Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  My mother gave me a cursory nod and looked directly at Marshall. “Be honest, do I need to up my life insurance policy?”

  “I agree with Phee. I think you’ll be okay, but the sooner we can find out who killed Miranda Lee, the sooner this nonsense around here will stop.”

  “Two minutes to curtain!”

  Richard opened the door and panned the greenroom. “Places!”

  Sue Ellen stood up from her spot on the couch and headed to the door. If Marshall hadn’t seen her and taken a step back, she would have crashed right into him.

  “Sorry.” Her voice was sweet and apologetic. She kept going, no time to turn around.

  Gordon followed her, only he was faster and had an unobstructed path.

  Marshall tapped me on the elbow and motioned for us to leave the room. “I think that’s our cue to let the show go on.”

  “You’re not leaving yet, are you?” My mother had now maneuvered herself to the doorway and stood there like one of those nightclub bouncers.

  “Mom, Marshall can’t very well talk to the cast and crew while a run-through is going on. At least during scene rehearsals he can pull people aside.”

  “The next scene rehearsal is tomorrow from two to four. Then a run-through at seven.”

  Marshall jotted down the information on his phone. It was either an app or a feature I hadn’t figured out yet on mine.

  “Mrs. Plunkett, I know some of the cast and crew members are anxious to get out of here as soon as the rehearsal is over, but do you know if the others go out somewhere to wind down? You know, have a drink and schmooze? People are more willing to talk when they’re relaxed.”

  “With the exception of Kevin, who, if you haven’t noticed, hasn’t missed too many home-cooked meals, the other guys stop by Curley’s Sports Grill. It’s less than a mile from here, across from the hospital.”

  My mother was a regular road yenta, but this surpassed anything to date. “How do you know that, Mom?”

  “How do you think? From Herb. He and his cronies complain that they can’t meet women, yet, where do they go? To the one sports bar in town where women wouldn’t be caught dead entering. Now if they went to the Homey Hut, like we do, they could enjoy a nice slice of pie and a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t think a slice of pie and a cup of coffee is what they’re after.”

  My mother motioned for us to stop talking so she could hear the actors on the stage. “I’m on in a few minutes. Tell the truth, is that what you two are going to do? Hang out in a dingy bar and wait for those men to show up?”

  Growing up under Harriet Plunkett’s roof, I was used to this line of questioning.

  Marshall, however, seemed taken completely off guard. “We, um, er, well, it’s not like we’d, or I’d, be hanging out there for hours. I thought maybe Phee and I could grab a bite to eat and then go over there.”

  Phee and I. In the same sentence. A bite to eat. I think this is the closest I’ll get to a date with him.

  My mother took a deep breath. “I see. Find out everything you can from those bumbling buffoons. They’ve got a bird’s-eye view up on that catwalk, not to mention what Wayne can hear from backstage when he’s not putting glow tape on the floor, pounding a hammer, or fiddling with the sound effects.”

  “You didn’t tell me Wayne was doing sound effects. You said construction. And what’s glow tape?”

  “In this place, if you know how to use a hammer and a screwdriver, they figure you can turn a knob up and down for noise. And glow tape is tape that glows in the dark. They put it on the floor for the actors to follow when the lights are out. It lasts four to eight hours before they have to do something to it. I wasn’t paying that much attention when Ellowina explained it to us. My gosh, that seems like ages ago. Call me later, Phee. I think I’m on.”

  My mother left Marshall and me standing in the hallway a few feet from the back of the stage.

  He inched closer to me and spoke softly so as not to disturb the rehearsal. “Uh, I should have asked you sooner. Do you want to get something to eat and then find a way to weasel into the conversation at Curley’s, or would you rather head home and leave me to fend for myself with the bumbling buffoons?”

  “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially you. Of course I’ll join you. Besides, I’m starving. You don’t think Curley’s is going to sully my reputation, do you?”

  “Sully your reputation? That’s an interesting word for it. No, your reputation’s safe. Besides, you’ve got everyone convinced you’re a detective.”

  “Yeah. About that . . .”

  “Shh. It might just work for us.”

