreciate your sentiments. Wowee, ladies and gents, we get another chance to rub shoulders with the charming Daisy Haltom this evening at the soiree.”
“Yeah. What's up with that?” Ham's irritation had been diverted. “We've got a wagonload of rehearsals coming up this week and Miz Watkins pops up and decides we need a pre-opening cast party? Is this to hype Cyrus Boone and reassure everyone he'll be up to snuff before production?”
I nodded. “I gather we are about to be involved in a major publicity blitz. Fran has a lot of money tied up in Bad Business and she's determined to make a profit. Believe me, I'm not thrilled, either.”
Rafe raised both brows. “What? Neither of you is enthused about having your picture taken with the crème de la creme of society? I’m shocked. Think of it as a chance to impress the media with our greatness. Isn't that why we're in this show—to create a bit of Dallas theatre history?”
I crinkled my nose at him. “Actually, I was thinking this party's a chance for free food. At least for me. Rumor has it Fran Watkins is hosting quite the spread.”
Hank joined us, holding two chocolate soft ice cream cones. They looked wonderful.
Rafe glanced at me and laughed. “You have this look of sheer lust on your face. Would you care for some ice cream before we go? After all, it's only a few hours ‘til the party. You need sustenance, don't you?”
I didn't care whether he was being sarcastic or not. I wanted a cone and I wanted it now. He took my arm and steered me determinedly toward the snack bar while tossing good-byes over his shoulder.
“Humble and Humble? We'll see you tonight. Come along, Ms. Davlin.”
I scurried along beside him and turned back to look at the twins.
They waved. I waved. I'd been having such a good time exploring the ruins of the Mayan in air-conditioned splendor I hadn't thought about it but I'd seen that look of resolve in obtaining an ice cream cone on Rafe's face before. Specifically, when he'd been searching for whatever he'd been searching for in the piano, trunks, gaming tables, and prop room at East Ellum. I was with him on this one. Chocolate ice cream can soothe the fiercest gods. Or their conquerors.
Chapter 19
“Are they cool enough to eat?”
I blinked. I'd been home from the museum less than an hour. In that time I'd managed to bake a batch of brownies, now resting on the counter of the kitchen. Apparently my activities had not gone unnoticed. I glared at my intruder.
“Have you never heard of the age-old custom of knocking on one's door before barging in?”
“Fiddle-dee-dee. I see no point if the door is unlocked.”
I shook my head. “How did your poor mother manage to survive the eighteen years you were raised in her lovely Manhattan home before she packed you off to college?”
Lida Rose fluttered her lashes at me. “Eugenia Grace made quite sure I was a proper New Yorker. I never answered the door unless I knew for certain who was there, and I never went into a neighbor's apartment without buzzing first. You still haven't gotten over your good Texas trust, I see. You really should lock your doors, Kiely. You never know who's going to walk in.”
She plopped onto a kitchen stool, giving me the opportunity to fully appreciate her chosen costume for her day off from the theatre. A vintage madras man's shirt hung loosel
y atop a pair of canary-yellow stretch capri pants. The toenails clearly visible under plastic sandals with rhinestone straps were painted yellow as well. Somehow, on Lida Rose, the ensemble looked trendy and dramatic.
“You never answered my question.”
“I'm so sorry. Your outfit has blinded me to any other thoughts. What question?”
“The brownies. Are they cool enough to eat?”
I took a seat on another stool across from her and scooched it closer to the kitchen island that doubled as breakfast table and brownie bar. “How did you know I'd made any?”
Lida Rose grabbed a knife and began slicing through the double batch I'd taken from the oven no more than five minutes before her arrival. She crammed a huge chunk into her mouth and mumbled, “It's a gift. The sweet scent of chocolate drew me all the way from White Rock Lake. I swear, Kiely, if you ever decide to give up dancing you could go into a whole new business. These are truly orgasmic. What did you add?”
“White chocolate chips and walnuts. Thank you for the compliment. By the way, aren't you a tad early to be picking me up for this bash tonight?”
