by Libby Klein
I ducked out of the booth while Neil gave the actors some pointers and Mr. Ricardo flexed his stringy arms for Aunt Ginny. I scanned the auditorium for Ernie and didn’t see him, so I headed off the stage and out the emergency exit door. Ernie was alone and on his cell phone. He tucked it into his breast pocket when he saw me. “Hello there.”
“I thought I’d get some fresh air.” My breath came out in smoky puffs and I swung my arms back and forth, like that was going to generate more oxygen.
“Yes, well.” Ernie chuckled. “This is a good place for it.”
“So, you live in New York?”
Ernie squinted with that perpetual smile and bobbed his head back and forth.
“I bet you have a lot of clients waiting for you?”
“Definitely. Night and day, they are calling me. I was just talking to Uma before you came out.”
“Wow, who else are you representing?
“Oh, A-listers. Josh Groban, Bette Midler, Idina Menzel.”
“I had no idea. That must be very exciting. And Royce is one of your best?”
“Royce is my favorite. That’s why I’m trying to help him make a comeback. He’s much too talented to end his career now.”
“Is that what you’re working on with those other two men you are always talking to?”
Ernie gave me half of a head shake. “Oh. No . . . Finn and Winky represent the largest advertising firm on the East Coast. Bennet and Darcy. They’re big fans of Royce.”
“Big fans?”
He nodded vigorously. “Most definitely. They want Royce to do a quick spot—that means a fifteen-second commercial—for the New York Arts Program. We’ve been working out the details between rehearsals.”
“I see. Would they pay Royce for that or would you have to pay them?”
Ernie made gurgling sounds while he tried to come up with an answer. “It’s for charity. Royce is very charitable.”
“It’s funny, they don’t look like advertisers. Some of the seniors thought they looked like gangsters.” I laughed. Ernie laughed. Ernie’s laugh had an edge of terror in it.
He pulled out his phone. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. Hello?”
Finn and Winky with Bennet and Darcy. What a ridiculous cover story.
I opened the emergency exit door to get back to my post and Google the advertising firm when I heard a loud crash combined with Aunt Ginny’s scream of terror.
Chapter Thirty-One
A rapid stream of complaint wriggled its way out from the fallen canvas. “I will knock you flatter than a flitter, Blanche, you butt-faced baboon. You just wait till I get out from under this hickey.”
Neil and Smitty were lifting the heavy backdrop off Aunt Ginny’s little body, but I ran over and threw it off like I was powerlifting a Volkswagen off a toddler. “What happened?”
There was panic in Smitty’s cow eyes. “I checked these sets myself. I’ve even come in every day to make sure they’re safe. Someone is tampering with them; look, the support struts have been sawed through.”
Aunt Ginny’s forehead had a gash over her right eye and she growled, “Blanche!”
I looked to the back row, where Blanche had been camped out earlier, whistling a gallows tune. It had been abandoned.
“That vindictive strumpet is behind this. I know she is.” Aunt Ginny scanned the auditorium through angry slits.
“I don’t see how she could with a broken collarbone. Of course, you have been baiting her all week with those T-shirts.” I helped her down to a seat while Neil pushed everyone back.
“Let’s give her some space, please. Will someone please get the first aid kit?”
Royce jumped into action and ran to Fiona. “Do you still have those swabs and gauze pads?”
Fiona clutched her purse to her chest. “What?”
Royce fanned his fingers. “In your bag. Come on, Fee. Ginny needs first aid. Now is not the time to be shy about your issues.”
Fiona spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Royce grabbed her purse and ran to Aunt Ginny’s side, fishing around in the flamingo-print tote.
Fiona called after him, “Royce, no!”
He ignored her and dumped the contents. “Hold on, Ginger, I’ll take care of you.” Gauze pads, alcohol wipes, and Band-Aids scattered on the worn, red-velvet seat. Royce grabbed an alcohol wipe, tore it open with his teeth, and dabbed at Aunt Ginny’s forehead. She winced at the icy sting.
I scanned the paraphernalia from Fiona’s purse and didn’t really see anything incriminating to account for the fuss she was making until Neil pointed at the pile. “What are they doing in there?”
