by J. C. Eaton
I’d been there once with my mother, and we’d spent a full day perusing Victorian tearooms, French boutiques, artist studios, pastry shops (okay, we didn’t just peruse those), and all sorts of clothing stores from handmade to designer. The area encompassed a large square known as Caitlin Court, and each shop, painted in a different pastel color, was its own little house. Yep, Marshall would be in and out of there in no time.
I picked up the phone and made the call.
He answered on the first ring, taking me by surprise. “Hey, Phee! That was quick.”
“Um, yeah. I wanted to get this information to you before I got busy with something. I won’t keep you. You must be zonked out from all that packing and moving.”
“I’m beat. but I’ll live. Hold on a sec. Let me get a pen so I can write it down.”
I glanced at the program and reread Maeve’s write-up. As soon as Marshall got back on the line, I read it to him.
His groan took me by surprise. “Oh no. Gift shop. In a historic district, no less.”
“Um, is that a problem for you?”
“Depends on how small and how cramped her dainty little shop is going to be. I’m always worried as hell when I get dragged into one of those places that I’m going to knock over an entire shelf of breakable figurines, or, worse yet, expensive breakable figurines.”
Uh-oh. Sounds like he’s familiar with those stores. But who drags him there? Hopefully his mother or grandmother. “Sure you’re okay with this?”
I swore the guy would probably have felt more comfortable walking through a construction site or even a sewage-processing plant.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Oh, I meant to tell you something and completely forgot with all the stuff going on at the office. Remember when I told you the sheriff’s department found a connection between Miranda and Sue Ellen?”
“Yeah. Back in Rhode Island at some hospital. The negligence thing involving Miranda. Why?”
“Because something about it kept bothering me. I think there’s more to it, but with the HIPAA privacy laws, even the police will wind up with a watered-down version. So, I called the only person I knew who could work his way behind a smokescreen and come out smelling as clean as a whistle.”
“Don’t tell me you called—”
“Uh-huh. Rolo Barnes. Cyber sleuth extraordinaire. You remember Rolo, don’t you?”
“Remember him? I had to buy him a brand new Cuisinart over a year ago when he tracked down some routing numbers for Nate and me. He was on a juicing diet. What kitchen gadgetry will he need now?”
“I have no idea. Last I heard he was on the Paleo Diet.”
“Like in Paleolithic? Geez, doesn’t he realize cavemen had really short lifespans? I mean, really short.”
“Yeesh. I wonder if he thought of that. Doesn’t matter. I’m sure there’s some sort of high-end kitchen appliance that goes along with his new diet, but whatever it is, it’ll be worth it, especially if he connects Sue Ellen with an ironclad motive for murder.”
“But that was so long ago,” I said.
“You know what they say about revenge.”
“Not as much as they say about jealousy. The more I toss this over in my mind, the more convinced I am about the reason Sue Ellen killed Miranda. It wasn’t the part in the play she wanted, it was the director.”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Phee. Sue Ellen isn’t the only one with a motive. There’s still that lawsuit with Gordon over Miranda’s foo-foo dog and the volatile stage relationships she had with Stanley, Cliff, and Ellowina, not to mention any residue from her prior involvement with Len.”
“It’s worse than a soap opera, isn’t it? It’s like everyone who crossed paths with Miranda had a motive to kill her.”
“Motive or not, keep in mind they needed means and opportunity too. Miranda was killed on that catwalk, so it wasn’t as if someone with Herculean strength dragged her body up those stairs after they murdered her.”
“I’m guessing Gordon or Len could have overpowered her up there, but she was pretty evenly matched with Sue Ellen.”
“The deputies think she was taken by surprise, and I tend to agree. That gave her killer the advantage. He or she could have pushed Miranda backward and then used her own necklace to strangle her before winding those electrical cords to make it look like an accident. The real conundrum is figuring out who took advantage of the opportunity.”
“Took advantage?” I asked.
