Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Val said, “Good morning,” and pulled out a chair. Figaro slid out from under the table on top of it. “Yay, I win a cat.” Val picked Figaro up and nuzzled him before placing him on the floor. “I just love those little heart-shaped sandwich cookies you put out for tea yesterday, Poppy. What are they called?”

  “They were raspberry linzer hearts.”

  Bunny was nodding in agreement. “They were fabulous. You must give me the recipe, so I can have my cook make them for society luncheons.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Figaro was attempting to get into Val’s lap—to get closer to the food; he wasn’t fooling anyone—and Aunt Ginny scooped him up and gave him a warning look. Figaro touched Aunt Ginny’s nose with his paw.

  I wanted to hear the end of the Ainsworths’ story so, after introducing the couples to each other, I said, “So why not the Mediterranean this year?”

  “Oh.” Bunny shook herself as if she’d totally forgotten that was where she was going. Chigsie chuckled, amused by her. “We are expecting our first grandbaby in three weeks.”

  Everyone gave the required “awws.”

  “We don’t want to go too far away in case our daughter, Blake, needs us.”

  We left the couples to chat and I got the Southwest casserole while Aunt Ginny brought in the salsa and sour cream.

  Joey was especially excited with this morning’s breakfast. “Yeah! Now that’s what I’m tawkin about!”

  Bunny looked at the casserole and asked, “What is it?”

  I explained it, and even though she looked scandalized at the list of ingredients, she tried a tiny spoonful anyway. “My trainer is going to have to double my Pilates when I get home.”

  The two couples seemed to get along well enough. We overheard snippets of conversation: Bunny telling Val she’d never stayed anywhere so quaint. Val saying she’d never stayed anywhere so fancy. They both loved it. I had my fingers crossed for good reviews. The men were mostly quiet except for answering their wives with “yes, dears” and “you’re right, dears.”

  They finally went their separate ways, the Ainsworths to go wine tasting and the Pescatellis to look for Cape May diamonds, which are really just quartz pebbles that wash up on the beach. I started to clear the table. When I came back to the kitchen, I ran into Aunt Ginny having a squabble with Mrs. Galbraith, who I hadn’t realized had arrived. I had hired Mrs. Galbraith to be my part-time chambermaid just a few weeks ago when I opened the bed-and-breakfast for a trial run. The domestic service had warned me that she could be demanding to work with, but everyone else was either settled into permanent positions at established B&Bs or they had returned to Eastern Europe when their work visas had expired. Mrs. Galbraith had begrudgingly agreed to come out of retirement to work with me, but she still refused to come in the front door. She said she was professional staff and only guests should use the main entrance. Mrs. Galbraith always parked on the side at the back of the driveway and came in the back door through the mudroom.

  There was currently a line being drawn in the sand over a furry, gray feline.

  “That animal has no business being around food preparation and service. And furthermore, it sheds so much, my vacuuming takes twice as long as should be necessary.”

  I was steeling myself for Aunt Ginny’s volley of insults when she picked up Figaro and stomped off to her bedroom. Mrs. Galbraith had the smug look of one who had just won an argument, until Aunt Ginny returned with Figaro under her arm. He was now wearing a bright orange vest that said “emotional support companion” on the back. I choked on my eggs.

  Aunt Ginny put Figaro on the floor and he went right to biting at his vest.

  Mrs. Galbraith sputtered for lack of a better argument and Aunt Ginny produced a formal document declaring Figaro’s support status. “I’m old and frail. Are you going to deny me my only comfort at the end of my life?”

  What am I, beans on toast?

  Mrs. Galbraith narrowed her eyes at Aunt Ginny. “If he is a registered service animal, why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

  “He doesn’t like to brag.”

  Mrs. Galbraith took her carrier of cleaning supplies and bolted from the kitchen like a cannonball.

  I tried to wipe the smile off my face so Aunt Ginny would know I was serious. “Why do you have to antagonize Mrs. Galbraith?”

  “Because she’s a mean old bat.”

  Figaro ran backward from the kitchen out to the hallway, trying to escape from his bondage.

