Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play

by Christy Barritt

  “Stereotype,” I reminded her.

  “Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. I don’t care what anyone says.” She paused from wiping down the walls. “So, how’s the case going?”

  I continued to sand down a wall that had nine bullet holes. “It’s going slowly. Then today, a costume worn by the deceased actress was stolen.”

  “Stolen?”

  I nodded. Marjorie and I had searched the entire apartment. The costume was nowhere to be found.

  I’d asked Marjorie if she’d seen any signs that someone else had been in her apartment and she said no. However, the cable guy had stopped by just the day before. She’d been practicing her dance in her bedroom when he was there, so there was a possibility he’d taken it. I’d left a message with her landlord but hadn’t heard back yet.

  Had the mastermind behind these crimes actually disguised himself as a cable guy in order to steal a costume? What would that prove? I had no idea.

  I glanced at Clarice again, my mind snapping back to our conversation. “Not to mention that the play is possibly the worst thing I’ve ever read.”

  “The music was pretty bad,” Clarice concurred. “Yet strangely familiar at the same time.”

  “Probably because it’s a knockoff of everything else out there.” I shook my head. “The playwright and I had it out with each other yesterday. She thinks she’s God’s gift to Broadway. I’m Arie Berry,” I mocked in a high-pitched voice, stopping for long enough to wave my hands in the air. “And I’m the best thing to ever happen to show business.”

  “Wait, did you say Arie Berry?” Clarice stopped working for long enough to wiggle her head and morph her voice into a haughty sounding mockery. “That’s R-E, not Airy; it doesn’t rhyme with Berry.”

  “Yes … ?”

  “Arie Berry was on Cascade Falls.”

  “The soap opera?” Anything pop culture, Clarice knew all about it.

  “Yeah, she only had a minor role. It was her shenanigans after the show went off the air that made her practically famous. For a couple of months, at least. She partied hard, showed up whenever cameras were present, and even got into a fight at a baseball game once. She tried to get some other TV deals, but, by that time, she was old news. Her and her boyfriend pretty much became has beens.”

  I absorbed the new information. “That’s interesting.”

  “I wonder if it’s the same person. It has to be.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t imagine there are that many people named Arie Berry. However, if she’s desperate for fame, I could see why she’d want the play to succeed so badly.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lead.”

  Finally.

  CHAPTER 13

  While I ate dinner, I searched for “Cascade Falls” on my computer. A few minutes later, the show came up and I watched some clips online.

  Sure enough, this Arie Berry was the same as The Specter’s Arie Berry.

  The show wasn’t highly rated or critically acclaimed, nor was Arie Berry a phenomenal actress. In fact, she seemed typecast because her character in Cascade Falls seemed to have the exact same personality that Arie had in real life. She was haughty, arrogant, and important in her own eyes.

  Interesting.

  But did it mean anything?

  I nibbled on a French fry and, out of curiosity, did a search for recent news articles about her.

  Apparently, her fame quickly faded when the show was canceled after one season. Arie and her off camera exploits were more popular than the show, but the public’s interest in those only lasted a few months at the most. Then scandal hungry fans moved on to another celebrity who was desperate to do anything for attention.

  Arie had tried other failed pursuits—some commercials, an endorsement deal with a deodorant company, starting her own restaurant and bar, and even a web-based reality series—but nothing had stuck or captured people. That must have been when she turned to playwriting, though I found no articles on that pursuit. That was a surprise within itself. What if she was staging the incidents at the theater in order to drum up publicity and then, in effect, her fame?

  It was a possibility I needed to seriously consider.

  I couldn’t wait to share the news with Paulette at practice.

  I glanced at the clock on my wall and realized I was running out of time. I still had other things to do today. Domestic-like things.

  With a touch of hesitation, I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a piece of chocolate cake I’d purchased at a nearby bakery. I took a bag of chips, crushed them, and then crumbled them on top. I frowned at the end creation. It looked absolutely disgusting.

  I stuck the whole thing on one of my dessert plates, took a deep breath, and hurried across the hall. A moment later, Olivia answered the door. I forced another smile and held up the cake. “I know you said you wanted to try it.”

  As her gaze fell on the icing, her nostrils flared in what I assumed was disgust and her lips pulled down in a frown. “Great. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  She took it from me and seemed to notice I stayed in the doorway for a little too long. “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

  I tried to compose myself. “I want to see what you think.” I pointed to the cake.

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Of course, of course. Come in.”

  I stepped inside, hating myself for using such desperate means to find out more about Riley. But if Riley was pushing ahead with his life, then why in the world was I holding back? I needed to know.

  “Let me just grab a fork.” Olivia pulled one from her kitchen drawer and stood with it poised above my culinary delight.

  I smiled, probably a little too brightly. I had to look sincere. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever tried before.”

  “I bet it is.”

  She drew in a deep breath and dug in. Her face tightened as the food hit her taste buds. “This is very interesting. Where did you say you got the recipe?”

  “It’s all the rage online.”

