by J. C. Eaton
It was mind boggling how she went on and on without stopping to catch a breath. And even more astonishing that I even listened. After all, what did I care who was selected to play the part of Giles Ralston or Christopher Wren?
“Terrific. Sounds like a terrific cast. Um . . . it’s getting late, and I suppose you’ll want to get to sleep.”
“I’m wide awake. Don’t you want to know about the rehearsal schedule?”
No more than I want to know about the President’s daily schedule. “I . . . uh . . .”
“The schedule is broken up into blocks. Read-throughs, act one, and act two. This week, I have to be at practice every afternoon from one to four, except Thursday, which is a good thing since I get my nails done then, and Wednesday, from eleven to one. Myrna’s schedule is the same, except she has rehearsal on Tuesday morning. I’ll call you in a day or so. No sense you trying to call me. I’ll probably be out.”
“Okay. That sounds good. Enjoy your rehearsals.”
“Maybe Miranda Lee will quit the play. Then, I’ll be able to enjoy rehearsals.”
After a phone call like that, most women my age would pour themselves a nice glass of wine. I opted for making a milkshake instead. Extra chocolate ice cream and extra syrup. I didn’t even know Miranda Lee, and I wanted her to quit the play like nobody’s business.
Chapter 4
Rehearsals had been going on for over a week, and I grew to expect the usual late-night phone call from my mother as she grumbled about Miranda Lee.
“And I’m not the only one, Phee,” she said on Thursday night. “You should have been there to hear her and Bill get into it. Bill’s in charge of the spotlights, and what do you know? Unbeknownst to the director, Miranda told Bill she wanted a spotlight on her at all times. Bill told her where she could stick that spotlight and . . . well, I don’t have to tell you the rest. You can only imagine.”
* * *
By the following week, the tension on the set had reached a breaking point, according to my mother and the book club ladies. I was invited to join them at the Homey Hut for dinner on a Wednesday evening and took them up on the invitation. The place wasn’t far from work, and I thought it would be a good time to visit with my mother and not get stuck for hours. In retrospect, I should have gone straight home and zapped a frozen dinner in my microwave. Sitting at the table with Myrna, Cecilia, Lucinda, Shirley, and Louise was akin to swatting flies at a picnic. The questions came at me from all over the place, and I felt as if I had all I could do to dodge them.
It started with Shirley. “Heavens, what would you do, Phee, if someone told you they wouldn’t wear any costume that wasn’t handmade especially for them?”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“Exactly. Lordy, I didn’t know what to say. Now, I do not, and, I repeat, do NOT have the time to hand sew her costumes. It’s bad enough trying to run all over the place to find vintage British clothing that matches the era.”
“Oh, please,” Myrna broke in. “It’s much worse for me. Much worse. Miranda is constantly making snide remarks about my acting, and whenever we happen to be near each other, she says, ‘Paula Darren should have gotten that part, not you.’ Tell me, Phee, how would you handle it?”
“I guess I would talk with the director and—”
“Forget the director!” Lucinda shouted. “Ellowina is too busy fighting her own battles with that witch.”
“Honestly, ladies, I don’t understand how one woman can be so intimidating,” I said.
My mother gave me a nudge and leaned toward me. “Then come to one of our rehearsals, and you can see for yourself.”
Before I could say anything, the strangest thing happened. Everyone seemed to get a text alert within seconds of each other.
I seized that opportunity to bite into my turkey salad, but no sooner did I swallow the mouthful when Louise spoke.
“It’s from Ellowina’s niece. She got our email addresses from the cast list. Ellowina’s in the hospital. They think it’s food poisoning.”
My mother all but lurched from her seat. “I knew it! I knew it! It was just a matter of time. I’ll bet you anything Miranda Lee found a way to poison Ellowina.”
“The text said food poisoning, Mom. Ellowina probably ate some tainted salad or something. Besides, why on earth would a lead character try to poison the director?”
My mother used one of her classic lines. “How should I know how crazy people think?”
Lucinda tapped me on the arm and shook her head. “Your mother’s right, Phee. Miranda and Ellowina have been at it all week. I’ve got to read what the rest of the message says.”
I watched as the women slumped over the table, cell phones in hand, reading each and every word of the text. Lucinda was shaking her head, and Shirley kept muttering, “Oh Lordy, Lordy.”
“So, now what?” I asked.
“Ellowina left word with Richard Garson, the stage manager, to have everyone come in and run their lines as usual. All of the crews are to keep working.”
Myrna slapped the table so hard we all jumped. “My God! It’ll be like Armageddon.”
“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” I said. “I guess she doesn’t plan on being in the hospital for very long.”
Louise let out a deep groan. “That’s what you think. They put you in for observation, and, next thing you know, you’re there for a month.”
* * *
As much as I hated to admit it, as things turned out, Louise was right. Ellowina was stuck in the hospital with possible salmonella poisoning, something that kept the Maricopa Health Department on high alert. The good news was that between bouts of nausea and vomiting, she had managed to find a replacement director—Cliff Edwards, a community theater director from Peoria who owed Ellowina a favor.