  “She’s coming in early every day to back me up because I have to do quadruple duty now with the play.”

  “She still doesn’t have any right to tell me what I can do in my own home. She makes me depressed. I’m too old to go on antidepressants.”

  Figaro galloped sideways back through the kitchen toward the dining room, trying to outrun the vest.

  Aunt Ginny was bent over double, laughing. “See, I feel better already.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I spent the morning making raspberry rose macarons for La Dolce Vita. Gia came in between customers to attempt sneaky displays of affection that I had to deftly block. He took that as a challenge and his approaches became more and more cunning. Once he even had Karla call me into the coffee bar and hand me two lattes so I couldn’t move fast enough to get away from a kiss. Karla thought this was hilarious and said that Gia thought we were playing a game, and the more I tried to block his advances, the more fun he was having, trying to outwit me. My resolve at not showing affection was melting faster than the white chocolate in the rose ganache.

  I finally had to kiss him goodbye, a very long kiss goodbye that almost turned into something else until Karla called him out to make a flat white. I gave a tinkering finger wave and snuck out the door while I still had the resolve to do so and made the quick drive over to the Senior Center.

  * * *

  I parked and walked up the path to the front door, where a giant Amazon box hissed at me. “Poppy.”

  I peeked under the lid of the recent delivery. “Who is that?”

  “It’s me, Thelma.”

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Guarding the perimeter.”

  “Of course you are.”

  She handed me a bright yellow walkie-talkie. “Here. We’ve hidden a few of these around the property with the listening volume turned down. This one’s yours.”

  The high-tech device was made in the likeness of SpongeBob SquarePants. I’m sure it was the model the KGB used as well. Mrs. Davis gave me a salute and I saluted back before closing her cardboard lid. What have I gotten myself into?

  Bebe was running the seniors through the chorus again. I had to do a double take. Georgina was in the midst of the dancers. She waved when she saw me. “I’m in the play. Mrs. Spisak dropped out because she didn’t want to be attacked. Isn’t that great?” She swiveled her hips in time with the music. I gave her a smile and a thumbs-up. Good luck, Bebe.

  Neil was in his office with Piglet. Piglet glowered and shut the door as I passed by.

  Royce was gingerly picking his way across the catwalk over to Donna’s balcony while Blanche was onstage badgering Aunt Ginny. “Stay away from Royce or I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  “I’ll do whatever I want, Moira.” Aunt Ginny took off her sweater and her passive-aggressive T-shirt of the day said You’re shallow. How’s that working out?

  Blanche popped a couple pills and stormed off the stage.

  Smitty was sitting in the seats the two gorillas usually occupied while the gorillas and Ernie were not in the building. It figures that the very people I need to question are nowhere around. I took a seat down in front next to Mrs. Sheinberg to await the opening of rehearsal before I realized Fiona was in the middle of an Iggy story.

  “He’s very graceful. You should see the pirouettes he can do when he dusts. My Iggy has a master’s degree in gymnastics, you know.”

  I was sucking on a mint that flung itself
to the back of my throat and I choked on Fiona’s words. A woolly, white head with a tinge of blue hovered up from the end seat two rows ahead of us and I heard the feverish whispering of Mrs. Dodson in her walkie-talkie.

  Mrs. Sheinberg gave Fiona a look that said, God will strike you down for lying before this day is over.

  “No, it’s true. He can still do a backflip. Iggy, show the ladies your backflip.”

  “Uckhhhhh, Mo-ther.”

  “Iggy!”

  Iggy dragged himself away from the piano while his mother continued her delusional bragging. “I told you my boy was talented. Not there! Go up onstage. Ginny, get out of the way. Iggy is going to do a backflip.”

  Aunt Ginny pointed. “That Iggy? Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Show them, Iggy.”

  Mrs. Davis shot down the aisle. “Wait, I have to see this.”

  Mother Gibson stuck her head out from the set foliage where she had been “conducting surveillance.” Mrs. Dodson raised herself all the way up from her hiding place in the second row.

