by J. C. Eaton
“Huh? What? My mother?”
I was still thinking about Marshall, and making a quick mind flip to my mother’s message-of-the-day wasn’t something I relished. I squinted as if expecting the worst. “Might as well. I’m ready.”
“Here goes, kiddo.” Nate tried to keep a straight face, but it wasn’t working. “And I quote, ‘We decided to go out to the Cheesecake Factory and reward ourselves for surviving auditions on Tuesday. The only ones who were unscathed were Shirley and Lucinda because they’re doing the costumes. That miserable Miranda Lee was there giving us all dirty looks. Paula Darren was with her. Louise insisted Paula gave her the evil eye. The cast list will be emailed to all of us by tomorrow. Call me.’”
“Wow. I, um . . .”
“Don’t tell me. Your mother and her friends tried out for a play?”
“Oh yeah. And not just any play. Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap. And since those book club ladies live to read about murders, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to act in one.”
“Okay. But what happens if they don’t get the parts?”
“Then we shutter the windows, disconnect the Internet, pull the landline, and get the heck out of town. Seriously? It will be unbearable. You heard my mother. Another would-be starlet gave them dirty looks. This will never end until the last curtain call.”
“When’s that?”
“Um . . . December, I think. The first week in December.”
“Think of the bright side, kiddo. If your mother and her friends do get the roles, they’ll leave you alone for the next two months.”
The thought of a few peaceful months almost brought a smile to my face until I remembered Marshall Gregory was going to walk through our door in less than an hour. I’d had absolutely no warning or I would have worn something that showed off my figure a bit more than a plain top and beige capris. I was going to say something, but Nate would have shrugged it off. Besides, it was best he didn’t know how I felt about the firm’s newest hire.
“You’re being optimistic,” I said. “I’ve got the next two months to listen to ramblings about who forgot their lines, who forgot the props, and who should have gotten the parts if they went to anyone but the book club ladies. All I can say is thank God I don’t live in Sun City West.”
“Oh, yeah. Speaking of that, Marshall’s going to be renting a place not far from you. Thought you’d want to know.”
I must have given him a weird look because he quickly added, “In case you need to share a ride or something.”
Because seeing him every day won’t be enough. Now he has to live near me.
Augusta arrived as Nate was heading back into his office. He turned and shouted out, “The new investigator I hired should be here in an hour. I forgot to tell you and Phee he was coming today.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Williams. His office is all set up—computer, phone line, everything. All he needs to do is stick a photo of his family on the desk and he’ll be up and running.”
“Augusta,” I said, “he’s single.”
“Okay. Fine. He can get a dog and stick a photo of it on his desk. I have a friend at the Arizona Humane Society, and she told me they got in the cutest litter of Rottweilers.”
Nate looked at her and shook his head. “No Rottweilers! No dogs! Let him get settled first. Plus, I’ve got so much work lined up, he’s not going to have time to deal with a dog. If you want to do something nice for the guy, get him a six-pack and a subscription to Netflix. He’s got everything else. He’s renting a furnished place.”
Augusta waited until Nate was in his office before asking me what Marshall Gregory was like. She knew I’d had a crush on him, but had no idea how overboard I really was.
“He’s adorable in a Mark Harmon sort of way and really smart. And hardworking, too. Oh, and did I tell you he’s got a terrific sense of humor?”
“Hmm, you don’t say. By the way, you should get that puppy dog look off your face before the guy walks in the door.”
“That noticeable?”
“Yep.”
I picked up where I’d left off with the billing, but it took me longer than usual. It seemed as if I was jumping up, looking in my mirror and pinching my cheeks at every sound in the outer office, expecting it to be him. I deliberately left my door open.
What I didn’t expect was a phone call from Shirley Johnson. “Phee, honey, you’re not going to believe this!”
Oh God, no! I don’t even want to imagine . . .
