by Edie Claire
“Evil!” Sonia insisted, her voice rising. “I’m talking about this building, the stain that’s upon it, and how it will color everything you ever try to do here, ever again!” All at once, she lowered her voice with a smile. “Now this place, on the other hand,” she said holding up the picture again, “is pure as the driven snow. Without blemish. A perfectly clean slate that you can write your own story on. And here’s the exciting part. I’m offering it to you, for no rent whatsoever, for the entire first year!”
“It’s a warehouse,” the first actor said flatly.
“It’s open space bursting with possibilities!” Sonia countered.
“Where is it?” another actress asked.
“Not far at all!” Sonia beamed. “Just a short drive away.”
“How short a drive?”
“I’ve already discussed the particulars with Mr. Applegate,” Sonia went on, “and I’m sure we can work out an amicable settlement. He and I will transport all your equipment to the other location, anything you’d like to take along — including the appliances! — and you can start remodeling the other space as soon as you want. No questions asked!”
“But where is it?” the curly haired actress insisted.
Sonia cleared her throat. “Beaver Falls.”
The actors responded with a chorus of groans.
“Beaver Falls!” Bess cried. “That’s a forty-five minute drive!”
Camille stood. “We are the North Boros Thespian Society, dear,” she said to Sonia sweetly, removing the picture from the attorney’s hands and setting it back on top of her briefcase. “So I’m afraid we shall have to decline. And we simply must get back to our rehearsal.”
Sonia’s eyes flashed with panic. “But… I have another building, too! In Butler County. And it’s even bigger!”
The actors began to rise and take their places on the stage.
“But you can’t stay here!” Sonia began to preach again, her deep voice rasping with near hysteria. “This building is cursed, I tell you. Cursed!”
Bess’s eyes slid sideways over toward Leigh, who looked down at her shoes self-consciously. It did sound silly when someone else said it.
“The only way to root out the evil is just to level this place and start over!” Sonia continued to rail. “Don’t you see? By moving out now you would be ridding this community not only of a blot on its past, but a magnet for future criminals! Think how much better off everyone would be if this monstrosity were razed, and a new shiny building built in its place! You must make it happen! It’s your civic duty!”
Sonia was losing it. Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth, and everyone in the room — except the actors she was talking to — had stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
“My dear Ms. Crane,” Camille said in a wispy, angelic voice as she floated over and put a hand on Sonia’s arm. “You mustn’t upset yourself. The society will be just fine, I promise you. In the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ‘For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.’”
Sonia frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re out of here,” Bess said curtly, stepping up onto the stage. She made a series of exaggerated gestures to Gerardo, pointing first at Sonia, then at the door, and he smiled an obsequious smile and hastened forward.
“But I—” For a long moment, Sonia’s eyes darted warily between Bess and the approaching bouncer. Then, with an indignant huff of breath, she grabbed her briefcase and stormed past Gerardo. Leigh expected a parting shot from the door, but was disappointed. Sonia continued straight out into the vestibule without looking back. Gerardo followed her, returning a few seconds later with a confirming nod to Bess.
“Good riddance,” Bess muttered. “The nerve of that woman!”
“All right, everyone,” Camille was saying to her actors onstage. “Exercises! Now, hands on hips! And bend, slow-ly. That’s it! Now, breathe with me. In. Out. In, out…”
Leigh looked at Bess, who rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask,” Bess murmured.
“Aunt Bess?” Mathias called, hurrying up to them.
“Yes, kiddo?”
“You told us to make a center aisle, but the director lady, she said we needed to make zigzags. Something about having the chairs look like the outline of a flower from above? Then she started going off about orchid blossoms—”
“Oh, for the love of—” Bess cut herself off with a groan. “We need a large center aisle for the wedding scene, as I told you. Just ignore the director. Lord knows everyone else does.”
Camille moved from the breathing exercise into a round of jumping jacks.