According to my mother, half the cast thought Ellowina would return as soon as the antibiotics kicked in, and the other half figured she was on her way to the grave. Either way, they continued on like seasoned troupers. At least that’s what my mother said.
Then, a week later on a Tuesday afternoon, Ellowina’s food poisoning slipped to second place when someone found a dead body. Nate was in Tucson on a case, and Marshall wasn’t expected back from Phoenix for a few hours.
No one could reach a consensus on the series of events that eventually led up to that horrific moment when the body was discovered. I’m sure that must have been frustrating for the sheriff’s department, but honestly, these were the same women who couldn’t agree on what kind of dressing to put on a salad, and, as for Herb’s buddies, well . . . I didn’t suppose they were going to be much help either.
I had barely set foot in the office when Augusta broke the news.
“Phee! Your mother’s been trying to reach you! She’s at the play rehearsal and says it’s important.”
“Now what? Did someone criticize her acting?”
“No! They found a dead body on the catwalk. Dangling over the edge in front of a large spotlight.”
“Oh my God! One of the men must have had a heart attack. Or maybe got an electrical shock.”
I quickly dialed my mother’s cell phone, but it went to voice mail.
“Augusta, I’ve got to get over there. Please let Marshall know when he gets in. No telling how hysterical my mother and her friends are.”
“Of course. If you need anything, call me.”
“I will.”
I expected a fire truck and an ambulance to be in front of the theater, but when I arrived, all I could see was a lineup of deputy sheriffs’ cars and a crowd of people in the parking lot. I knew, in that split second, that I would need to pass myself off as someone other than Harriet Plunkett’s daughter in order to get inside.
Reaching for my Williams Investigations business card, and hoping that the word “accountant” wouldn’t be too visible, I ducked under the yellow tape and made my way to the stage door where a sheriff’s deputy was standing guard.
“Pardon me, I work for Williams Investigati
ons, and I received a call from one of the cast members regarding the unfortunate incident. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with her.”
The deputy took a quick look at my card and a closer look at me. I must have appeared fairly innocuous because he didn’t question me further and opened the door.
“Miss Kimball, is it?”
I nodded.
“Our department is questioning all of the people who were in the theater. Cast, crew, recreation staff... Everyone’s seated down in front. You’ll need to check in with Deputies Bowman and Ranston since this is a closed area for the time being. You’ll find them in the front of the auditorium.”
Whew. It’s a “closed area” and not a crime scene. Not yet, anyway.
The last thing I wanted to do was “check in” with Deputies Bowman and Ranston. I hedged to the side of the auditorium and stayed as close to the wall as possible. The dim lighting, coupled with the fact that the deputies were off to the side talking with one of the men, made it easy for me to slip in unnoticed. At least for the first eight or nine steps.
At that moment, Louise Munson shifted in her seat, caught a glimpse of me and shouted, “Harriet! Isn’t that your daughter?” If that wasn’t enough to get everyone’s attention, she added, “That’s Phee, all right. It is your daughter. She’s walking down the outside aisle. OVER HERE, PHEE!”
Unbelievable. Louise Munson, whom I considered to be the only one in the book club with a voice that didn’t rival a medieval fishwife, certainly had me fooled. Her shout echoed across the auditorium, and everyone turned to look. Including Deputies Bowman and Ranston.
I quickly grabbed the nearest seat and slouched down. I was close enough to see that they were talking with a good-looking, middle-aged man, and, other than giving the auditorium a cursory glance, the deputies went back to their conversation.
“Don’t say anything. I’m not supposed to be here,” I whispered as I took the empty seat next to Myrna. “Can you switch places with my mother?”
I’d seen kindergarteners handle a task like that with more finesse than the ladies who were seated in the same row as my mother. At first my mother tried walking over their legs, but that got too difficult so she asked them to stand. It was still a tight fit. Finally, four people in her row had to step into the aisle in order for the seat exchange to take place.
My mother sat up in her seat and surveyed the auditorium. Bending her head down, as if that would help keep her voice low, she moved closer to me. “Thank goodness you got here, Phee. Did you bring your boss? I don’t see him anywhere.”
“No. What’s going on? Augusta said someone was found dead on the catwalk, and the deputy at the stage door said this was a closed area. What was he talking about?”
“A murder. A possible murder!”
“Psst!” It was Myrna, leaning across my mother. “They didn’t say it was murder, Harriet, but we’re not stupid. Why would they have closed the building and brought in two deputies to question us? It’s a crime scene, all right. They’re waiting to make it official.”
“Mom! Myrna! What on earth is going on?”
“It was horrific. Simply horrific. I don’t think I’ll be able to get a night’s sleep after this. I can still see her arm dangling over the catwalk and that teal tunic draped over it.”
“Her? Who?”
My mother inhaled as if she was taking her last breath. “It was Miranda Lee. Dead. Dead on the catwalk. We didn’t know it at first when we all came in for rehearsal. Then all of a sudden Bill shouted out, ‘We got a body up here, and she ain’t moving.’ And that’s when I knew, Phee. We were all in trouble. That note . . . she was the first one. And then there were none.”
