Murder at the Cabaret (Pet Portraits Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Sandi Scott

  “Do you?” Stan gave her that look she knew all too well.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just saying that this is very nice.” She looked over her shoulder to see Andrew and J.R. laughing while Aleta was telling one of her stories—probably about Georgie. “The boys look like they are having a nice time, too. I’ll kill Aleta if she is telling them secrets about me.”

  "I agree. This has been a very nice couple of days." Stan became somber. "So, what's new on the Chesty Lauren case?"

  “You mean Madame Bray?” Georgie laughed. “Well, some interesting things have popped up.” She gave Stan the short version of what she’d found out so far, all the way up until her conversation with Calvin Bernard. “I might have a job out of that, too. He’s got a Maine coon.”

  “What in the world is that?” Stan asked.

  “It is the largest domesticated cat in the world. If it were not just a big, hairy pussycat, it could eat Bodhi for breakfast. They are huge animals.”

  “That would be a nice thing to come out of all this.” Stan cleared his throat. “I heard the cabaret is starting up again this Saturday.” He looked out at the other boats and then at Georgie. He was too handsome for his own good. Georgie felt him watching her as she scanned the scenery, and when she finally looked back at him, she wasn’t sure what his expression meant. He looked like he was nervous about something. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the opening show. We could do a little snooping around and maybe even grab dinner or drinks. I heard you liked their piña coladas.” Stan’s grin made Georgie’s heart skip a beat like she was twenty years old again.

  “That sounds nice, Stan,” she swallowed, “but I’ve got plans on Saturday.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  No use beating around the bush, old girl. Just spill your guts. At least he can’t ever say you lied to him. “Obby is taking me to dinner then to the cabaret.”

  Stan looked as if he had just been told he was fired. “Is he helping you with this mystery?”

  “No. My gosh, Stan, he doesn’t know anything about all that.”

  “When do you plan on telling him?”

  “What?”

  “That’s a pretty big secret to keep from a guy. In all fairness, you should make clear to him this other side of yourself before you go any further.”

  “What?” Georgie put her hand to her throat.

  “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t leave out such an important part of your life. Solving crimes makes you happy. His first date with you ended with an arrest of a murderer, but does he know that is the norm rather than the exception? What if he doesn’t want you doing that?”

  “Well, Stan, I guess when we are on our way to Bloomingdales to pick out china patterns together, I’ll be sure to tell him about my crime solving hobby. Gee-whiz, it’s our first real date,” She gasped.

  “I’m...just saying.” Stan looked away from Georgie.

  “I am too old to even call it a date. We have some things in common, Stan. I like him, but you are acting like I have to choose between the two of you when the truth is that I don’t think I want either one of you, not the way you are thinking.”

  “Come on, Georgie.” Stan reached out and took her hand. “When are you going to forgive me? When are we going to be a family again? When are you going to realize that I’m the love of your life?”

  Georgie squeezed Stan’s hand. “Ask me in another hundred years. Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

  Stan pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Well, if you won't take me back for good, how about just for tonight? Maybe just a couple hours?"

  “Stan.” She sighed.

  “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

  “Stan, please.”

  They laughed. Georgie watched Andrew and talked to Stan about how well Andrew was doing and how much she was enjoying just having him home. Stan agreed, but his mind was elsewhere. He was sure this Obby fellow was no good for Georgie. No one would ever be good enough for her.

  Chapter 14

  “Did you shoo Dad away?” Andrew asked Georgie once they were back at her house.

  “Of course not. Your Dad is working tonight. He had to go to the station,” she huffed. It was true, but she could tell Stan was in a “state” when he left because she would not break her date. She didn’t want to tell Andrew. He was still her baby boy, besides being the only unmarried child, and didn’t need to know everything that went on between Stan and herself. “Besides, I’ve got a hunch there might be some excitement at the theater. If they are opening on Saturday with a new review, I’ll bet they are practicing now.”

