by J. C. Eaton
“BE RIGHT UP! WE’RE FINE! Guess we should be heading up, huh? My mother’s having a hissy fit.”
“Yep.”
Wayne walked ahead of me, his flashlight casually swinging from his arm. Even though we didn’t need it to find our way to the stairs, it gave us a decent amount of extra light.
I walked past the piles of old furniture and bric-a-brac, glancing over at the rack of clothing. An elaborate velvet cape with a white faux trim hung there and I figured it had to be a costume for The Ghost of Christmas Present. Dangling on the hanger next to it was a cane that I presumed was meant for Scrooge, and some sort of silvery pointers that looked like wands. Then my eyes moved to another costume and I froze. It was a long, gray, shimmery dress and not something from Dickens.
“Wayne! Wait a second. Who else in the cast and crew knows about this basement area and the trapdoors?”
“Miranda, for one. She was always snooping around. But most of the time she was busy bothering the guys on the catwalk. Had a real thing about being noticed on stage.”
“Who else?”
“Far as I know, that’s it, except for Cliff and Richard. Oh yeah. And Sue Ellen.”
“Sue Ellen?”
“It was a while back. Miranda was still alive. Look, I’m not one to go spreading rumors. It was probably nothing. I was backstage. Stayed late to fix a wobbly chair leg for the prop people. Nearly jumped out of my skull because I heard voices. Who did I see but Cliff and Sue Ellen coming up from the basement. They didn’t see me, and I got busy real quick with the chair leg. Like I said, it was probably nothing.”
Wayne held the door open for me, and I found myself staring right at my mother.
“My God, Phee. I thought you fell in a pit or something. The cleaning ladies are locking up.”
I turned to Wayne and thanked him again before giving my undivided attention to my mother.
“Well? Did you find what you were looking for down there?”
“Oh yeah. Shirley and Cecilia saw an apparition all right, only this one is still breathing. Wait until we get outside, and I’ll tell you about it.”
My mother all but shoved me through the exit in order to find out what I had discovered in the basement.
No one would be able to hear me from where we were standing in the parking lot, but, to play it safe, I kept my voice low. “It’s more than a coincidence that the shimmery outfit Shirley and Cecilia’s ghost was wearing happened to turn up in the basement, on a rack of clothing that the actors use when they have to make quick changes before rising up through the trapdoors.”
“What kind of deranged person would do a thing like that? Dress up to look like Miranda so they can give someone a heart attack? Oh no. OH NO! Do you think they were trying to kill Shirley or Cecilia?”
“No, no. And whatever you do, don’t tell them that. I think there’s got to be some real evidence that points to Miranda’s killer, and it’s right here in the theater. No one’s going to find it if all these distractions keep pulling them away.”
“Hmm. You may be right. It pains me, but I’m not going to say a word to Shirley or Cecilia. Let them believe it was a ghost.”
“Yeah, my sentiments exactly. So, when’s the next rehearsal?”
“Monday afternoon.”
“I’ll let Marshall know about what I saw. If he needs to stop by during rehearsal, I’m sure he will.”
“What about you?”
“Unless there are bodies on the floor, I need to stick with my accounting.”
“I’ll call you after rehearsal.”
“What else is new?”
Chapter 23
I realized my nights at the condo pool were numbered, even though the water was heated. At sixty degrees, the air temperature felt as if it had arrived from the Arctic Circle. Still, I didn’t hesitate for a second when my friend Lyndy called later that evening and asked me to join her. Spending the afternoon searching for clues at the Stardust Theater had really wiped me out, and I couldn’t imagine a better way to relax than to be in the water.
Meeting Lyndy when I first moved to Vistancia was the only breath of normalcy I’d had. Like me, she was dealing with some rather peculiar relatives in Sun City West and knew exactly what I was up against. Now, months later, as we clung to pool noodles and gazed at the mountains in the distance, it was Miranda’s murder we were talking about and not our weird relatives.
