A moment later, Frances Waller walked through the door, bearing a bag.
“You made it!” I lifted out Magda’s pearls. They came alive in the light. “Magda begged me to wear her pearls, and today I have the perfect excuse. I’m visiting the nursing home with Enid. Will you help me get them on?”
“Sure, since Audie isn’t here to do it for you.” Frances grinned.
“Speaking of boyfriends—I’m so happy for you and Cord.”
“I’m glad. I was afraid you might, you know, be jealous, since you used to date.” Frances’s gentle fingers held the necklace against the back of my neck. “I’ve always liked him, but he only had eyes for you. Now, though. . .” She stepped back, the pearls secured in place.
I turned around. A faint blush spread across Frances’s cheeks. She’s serious.
“He is a good man. He just wasn’t the right one for me.” I hugged her. “I hope things work out for the two of you.”
She hugged me back, the hold expressing feelings that her words did not, and then left.
With the pearls nestled around my neck, I felt like a queen. They gave me the confidence boost I needed to take on the old ladies at the nursing home. The ladies would pick up on any errors in clothing style that I made.
Enid and Suzanne arrived a few minutes before twelve.
“Don’t you look lovely. I’m sure the ladies will enjoy hearing all about that dress,” Enid said.
“Aren’t those Magda’s pearls?” Suzanne asked. She wore her costume from last year’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. I wondered what bit of the play would she share with our audience?
I nodded. “Frances dropped them off this morning.” I hung the Closed sign on the door and walked with the others to Enid’s waiting van. Its spacious comfort made me wonder about investing in a larger vehicle than my little Civic. Easier to carry merchandise for the business. But did the advantages outweigh the additional cost for gas? After all, I didn’t have a family to haul around—at least not yet.. My mind raced around the question until I realized the source of my discomfort. Avoidance. I didn’t want to think about going to the nursing home. It reminded me of the last time I saw my grandmother. Ever since her death, I had avoided it like I might be the next to die. I prayed for peace.
When Enid parked by the front entrance, I took a deep breath, gathered my skirts, and stepped down from the van. In the foyer I paused to regain my bearings. The facility hadn’t changed much in the nine years since my last visit. The wall had been repainted the same institutional green, with new and cheerful paintings. The linoleum floor looked every bit as scuffed, and the air, if anything, seemed even mustier in spite of a fresh breeze blowing through opened windows.
Enid touched my arm. “The community room is this way.” We walked down a short hallway, with glimpses into rooms made cheerful with colorful afghans and fresh flowers. Someone put effort into making the residents’ homes away from home pleasant.
We rounded a corner and walked into a room full of people in everything from Sunday dress and walkers to pajamas and wheel chairs. Our audience. Enid toured the room, introducing Suzanne and me to every person present. Many of the names and faces were familiar to me from the days they still lived at home. Guilt for neglecting them when they dropped out of sight replaced my previous unease.
Enid stopped in front of a lady with titian-dyed hair.
“Mrs. Lambert. I’d like for you to meet Suzanne Jay and Cecilia Wilde.”
Lambert? Why did that name ring a bell?
Mrs. Lambert fixed gimlet eyes on me. She reached out a gnarled hand toward my neck. I stepped back, frightened by the implied threat.
“Why are you wearing my pearls?”
“I’m sorry?” I stammered. “Magda Grace Mallory gave me these pearls.”
“That one.” Venom laced Mrs. Lambert’s voice. “I don’t understand why my son ever became involved with that harlot.”
Harlot? Was the old lady confusing Magda with someone else?
“Just ignore her,” Enid whispered in my ear and tugged me to the next resident.
Senility, I supposed. She must have owned a string of pearls once upon a time and thought they were hers.
After that little episode, the rest of the visit went fine. Enid presented a short devotion. They interacted with my presentation of fashion tips and diary excerpts from the original Grace Gulch Ladies Society. Several of them remembered pictures and stories their mothers had shared with them.