“Stop it, Mother. You’re making things worse.”
“Worse? How can they be worse than a dead body right over our heads? All right, granted, it was . . . and God shouldn’t punish me for saying this . . . but it was that awful woman, but still and all . . . murdered? In cold blood? None of us will be able to sleep after this. None of us.”
My mother continued to mutter and mumble about murder and cold blood. When Shirley tapped me from the other side of my seat, I nearly shrieked.
“Lordy, this is bad. Real bad. Everyone in this room had something against that woman. She should rest in peace and not have her sorry soul a-wandering in our sights . . . so we’re all suspects. Lordy, I do not want to spend the night in a prison cell waiting for someone to bail me out. I only have three nephews, and they live in Louisiana.”
“No one’s going to lock you up, Shirley. I can pretty much guarantee it.” What the heck am I saying? I have no idea what those deputies are going to do.
Lucinda, who was seated in the row in front of us, spun around and leaned over the seat, her eyes staring right at Shirley. “Bill said it looked as if she’d been strangled. Electrical cords were all over her. He said her face was blue and puffy and—”
Shirley moved her index finger to her lips. “Hush yourself, Lucinda. I do not want to hear about puffy, dead faces.”
A loud voice cut into the conversation. It was Bowman or Ranston, announcing the next cast or crew member to be questioned. “Chuck Mitchenson. Please come to the front of the stage. Chuck Mitchenson.”
In that instant, my mother came back to the land of the living, and the hungry. “You could have brought us something to eat, Phee. Donuts or coffee cakes. We’re going to be here for hours.”
“Next time you call the office, you’ll have to be more specific with Augusta. How was I supposed to know you’d be hungry?”
“Next time I go to a play rehearsal and walk into a dead person on the rafters over my head, I’ll be sure to put in a takeout order.”
A slender woman seated in the row across from us was sobbing hysterically. Another woman walked over, gave her a tissue, and walked away.
“Mom, who’s that lady crying her eyes out? She must have been really close friends with Miranda.”
My mother glanced over and shook her head. “No, she’d never met Miranda until rehearsals. That’s Sue Ellen Blair. She’s new to Sun City West, but she’d rented a place in Sun City for a year or so when she moved here from Wisconsin.”
“Um, thanks for the detailed vitae on Sue Ellen, but I don’t get it. No one else is crying.”
“She’s Miranda’s understudy. I overheard her telling Herb that everyone is going to think she had something to do with Miranda’s death in order to get the part.”
“That’s the kind of stuff you see in the movies. I mean about the understudy killing off the lead character. No wonder that woman is really freaked out.”
Then, without any warning whatsoever, a medium-built, redheaded woman charged over to my mother, shoving a piece of paper in her face. The print was large enough for me to see what it said.
“This looks like something you would do, Harriet!”
My mother snatched the paper and tossed it back at the woman.
“You’re insane, Paula. I got that same note myself. And Myrna did, as well. On our cars. In front of the nail salon.”
“Miranda showed me this note. Plastered on her golf cart. It’s no secret you never liked her.”
“Few people did!” Lucinda blurted out from the row in front of us. “And just because Harriet thought Miranda was bossy, rude, self-centered, and vain doesn’t mean she had anything to do with that note.” Then, turning so that her face was directly in front of my mother’s, she added, “You didn’t, Harriet, did you?”
“Of course not.”
Paula made some sort of a groan and started to turn away when my mother stood.
“And unless you want to deal with my attorney regarding defamation of character, you need to keep your mouth shut, Paula, and wait to be interrogated like the rest of us.”
“Piss on you, Harriet!”
“Don’t get too comfortable, Paula. Looks like more deputy reinforcements are arriving.”
I glanced over my shoulder and instinctively lowered mys
elf farther into the seat. The man walking down the middle aisle and straight for Deputies Bowman and Ranston wasn’t one of their reinforcements. It was Marshall Gregory, and I swore he put Cliff Robertson and William Holden to shame.
“That’s no deputy, ladies,” I whispered. “It’s the new investigator from my office.”
“Lordy, Phee. I don’t know about you, but he can interrogate me all he wants.”
“No one’s getting interrogated. The deputies are simply asking questions.” Except perhaps for me. I might get interrogated for impersonating an investigator.
Chapter 5
Rather than have Marshall ferret me out, I jumped from my seat, ran to the back of the auditorium and thundered down the center aisle until I was only a few feet from him. It was either that or try to squeeze through one of the empty aisles, which were notorious for having less leg room than a commercial airplane.
“Hold up! Wait a second.”
Marshall spun around and stepped forward until we were close enough to talk to each other without shouting. “I figured you had to be in this crowd somewhere, Phee. When the deputy at the door told me the other investigator from my firm was already in the building, I knew it had to be you.”
“I can explain. All I did was show him my card and—”
Even with the dim lighting, I could see the dimple on the left side of his face as he grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Your secret’s safe with me. Give me the lowdown. What’s this about a dead body? Not one of your mother’s friends, I hope.”
“Augusta called you, didn’t she? I’m sorry you had to rush here from Phoenix.”
