Staged 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “What were you doing in the basement? Oh . . . don’t tell me. Don’t you dare tell me you were alone with Ellowina. What’s the matter with you?”

  In the meantime, Shirley had slipped back to the costume room to bring me some green elf slippers. They were the only shoes she could find in a hurry. With my hair sticking straight up in a frizz ball, my dress torn, my eye makeup running down my cheeks, and now the green slippers, I looked like something out of Dr. Seuss. And not one of his adorable characters, either.

  The cast and crew were still filling in the seats when, out of nowhere, Chuck Mitchenson said, “Hey, how do we know she was acting alone? She could have an accomplice. And they could have another gun, for that matter.”

  “Gun? Someone’s got a gun?” It was Cecilia, who was still standing on the stage. At the mention of the word “gun,” everyone began to squirm in their seats and a few people ducked or slunk below.

  “No one’s got a gun!” Marshall shouted. “We’re positive she was acting alone. No gun!”

  Lucinda, who’d been relatively quiet during the entire ordeal, stood up from her second row seat and held up an aerosol can. “I have bug spray! That’s right. Bug spray. If anyone makes a move, I’ll use it.”

  “Lordy, stop that.” This time it was Shirley. “Ain’t no bugs to spray, Lucinda, and smelly air won’t stop a gun.”

  More shrieks were followed by a loud blast.

  “A GUN! SOMEONE’S GOT A GUN!”

  The noise ripped through the auditorium like Air Force One on takeoff. Only, it wasn’t a gun. I found out later it was Kenny, who’d accidentally hit the sound effects button on the panel board as he was making his way from backstage. It didn’t matter. Full and total panic ensued.

  “GUNS! EVERYWHERE!”

  “SPRAY THE BUG SPRAY, LUCINDA!”

  “DON’T YOU DARE!”

  “DUCK! DUCK AND COVER!”

  “IT’S NOT AN AIR RAID DRILL!”

  Some people tried to get out of their seats while others tried to get under them. Above us, Kevin and Bill were doubled over laughing and snorting.

  Finally, Bill shouted in a voice that could wake the dead. “HEY, YOU CHOWDERHEADS! THAT WAS THE STUPID SOUND EFFECTS MACHINE! KENNY HITS THAT THING ALL THE TIME. LAST WEEK WE GOT A SERENADE OF YOWLING CATS. THERE’S NO DAMN GUN!”

  Who would have thought Bill Sanders, of all people, had the voice of reason?

  But he did, and for what it was worth, it got everyone to stop panicking. Long enough to sit still and wait for Marshall and me.

  “This is worse than combat duty,” Marshall whispered as he walked down in front. “And how did you know it was Ellowina?”

  I kept my voice real low. “From the program. Her name. Billings Bice.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . Rolo left me a text message while I was waiting for the emergency road service. Remember when I told you he wanted to probe further? Guy’s like a damn bloodhound. Anyway, he found out that Leonora Billings, the lady who died of asphyxiation, had a daughter by the name of Ellowina, and he looked her up. I tried calling Bowman and Ranston but got their voice mails. Anyway, the rest is . . . well . . . you know.”

  “Do you need a microphone?” Wayne asked as Marshall and I stood between the front row and the stage.

  We shook our heads in unison.

  “Go on,” I whispered. “You’re the detective. They’ll listen to you.”

  Marshall was clear and succinct. He explained that Ellowina was caught attempting to murder Sue Ellen and that there was reasonable evidence to indicate she was the one who killed Miranda Lee.

  “Good! Now, can we get out of here? Curley’s is going to close soon and I need a drink,” Herb said.

  He was followed by the rest of his pinochle buddies. Each one grunting about needing a beer.

  Myrna, who happened to be sitting next to Herb, pounded him on the shoulder. “Not so fast. We need details. Lots of details. I want to know Ellowina’s motive. I want to know how she did it. The first murder, that is. Because Sue Ellen is still with us.”

  As if to prove Myrna right, Sue Ellen began to hyperventilate, only to be escorted out of the auditorium by Cliff. He had his arm around her waist and kept telling her everything was going to be all right. Would their flames of passion, so obvious during The Odd Couple, going to be relit?