  Iggy took a deep breath, bent his knees, and did two back handsprings across the stage and ended with a backflip to stunned silence.

  “See! I told you my Iggy went to college on an athletic scholarship.”

  Mr. Sheinberg pointed out that he wobbled on the landing, to which Iggy snapped, “I’m almost forty years old, give me a break!”

  Aunt Ginny blurted out, “You’re not forty yet?”

  Mrs. Davis converged onstage with Mother Gibson and Mrs. Dodson. They joined Aunt Ginny and there was a lot of whispering and looking from Iggy to the catwalk. It was not subtle, but fortunately, Fiona was too caught up in all things the delightful Iggy could do to add up their implications.

  “My Iggy is a true Renaissance man. We watch Jeopardy! together every night and he knows all the answers. He has a degree in alternative philosophy.”

  Iggy was coming back down to the piano. He hefted his baggy jeans over the stretched-out band of his tighty-whities and kerflumped onto the bench.

  Mrs. Sheinberg shook her head. “Exactly how many degrees does that boy have?”

  “Six so far. He is still deciding what he wants to do when he grows up.”

  Mrs. Sheinberg’s beady black eyes flashed. “The schmegegge is forty and still lives at home. The time for deciding has been over for twenty years.”

  Fiona crossed her arms in a huff and started a good, long pout that was interrupted by Neil.

  “Okay, everyone, three practices till opening night!” Neil came down the aisle and clapped his hands. “Let’s get another tech rehearsal behind us. You’re all doing very well.”

  I made my way up onstage to the light booth and put on my headset. Terrence Nuttal, aka Piglet, ducked behind the stage curtains on the far side of the stage and was poking around behind the backdrops.

  I was about to ask Neil what he was doing when the biddies cut me off.

  “Poppy. Did you see that?” Mrs. Dodson jabbed her cane in the direction of the stage. “That boy can do acrobatics.”

  “I saw. That Iggy is full of surprises.”

  Mrs. Davis clutched at my sleeve. “He could easily get up on that catwalk and push poor Duke off.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  Mother Gibson shrugged. “Well, honey, I have no idea. But most of these seniors would break a hip climbing the stairs or fall off from vertigo. No way they could wrestle against someone fighting back.”

  “Royce and Mr. Ricardo just snuck across a few minutes ago.”

  “And if one of them so much as sneezed, the paramedics would be on the way right now.”

  Mrs. Davis added, “Maybe Iggy has had some run-ins with the law. He could be the head of a local drug smuggling ring. Maybe he held a vendetta against Duke for a past arrest.”

  “Does Iggy strike you as motivated enough to head up a drug smuggling ring?”

  Mrs. Dodson took her cane and pulled the side curtain out of the way.

  Iggy sat at the piano, biting his nails. Fiona yelled at him and he stopped and sat up straight.

  “If he was going to kill anyone it would be Fiona,” I added.

  My walkie-talkie crackled and Aunt Ginny’s voice came through. “What if he thought he was killing Royce? You know he doesn’t think of him as family. We heard him say so.”

  I picked up SpongeBob. “How do you know what we’re talking about?”

  Aunt Ginny answered me. “We put a walkie-talkie in the light booth.”

  “Where?”

  “Taped under the panel.”

  I ran my hand under the box and felt a hard-plastic rectangle with a pointy head in the shape of SpongeBob’s starfish friend, Patrick. I gave the biddies a look that I hoped would be disapproving. Three sets of eyes blinked at me innocently.

  Mother Gibson patted her fade. “You never know what you might pick up backstage.”

  I don’t know how Amber expects me to keep them out of trouble. I need a SWAT team just to keep an eye on them. “What motive would Iggy possibly have to try to kill Royce?”

  “Life insurance?”

  “Inheritance?”

  Iggy started to play the intro music for rehearsal.

  I shook my head. “As wealthy as Fiona is, I don’t think Iggy would have a strong motive to kill anyone. I also don’t think he’d be able to work up the energy to do it unless they offered a master’s degree in it.”

  Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis heard their cue and rushed off to take their places for their scene.

  Mother Gibson stood next to me and flipped through the pages on her clipboard. “I don’t know, Poppy. There are more actors in this room than just the ones onstage.” She went off to make sure her props were ready to go and I adjusted the lights to my first setting.

  Blanche heckled the practice from the back row and accused Aunt Ginny of being an overactor. Aunt Ginny was getting madder by the minute.

  Royce went through the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet instead of the loft scene with Donna. Aunt Ginny tried prompting him with the right lines, but Mother Gibson had to feed them to him from backstage.

  Mr. Sheinberg delivered his lines like he was Miracle Max from The Princess Bride. “Oy, Donna. Whachu got that’s worth living for?”

  Neil asked him what he was doing and he answered, “Trying to add a li’l pizazz.”

  Then there was Mr. Ricardo, who was flirting with Mrs. Davis. Neil finally had to yell “Cut” when Mr. Ricardo pinched Mrs. Davis’s bottom.

  “Um, Mr. Ricardo. I think we need to have a chat about your character.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re playing Harry Bright.”

  “And I’m doing it really well.”

  Mrs. Davis giggled.

  Neil nodded. “Yes, but Harry isn’t going to come on to the ladies and flirt with them, is he?”

  Mr. Ricardo winked at Aunt Ginny. “I think Harry would want to make the most of his time on this island around so much beauty.”

  Neil paused. “Mr. Ricardo, you do know that Harry is gay, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Harry Bright is gay. That’s why you have the line that Donna was the last girl you ever loved.”

  “I thought he was being romantic.”

  “No. He’s being gay.”

  Mr. Ricardo’s eyes were darting from Neil to the ladies to the floor. He ran his hands through his silver-tinged hair and walked in a circle, taking deep breaths. “I don’t think I can be convincing as a gay man. What about my reputation with the ladies? Everyone knows I’m the Don Juan of the Senior Center.”

  Neil lifted his palms to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s called acting. Professionals do it all the time.”

  Mr. Ricardo shook his head. “Harry could convert. He could experiment with all the ladies and one by one, they could change him. They could bring him out of the closet as a sexual-heterosexual.”

  Mrs. Dodson snorted and Mrs. Davis rolled her eyes. The actress playi
ng Sophie slapped Mr. Ricardo in the face.

  “What? What’d I say?”

  Neil shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Well, could it?”

  Mr. Ricardo appeared ready to bolt when Royce saved the day. “You know, Colin is a good friend of mine. He played Harry in the movie and the ladies love him.”

  Mr. Ricardo brightened. “Really?”

  Royce nodded. “Had to beat them off with a stick after that role. I think it made him even more irresistible.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a try, but don’t blame me if no one believes it.”

  Neil breathed a gust of relief and we got back to it.

  We were in the nightclub scene and all the seniors were stomping around to “Voulez-Vous” when SpongeBob picked up the crackle of a conversation. I moved the side curtain to the left and saw Ernie Frick and the two gorillas arguing in the back row, where Piglet usually sat. I had to remove my headset and put my walkie-talkie up to my ear to hear them clearly.

  “I told you to be patient.”

  “We’re out of patience, Frick.”

  “Have I ever let you down before?”

  “If you had, you’d be dead.”

  Ernie let out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, calm down, guys. You’ll get your money.”

  One of the thugs leaned in to Ernie. “I would hate to see something happen to your star talent because you didn’t honor your commitments.”

  To my horror, I saw Mother Gibson creeping against the back wall, holding the boat oar in front of her.

  Ernie pointed to her. “Hey, who’s that?”

  I didn’t think, I just reacted, and flashed the lights onstage. All three men turned to the stage to see what was happening and Mother Gibson slipped by, forgotten. I heard Neil through my abandoned headset on the board and grabbed for it.

  “Sorry, Neil, my hand slipped.”

  The song finished, and we went to intermission. Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis announced they were going after the assassins and I cut them off. “Stay right where you are. Someone has to stay here to keep an eye on Iggy. I’ll go talk to Ernie.”