Fiona stormed over and grabbed a yellow box. “It’s none of your business. It’s no one’s business.”
Iggy placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “What’s the big deal? So you have colitis. It’s not a crime.”
“Iggy!”
“Not that,” Neil shouted. “That!” He picked up an item and held it out to Fiona. “What are my keys to the equipment room doing in your purse?”
All eyes shot to Fiona.
She sputtered. “What? I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”
Aunt Ginny winced in pain. “I don’t suppose there is a saw in the equipment room, is there?”
Fiona backed away from Neil. “Somebody obviously dropped your keys into my purse. I’ve been sitting in here working on costumes every day since we started this stupid musical. My fingers are practically raw from the sequins. Anyone could have dropped something into my purse when I wasn’t looking.”
Mrs. Sheinberg nodded. “The noodge’s telling the truth. She’s been working next to me every day. She didn’t have time to ransack the toolroom.”
Mrs. Dodson tapped over to Aunt Ginny’s side on her cane while peering at Fiona. “You could have come back up here after hours and done your dirty work.”
“I’ve been home with Royce every night, isn’t that right, Boodaloo?”
Royce looked at the ceiling.
Aunt Ginny held the gauze against her forehead. “You weren’t home with him last night. We were out to dinner until well past ten.”
Iggy put his hands on Fiona’s shoulders. “If you all think my mother is capable of working that machine to sabotage the lights and saw through the backdrops, you’re a bunch of idiots.”
Fiona patted his hand. “Thank you, Iggy.”
Mr. Sheinberg shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey, maybe your mother isn’t the one who took those keys. You look like you’d be able to figure out that contraption. And you’re strong enough to do some damage on the set, eh? I think we should call the cops.”
Fiona’s lip trembled. “I don’t care what you say. My Iggy wouldn’t do something like that. He is home with me every night on his GameBox. You should test those keys for fingerprints. You won’t find mine on there. Or Iggy’s.”
Iggy glared at the group of us. “Go on, call the police. We have nothing to hide. We’re only here to keep an eye on Royce.”
Fiona smacked his arm. “Iggy.”
He spun her around and led her back to her seat. “Well, we are.”
Neil took Aunt Ginny’s hand. “We will get to the bottom of this. Can you tell me what happened, darling? Why were you even over there? That was where Royce was supposed to enter the scene.”
“I don’t know. One minute I was running my lines for act two and the next I was hit on the head. Will I have a scar?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s very superficial.”
“Thank God, I think this is my good side.”
Neil took Aunt Ginny’s hand in his. “If you need to sit this one out, it’s okay. It’s more important to me that you’re safe.”
“No, I think I can manage.”
I looked around and didn’t see Piglet anywhere. “Neil, I saw Terrence Nuttal going backstage before rehearsal began. Do you know what he was doing?”
Neil looked shee
pishly from Aunt Ginny to me. “He said he wanted to inspect the set to be sure it was safe.”
Aunt Ginny deadpanned, “Well, he did a fabulous job.”
“Exactly who is he and why is he here?” I asked.
Neil’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his eyes darted around the theater. “He’s working here.”
Aunt Ginny scrunched up her face. “Doing what? All I’ve seen him do is sit in the back there and frown at rehearsals.”
Neil cleared his throat. “It’s complicated. But you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, don’t you?”
Aunt Ginny blinked a couple of times. “I know that, Neil.”
Neil patted her hand. “Good. I’m going to go check on the backdrop now.” He rejoined Smitty to reinstall the backdrop.
Aunt Ginny slid her eyes to me. “What do you suppose that was about?”
“I don’t know. Did you notice he mentioned that you were hurt where Royce was supposed to be standing?”
“I did catch that.”
Ernie had cornered Royce on the other side of the auditorium. They were sharing a silver flask that Royce was tipping back like water to a desert nomad. Ernie was fast-talking about something and Royce was nodding along with whatever it was.
“Do you think Ernie could be trying to hurt Royce?”
Aunt Ginny shook her head. “But why? You don’t kill your cash cow.”
“Then again, how much do you really know about Royce?”
Aunt Ginny’s eyes were set on fire. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Missy.”