  She nodded slowly, chewing with a tight jaw. “Unlike anything I’ve had before.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” I paced over to the TV and stared down at the picture of Riley and the blonde. My gut clenched again as I looked at it.

  “Have you met Daniela yet?” Olivia nodded toward the photo.

  “Daniela?” I questioned. Since Olivia had broached the subject, I picked up the photo and got a better look. I forced myself to keep breathing, to control my thoughts, to ignore the emotions lurking down deep inside.

  “She’s pretty.”

  Olivia nodded, her face twisting as she took another bite. Poor thing. I really should put her out of her misery. “She’s great. She works at the hospital where Riley’s being treated, so that works out really well. She’s able to help get him to and from therapy.”

  I’d offered to do that for him, but he’d refused. The realization pressed on my heart.

  “That’s good that he has someone to help him.”

  “Being around people who love and support you is so important.” She put the cake down on the counter. “Listen, thanks so much for sharing this, but I’ve got to get to class. I’ll save the rest for later.”

  I nodded. “I understand. Have a great day, Olivia.”

  Back in my apartment, tears pushed to my eyes.

  I’d thought after five months of this that the realization Riley was dating someone else would come easier, that I would be prepared to accept it. Only I wasn’t. Maybe I’d never be.

  His nurse! All along I’d had a terrible suspicion he’d end up falling for one of his nurses. I’d just had no clue that I’d actually be right! Was I really this much of a fool?

  I picked up one of the last letters he’d written to me. I kept it in my desk drawer. As I read it, a tear hit the paper and blurred Riley’s name. Symbolic? A sign from God? I wasn’t sure.

  So this was it.

  Riley really had moved
on.

  In the meantime, I’d just been sitting around here waiting. Like a fool. Why was it so hard for me to accept reality sometimes?

  Using the back of my hand, I wiped away the moisture at my eyes.

  I’d wanted to make sure he was happy. That he was really making it on his own okay. That his parents were taking good care of him. Since he’d essentially cut me off, I had no other way of hearing how Riley was holding up. I’d felt so out of touch.

  I now knew the truth. What was done was done.

  I shoved the letter into my desk drawer.

  At least I finally had some answers. Maybe I could finally let go. Maybe I could finally move beyond the events that wanted to chain me to the past. They were like a weight that kept pulling me under water, nearly drowning me.

  It was time to cut myself loose and finally breathe again.

  I fished out my old pictures of Riley, his sweatshirt—which still smelled like him—and the sweet notes he’d written me. I put them all in a box and stuffed it on a high shelf in my closet.

  Forgetting what’s behind and pressing toward what’s ahead.

  That’s what I had to do.

  ***

  I arrived at practice early and tried to find Paulette so I could share what I’d learned. I walked past her office and saw a glass of wine on her desk, but no Paulette. Was that glass a sign that my friend had a drinking problem? Most people didn’t bring alcohol with them to work, after all. I’d seen a glass at her house also.

  I stepped fully inside her office, curiosity getting the best of me. That’s when I spotted a yellow plastic bottle by her stack of mail. Out of curiosity, I picked it up. Pills clattered inside.

  I glanced at the label. Some of the typed words had faded, but one ended with “ocotain.” What was that used to treat? I would have to look it up. Quickly, I put the bottle back where I found it.

  My eyes also skimmed over a red stamp across one of the bills. It clearly said “PAST DUE.” Paulette was behind on her bills? Her family had plenty of money. How had that happened?

  The gold trimmed clock hanging behind Paulette’s desk caught my eye, and I flinched. I was late for practice!

  I jetted out of her office and ran into the auditorium and realized everyone had stopped talking and now stared at me. I felt my face warm as my gaze shot around the room. Paulette stood at the front, right beside Mrs. Baker. Jerome paced on stage and several other cast members lingered close.

  Then my gaze fell on Arie. She’d positioned herself apart from the others, her eyes shooting daggers at me.

  I had a moment of contemplation, wondering if I should confront her or keep silent. I decided to keep quiet and be subtle, which wasn’t easy for me. However, I was supposed to be undercover. I couldn’t just go around accusing people.

  “Glad to see you could join us,” Arie mumbled.

  Maybe I should rethink that whole being subtle thing.

  I reached the stage. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.”

  “We were just starting the second act. Why don’t you join everyone on stage?” Mrs. Baker said.

  I nodded and, as I started toward the steps, the auditorium suddenly went pitch black. A few screams cracked through the air. Something shuffled in the distance.

  “What happened?” someone yelled.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This can’t be happening again!”

  “No one panic!” I recognized Mrs. Baker’s voice.

  Finally, the lights flashed back on. Everyone let out a nervous laugh as they glanced at each other.

  Even Mrs. Baker wiped her brow, a sure indication that she had been nervous too. “Must be some kind of problem with the wiring.”

  “I had someone look at it, though …” Paulette said, knitting her eyebrows together.

  “Uh, you guys?” Jerome said.

  Everyone turned toward him.

  “Where’s Arie?”

  My gaze darted around the room. He was right.

  Arie was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER 14

  “You really think a phantom took her?” Paulette asked, her eyes big and round and child-like.