“Miranda’s body was found on a Tuesday afternoon. She was last seen alive by cast and crew at the end of the rehearsal the day before. No one, not even her friend Paula, saw her leave the theater, but everyone assumed she must have. Paula had driven Miranda to rehearsal that day but figured she got a ride home with Cliff since she’d been doing that lately.”
“That guy doesn’t miss a beat, does he?”
Marshall made some sort of “hmmph” sound. “According to my notes, the lighting crew stayed late to readjust some spotlights because Ellowina had tried something different and Cliff was making adjustments. The guys all left together and headed over to Curley’s. A few of the actors were still milling around, so no one knew for sure who the last people out of the building were. I’m guessing the cleaning ladies and, of course, Miranda’s killer.”
“You think Miranda went up on that catwalk to readjust the spotlight and—”
“The murderer was probably watching Miranda’s movements after the rehearsal and stayed out of sight long enough to surprise her on the catwalk. They had the perfect opportunity.”
“What about Shirley’s teal tunic on Miranda? How do you explain that?”
“I’ve seen that tunic, and it’s long. Deputy Bowman showed it to me. Shirley won’t go near it but according to my notes, it was left in plain sight in the costume room. Someone could have grabbed it to use as a disguise in the dark and sneak up on the catwalk.”
“And pretend to be Shirley? She’s the only person of color on this production.”
“In the dark, on that catwalk, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve been up there, and you can’t see anyone’s face clearly. Maybe in the new modern theaters with better low-level lighting, but not in this place. No way.”
I had to admit, he made a good point. One that got me thinking. “Um, Shirley, Sue Ellen, and even Paula are all about the same height and weight as Miranda. Oh my gosh. Come to think of it, so are Len and Gordon. And in the dark . . .”
“Yeah. I know. Opportunity. Listen, it’s getting late and you must be tired, too. I’ll see what I can find out from Maeve if I don’t break anything in there first. I’ll talk to you on Tuesday. Enjoy your day off tomorrow, courtesy of some old pipes.”
“Thanks, Marshall. For doing this. And don’t worry. I’m sure that shop has glass coverage.”
I threw on some old sweats and fixed myself a cheese and tomato sandwich before conking out on the couch, something I’d intended to do hours ago. Nothing feels as good as napping on the couch. With a full day off tomorrow, I could take care of all of those annoying little errands that I’d been putting off, from grocery shopping to getting my car washed. The thin red film of dust that coated the windshield had bothered me weeks ago. Now it had become really annoying, and using the wipers only made it worse. The good news was I didn’t have to deal with putting on snow tires or stocking up on lock defroster.
As I started to adjust the pillow cushions before reaching for the remote, I suddenly remembered I needed to tell my mother that Nate and Marshall wouldn’t be able to make it for Thanksgiving. Thank goodness. No way was I about to leave myself open for the barrage of questions my mother would have regarding their unavailability, so I did the cowardly thing. I picked up my iPhone and sent her an email. Then I grabbed the remote, clicked on the TV, and watched as the local news came on. Damn.
The water main break in Glendale was the hot topic. I switched to another station, and it was similar footage. It didn’t take a seer to figure out what was about to happen nex
t. The only question I had was how long it was going to take. Two minutes? Five? Maybe ten? I leaned back and glanced at my cordless phone, still nestled in its charger. Sure enough, the tip turned red and the ringing began.
“Hi, Mom. I guess you saw the news. By the way, I sent you an email. Nate and Marshall made other plans for Thanksgiving.”
“You should have called me right away about the flooding. Herb has a Shop-Vac you could use. He loaned it to Louise once when her bathtub overflowed into the living room. Of course, now she’s replaced the carpeting with tile.”
“Uh, thanks, but it’s beyond a Shop-Vac. Anyhow, it’s all taken care of. Nate has one of those restoration teams coming in tomorrow, and we went there this afternoon to move files and stuff.”
“So you’ve got the day off tomorrow . . .”