But Suzanne was the hit of the day, with her monologue that began, “What fire is in mine ears?” Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. What beautiful words. How could I ever write my own wedding vows? Shakespeare, I was not.
Thinking of wedding vows reminded me that I needed to start on the compatibility questionnaire that the pastor had given us. I worked on it before rehearsal. I raced through the first few questions, rating things like “same spiritual beliefs” and “sense of humor” a solid “10”. But others gave me pause. Beyond American middle class, we did not share a common background. I had only met his parents once; how could I know if I hoped Audie would resemble them as he aged? I jotted down the first number that jumped into my mind.
Audie and I shared a hurried dinner at my house before heading to the theater. I mentioned Mrs. Lambert’s strange reaction to Magda’s pearls.
“I wonder if she’s related to Peppi. She’s a Lambert, too.”
“You know the area families better than I do. I wouldn’t worry about what she said. It sounds like she’s gaga.” Audie shrugged it off. “You know what Wilde said about being old?”
“Tell me.” I could use a laugh.
“‘I am not young enough to know everything.’ The poor old thing has probably forgotten half of what she knew once upon a time.”
What she might have forgotten was what frightened me.
12
From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])
Date: Wednesday, April 22, 9:47 PM
To: Magda Mallory ([email protected])
Subject: Pearls
A recent edition of the Grace Gulch Herald reported that you are donating vintage pearls for use in the upcoming production of Arsenic and Old Lace. The same pearls were discovered at Victor Spencer’s murder scene.
Are you acting out of benevolence—or do you want to get rid of unwanted evidence?
I know what happened forty years ago.
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Thursday, April 24
“What Mrs. Lambert knows isn’t the problem.” I put on a good face. “The pearls reminded me that I haven’t made any progress on the murder. With your permission I want to check your files tonight. See if I’ve missed something about Spencer.”
Audie nodded. “Sure. But there’s something—”
Gene arrived at that moment, little Bobo dashing ahead of him.
Chagrin darkened Gene’s good looks. “I’m sorry about the scene the other night. I’d still like to be in the play, if you’ll still have me.”
Audie grunted. Although he didn’t say so, Gene’s accusations had stung. But the theater needed all the volunteers it could get, and Audie couldn’t afford to offend the son of his patron. Besides, Gene brought out all the comic creepiness of the doctor.
A smile lit Audie’s face, his eyes shading towards cerulean blue. “Welcome back, Gene. I’m glad to have you.”
Bobo yipped his pleasure.
Everybody came to rehearsal that night and settled down to work as if the disaster on Tuesday night had never happened. I put together ice water and tea, but instead of watching the play, I slipped back to the office. I figured that I had at least an hour before the first break, and I wanted to learn as much as possible about Vic Spencer.
Memorabilia crammed the office. I skimmed through scripts, set designs, playbills arranged in a haphazard order on the desktop. Organization wasn’t Audie’s strong point. A single two-drawer file cabinet held all the office
records for the theater. However, I didn’t find a folder labeled “Spencer, Victor” or a more general label “personnel.” I pulled out files one at a time, finally locating Spencer in the section marked “Expenses.” The record contained scant information: his address, social security number, a photo of his driver’s license. Nothing that I didn’t already know. I decided to make a copy of the driver’s license photo in case we needed to show it around.
Frustrated, I turned to organizing Audie’s desk while I was there. He wouldn’t mind, and something else about Spencer might come to light. I grabbed a pile of pages from the printer, about half as high as a ream of paper. A quick glance told me most of it could be discarded: multiple copies of the same rehearsal schedule and cast changes. I would cut it into scrap paper as I went. Maybe I should spend time in here after every rehearsal and help Audie out. Then again, this is his job! I reminded myself. At least his mind was organized, and he could always lay his hands on what he needed.
I had made my way through a third of the pile when words jumped off the page. I know your secret. I had found a copy of the same e-mail that Spencer held in his hand.