  Marshall spent the next five minutes reassuring Shirley and Cecilia that Miranda’s ghost wasn’t haunting the place.

  Lucinda spoke up, too. “See? I told you! I told you so.”

  Bill exited the catwalk and sat three rows back. A perfect spot for bellowing. “Why did the old biddy off Miranda? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  He wasn’t the only one asking that question. Before Marshall or I could explain, the cast and crew offered their own explanations, each one wackier than the one before.

  Finally, in a fit of exasperation or maybe even desperation, I yelled, “Revenge! Revenge for Ellowina’s mother. Miranda and Sue Ellen caused her death.”

  Everyone gasped at once. A full two seconds of absolute silence. Some were better at it than others.

  Kenny stood and waved his hands in the air. “I say we go to Curley’s and drink to Ellowina’s deceased mother.”

  “Yes! Let’s drink to that and anything else,” Wayne called out. “Give me a minute to finish telling Harriet something first.”

  Marshall shrugged, and we were about to call it a night when my mother sprang from her seat, stepping over knees, legs, and feet to get to her only daughter. “My God, Phee! Wayne just told me you were fighting with Ellowina. Following her into the basement wasn’t enough for you? No wonder you look so disheveled.”

  Then she turned to Marshall. “And what took you so long to nab that crazy Ellowina?”

  “It’s not his fault,” I said. “His car battery died, and he didn’t get to the theater until the end of the second act.”

  “The end of the second act? You mean you missed the play? The hell with Ellowina. I expect the both of you to be at tomorrow night’s performance. No excuses. And, as for your boss, there are two more performances next weekend, and I expect him to be at one of them.”

  “Now, can we get a damn drink at Curley’s?” someone yelled.

  Richard, who had managed to prevent the audience from swarming backstage after the performance, looked as unkempt as I did. Apparently dealing with a belligerent crowd wasn’t part of his usual duties as stage manager.

  He waved his hand in the air from where he was seated and made one announcement. “Curtain goes up tomorrow on time. Business as usual. Be here promptly at six. Whoever gets to Curley’s first, order me a Corona.”

  Randolph, Gordon, and Len shouted out that they would take a raincheck. The rest of the men charged out of there in record time. All but one—Wayne. I begged him to go downstairs to retrieve my wedge heels. He took one look at my feet and acquiesced. Just then, two deputies came in and asked for Marshall and the stage manager. Apparently they needed to search the premises, starting with the projection booth and catwalk, to be sure Ellowina hadn’t stashed any weapons. They also informed me I would be needed for questioning in the morning. So much for sleeping in.

  My mother and the book club ladies decided to stick around in the costume room. God forbid they miss some tantalizing tidbit, like someone finding another weapon. The two cleaning ladies were so shaken up they refused to stay another minute and swore they’d be back in the morning to tidy up. Cliff and Sue Ellen were long gone, so that only left Paula. She was sitting downstage, her legs dangling over the apron into the orchestra pit. I actually felt bad for her.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said.

  “Not many people liked her, and I suppose I can understand why. Miranda had a certain edge to her and a way of pushing people to their breaking point. She did that with Len Beckers, you know. Told him she was going to let the world know he wasn’t the man he pretended to be unless he took one of those little blue pills. It was cat
ty and mean, but Miranda was ticked at him for one reason or another.”

  “Wait a minute. Hold up a second. Are you telling me Miranda was about to tell the world Len was impotent?”

  “Not necessarily impotent but a lackluster and unpredictable performer.” Paula leaned back and stretched, her neck straining to go farther. “Sorry. I feel as if my body is in knots from the neck down.”

  Suddenly I remembered something. It was insignificant at the time, but not anymore. I jumped up, told Paula I understood how she felt, and scrambled to find Marshall before it was too late. I raced to the foyer behind the stage and nearly knocked into Wayne, who had just come up from the basement with my heels.

  “I’m looking for Marshall and the deputies.”

  “Don’t you want your shoes first?”