I held perfectly still, waiting for my mother to finish her thought and praying she didn’t have some bizarre errand she wanted me to run.
Her voice sounded practically ecstatic. “Thank goodness. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find someone who could help Eunice Berlmosler with the ticket sales. Clarisse Evans, you don’t know her but she’s on the publicity and ticket committee, has to stay home and wait for her exterminator. Termites. Well?”
No, no, no! Clarisse Evans’s termites are not going anywhere. One day isn’t about to make a difference.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get caught up on my own errands.”
“This would only be for an hour. One hour. It’s not going to kill you, and you’d be doing Eunice a great favor. Ticket sales are from nine to two. I, myself, would have offered to help, but we’re rehearsing from ten to two. Besides, she needs coverage at noon. Come on.”
“One hour. Tell her one hour. That’s all she’s getting from me.”
When I got off the phone, the thought of putting on snow tires didn’t seem so bad.
Chapter 24
Eunice Berlmosler practically gushed all over me when I arrived at the Stardust Theater’s small ticket window a few minutes before noon on Monday. She was a petite woman in her late seventies or eighties and, for some reason, reminded me of a suffragette.
“Thank you so much, Phee, for helping out. Your mother told me how you’re tracking down Miranda Lee’s murderer.”
“Um, actually, I’m—”
“Terrible thing. Murder. And leaving the body up on the catwalk like that. Frankly, I give the entire cast and crew credit for going on with the show. And with a new director, too. Poor Ellowina. Her plays were of the highest quality. I heard she was recuperating at a relative’s house. Anyway, let me show you the tickets. We take cash, check, and credit cards.”
“Credit cards? Really?”
“Why, yes. If we didn’t take credit cards, we’d lose lots of sales. The Footlighters have a special tablet and this little square device.”
“I know how to work those. I was just surprised you took credit.”
Eunice showed me the tickets and cashbox.
“There are four performances in all. Fridays and Saturdays starting the week after Thanksgiving. Red tickets for the first weekend. Blue tickets for the second. All tickets are the same price. No special seating and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Believe me, they’ll try. And they’ll come up with all sorts of excuses, too. The handicapped seats are in front and in back, as well as some marked ones on the aisles. First come, first seated. Oh, and before I forget, no pets. Some people actually try carrying their dogs in tote bags. Can you imagine?”
Oh yeah. If my mother wasn’t in the play, Streetman would have a front row seat.
“Won’t you be selling tickets here as well?”
“Oh no, dear. I’ve got to take a batch of flyers to the recreation centers and the businesses on Camino del Sol. I’ll be back to pick up the remaining tickets and the cashbox. I’ve already sold thirty-one tickets, and it’s only the first morning. Of course, most tickets are sold at the door.”
She thanked me again and headed to the parking lot. And while Eunice told me all about the tickets and the payment methods, she forgot to inform me about the kind of questions I would be fielding, beginning with the first person who approached the window. It was a gray-haired woman wearing a red polka-dotted blouse and black polyester pants. I smiled and gave her a nod.
The woman crinkled her brow and leaned in to the ticket booth. “Can you tell me what this play is about?”
I proceeded to explain it was an Agatha Christie murder mystery, but, apparently, that wasn’t enough.
“Are there musical numbers? I like singing and dancing.”
“No. No music. This is a drama. It’s a very famous play.”
“That’s right. You said murder, didn’t you? Is it very gory?”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
So much for my first customer.
The next people to approach the ticket window came fifteen minutes later. A man and a woman. In a rush. They bought two tickets, paid cash, and left. As they walked away, the man said, “If it’s a snoozer, I’m falling asleep, and I don’t give a crap if I snore.”
Then, about ten minutes after that, a smart-looking woman in her fifties came up to the window and extended a credit card. “I’m from Grand.”
I wasn’t sure if it was an announcement, a proclamation, or small talk, so I nodded and waited for her to continue. I later found out from my mother that the people who live in Sun City Grand have a tendency to announce it with great flourish. This woman was no exception.