Lida Rose had kindly offered to give me a lift to Fran Watkins's party. Fran lived in Highland Park, which was too far for even Kiely the Manhattan strider to deal with.
“I am early. Very early. Strictly speaking, I am not here to pick you up yet. George will come by for both of us at the appointed time. But I needed out for a while.”
I didn't ask. Something was bothering The Madam.
I knew whatever it was would emerge in Lida Rose's own good time.
The two of us spent the next few minutes contentedly chewing away and washing down crumbs with ice cold milk and diet cola. After I'd downed at least six of the gooey cakes, I took a last swallow and pointed at my friend. “Okay. Truth now. Why are you really here? You have an undeniably great nose for chocolate, not to mention trouble, but even you could not detect Kiely cooking from ten miles away. And we've got three hours before the party. What's up?”
“I'm getting twitchy.”
This was not good. Twitchy to us both usually meant disaster. When Lida Rose had been audited three years ago by the IRS—“really, Kiely, he had no sense of humor about me deducting that bachelorette party at Wild Thing”—she'd been twitchy the day before the taxman called. When the neighbor's house two doors away from hers burned down, she'd been twitchy less than two hours before. I wasn't quite as adept, but I have to admit I'd been twitchy the day I found Jason's body.
“Why are you twitchy? Merely because we’re about to open way too soon and don't know our lines and songs? Or because every other day we seem to have an accident?”
She grabbed another brownie, slid off the stool, and then began to pace around the kitchen. “How can you even ask? Don't you feel it? The theatre is a powder keg ready to blow. It's a dog about to be fixed. It's a virgin about to be knocked up. It's—”
“I got it, I got it. What specifically is bothering you?”
Lida Rose grimaced. “Let's start with Jason's acci—oh, hell. Let’s call it was it is. Murder. The suspects are ranging and roaming all over the theatre. My bet is Daisy Haltom. I’m prejudiced since I honestly don't like her.”
“Daisy? Why, L.R., what a thing to say! Little Miz Milquetoast? Yeah, sure, she was jealous about Jason seeing Amber and Macy, but really . . . Daisy?”
“Kiely, I swear you need to get out more. Daisy Haltom is the type of virginal obsessive female who would have been panting to take a knife to Jason and give him a free circumcision once it hit her that he wasn't interested.”
I winced. “Ouch. Thank you for that graphic picture. Double ouch.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway. Forget Jason. That's rude, isn't it? You know what I mean. Back to the problem at hand. Added to the general twitchiness is the announcement I have yet to make. It's going to cause problems. For you as well as the other cast members.”
Now she was making me twitchy. “What announcement? What problems? I thought things were going well?”
“Fran Watkins called me late last night after I got home. Are you ready for this? No, of course not. I'm not ready, either.”
I waved a brownie in front of her eyes. “L. R. Focus. Tell me.”
“Fran wants to use the surviving members of the original cast of Bad Business in the show. This show. Our show. The gala. She thinks it'll be a great publicity stunt. The reason for this stinking party is about tonight. She plans to have press and money people sharing pate with the peasants before she makes her big pronouncement to all.”
I grabbed two more brownies and crammed them in my mouth before realizing I didn't want them. “Please tell me you're kidding. We open in less than a week. We're already dealing with teaching Cyrus. This could mean redoing blocking for everything. Does Fran expect these people to dance, too? Have lines? Songs?”
She shook her head. “We have been spared giving them lines and teaching dances. She simply wants everyone on that stage. Like live scenery. Think of them as costumed breathing palm trees. She's already told the other cast members from the former Bad Business crowd. My arteries must be hardening so much the blood flow to my brain has shut down for me to have ever allowed this.”
“Well, if you weren't scarfing down brownies like they were the last food you'd had in thirty-six hours, it might help those arteries. As for allowing? I don't think you had much choice, given Fran's position with the theatre. What did partner number two say about this? Or don't you know?”
She ignored the first part of my statements. Lida Rose and I have long agreed that the major food groups consist of brownies, blintzes, and anything from Mexico or Italy.