“Your mother got cast in the play! There are only three women’s parts, and she got one of them—Mrs. Boyle. Of course, Mrs. Boyle gets killed at the end of act one, but still . . . it’s a terrific role. Listen, before you say anything, I’m calling because your mother doesn’t know. The cast list hasn’t been emailed yet, but I can tell you who was cast. The part of Giles Ralston is going to be played by—”
My head started to swim. Marshall Gregory was going to walk into the office at any minute, and I was on the phone listening to a cast list.
“Shirley, that’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I’ve really got to get back to work.”
“Don’t you want to know how I found out?”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“I made the cutest little cloche for Eunice Berlmosler, the publicity chair, and she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Made me promise not to tell anyone until the cast was notified. Since you don’t live in Sun City West, I figured that wouldn’t count, and I just had to call you. And more good news. Can you imagine? Myrna Mittleson got the part of Miss Casewell. Probably because Myrna’s so tall and when she walks it’s like a stampede. She used to be really slow moving, but then she started those power move classes. Oh my, I’m going on and on . . .”
Suddenly, voices drifted in from the main office and I froze. Marshall!
“Myrna. Stampede. Power moves. That’s terrific news, Shirley. Terrific. Thank you so much for calling. I’ve got to run. Talk to you soon.”
Before she could answer, I placed the phone back in the receiver and leaned into my computer monitor, trying to look calm and nonchalant. The door to my office was flung open, and Marshall walked in, followed by Nate. Both of them had wide, silly grins on their faces. I stood as Marshall took a step toward me and gave me a hug.
“If this keeps up, we’ll have the whole Mankato Police Department working here. How’re you doing, Phee? You look fantastic.”
Even after a six-hour flight, he smelled as if he had just gotten out of the shower. I could detect a faint aroma of crisp apples (his aftershave maybe?), but it was over in a flash. Nate started talking, the phone began to ring, and a second later, Augusta announced in a voice that would put a longshoreman to shame, “Phee, it’s your mother on the phone, and she says it’s important.”
“We’ll leave you to your call,” Nate said as he and Marshall headed out of my office. “I’m sure Marshall’s starving, so how about if the three of us grab a bite at the deli when you get off the phone? Augusta can hold down the fort. I’m sure you’re dying to catch up on the latest scuttlebutt from back home.”
“Sounds good. Give me five minutes tops.”
“I know your mother, kiddo. You can have ten.”
I figured somehow, someone spilled the beans about my mother getting the part of Mrs. Boyle, and she was calling to let me know.
“Mom, is this about the play? Because if it is—”
“No. Why? What have you heard about the play?”
“Why should I hear anything about the play?”
Technically, I wasn’t lying, but, so help me, if Shirley were to tell my mother I knew about this and I kept my mouth shut, I’d never be forgiven.
“Mom, why are you calling me at work? Is everything okay?”
“No. It’s not. Something awful just happened. Myrna and I were having our nails done at that new salon next to the supermarket and when we got out to our cars, we both had the same threatening note on our windshields. A printed note. Not handwritten. Myrn
a wanted to call the sheriff, but I said no. I told her we’d call you instead, and maybe your boss can do something about it. We’re next door to the salon, having coffee in that donut place. Myrna’s at the counter, picking out donuts.”
“Mom, it was probably an advertisement. What did it say?”
“It said, in bold print, ‘AND THEN THERE WERE NONE.’ You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Yes. A new exterminating company is opening up in Sun City West. Did the note have any pictures of scorpions or bugs?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It was no exterminating company. Not like the last time when we found that horrid advertisement on my door. No, Phee, this was a threat. A threat right out of Agatha Christie’s own library. Imagine! Using a title from one of her plays to insinuate Myrna and I are going to be killed, one at a time, like the characters in And Then There Were None. Someone didn’t want us to try out for the play. I bet it was that miserable Miranda Lee.”
I don’t know why this popped out of my mouth, but I managed to make things worse. “If they wanted to threaten you and Myrna, they would have put a mousetrap with some cheese on your windshields.”
“Sophie Vera Kimball, that isn’t funny. Now, are you going to ask your boss to look into this, or do I have to tell Myrna to go ahead and call the sheriff’s department?”