After that, I found copies of other e-mails I had heard about, plus a few that no one had mentioned. The word pearls in the subject line on one page caught my attention.
“I know what happened forty years ago,” it read. I didn’t see how ancient history connected with Magda’s pearls at all. It probably didn’t, only the same overactive imagination that suspected foul play behind every curtain. I read the e-mail again. This one was addressed to Magda, from Jerry Burton.
Why did Audie have e-mails from both Jerry Burton and Elsie Holland on his desk? Could he be—? No, of course not. But if not Audie, then who? I remembered that Audie had started to tell me something when Gene arrived. Maybe he wanted to tell me about these messages.
Were Jerry and Elsie two different people or the same person writing under two different names? The presence of the notes in Audie’s office suggested that the same person had access to the community college library and the theater office. Who was it? Were all the blackmail targets involved with the theater? I shook my head; I knew better. Jessie had received an e-mail from Elsie Holland. And had something happened forty years ago that could support blackmail? Magda and Mayor Ron had both been adults at that time; maybe they could shed light on the puzzle.
The questions required some thinking. I might assume that Vic Spencer had blackmailed several victims, and one of them had killed him, except that the threats had continued after his death. I rummaged through the prop shelves and found one of Dina’s steno pads.
“What’s up?”
As soft as Audie’s voice was, it still made me jump out of my seat. I looked at the clock: half-past eight. I spent more time contemplating the blackmail notes than I expected. “I’m sorry. Do you need more water? Tea?”
Audie shook his head. “I let them go early.” He put his arms around my shoulders. "What's the matter? You're as jumpy as a mouse running away from a cat." He saw the papers on the desk. “You found the e-mails, I see.”
“How long have you known about them?” I used the direct approach.
“I was checking the trashcan on my desktop screen before deleting them permanently. These e-mails were in the trashcan. I printed them out and gave them to the police.” He flashed a smile. “I kept a copy for myself, naturally.”
Why didn’t you tell me?
“I intended to tell you about them tonight.”
I took a deep breath. “Whoever did this must have access to your office. When you’re not here, obviously. So it’s someone who knows the theater personnel and schedule.”
“It’s someone we know, and know well.”
I voiced the question that must be on both our minds. “What do you think the forty-year-old secret refers to? Do you think it’s connected to Spencer’s murder?” I half expected Audie to come out with an Oscar Wilde quip, but he didn’t. Not this time.
“We know he didn’t have any secrets from that long ago. He would have been a boy.”
“He might have known about it, though. I finally figured out where I remembered him from. He was a few years ahead of Jenna in school. He’s been around off and on for years.”
“There could be two blackmailers.” Audie tapped the papers with a slender finger. “Spencer was threatening someone else, but then he was caught.”
We looked at each other for a long moment.
“The more I learn, the muddier everything gets.” My mind spun. “First we were looking for a murderer. Then a thief. Then maybe a pair of thieves. And now maybe a pair of blackmailers. Is that one person, two—or five? And who?” I pointed to the computer. “I understand that there are experts who can dig into a computer’s memory and see what was written by whom and when, but I don’t know how to do that. And—”
“I asked the chief about that. He said not to worry. He seems to think they already have their primary suspect.”
“Who?” Although I suspected I knew the answer.
“Me. The only reason they haven’t arrested me is that they can’t figure out a motive, and so far there’s no physical evidence. Besides, Magda gave me a good alibi.”
When had Audie spoken with the police without me? Did he go without an attorney? That was the action of an innocent man; couldn’t they see that?
“But I do know who we have to talk to first.” Determination shaded Audie’s eyes a midnight blue. “Magda. She’s mentioned by name in the letters.” His voice wobbled just a tad. “And she also might know what happened forty years ago.”
“Isn’t there another way?” A discussion about possible blackmail couldn’t help the ongoing contract negotiations.
“Not if we want to get to the bottom of this. ‘The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’” The Wilde quote only brought a faint smile to his lips. “We can’t afford to keep quiet about this. And Magda deserves to know what’s going on in her theater.” He trained his eyes on me while he picked up the phone and called Magda. She agreed to let us come right over.