Lida Rose choked on a chocolate chip. “Shirley? The nitwit who can't construct a proper sentence? Actually, she's a total whiz at business. Can you believe it? Ran an antiques store for years at a profit. Has a financial brain beyond belief. I may go to her for stock tips next year. But as to what she thinks about joining the group onstage, I have no idea. Shirley lets Fran deal with the day-to-days. Fran is also offering suggestions about everything from the advertising to who's going to cater opening night to repainting the lobby to taking issue with my casting. Oh, have I mentioned the Boones? Cyrus has yet to utter a single word since Jason died, other than his lines onstage. I'm not sure he's capable of extemporaneous speech. Then we add your crazy boyfriend running around the theatre at all hours poking his nose into pianos and trunks and Lord knows what else. And the two of you finding gems and ghosts in the prop room.”
“Excuse me?”
She reached for another brownie and scooped up a few loose chips from the pan. She mumbled as she looked at me. “What?”
“What crazy boyfriend?”
She gave a deep sigh. “Rafe Montez. Who the hell else? I mean, you 're the one who first mentioned he's been sneaking around like a bloodhound in a bacon factory. He told me you'd asked him why he was waist deep into Daisy's piano.”
“He's not my boyfriend.”
She snorted and started pulling various bottles out of my pantry. “Crap, Kiely. Don't you keep anything stronger than vanilla extract around here?”
I patiently took my bottle of vanilla out of her pudgy hands, much as one takes a white lace blouse away from a child who has been building mud pies all day, then led her into the living room.
“Ted and Margaret have a well-stocked liquor cabinet here. Damn, woman, you must be upset. I've never known you to drink before the sun goes down.”
She pulled open the doors to the cabinet and grabbed a quart of bourbon and two highball glasses. “It's Daylight Savings Time in Texas. That means the sun stays up 'til ten or eleven. I'm not waiting.”
“Lida Rose. Calm down. What else is going on? What is everyone doing to make you so nuts?”
She chugged down a good three swallows of her bourbon and Coke before answering.
“Remember the night you went dancing at Sweet Ruby's? After Billie changed the songs in Act Two? I can't blame you. Any int
elligent person would have known to go out and have a good time dancing with the cast. But, stupid me, I invited Billie and Cyrus out to dinner. If you recall, I was kind enough not to include you in what turned out to be a production meeting dinner telling me how it was done in the old days. Okay. I can live with that. Billie is amazingly talented and I totally agree with the changes she's made. I didn't appreciate some of the comparisons she came up with from their cast to ours, but as I say, I can live with it. Then the second wave comes in with Fran and that moron Shirley in their capacity as old cast plus owners. Nathaniel was the only one not to tell me how badly I cast this show, and how badly I was directing this show, and how every one of them could improve it if given the chance to direct. If I didn't love George so much, I'd divorce him and marry Nathaniel.”
I was silent for a moment. Then I said, “I'm sorry. I had no idea you were getting so hassled by the oldies but goodies crowd.” I brightened. “I know one former cast member who likes the show.”
She looked at me with an expression of hope dawning. “Who?”
“Don Mueller. He was waving and giving me a thumbs-up sign the other day after we did Act One. Blew me a kiss.”
She took another large swallow. “You're as loony as I am. Though I am glad our spectral ex-villain approves. From all accounts the man was a phenomenal actor. I'd take his opinion over certain live stiffs any day.”
She finished the glass and held it up to me for more. I shook my head. “I hope you're not driving. You're going to be completely schnockered before we get to Fran's. I'll have to steer you away from any and all media types or you'll find yourself blushing when you read tomorrow's arts section with all the slanderous things you're aching to say.”
She growled, “First off, I'm so pissed at everyone I could stay sober even if I downed this entire thing, but to assuage your fears, George dropped me off on his way to the health food store. He's due back in”—she checked her watch—”oh hell, right about now. Where's the friggin' booze?”
Ghosts, Wandering Here and There Page 15