Lyndy tossed her noodle over the edge of the pool and swam toward me. I was treading water in the shallow end, one hand on my noodle, the other flailing around in a halfhearted attempt to get exercise. I stopped splashing as she got closer so I could hear what she was saying.
“I’m surprised the sheriff’s department let them continue with the play, considering one of the cast or crew members is probably the killer.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too, but I figured they’d rather keep everyone right under their noses. That way they’ve got all the suspects in one place. And if the killer is one of them, maybe he or she will make a stupid move. Besides, they’ve got a sheriff’s deputy on duty for rehearsals.”
“You must have your own idea by now as to who the murderer is. Am I right, Phee?”
“I’ve got a theory. Lots of smoke and wind, but nothing substantive. In fact, I had planned on doing a little sleuthing on my own, but I’m having second thoughts.”
“What do you mean?”
I looked around and made sure we were the only ones in the pool. “I have an idea it might be a cast member who was in another play with the same director. I even got a copy of that playbill from one of my mother’s friends.”
“Does your idea mean you’ve got a motive?”
“I think this woman was having an affair with the director and found out the guy wanted to get back together with his ex-wife, so—”
“So your suspect eliminated the competition. That makes sense in a tabloid sort of way.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Murdering the ex-wife isn’t uncommon.”
“Not in movie plots, anyway.”
“Ugh. Nate and Marshall keep saying the same thing, but my gut feeling tells me I’m right. Anyway, I was going to check it out for myself but, by doing that, I would be going behind Marshall’s back.”
“Ouch. That’s not good.”
“I know. Especially since he promised he’d confront the director about the alleged affair.”
“Or make-believe affair, if you’re not right.”
“Or if the director lies in order to cover it up. That’s where my new information comes in. I have the names of the cast members who were in the play with my suspect. One of them is bound to know if the woman in question was having an affair with the director. Those things are kind of hard to keep under wraps.”
“That’s what you were going to check out?”
“Uh-huh. But in retrospect, I’m going to hand it all over to Marshall first thing Monday.”
Lyndy and I finished our swim, toweled off, and raced back to our collective houses.
* * *
The next morning we met to hike at Lake Pleasant, something we had planned to do once the fall weather arrived. Thankfully, it was one of those glorious days in the southwest when the humidity was gone and the temperature was in the high seventies.
Lake Pleasant Regional Park was less than a half-hour’s drive from Vistancia. In addition to two marinas, it had numerous hiking trails and was home to wild donkeys. The first time I hiked there, I was startled when they crossed my path. Now I treated it like the dog park, only there was no one to yell, “Poop alert!”
By early afternoon, Lyndy and I were exhausted. We stopped at the Lakeside Grill on the way home, stuffed ourselves with burgers and fries, and swore we’d diet the next day.
Lyndy ran a napkin across her chin and smiled. “So you’re absolutely sure you’re not going to contact one of those Peoria cast members about the affair?”
“I’m tempted, but, like I said yesterday, I’m handing it
over to Marshall. With directions.”
“Directions? I thought he was the investigator.”
“I’m handing him the cast list for The Odd Couple. It’s basically an all-male cast, with only two women, and my suspect is one of them. It makes perfect sense to interview the other female cast member. Not to sound sexist, but if my person-of-interest was having an affair with the director, it would be more likely for her counterpart in the play to know what was going on.”
“You should be the investigator, Phee. Seriously.”
“I’ll just be glad when the killer is finally caught. My mother is a nervous wreck, and her book club friends are one step away from adding Valium to their daily diet.”
“Yeesh. Sounds brutal. When can I buy a ticket for the show?”
“Seriously? You want to see The Mousetrap?”
“After all of this? Of course.”
“According to my mother, tickets go on sale tomorrow. They’ll have a small window in front of the theater entrance, and sales will run from nine to two. Of course, you can get tickets at the door, too, or I can pick one up for you.”