  “So?” Aleta replied.

  “So, I was thinking that I never got a good look at that stage to see what happened. Committing a murder with a spotlight seconds away from lighting up the star that you are strangling was risky. I’d like to step into the shoes of the killer.”

  "Your Mom is so cool," J.R. whispered to Andrew.

  “How are we all going to get in there unnoticed?” Aleta asked, pretending to be hesitant, but Georgie saw the glimmer of interest in her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Shall we all pile into Pablo?”

  “No. We are driving in my car,” Aleta insisted. “Your car has probably been seen all over that part of town. It isn’t like it blends in any more than you do.”

  With everyone comfortably stretched out in Aleta’s Mercedes, Georgie explained what she wanted to do and how they were all going to help. Aleta pulled the car into a tight parking spot at a meter, dumping in a couple quarters as Andrew and J.R. excitedly took on their roles, heading toward the club.

  “I can’t believe you are asking Andrew to do this.”

  "Are you kidding?" Georgie fussed. "Look at those two." She pointed at the men nearly skipping in excitement to the club entrance. "They are like little boys being allowed to camp out in the backyard for the first time."

  Georgie and Aleta slowly approached the club leaving almost a block between them and the boys. Then the show started. "I'm...I'm having trouble breathing," Andrew mumbled as he clutched J.R.'s arm just as they were about to pass the club entrance. The doorman stood there watching.

  “Andy, Andy, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t catch—”

  “Do you have your pills?” J.R.’s face was a combination of concern for his faking friend and real concern that the bouncer would not believe them. Quickly his look became more and more concerned, especially when Andrew collapsed on the sidewalk.

  "That is your son," Aleta whispered. "As sure as I'm standing here, he is as big a con artist as you are."

  “I’m so proud,” Georgie cooed. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Andrew began to write on the ground claiming it was an allergic reaction to something he ate.

  "I told you not to have that sushi," J.R. added. He looked pleadingly to the bouncer. "It was day old sushi from a grocery store."

  "I had a craving," Andrew grumbled in fake misery.

  “You could have ptomaine,” J.R. scolded.

  “Stop criticizing me and get me some water,” Andrew hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” The bouncer asked as he leaned down and looked at Andrew.

  “No!” Both men shouted in unison just as Georgie and Aleta snuck in the front door.

  "I'm feeling better now," Andrew said instantly.

  "You look better," J.R. stated. "Doesn't he look better?" He nudged the doorman who nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yeah,” the man agreed. “Yeah, the color in your face is much better.”

  “Whew,” Andrew continued as he slowly sat up.

  Aleta slipped her hand into her sister’s as they felt their way along the dark corridor toward the main room with the stage. "Careful now," Georgie whispered. "It looks like we are in luck." Most of the performers that were on the stage had their backs to the room as they got orders from Henry Dupre. Georgie led Aleta to a dark corner across from t
he empty bar. Thick, velvet curtains were hanging on either side of the exits. They blended into the folds and observed the rest of the rehearsal in silence. Georgie’s mind was racing. She watched as Henry Dupre gave instructions, waving his arms and pointing left and right. The performers nodded and asked a few questions that neither Georgie nor Aleta could hear.

  “What are they saying?” Aleta whispered.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t see Jenny Holt. I wonder if she is taking Madame Bray’s place or not.” Georgie searched all around but there was no sign of the starlet. Perhaps she had already rehearsed. Perhaps she was no longer with the cabaret. There were a million things that could account for her not being there that were not the slightest bit sinister. "Henry Dupre seems on edge to me," Georgie said. "What do you think?"

  “I can’t tell if he’s on edge or if he’s just the guy in charge. You know, opening up after a murder has got to be challenging.”

  “True.” Still, Georgie wanted to get up on that stage. “But, if he killed his star attraction is he acting like a guilty man?”

  Aleta didn't reply. Instead, she focused her eyes on the stage and watched. They stood there for at least fifteen minutes before the stage was finally cleared and the thick curtain fell.