  Mrs. Baker had asked for a private meeting with Paulette, Jerome, and me. Everyone else was on the stage still, probably coming up with their own theories as to what had happened. The four of us stood at the back of the auditorium, speaking in quiet tones so we wouldn’t alarm anyone.

  “The lights went out and then—boom!—she disappeared. I don’t know what else it could be,” Jerome insisted.

  “How about a vast, complicated, and not-so-smart plot to bring herself back into the limelight,” I suggested.

  His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know about her stint on Cascade Falls. Her fifteen minutes of fame faded. Maybe she was desperate to get it back. Maybe she staged all of this just to get attention.”

  “You think Arie murdered somebody? You’re crazy,” Jerome said, a New Jersey accent creeping into his voice.

  “If Arie disappeared on purpose, she’s going to have a lot of explaining to do,” I continued. “The police don’t like wasting their time or resources on fake crimes.”

  “I’m telling you—I don’t know what happened to Arie, but we need to find her. You’ve got to believe me,” Jerome continued. “Who are you anyway? Why do you sound like some interrogator?”

  “I’m someone who’s looking out for the best interest of this play. That’s who.”

  “You don’t sound like no actress. Not here and not on the stage,” Jerome continued.

  “You’re not doing yourself any favors right now,” I warned him.

  “Okay, both of you—stop,” Mrs. Baker interceded.

  Again, I felt like I was in middle school.

  I crossed my arms. “There’s something he’s not telling us.”

  I had to get the last word in, didn’t I?

  But if Jerome was telling the truth, then something truly spooky was going on.

  “I’m sorry,” I conceded. “You’re right. We do need to stop arguing. If Arie truly did disappear, we need to look for her.”

  He nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Baker turned to me. “I think we should we call the police.”

  “Not yet. Not until we know if this is a crime or if Arie wandered off,” I said. I didn’t trust Arie Berry or her motivations for doing this play.

  We wandered back toward the stage, and Paulette addressed the cast. “We’re going to split into teams of two and search this building. No one go anywhere alone. Understand?”

  Everyone nodded, but I could see the fear in their eyes. No one wanted to leave this room. But, hesitantly, a few groups scampered off. Several people refused to leave the auditorium period, citing safety concerns.

  It was time to go search myself.

  “Where’s your partner?” Mrs. Baker asked.

  “I don’t have one. You need to stay with Paulette and wait for the police. We can’t leave her alone, and you can handle her better than anyone else in the cast.”

  “But how about you? It may not be safe for you go out there alone.” Motherly concern was evident in the wrinkles at her forehead.

  I glanced back at Paulette. I knew I couldn’t fully investigate with someone else by my side. It was a potentially dangerous move on my part, but I needed the freedom to search for evidence without being under someone’s watchful gaze. “I’ll be fine. Just stay with her. Please.”

  I decided to hit some of the more obvious places in the building. I checked behind the stage, even up on the catwalk.

  Nothing.

  With a touch of fear, I opened the door to one of the dressing rooms. It groaned, sending shivers up my spine.

  Darkness stared back.

  My heart pounded in my ears at an erratic rhythm. The stillness backstage had me on edge. If someone were to lunge at me, I’d never see them coming. Danger could be hiding around any corner, and I’d have no id
ea.

  I shone my light into the room.

  No Arie. It was empty.

  I quickly checked the other dressing rooms, but they were clear.

  Gripping my cell phone like a lifeline, I continued out the back door leading from the stage and into a hallway. With each step, my muscles tightened. Where was everyone? Was I the only one who’d dispersed? Had everyone else changed their minds and returned to the auditorium, too afraid for their lives? I had to admit—I really couldn’t blame them.

  Images of Scarlet kept flashing through my mind. I really didn’t want to end up like she did. My thoughts fluctuated from condemning Arie for possibly disappearing on purpose to stir up publicity to fearing that Arie might be the next victim. As much as I didn’t like the woman, I didn’t want her to die.

  I moved through the building toward the gated-off wings. After each step I took, I paused to listen for approaching footsteps. I heard nothing.

  I shoved down my fear and pushed away images of a serial killer wearing a spooky mask suddenly approaching at the end of the hallway. I’d seen too many scary movies in my lifetime.

  As I reached the gates leading to the unused corridors, I checked the locks. They were all still in place and the gates didn’t budge.

  Where else could I check? That’s when I remembered the custodian closet at the other end of the building. It was worth a shot.

  I went around the corner, walking toward the half-hallway nestled behind the cafeteria. I walked faster than necessary, mostly because of the bristles popping over my skin.

  I reached the hall and froze. The feeling of someone watching me was strong enough that I couldn’t breathe.

  I twirled around, searching for a sign of someone.

  Blackness stared back.

  I shone my light but still saw nothing. No one was there. Just me, which was both comforting and disturbing.

  The heebie-jeebies came stronger, so I quickly reached the door, grabbed the handle, and twisted it. Slowly, uncertainly, I pulled the door open.

  I hesitated to peer inside. Before I could contemplate too long, someone pushed me.