  Chapter 15

  There was a terrific mom and pop pizza place not far from Curley’s, so we headed over there. Marshall insisted on paying for our meat lover’s pizza and drinks, the hallmark of a real date, except, I knew it wasn’t. The crowd consisted of young families, groups of teens, and a few older couples.

  My gaze darted all over the place, summing up the action. “Guess we picked the local hot spot, huh?”

  Marshall nodded, took a sip of his Coke, and reached for another slice. “Looks that way. And if I have to watch the waiter walk by with another pitcher of beer, I’ll go nuts. Normally, I like to have a brew with pizza, but since we’ll need to blend in at Curley’s, I don’t need a head start.”

  “I’m more of a Coca-Cola person, but I should be weaning myself away from all that sugar.”

  “For a healthier lifestyle maybe, but not because you need to.”

  I was completely taken back by his offhanded compliment and fumbled around for an answer. Nothing came out right. “Um, er, well, thanks . . . I suppose. So . . . do you have a plan for how we’re going to approach the pinochle guys? Oh, and I should warn you, Herb fancies himself a real ladies’ man, so don’t be surprised if you hear him call me ‘cutie pie’ or ‘honey bunch.’ I’ve learned to ignore it.”

  “Hey, as long as he doesn’t call me those names, we’ll be all right.”

  We took our time eating the pizza and managed to consume the entire pie. Another slice and I would’ve needed to call a local garage for a crane to hoist me out of the booth.

  “Wow. I must have really been hungry. Usually I don’t eat that much.” Who am I kidding? He’s lucky I didn’t put a slice in each hand.

  “Don’t worry about it. You don’t see me making apologies for my appetite. It was a great pizza. We should stop by here again.”

  On a date?

  Marshall leaned back and stretched. “Listen, the only approach I have to get those guys to open up is a non-approach.”

  “Huh?”

  “I figured we could tell them we stopped by for a drink because the place was nearby and we wanted to unwind. We’ll ask if we can join them, unless, of course, we arrive before they walk in and, in that case, we’ll be the ones to invite them over. Either way, it’ll work out.”

  He was right. It did work out. We got to Curley’s before the men, so we commandeered one of the long tables directly across from the bar and ordered two beers, one of which was nonalcoholic, for me. It was easy to see who came through the door, and one thing became perfectly clear. I was the only woman in the place who wasn’t wearing a low-cut tank top and tight leggings.

  Four or five gray-haired men, who looked as if they belonged to a geriatric biker gang, walked inside the place. I tried not to be obvious as I watched them cram into a booth. “Interesting clientele, huh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Marshall mumbled, but I think he was looking elsewhere.

  We didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds after the biker crew sat down, Herb, Wayne, Bill, and Kenny made their appearance. I figured none of them had meals waiting for them at home like Kevin did. Bill was grumbling as soon as the door flew open. He was so loud the sound emanating from the eight or nine televisions on the walls couldn’t drown him out. Soccer cheers, golf statistics, and pro football were no match for him.

  “Must have been a rough rehear
sal,” Marshall called out as he waved them over.

  Herb immediately waved back. “Well, what do you know? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  He took the chair opposite mine and plunked himself down, leaving a decent-size gap between his stomach and the table. The other guys grunted their hellos and made themselves comfortable, too.

  Wayne shot his arm up in the air and got the attention of our server. “Bring us a round, will you, Zoey?”

  A pencil-thin woman with spiked hair and long, dangling earrings shouted back, “You got it, Wayne!” From a distance, it was hard to tell if she was fifteen or fifty.

  Kenny ran his fingers through his hair and moaned, “If I have to put up with one more night of Sue Ellen’s crying, I swear she’ll be the next one dangling on the catwalk.”

  If Kenny appeared to be ticked, Bill was worse. “What the hell. That wasn’t half as bad as that chowder head Chuck forgetting his lines every other second. Geez, we’re only weeks away from opening night. When does he plan on learning them?”

  Marshall gave me a quick look, and I knew he had his opening. “It’s probably all that tension from the unresolved murder. These cases always seem to drag on and then, all of a sudden, something clicks and we’ve got our culprit.”