“The stage manager is my uncle, and my mother would never forgive me if I didn’t see the show.”
“It’s a good one. I think you’ll enjoy it.” If Chuck learns his lines, and no one else is murdered.
I swiped her card, thanked her, and told her to have a nice day.
Staring at the parking lot, I saw people heading to the craft rooms that were adjacent to the theater. No wonder my mother liked it here so much. No time to be bored. I had managed to get my car washed in the morning but needed to go food shopping as soon as Eunice returned. Snatching a pen and small pad from my bag, I started to make out the list I’d planned to do last night. I was so engrossed, I didn’t notice the two white-haired ladies standing in front of the window. Both were sporting autumn décor sweatshirts.
“Excuse me,” said the one with the pumpkin patch on her shirt, “we’d like to purchase tickets for opening night.”
With that, she handed me a twenty-dollar bill. Exact amount.
“Sure, here you go.” I handed her the tickets and watched as she gave one to the other lady and put hers in her small purse.
“Did Ellowina come back to finish directing the play?”
I shook my head. “Ellowina? No, I believe she’s still recuperating from food poisoning.”
“Yes, I knew about that, but I was sure I saw her at Costco’s in Phoenix a few days ago.”
Then the other woman spoke. Green sweatshirt with dancing turkeys. “I told you it wasn’t her, didn’t I?”
“It sure looked like her.”
“Well, it wasn’t. And what would Ellowina be doing in the hardware department? At a Phoenix Costco’s, no less?”
“How am I supposed to know? Especially if it wasn’t her. Besides, we were there, and we don’t live in Phoenix.”
“The only reason we were there was because we were visiting Uncle Murray. And you were the one who said you wanted to know if the Phoenix Costco was better than the one in Peoria.”
Then she turned back to me. “My sister and I have seen all of Ellowina’s plays. She’s an outstanding director, especially with her family background.”
“Family background?”
“Yes, yes. The newspaper did an article about her a few years ago. Her mother was a thirties stage actress, and her father was a set designer for theaters in New York and Boston. Funny that she became an English teacher. I imagine her parents guided her down that path to avoid the uncerta
inties of the theater. Ellowina’s father passed away not too long ago, but her mother died unexpectedly when Ellowina was just coming into her own as a teacher. I heard somewhere she never got over it.”
The green sweatshirt sister interrupted. “Enough already. The ticket lady doesn’t want to hear all of that.”
I shrugged and smiled simultaneously. “That’s okay. It was pretty interesting.”
“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” the pumpkin patch sweatshirt went on. “I’m not saying I’m happy Ellowina got food poisoning, but at least it meant she wasn’t the one who had to deal with one of her cast members getting murdered.”
“Oh, and I suppose it was all right for the other guy?” green sweatshirt asked.
“I didn’t say that. It was awful all around, but Ellowina’s a very sensitive woman. That’s all I’m saying.”
Just then, a burly man wearing a buttoned-down shirt and shorts made a beeline for the ticket booth and shouted, “I need four tickets for opening night!”
The two sisters thanked me and stepped aside so I could handle the transaction. They stood there talking to each other before yelling out a thank you and heading for their cars.
When I was done handing the tickets to the man, I looked at the tablet to check the time. One forty-two. So much for working one hour. Eunice showed up twenty minutes later, apologetic for being so late.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I was glad to help out.” Then, I suddenly remembered I was supposed to buy three tickets as well, one for me and two for Lyndy. I ran them through my debit card before leaving Eunice to close out. I had barely gotten three or four feet away when she said, “Aren’t you going into the theater? The rehearsal should be about over.”
“No. I’ve got to get going. I’m running late. Uh, again, it was nice meeting you.”
I took off like a high school sprinter hoping to make the track team. If I needed to know anything about what went on at rehearsal, I was positive it would come directly from my mother.