  “I’m going in,” Georgie hissed before Aleta could do or say anything to stop her. From the shadows of the curtains, Aleta watched her sister walk confidently up to the stage as if she were part of a one-woman act. With the grace of a toddler learning to walk, she pulled herself up onto the stage. Looking around quickly, she hurried to the spot where Madame Bray’s body was found. Carefully, she pulled back the curtain and saw that several ropes hung from the overhead rafters. Someone would have to be very strong to use these as the murder weapon. Very strong indeed. Focusing her eyes on the back of the stage she realized it would have been quite easy for someone to commit the crime and slip away virtually unseen. The back of the stage had other curtains pulled into place, as well as gaudy props that could easily hide a woman or man.

  “Hey! You there!” The harsh voice of Henry Dupre suddenly came from the front of the stage.

  “Hello, Mr. Dupre.” Georgie waved innocently. “How are you today?”

  “You again!” Dupre snapped. “What are you doing on my stage?”

  “Oh, uh, your stage? Well, you see, I thought I dropped my contact lens the other day when I was here and—”

  “You’re snooping around is too much! I’m calling the police!”

  “No, you don’t need to do that. I’m leaving. However, I’ll be back on Saturday. I am just a huge fan of the show.”

  "Don't you dare! If I see your face amongst the patrons, I'll have you thrown out!" He sounded like Vincent Price with his rolling “Rs” and dramatic waving of his arms.

  “There is no need for that,” Georgie giggled nervously. Just as she was telling him she was leaving Aleta emerged from her hiding place and caught Henry’s attention.

  “Who is that?” He put a hand over his eyebrows, squinting across the darkened stage. Aleta didn’t wait for introductions and in her best speed-walking manner disappeared down the hallway she and her sister had crept up.

  Henry focused his anger on Georgie. By this time several of the performers appeared to see what was going on and blocked her ability to walk with dignity down the steps to the main floor. Instead, she awkwardly stooped and sat down on the edge of the stage, swung her legs over and slowly inched herself down, an embarrassing display to say the least, yet better than the alternative. The last thing she wanted was for her son to see her being led out in handcuffs. If it were just Aleta, it wouldn't bother her, but not with her youngest son present. The sight of his mother in handcuffs could scar him for life.

  “Well, you are all doing a delightful job.” Georgie waved without looking back as she hustled toward the exit. “I’ll see you all Saturday. Break a leg!”

  When Georgie burst out onto the sidewalk, she saw Andrew still sitting on the ground. As soon as he saw her he hopped up, dusted off his jeans, and extended his hand to the doorman. “You’ve been very helpful. I’m feeling better now. Bye.”

  "Bye, and thank you," J.R. added clapping the beefy man on the back.

  Aleta was already with them and quickly slipped her arm inside Georgie’s as they hustled down the street toward the car. “That was close. I heard him say he was going to call the police,” Aleta said.

  “Yeah, thanks for waiting for me,” Georgie scoffed.

  “Someone had to get bail ready. Andrew can’t be expected to pony up the funds to get you out of the clink.”

  “That’s true,” Andrew piped up.

  “What?” Georgie quizzically looked at her son.

  J.R. started to laugh.

  “Georgie, that was so much fun. Can we do it again tomorrow?” he asked. “Andrew was explaining to the doorman that he suffered from a condition known as Necrotizing Enterocolitis when he was born that resulted in his diseased bowel being surgically shortened.”

  Georgie and Aleta burst out laughing. “If anyone ever has any doubts that Andrew is yours, citing this story would remove all doubts.” Aleta wiped her eyes as she caught her breath.

  “Where did you come up with that story, honey?”

  “It just came to me, Mama.” Andrew beamed. “Wait until I tell Dad.” That made them all start laughing over again as they piled into Aleta’s car for the drive home.

  “So, even though Andrew stole the show, did you discover anything before Dupre chased you out of there?” Aleta asked.