“No, don’t call the sheriff. Whatever you do, do not call the sheriff. Look, I’ll stop by your house on my way home tonight and pick up the notes. Nate and Marshall can look them over tomorrow.”
“Marshall? The new investigator from back in Mankato? I thought you said he wasn’t starting until next week. Is he—?”
I lowered my voice to barely a whisper. “Yes, he’s single, and he arrived early. Talk to you tonight, Mom. And tell Myrna not to worry.”
Chapter 3
I didn’t have to be a detective to figure out the note was written on plain white paper in a Times New Roman font. It could have been printed from anyone’s computer, a fact that did not put my mother’s mind at ease when I stopped by her house that evening after work.
“What are you saying, Phee? Anyone could have done this? Have them check for fingerprints.”
“First of all, Mom, you’re going to be hard-pressed to prove it was a crime. Second, the only prints we can be sure of are yours, Myrna’s, and mine. And third, Nate hired Marshall because the workload keeps multiplying. From paying clients. But okay, okay, I’ll show them the notes tomorrow. I’ve got to get going.”
“You can’t just walk out of here without picking up Streetman and giving him kisses. He expects that.”
“Um, I think he wants food. He’s standing next to the refrigerator pawing at it.”
“Oh, you’re right. It must be six-thirty already. That’s when he gets his evening meatballs.”
“You feed the dog meatballs?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I mix his dog food with a tiny bit of shredded cheese and sometimes some crumbled hardboiled eggs. He gets three little meatball snacks at night.”
I tried not to groan. My mother’s chiweenie was probably the most doted on dog in the Greater Phoenix area. “Um, maybe you should feed him. I’ll let you know what Nate and Marshall have to say about those notes tomorrow.”
“Call me immediately if you think I need to worry.”
“You won’t need me to call you for that.”
* * *
Nate’s reaction when he read the notes the next morning came as no surprise. He laughed. “Not something I’d lose sleep over. Probably an off-beat ad or someone’s idea of a bad joke.”
“That’s what I thought.”
My boss and I were the only ones in the office, and I didn’t want to appear too anxious about Marshall’s whereabouts. I tried to sound matter-of-fact, but the words flew out of my mouth. “Is Marshall coming in today?”
“Nah. Thought we’d give the guy a break. He’s getting his rental set up, unpacking, and presumably shopping for groceries or maybe just a case of beer and some pretzels. He also needs to transfer his driver’s license to an Arizona one. Other than waiting in a long line, that should be a cinch.”
“So, uh . . . when does he start?”
“He’ll be in Monday morning. I’ve given him tons of paperwork to look over so he can jump into a few cases right away. He’ll also need to get acquainted with the area. You know, roads, highways. The guy’s an easy study, and the fact Phoenix is set up on a giant grid with only one diagonal street makes it real easy. Listen, getting back to that note of your mother’s . . . tell her and her friends not to get all worked up over it. I know how easy it is for them to jump to conclusions. It’s probably a prank of sorts. It would be a different thing if the note was personalized, but this looks like amateur hour to me.”
“I’m sure by now everyone in her book club has heard about it, so don’t be surprised if you get a call.”
* * *
By midday, I had all but forgotten about the note. That was when my mother phoned with the latest news about the play. She must have figured that since I had a lunch hour, it would be perfectly fine for her to take up most of it.
“I got the part, Phee! I got the part! The email came from Ellowina Bice. She’s the director. I got the part, Phee! Oh, I said that already, didn’t I? Anyhow, I’m playing Mrs. Boyle. And not only that, Myrna got the part of Miss Casewell. Isn’t that fabulous? I thought Cecilia and Louise would be disappointed they weren’t cast, but it turns out Cecilia was petrified she’d get stage fright, and Louise really wanted to be in charge of the props, so both of them are going to be doing that.”
“Whoa, slow down, Mom. Congratulations.”