  “Oh my gosh. Thanks, Wayne.” I grabbed my heels, started to put them on and then thought otherwise. Heels would slow me down, and my feet were already as filthy as could be.

  “If you see Marshall on your way out, tell him I’m looking for him. And the deputies, too.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I would have seen them if they were in the auditorium or backstage, and I would have heard them if they were still on the catwalk or in the projection booth. That left the dressing rooms and costume room. Both were across the hall from where I was standing.

  Tell Monty Hall I am taking what’s behind the door on my left.

  “Have you seen Marshall or the deputies?” I stared straight at Shirley. “Quick! Tell me.”

  “Lordy, honey, slow down. You’re running like the devil’s on your tail.”

  “He might be. I need to find them.”

  My mother all but shoved Shirley to the side of the doorway. “Now what? Don’t tell me there’s another murderer on the loose. Sophie Vera Kimball, you slow down and tell your mother what’s going on. Do we need to lock ourselves in here and dial nine-one-one?”

  “No, he’s not after you.”

  “Oh Lordy, another killer’s about to strike. Lock the door, ladies. Someone find me my cell phone. Better yet, shut the lights. He won’t see us in the dark.”

  Normally Shirley moved at a leisurely southern pace. But, in that instant, she was like Jesse Owens at the starting block. In a flash, we were in total darkness.

  I tried to keep my composure as I yelled, “Turn those lights back on. The killer’s not in the building.”

  My mother was relentless. “So there is another killer. I knew we weren’t safe. Who is it, Phee? Who? Who?”

  “You’re sounding like that stupid owl commercial. Look, until Marshall and the deputies check it out, I really don’t want to make accusations.”

  “You don’t want to make accusations? You’ve got us locked up in the dark, scared to take a breath, and you don’t want to make accusations? What’s the matter with you?” My mother’s voice had reached a fever pitch, and it reached Marshall, who was at the far end of the hallway.

  “It’s okay. We’ll be right there, Harriet. Turn on the lights.”

  Seconds later, Marshall, Wayne, and the two deputies walked into the costume room, their gazes all fixed on me.

  “I don’t think Ellowina acted alone, and I think I can prove it.”

  One of the deputies crossed his arms and leaned back. “Go on. We haven’t got all night.”

  I was so worked up that it amazed me I was able to be coherent. “Bill was the first person to find Miranda’s body. He said there was a stiff on the catwalk or something equally crude and to the point. But someone else had another description. They said her head was tilted poetically back and that she upstaged everyone by looking like a Greek statue. Only the killer would have known that or said that. Why? Because they positioned her, and it wasn’t Ellowina. Ellowina got out of there as soon as she thought Miranda was dead. She even said so.”

  I tapped my feet as the words rushed from my mouth. “Here’s what I think happened. Ellowina used the chloroform to make Miranda woozy and fall. Miranda hit her head, but that didn’t kill her. Ellowina used Miranda’s necklace to strangle her, but she didn’t succeed. Even the coroner’s report said as much. Said it was inconclusive. Possibly a combination of a drug-induced state and strangulation. Miranda was still alive when Ellowina left the catwalk.”

  The sheriff’s deputy who had crossed his arms now shook his head. “You’re going to have a hard time proving that.”

  “I don’t think so. There was one piece of evidence everyone overlooked—the crumpled instrument schedule lying next to the body. It was the old schedule. The original one. Other than the play director, the stage manager, and the lighting crew, only one other person had a copy, and it must have fallen out of their pocket when they got near the body.”

  “So you think they were working in tandem with Ellowina?”

  This time it was the other deputy, and I was the one who shook my head.

  “No. Stanley was the first person up the catwalk that day. He and Miranda had words, and he left. Ellowina was waiting it out, unseen in the auditorium. She did exactly what she confessed to doing—catching Miranda off guard with the chloroform- and Shalimar-soaked cloth, then giving her a shove and finalizing it by using Miranda’s own necklace to strangle her. But here’s the rest of the story . . .”

  “Goodness, Phee,” Myrna said. “You sound like Paul Harvey.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s too young to remember Paul Harvey,” Lucinda said. “He used to have a wonderful radio show called The Rest of the Story.”