“Given the whole murder thing, they may be performing for a full house. Can you get me a ticket for opening night? Actually, make it two. I’ll bring my aunt.”
“I should bring you a headset that connects to the lighting crew. It would be more entertaining.”
By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was plop down on the couch and close my eyes. Between swimming last night and hiking this morning, I’d had enough exercise to last me the entire week.
The light on my answering machine was flashing and the callback number looked sort of familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I pushed play and waited.
“Phee, it’s Nate. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but it’s important. I left a message on your cell but it must be turned off.”
I quickly called him back. “Nate! Oh my gosh. Are you all right? Is Marshall all right? Is—”
“Everyone’s fine, kiddo, but the office is under water, so to speak.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I got a call from the fire department. There was a water main break, and our office, along with a few others, got flooded. Most of the water’s been pumped out, and we’ve got a service crew coming in first thing tomorrow to deal with the carpeting, but I could use some help moving the paper files into plastic cartons. At least the small workroom is tiled so we can move the computers in there. Augusta’s already on her way, and Marshall went to Home Depot to get the containers. He should be back soon.”
“Sure thing. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there. Do you need anything?”
“Yeah. The body of a twenty-year-old.”
I laughed as I hung up the phone and raced to throw on a clean shirt. I figured my jeans would have to do. When I got to the office, Nate, Marshall, and Augusta were already working. Marshall gave me a quick wave before turning his attention back to the stack of containers.
Nate greeted me as well. Surprisingly, his voice was optimistic. “Thanks, Phee, and welcome to ‘Water World.’ The floor’s damp and the power’s off until morning, but we’ve got plenty of daylight for the next few hours. SERVPRO is going to be moving our file cabinets and desks, so we need to get all of our paperwork into containers that we’ll store in my car and Marshall’s. Marshall and I have already moved the desktop units into the workroom. Then tomorrow night we should be able to get everything back in order. What a mess.”
“Does the city know what happened?”
Augusta looked up from her desk. “Old pipes is what happened.”
“She’s right.” Nate picked up a giant Rubbermaid bin and headed to his office. “Apparently this stuff happens more often than not, according to the fire chief. Once we get organized, I’m going to have Augusta scan all of our file documents and put them on CDs. Should have done that before.”
“Too bad we can’t have the carpeting torn up and tile put down.”
“Not as long as we’re tenants, I’m afraid. At least the owner is paying for the cleanup.”
“Well, I’ll get started in my office. I shouldn’t be too long. Most of the business records are already on CDs.”
“Wish I could say the same for the investigative reports,” Marshall said. “Some of these are longer than a Russian novel with all of that intrigue. Hey, and speaking of clandestine activities, I pulled off one of my own. I purposely ran into Cliff Edwards on Saturday night.”
“How?”
“I found out where his favorite watering hole was and happened to stop by. Turns out you may be right. Hard to say. That guy is a regular Lothario. I don’t know what it is about theater directors, but I must be in the wrong business.”
“About Sue Ellen . . . what did he tell you?”
“Not much. He was real cagey, which made my suspicion barometer hit the top. I have a feeling he was seeing her.”
“I know how you can find out for sure. Well, maybe not for sure, but sure enough.”
I then proceeded to tell him about Myrna and the playbill she had from The Odd Couple. It was all starting to make sense, and this time Marshall agreed with me.
“So, you want me to look up the lady who played one of those bird sisters?”
“Pigeon sisters. I said Pigeon sisters. According to the program, her name is Maeve Fletcher, and she played Cecily opposite Sue Ellen, who had the part of Gwendolyn. I’ve got a copy of the program at home, and the best part is, they’ve written little blurbs about all the actors. You know, their background, where they work . . . all that stuff. It was only a year or so ago so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find her. She was with the Peoria Players. They’re a much younger crew than the Sun City ones, so she’s probably still alive.”
As soon as I said that, I bit my tongue. I hated to be so maudlin about some of the senior population, but with information about mortuaries and funeral arrangements arriving in the mail every other day, it was hard to ignore.