“Can we stay and watch the rehearsal when we’re done?” Mathias asked them both.
“You may if you’re excited by calisthenics and poetry recitations,” Bess replied. “But that’s all you’re likely to see happen.”
Mathias and Leigh both blinked at her. “But isn’t the day after tomorrow opening night?” Leigh asked.
“Without question,” Bess replied glibly. “But no one expects to make any progress while Camille’s here. That will come later.”
Leigh’s brow furrowed. “You mean, the cast is going to practice without the director?”
“Why, of course,” Bess said matter-of-factly. “We always make up one hush-hush schedule for the cast and another for Camille. We couldn’t possibly let her direct otherwise.”
Leigh cast a furtive glance back at the stage. The actors were now all crouched on the floor, their arms arched over their heads. “Acorns!” Camille crowed with delight, flitting about between them. “We are all acorns!” She stopped by the male actor who had been so outspoken earlier, and her face drew into a frown. “Oh, no,” she chastised. “No, no, no. You must be more three-dimensional!”
“Um…” Mathias said dubiously, “Yeah. Maybe we’ll finish the chairs and just take off, then.”
“An excellent idea,” Leigh agreed.
Mathias returned to the Pack, and Leigh watched as her aunt’s face slowly reddened. “I can’t believe Gordon subjected us all to such nonsense,” Bess fumed. “Beaver Falls, indeed! He should have known better. Well, he’ll get an earful from me next time I see him, that’s for sure.”
Uncomfortable thoughts swirled in Leigh’s brain. “Sonia definitely still wants this place,” she thought out loud. “And badly. I have to wonder what else she might do to get it. How far she’d go.”
Bess harrumphed. “It will never happen. Gordon promised me. We make a success of this show — good crowds, positive reviews, excitement in the community, and the theater is ours. No one is knocking this place down to make some shiny new hamburger stand. Not while there’s breath in my body!”
“Aunt Bess!” Leigh said sharply.
“What?” Bess asked with surprise.
The image her aunt’s euphemistic words created in Leigh’s fertile imagination could very well make an appearance in future nightmares.
“Nothing,” Leigh answered quietly. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.”
Bess’s expression softened. “Don’t you worry about me, kiddo,” she said confidently. “If that pint-sized harpy sticks her nose in my business one more time, it’s her that can do the worrying.”
Chapter 11
When Leigh arrived in Avalon the next morning to visit Maura, she found her friend sitting up in bed surrounded by an even wider array of paperwork than before, plus a laptop and a printer.
“This doesn’t look so relaxing,” Leigh commented, entering the room with Allison behind her.
“It’s just right,” Maura replied, closing the file she’d been studying. “Technically I’m on modified duty, not disability, much to Gerry’s annoyance. Hey, Allie.”
“Hey, Aunt Mo,” Allison said quietly, slipping into a chair.
“Where’s the Chewmeister today?” Maura asked.
“He had a prior social obligation,” Leigh replied. “Cara took the r
est of the Pack to North Park this morning for a charity-sponsored dog walkathon.”
Maura’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She turned to Allison. “You’re not missing that just to come over here and babysit me, I hope?”
Allison smiled shyly and gave a shrug.
Leigh’s teeth gritted. She had good reason to fear Allison’s motives in asking to come, and the internal debate she’d waged over whether to ship the girl off to the park with the others had been fierce. She had relented in the end only because she knew that Allison’s curiosity, once sparked, was impossible to quench, and that any attempt to thwart it only made the child more determined. And potentially, more devious.
It was Maura’s fault the child was so fascinated by crime anyway, Leigh thought ruefully. Why not let the detective deal with it?
Maura studied mother and daughter a moment, then moved the files on her lap aside and picked up her notebook and pencil. “So,” she said cheerfully. “Somebody catch me up. What’s been going on at the theater lately?”