  Georgie explained the ropes and the easy hiding places. “Still, a person would have to be very strong to tighten that rope around Madame Bray’s throat. She was no delicate flower. Dupre had a reason, and you saw how snippy he was at my snooping around. Taylor Bray had a reason, and he would definitely be strong enough. Jenny Holt?” Georgie shook her head in frustration. “I just don’t know.”

  "She was a bit smaller than the Madame," Aleta added.

  "Yeah, but we've all heard stories of women who when pushed to their limit or put under extreme stress have picked up cars or committed crimes that just didn't fit them," J.R. said. "I put my money on the jealous understudy."

  "I don't know if betting on the killer’s identity is such a good idea." Andrew wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” Georgie interrupted. “I think she is the least likely, but you make an excellent point. Sometimes the person you least expect knows they would be overlooked for the precise reason you are stating.”

  "I think we are still too far out to see the shore," Aleta muttered as she turned into the parking lot of a greasy spoon diner called Standees.

  “What are we doing here?” Georgie asked.

  Aleta was firm, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. Almost getting arrested makes me hungry. Some french fries and one of their chocolate milkshakes ought to do the trick." Everyone in the car agreed, and they hurried inside to continue their discussion about the murder.

  Chapter 15

  Standees had more silver duct tape on the seats than imitation leather. A couple of men in baseball caps occupied two of the counter stools. There was also a man wearing a Rastafarian hat filled with dreadlocks. Georgie and her family filed into a booth looking out onto the parking lot with a clear view of Aleta’s car. The tables were Formica with things like KL loves TM and Bannon the Cannon and the anarchy symbol crudely scratched into the surface. As soon as they sat down a waitress with black hair, tattoos on her arms and up her neck, and black lipstick set down four glasses of water.

  “You guys need a few minutes?” she grumbled while chewing gum.

  Georgie smiled at the girl complimenting her on her black and white manicured nails. The girl gave an awkward smile but returned the compliment mentioning Georgie’s yellow shoes. Everyone ordered fries and a chocolate shake then waited patiently as their order was handed over to the guy at the grill. They cou
ld only see his back that had a dark stripe of sweat down the middle. He wore a paper hat and an apron tied around his waist.

  "I still don't think there is enough proof to say any of these three people did the crime," Aleta muttered as she rubbed her stomach. "Did you ever think you might be looking in the wrong place?"

  "Yeah, but its motive that keeps bringing me back to these three," Georgie said. "They are the ones with the most prevalent motives."

  Andrew asked for his mother to explain those to him. After she did he looked at J.R. and said, “I still think it is the understudy.”

  J.R. nodded. “I once knew a guy who broke up with his girlfriend. They had been dating for over a year. She had it in her head they were going to get married.”

  “That’s never good,” Aleta grimaced.

  “Right,” J.R. continued. “When he broke up with her, he did it nicely. He met her at her place, told her face to face, and explained he just wasn’t ready to settle down. When he left, he felt he had done the right thing by being honest.”

  “But?” Andrew asked.

  “But the next day he came home and found his tires slashed. A few days go by, and a window gets broken. A month passes, and she’s calling or texting him a hundred times a day. He changes his number. She shows up at work. He gets transferred. She shows up at his apartment and kicks in his door.”

  “What man is worth all that?” Georgie asked.

  “She was five feet tall and maybe one-hundred and ten pounds, but she was ticked.”

  “So, what happened?” Aleta asked.

  “He moved. Had to start his life all over again. What a mess!” J.R. replied. “I could see it if he was a jerk, but he wasn’t. He was a lot nicer to her than she deserved. I’m just saying that because this Jenny Holt person looks small and defenseless doesn’t mean she is.”

  "Very good point, J.R," Georgie said. "You might be right."

  “I guess I really don’t care who did it as long as the guilty person gets caught, but since as we are throwing out theories, there’s mine.” He smiled proudly.