“Done deal. You can relax. It looks like we won’t be in the office tomorrow anyway, so call me when you get home and read me the info. I’ll take it from there.”
If ever I felt like giving him a hug, that was the moment. Then, out of the blue, something occurred to me. Something I’d been putting off—Thanksgiving. It was four days away, and I needed to offer up the invitation. “Before I forget, I need to ask you and Nate something.” I motioned for him to follow me into Nate’s office.
I don’t know why I felt so nervous, but I did, and the words rushed out of my mouth. “I know it’s really late notice, but if you’re not doing anything, I mean, have any plans for Thanksgiving, my mother would love to have you join us. Not just us. Shirley and Lucinda are coming, too. I already checked with Augusta, and she’s got plans with her canasta group. So, um . . . it would be the six of us.”
I’d seen pictures of prisoners being led to the gallows who looked cheerier.
Nate glanced at Marshall. “That’s so nice of your mother, Phee. Really. I’m not sure what Marshall’s plans are, but I’ve got an aunt in Sierra Vista, not too far from Tucson. It’s my mother’s sister, and she’s in her eighties. I promised I’d spend Thanksgiving with her. Then I plan to stay in Tucson. I’ve got a few things to finish up on a case down there. Thank your mom for me, okay?”
I nodded and prayed for another water main break to send torrents of liquid across the room. I wonder what excuse Marshall will come up with? I held my breath and waited. Who knows? Maybe he’s got a relative floating around somewhere in Arizona, or worse yet, he found a girlfriend.
Marshall gave me a smile. “Wow. Gee. That’s so unexpected and nice of your mother to think of me.”
“So you’ll be able to make it?”
“Um, actually no.”
Here it comes. The long lost uncle.
“Since I don’t know too many people yet, I contacted St. Vincent de Paul in Phoenix. I’m going to be working at their shelter all day feeding the homeless.”
“Oh, Marshall, that’s a wonderful thing to do.” Yes. Feed the needy. Just don’t find a girlfriend. “Well, I’d better keep moving my stuff into those boxes.”
I made a quick retreat and didn’t emerge until every single one of my paper files and the contents of my desk were safely packed. When I finally stepped back into the main office, Marshall and Nate began to load the boxes into their cars. Marshall had also purchased one of those small folding hand trucks so none of us would get a hernia moving the stuff.
Nate offered to take us out for pizza, but the consensus was we were all too tired. Augusta put a sign on the door explaining we would reopen on Tuesday and changed the message on the answering machine. Thank goodness the phone had a battery backup. She also phoned Nate and Marshall’s Monday appointments and rescheduled.
As Augusta and I headed out the door, Marshall said, “Don’t forget to call me when you get home, Phee, and give me the information on the Pigeon woman.”
“Someone from the play, huh?” Augusta asked when we were out the door.
“In a roundabout sort of way, yes.”
“Tell me about it on Tuesday.”
I laughed and headed to my car, the entire time thinking about Marshall feeding the homeless at St. Vincent de Paul. I was beginning to develop an even bigger crush on the guy.
It was already dusk when I unlocked the door to my casita and stepped inside. I was in one of my “might as well get this over with” moods and immediately walked over to the kitchen counter, where I’d stashed the playbill, along with some other miscellaneous flyers and takeout menus.
The write-up on Maeve Fletcher was sweet and succinct. She was originally from Idaho, married with two grown children, and had her own small business—“Gifts-on-the-Go”—in the historic district of Glendale. According to the article, she was “no stranger to theater, having performed in numerous community venues.”
It would be simple enough. All Marshall had to do was drive to the historic district in Glendale and take it from there. He’d get to her store, hand her his card, and hopefully walk out with the information he needed. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to stop myself from ogling the knickknacks, cutesy gifts, and whatever else her store offered up. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it would take an act of God to haul me away from the historic district.