Some time passed before Maura received the complete rundown, perhaps because whatever details Leigh left out in the interest of sparing Allison, the girl herself made a point of supplying. The detective listened carefully, making occasional notes.
“So, I guess Sonia’s out as my prime suspect for Marconi’s murder,” Leigh admitted. “Did you ever find a connection between the two of them?”
Maura shook her head. “She wasn’t named as his attorney on any of the public records, anyway.”
“Are you in charge of the case now, Aunt Mo?” Allison asked.
Maura grinned. “Well now, that’s a more complicated question than you might think. Officially, no, Detective Stroth is heading up the investigation. Unofficially, well… assume what you will.”
Allison grinned back. “Could I ask you a question? If you’re not allowed to answer it, that’s okay.”
“Agreed,” Maura replied. “Shoot.”
“Do the police know yet exactly how Andrew Marconi was killed?”
Leigh got a familiar sick feeling in her stomach. Why would Allison need to know something like that?
“Yes,” Maura answered. “The autopsy results just came in. What will become public knowledge soon, if it hasn’t already, is that Marconi was most likely killed by a blow to the back of the head.”
Allison’s eyes widened. But she made no response.
Leigh hastened to change the topic. “What do you think about Bess’s one hire pretending he can’t speak English?”
Maura shrugged. “Could mean a lot of things. You have any reason to believe he has ties to the building or any of the people involved, aside from trying to make a few bucks doing manual labor?”
Leigh shook her head.
“Yes,” Allison answered. “Maybe.”
Both women turned to look at her. “What?” Leigh barked. Allison had already confessed that the Pack had suspected Gerardo’s deceit from the beginning and had even gone so far as to confirm it. Evidently, he had underestimated their powers of observation — a costly error, always — and had been tricked into acting on several throwaway comments, like “Look at all this cash!” and even the classic “Quick, duck!” But the Pack, like Leigh at first, considered the deception a harmless enough secret. They all liked Gerardo, and Mathias and Ethan were convinced that he had begun the ruse just to shut Chaz up.
“What’s the connection?” Maura asked.
Allison squirmed in her seat. “Well, yesterday I saw him talking to Gordon Applegate.”
Leigh stiffened. “You saw Gerardo talking to him? I didn’t think Mr. Applegate was even at the building yesterday!”
“Well he wasn’t, exactly,” Allison qualified. “And I can’t be sure they were talking. It’s just that while we were on the second floor putting away props, I saw Mr. Applegate’s limousine out the window. Or at least another white one just like it. It didn’t turn into the parking lot — it just pulled up on the curb by the entrance. And Gerardo was supposed to be guarding the door then, but he walked over to the car and talked to somebody in the back.”
“You couldn’t see who he was talking to?” Maura asked.
Allison shook her head. “No, the window was tinted and it was only rolled down partway. But it sure looked like Gerardo was talking in full sentences — not just gesturing for them to move along, you know.”
“How long did they talk?” Leigh asked.
“Only, like, ten seconds,” Allison replied. “Then Gerardo looked around and ran back to the door. I don’t think he realized we could see him; you really can’t see that spot from anywhere else in the building.”
Leigh exhaled uncomfortably. “Well, I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Who’s paying the men for their work?” Maura asked her. “Bess or Mr. Applegate?”
“I think the society is, but I’m not sure,” Leigh replied. “Allison, why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
Allison squirmed again. “I was going to. I just wanted to see what Aunt Mo thought about it, first.”
Maura studied Allison. “You have a theory of your own. Don’t you?”
The girl nodded self-consciously.
“Well?” Leigh demanded.
“I’m afraid it might upset Aunt Bess,” Allison said mildly.
Maura smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it will. Spit it out, Allie.”
Leigh looked from one to the other with annoyance. Was she missing something?
“I think Gerardo’s a spy,” Allison announced. “I think he’s really working for Mr. Applegate.”
Maura grinned broadly. “A brilliant deduction!” She looked up at Leigh. “See there? Police academy, here she—”
“Stop that!” Leigh ordered.