I was hoping that in all of the excitement she’d forgotten about that note, but who was I kidding? The woman had a memory like an elephant. And a penchant for turning good news into something ominous.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled, but, honestly, I’m a bit unnerved. Someone must have known ahead of time Myrna and I were going to be in that play. That’s why we got those cryptic notes on our cars. Everyone knows we go in for our mani-pedis on Thursday. We were most likely being stalked. What did your boss say?”
“Um . . . er . . . the same thing I did. Probably a promo of sorts or a prank, and not to worry about it.”
“Well, I hope that horrid Miranda Lee got a note, too. Can you believe it? They cast her in the lead. She’ll be playing Mollie Ralston. Do you want to hear the rest of the cast? Chuck Mitchenson from Cecilia’s church is playing—”
“Mom, I really don’t have time to hear the entire cast list. You can tell me later. I’m working. Or, at least, I’m supposed to be. I’m really happy you got the part. When do you start rehearsals?”
“Monday morning at eleven. For a read-through.”
“Okay, and congratulate Myrna for me. Love you. Bye.”
I quietly thanked Agatha Christie, believing that, for the next two months, my mother would be so occupied with her performance I’d be spared from the drama that seemed to engulf everyone in her neighborhood. Boy, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
* * *
As soon as the cast and crew met for the first time, my mother felt it was her duty and obligation to keep me informed of every little detail, beginning with the first read-through of the play. It was over a week later and I had just gotten home from a nice evening swim at the condo pool. As soon as I heard the phone, I knew it was her. Unless I felt like listening to it ring all night long, I had no choice but to pick up the receiver.
“Phee! You’re not going to believe this. We had our first read-through today and met the stage crew. You’re never going to believe who’s on it.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have the slightest—”
“Herb Garrett’s pinochle buddies—Bill, Wayne, Kenny, and Kevin. And, of course, Herb. Like a bunch of old maids in pants, the five of them couldn’t stop yammering. Finally, Ellowina, that’s the director, told them they needed to work backstage with the
stage manager while the cast went through the script.”
“I didn’t know Herb was interested in stage plays.”
“Herb loves to hear himself talk. On the street, on the stage . . . it doesn’t matter as long as his lips are moving. He’s also interested in stage lighting. Apparently he has some background with it. Don’t ask. And, as for the other men, well . . . from what I hear, Kevin and Bill are retired electricians so that helps, and Wayne’s been in construction. I think Kenny’s just along for the ride, but what do I know?”
“That’s all very interesting, Mom. I’ve got work tomorrow—”
“That’s right. I almost forgot. How’s the new investigator doing?”
“Great. Really great. Takes a load off of Nate, and Augusta is thrilled to be working longer hours.”
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. I like working with this crew.”
“Well, that’s more than the rest of us in the cast can say about everyone. That Miranda Lee is insufferable. She’s a misery to be around, and we’ve barely gotten started. She had all sorts of demands for Ellowina, so Ellowina told her, in no uncertain terms, that, as the director of the play, she gets to make the artistic decisions, not Miranda.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And one more thing . . . Miranda had the audacity to insist on her own dressing room. Her own dressing room! Do you hear me?”
“I hear you. Her own dressing room.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how any of us are going to survive the next two months if this keeps up. I heard she had some sort of squabble with Richard Garson, the stage manager, but I’m not sure about what.”
If ever anyone lived up to the expression “a glutton for punishment,” it was me. Why I continued to fuel the fire, I’ll never know. “Um . . . what about the other cast members? What are they like?”
“Of course, you know Myrna, and then there’s Gordon Web from our neighborhood watch group. He’s playing Giles Ralston. And let’s see . . . Len Beckers is playing Mr. Paravicini. I think they cast him because he looks like a Mr. Paravicini, very distinguished. Regal-looking face, moustache and all. Oh, and they cast Stanley Krumpmeyer as Christopher Wren. Again, type casting. Chuck Mitchenson from Cecilia’s church got the part of Major Metcalf, and Randolph Tilden Jr. is Detective Sergeant Trotter. Randolph’s the only one who has real stage experience. Myrna told me he’s a retired theater professor from some college back east.”