  “Yeah, well, it can’t click fast enough,” Bill said. “Sue Ellen was bawling her eyes out again, convinced the open trapdoor was meant for her. What I don’t understand is why Ellowina Bice cast that Mitchenson guy in the first place. Hells bells, I could do a better job.”

  The guy was on a roll and he kept going. “And I’ll tell you something else. I’m getting sick and tired of all that poppycock about Miranda’s ghost. Next time someone thinks her spirit is in the building, I’m going to ask it to get to work like the rest of us. Yeah, sure, the building’s got some mechanical issues like the heating and AC, but all older theaters do.”

  “What about the AC?” I asked. “Did it get fixed?”

  Herb leaned his elbows on the table and answered before Bill got the chance. “If by fixed, you mean did Melvin and Sons spend the entire afternoon there yesterday, then the answer is yes. So far, so good. I talked to Daniel, the maintenance guy, when I got to rehearsal today, and he filled me in. He also mentioned finding some of his tools out of place, but, since nothing was missing, he let it go. He thought maybe one of us on the stage crew needed to borrow something.”

  Wayne started to speak when Zoey appeared with tall, frosted glasses and a pitcher of beer. Up close, I still couldn’t guess her age.

  “Let me know when you’re ready for another one.”

  “We’re ready,” Kenny said. “Might as well bring it.”

  As Zoey left, Wayne continued where he left off. “Geez, Herb. Didn’t you bother to tell him we’ve got our own stuff? All sorts of tools. I’ll say one thing for the Footlighters, they didn’t skimp on that stuff. Power tools, too.”

  “Still doesn’t mean someone didn’t go rooting through Daniel’s toolbox.”

  “Well, it wasn’t one of us,” Kenny replied.

  His last remark was followed by a chorus of “yeahs” as the men poured themselves glasses of beer and started drinking.

  Marshall took advantage of the brief lull. “Look, you guys are up on that catwalk or backstage all the time. Other than people forgetting their lines, or, sorry Phee, hysterical women, have you noticed anything else that would give us a clue about Miranda’s murder?”

  Kenny leaned across the table, eyeballed everyone and spoke. “Stanley Krumpmeyer threatened to kill her.”

  Marshall practically leapt from his seat. “What? Why didn’t you tell this to the sheriff’s deputy?”

  “Because I wasn’t the one who heard it. Kevin did. He told me about it a few days later. Miranda was still alive then.”

  “Did he just come right out and say he’d kill her?”

  “No, according to Kevin, Stanley and Miranda were having one of their typical arguments and Stanley said, ‘I’ll be taking my bow over your cold, dead body.’ We thought it was kind of funny at the time. Now . . . not so much.”

  I gave Marshall’s arm a slight shake and whispered, “My mother said Louise also witnessed something similar.”

  Marshall took another swallow of his beer and asked if anyone knew anything about Stanley Krumpmeyer.

  Turned out they all knew the same thing, and Bill said it out loud, “You mean ‘the voice of WSCW, one-oh-three-point-nine FM?’”

  Marshall gave me a funny look, and I explained. “Sun City West’s got its own radio station. It’s run by the broadcast club and comes on the air mornings from seven to noon. They play all sorts of requests, but you have to bring your own CDs ahead of time. They also conduct interviews with people from different clubs or sports leagues. Cliff Edwards has been on a few times to promote the play, and, according to my mother, some of the actors will be doing a scene as a teaser right before ticket sales.”

  “I take it Stanley is the driving force behind this radio station?” Marshall asked.

  “Don’t know about that, but he’s bound to be the loudest,” Wayne said. “That’s why watching him and Miranda go at it was such a hoot until she wound up dead.”

  Marshall took a quick swallow of beer and cleared his throat. “Tell me, was there anything at all out of the ordinary the night before her body was found? Anything odd during rehearsal?”

  Bill tapped his teeth as if he was trying to recall something. “Nah. Same old. Same old. Wait. Wait a sec. There may be this one thing. Then again it may be nothing. When Ellowina was directing, she was always having us adjust the elliptical lights. You know, those smaller spotlights. They had to be just right.”