“She’s one tough old lady.” I grabbed the chinchilla boa I had worn from work to ward off the evening chill. “This makes the second time this week we’ve shown up on her doorstep late at night.”
Audie grunted, and I remembered that he had also been at Magda’s house the night of the murder. His car could probably drive there without him steering the wheel.
Magda met us at the door. “Come in.” Her face lit up when she saw me. “You’re wearing the pearls! They look lovely on you.”
Her comment reminded me of my encounter with the old lady at the nursing home. Well, Mrs. Lambert was senile, nothing more.
Magda led us to the same drawing room where she entertained us two nights before. “I missed you at rehearsal tonight. You’re our most faithful audience.”
“I’m sorry, I got involved in Audie’s office and lost track of the time.”
Magda bustled away to the kitchen before I could explain what had kept me busy for the evening—the reason for our visit. She returned with a tea tray.
“I know you avoid caffeine at night. Very wise of you. This is raspberry tea. Herbal.” She poured it into dainty china cups with the elegance of a duchess and at last sat back in her chair.
“Are you concerned about the trust? I signed the papers at Lauren’s office this morning.” Niceties completed, she prepared to discuss business.
“That’s not it.” Audie paused, the tea cup poised midair. “Although let me thank you again for your thoughtfulness and foresight. It is a gift to the entire community of Grace Gulch, indeed, all of Oklahoma—and especially to me.” If Audie ever decided to give up the theater, he could have a splendid career in politics. Join a distinguished line of former actors that included Reagan and Schwarzenegger.
He paused and looked at me for help. Sometimes even politicians struggled to find the right words.
I could think of no way
to sugarcoat the subject we needed to ask Magda about. Since someone had to bring it up, it might as well be me. She didn’t pay my salary.
I drew a deep breath, as deep as I could with my diaphragm constricted by the corset required for the day’s costume. “I was in the office during the rehearsal tonight looking for information about the murder victim in the files.”
“Vic Spencer. Yes, I engaged his services for the theater.” Magda nodded. Her voice remained polite, but she must have wondered about the reason for our late night visit. “Did you learn anything of interest?”
“Not exactly.” I couldn’t tell her about the blackmail note we had seen in Spencer’s hand. The police hadn’t released that information yet. “I found something that may concern you, though.”
Audie nodded, and I unrolled the blackmail notes that I had found. We had decided to show her everything. It was her theater, after all.
Looking at the papers as I smoothed them, I said, “Someone involved with the MGM has been threatening people. Has anyone. . .written to you?”
“Let me see what you have.” Magda set her cup on the tray and reached for the papers.
No one spoke while she perused the pages once, twice, three times. Audie’s spoon clinked against the china cup when he added sugar to his tea. In the absolute silence of the room, it sounded as loud as a dinner bell. I lifted the cup to my lips and sniffed it, hoping the scent might slow down my racing nerves.
If Grace Gulch had royalty, Magda Grace Mallory was it. Always in control, she exuded a regal, commanding presence. Even when Gene made a scene at rehearsal the other night, she left in style.
Her royal manner failed her tonight. Her lips tightened at the corners, then trembled. Her face paled as if an unseen hand had wiped the makeup from her face and shown its true pallor. Her breath came in quick, sharp gasps.
“I didn’t think anyone else knew the story. At least not until I read the email in my inbox.” She spoke in a voice so low she could have been talking to herself. She straightened her shoulders and looked up. Still pale, the uncertainty had vanished. “The truth will come out as soon as the terms of my will become known. In light of these threats, I think—I think you need to know now.” Bright spots appeared in her cheeks. “You might not guess it to look at me now, but I was a wild, headstrong girl. Almost forty years ago, I left a wonderful young man behind in Grace Gulch and headed to Chicago to seek my fame and fortune in the theater.”
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 9