  My mother had reached her apex; she turned to Lucinda and shushed her.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “Ellowina never realized she dropped the cloth when she went to strangle Miranda. She may have been so intent on getting out of there that she didn’t think about it. Remember, no one found the cloth; the only evidence of chloroform and Shalimar was from the medical examiner’s office. That cloth is long gone. The killer wasn’t stupid enough to toss it out in the theater and wouldn’t have had time to go around back to use the Dumpsters, so they had to take it home. A good forensic team would be able to find evidence of the solvent and the perfume in their car.”

  Marshall took a step toward me and picked up where I left off. “So, what you’re saying is you believe Ellowina wasn’t alone in the auditorium. Once she left, the real killer, who had been watching from below, used that opportunity to pick up the fallen cloth and finish the job.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m saying. That’s what I said, or meant to say. We figured out Ellowina’s motive was revenge. Our killer’s motive was, well . . . self-preservation.”

  “Huh?” Marshall looked perplexed. “You’d better explain.”

  “When Ellowina left the auditorium, the killer made his way to the catwalk, where Miranda was still breathing. Placing and holding that cloth over her face for more than a few minutes ensured she wouldn’t be breathing anymore. Murder by chloroform takes time, and that was something our killer had. No one else was around. Stanley had already left, and he probably figured the other two guys who were backstage did the same. Only one of them didn’t.”

  My mother motioned with her hand for me to speed things up. “Which one, Phee? We haven’t got all night.”

  “I’ve cracked the murder of the year, so please hold on for a few more seconds. So . . . um . . . as I was saying, there was only one person who had an instrument schedule, a motive, means, and an opportunity, and that was Len Beckers. The means was the cloth that literally fell into his lap. The opportunity came when he was heading out of the theater and went through the auditorium. That’s when he saw the attempted murder take place. He didn’t plan on killing Miranda, he just took advantage of a situation that presented itself, especially since he had a motive. Miranda was about to destroy his reputation. I didn’t know about the last part until I spoke with Paula a little while ago. Then I pieced everything together.”

  Everyone gasped at once, but only my mother realized the true consequence. “Dear God
. Who are we going to get to play the part of Mr. Paravicini at such late notice?”

  Louise elbowed her way toward me. “I want to know what dirt Miranda had on Len’s reputation. What was it? Tax fraud? Embezzlement? Tampering with the bowling scores? What? What was that witch holding over his head?”

  “Um . . . er . . . I’m really not comfortable speaking about this in public. Defamation of character and all. Um, uh . . . can you give me a minute alone with Marshall?”

  Before anyone could say a word, I walked out of the room and motioned for Marshall to follow. I was certain my mother would be eavesdropping on the other side of the door, so I took a few steps and whispered, “I’m really uncomfortable having this conversation, but Miranda was going to tell everyone Len was impotent.”

  “Ouch. That’s a motive if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “You’re not going to tell them in there, are you?”

  “And have to get into that sort of a conversation with your mother’s friends? Hell no! Plenty of time to speak privately with the deputies. By the way, great sleuthing. I’m just sorry you had to take the brunt of Ellowina. I feel awful about that.”

  Awful enough to throw your arms around me like they do in all those romance novels? “I’ll be fine.”

  “Want me to drive you home? We can always swing back for your car tomorrow.”

  Yes, yes. Drive me home. Swing back. Stay overnight. “Um, er . . . I’ll be fine. Honest.”

  “Okay. If you say so. We’d better go back in there.”

  The door wasn’t fully open when a veritable inquisition from the cast and crew ensued.

  “So what was it? Cheating clients?”

  “Bigamy! I’ll bet Miranda found out he has more than one wife.”

  “Running a pyramid scheme?”

  “Bootleg liquor?”

  “Bootleg liquor? This isn’t prohibition.”

  Marshall ran his fingers through his hair and took a breath. “If you must know, it was over some sketchy business dealings. We’ll look into it.”

  Myrna made a tsk tsk sound and poked Louise. “Is that all? I wanted to hear something juicy. Something riveting.”