Maura chuckled. “Gordon Applegate does have a reputation for micromanagement. Which is to say, he’s a grade-A control freak. Warren could have told you that.” She looked back at Allison. “I think you’d better tell your Aunt Bess what you just told me. She’s a big girl. She can take it from there.”
“Okay,” Allison agreed calmly.
“Back to the Marconi case,” Leigh said, anxious to change the subject, lest she feel even stupider than she already did. “Is the detective you mentioned going to be questioning my mother, now? Should I be worried?”
“Absolutely,” Maura answered. “But it’s Detective Stroth you should be worried about.”
Leigh chuckled. “Yeah, you got that right. Mom will not be pleased.”
Maura smiled reassuringly. “Stroth knows my opinion of your mother, and your aunts, and he’s sharp enough to value that opinion. But the neighbors’ theory that somebody who opposed the strip club might have become unbalanced enough to do Marconi bodily harm isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. Your mother knows the people involved; I’m betting she could be helpful to the investigation.”
“But what about the other murder?” Allison piped up.
Leigh’s panic sensor started to flicker again.
“What other murder?” Maura asked. “You mean the one that happened in the same building? Back in the sixties?”
Allison nodded mutely.
Maura turned to the card table on the other side of her bed and picked up a folder. “What about it, Allie?”
Leigh stifled a sigh. It was, of course, too much wishful thinking to hope that the Pack hadn’t heard every detail of the sordid “satanists sacrifice church custodian on altar” story by now. All it would take, after all, was five minutes of working in the same room as Chaz.
“I was just thinking,” Allison began tentatively, “that there are some similarities between the two.”
Leigh frowned. “Just because they happened in roughly the same location doesn’t mean they’re connected,” she insisted.
“Maybe not,” Allison agreed. “But the two men were killed the same way.”
Leigh cast a glance at Maura. Her pulse increased. “Did you investigate that other murder? I mean, I know you weren’t even bor
n yet, but is it covered in the Marconi file?”
“Not well,” Maura said thoughtfully, looking at Allison. “But I do know that the custodian was also killed with a blow to the head. That’s true.”
“Well, it’s a common enough way to kill somebody,” Leigh argued. She wasn’t sure why it was so terribly important to her that the two murders had nothing to do with each other. But she was sure that she wanted Allison to stop thinking about it. “The two events happened fifty years apart, for heaven’s sake! Half the people on the planet the first time were dead by the second.”
“Mom,” Allison said with maddening calmness, “you’re including the time it took to find Marconi’s body. The actual murders were only forty-something years apart.”
Leigh’s face reddened. “Be that as it may, the similarity is just a coincidence,” she proclaimed.
Allison frowned and looked away. Her small voice was barely audible. “I don’t like coincidences.”
The bedroom door opened to reveal Maura’s husband Gerry holding a telephone handset and looking extremely unhappy. “It’s Stroth,” he announced, with the same tone of doom and gloom he might have used to say, “It’s an Ebola virus.”
Maura’s lips curved into a smile. “Well, are you going to let me talk to him?”
The Lieutenant’s jaw muscles twitched. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Gerry,” Maura said heavily. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to make me get up from this bed. I promise. I can think, and talk, in complete repose. Have I not behaved so far?”
“You’re not supposed to get stressed.”
“Work doesn’t stress me,” she assured. “Boredom does. Now give me the damn phone. Sweetheart.”
Gerry’s mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. He handed the handset to his wife, then kissed her on the lips. “I’m taking it back in five minutes, whether you’re done or not. Deal with it.” He gave a friendly nod to Leigh and Allison, then walked back out.
Leigh smiled, and Allison giggled. The two policemen had always been a bizarre pair, hardly seeming to be a couple at all most of the time, as they were both so reserved. But ever since they found out that Maura was pregnant, they’d been acting like lovesick teenagers.