  “Go on,” Marshall said.

  “The night before I found Miranda all laid out, Cliff wanted those lights readjusted. Didn’t like Ellowina’s setup. What the hell. He’s the director now. What did I care? We stayed late and did what he said. Then all of us came here for a quick beer.”

  “Hmm . . . did Miranda say anything to Cliff ? About the lights? Because, from what little I know about theater, it would mean she wasn’t going to be in the limelight, God forbid.”

  “Nope. At least not that I know of. Like I told Phee the other day at the dog park, Miranda was always climbing up that catwalk to readjust the pipe clamps. They’re the things that hold the lights. Wouldn’t have mattered what Cliff wanted. Miranda was going to get her way.”

  Wayne gave Bill a nudge and held up his glass. “Well, she got it all right.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I would call a toast, but the men all paused to drink. The conversation continued a while, mostly about Ellowina, Cliff, Miranda, and Sue Ellen before shifting back to Chuck and his inexperience on stage. Herb and his crew decided to stay for another round, but Marshall and I finished our beers.

  He said something about having to be up early the next day and tapped my elbow. “Come on, Phee. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  “Good night, everyone,” I said as we left. It wasn’t until I got inside Marshall’s car and fastened the seatbelt that we were able to continue our conversation. This way we couldn’t be overheard walking through the parking lot.

  “Hmm, if I’ve got this right,” Marshall said, “only Randolph and Stanley had actual theater or related experience. Do you have any idea about the others?”

  “Not offhand. I could ask my mother. Why?”

  “Those guys made an interesting point. The rehearsals have been going on for a few weeks, so you’d think everyone would know their lines by now. Yet Chuck doesn’t. Maybe he took care of his real reason for getting into the play and simply needs to bumble through the rest of it so as not to cast suspicion on himself. Just a thought. Like anything else. Still, I’ll be doing background checks on all of them.”

  “I can save you some time as far as my mother’s background is concerned.”

  “Sorry. When I said all, I meant Sue Ellen and the male cast members. The ladies in your mother’s book clu
b don’t even come up on my radar.”

  “She’ll be relieved to hear that. You know, she’s been pestering me to have a chat with Stanley, but I’ve managed to avoid it so far. Do you think he’s as volatile as I’m being led to believe? If so, maybe you should drop by the broadcast club. As I recall, they meet at some ungodly hour in the morning.”

  “Sure. Last thing I’d want is for you to feel uncomfortable, or worse. Heck, you’re doing more investigating than us real deals. Sure you’re not secretly yearning to trade in those spreadsheets for decent walking shoes and a concealed weapon?”

  “Not on your life. And by the way, I do carry a concealed weapon.”

  I would have bet money his jaw dropped, but it was too dark to tell.

  “I carry a—”

  Just then a car came screeching into Curley’s parking lot and nearly collided with ours. Marshall bolted out of the door before I could finish my sentence. The car, an old Buick, looked familiar. Maybe that was because most of my mother’s friends drove an old Buick. I opened the car door, took a step out, and gasped.

  It was Shirley, and she really looked as if she had seen a ghost. Or worse yet, another body. Her voice reverberated in the still night air. “Lordy! Lordy! Harriet said you’d be here.”

  I tried to hide the panic in my voice. “My mother? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. Probably eating another slice of pie at the Homey Hut. I was there too, finishing my cup of coffee, when I realized I left my clutch bag in the costume room. So Cecilia went back with me to get it. We knew the two cleaning ladies would still be there. Oh goodness. Cecilia. I don’t know why she’s still sitting in the car. Hold on for a second. CECILIA. YOU CAN COME OUT. I DON’T THINK SHE FOLLOWED US.”

  Marshall took a step toward Shirley’s car and opened the passenger door for Cecilia. “Who? Who didn’t follow you?”

  “Oh Lordy. You’re not going to believe me, but it was Miranda’s ghost. That’s when I called Harriet from the theater, and she said the two of you were going to Curley’s to speak with Herb’s buddies. Lord All Mighty. I saw it myself. Miranda’s ghost.”