“I’m not suggesting anything. But you haven’t seen Royce in sixty years. How do we know he didn’t tamper with the backdrops one night when he was up here practicing?”
“I know Royce better than that. He would never hurt me. People don’t change that much, Poppy Blossom. And Royce has always been the good sort.”
My eyes followed Terrence Nuttal up to the stage, where he had a camera and started taking pictures of the backdrop.
Blanche had vanished. The biddies had also vanished, but I knew they hadn’t gone far.
“Aunt Ginny, will you be okay if I leave you here for a minute?”
“I’m all right.”
I went onstage and looked at the backdrop Smitty and Neil were trying to repair. I asked Smitty, “What do you think?”
He took his baseball cap off and scratched his bald head. “We’ll have it fixed in a jiff. I’m using screws this time to make it extra sturdy, but that won’t prevent someone from coming in here and making new cuts. Without the stabilizers, anyone could tip the backdrop over with a little force.”
I looked at Terrence Nuttal. “What were you doing back here earlier?”
He turned pink and blinky. “I was inspecting the set to make sure it was safe.”
“And you didn’t notice that someone had sawed through the support braces?”
It was hard to believe, but he turned a deeper shade of pink. “I didn’t notice the cuts. I’m not in the construction business. I was looking for something more obvious.”
“Like what? A bomb? A coyote with an anvil and a sign that says ACME?”
His mouth puckered and he started to sputter. “Now see here, madame.”
“What exactly is your job here, Mr. Nuttal?”
Before he could turn puce or answer my question, the police arrived, and he squirmed away.
Officer Birkwell stood in the center aisle looking around and shaking his head. “We got a call that there has been another accident and someone else is hurt?”
Royce pointed to Aunt Ginny. “My Ginger was nearly crushed.”
Fiona leaped up, “And my brother was next to her when it happened. He was lucky to escape in one piece.”
Aunt Ginny looked from Royce and Fiona to Officer Birkwell. “I’m fine. Just a little banged up, but I’ll live.”
Officer Birkwell walked over to Aunt Ginny to examine her forehead and ask her some questions. SpongeBob crackled to life in my pocket and Mother Gibson’s voice came through like a tire losing air. “Psssssst.”
I looked around until I spotted the biddies peeking out from behind the curtains stage left. Mother Gibson was holding a walkie-talkie shaped like an octopus.
“Pssssssssssssst.”
Mrs. Davis crooked her finger for me to join them.
“What? Ow!”
Mrs. Davis was really strong for a woman of her age. I rubbed my arm where she’d grabbed me and hauled me into a curtain tornado. The four of us stood enshrouded by 360 degrees of red theater curtains.
“Poppy!” Mrs. Dodson shook my wrist. “Do you think Royce dropped those keys in Fiona’s purse when we hauled it over to Ginny?”
All three sets of eyes were looking at me expectantly. “Well, I don’t know. It’s possible. It would have been a good opportunity to cover his tracks if he was the one who had taken them.”
The biddies did not like that answer at all. “We have to protect Ginny. What if he’s the one who pushed Duke off the catwalk?” Mrs. Dodson said.
“He did stay here to run lines when we all went to lunch. And you see where that’s got him.” Mrs. Davis rolled her eyes.
Mother Gibson shook her head. “Uh-uh. I think Fiona stole those keys herself. She been trying to get Royce to quit the play and stay home with her to watch Turner Classic Movies since he got here.”
Mrs. Davis fished a little pink notebook out of her bra and flipped some pages. “Fiona said that Royce was up here practicing late every night. He would have had plenty of time to sabotage the props and the sets.”
I didn’t disagree with them, but I tried to inject a little reason into the conversation all the same. “But why would he do that, ladies? Why join the play only to sabotage it? If Royce wants to ruin the play, all he has to do is drop out.”
Mrs. Dodson shot up her hand. “What if it’s a stunt, for publicity? What if Royce is planning on going back to New York after all and it will be all over the news that his last production was cursed, like The Phantom of the Opera?”
“I have a hard time believing the Senior Center musical would hit the Broadway trade news.”
Officer Birkwell’s voice punctured through our cocoon. “Ladies, you do know those curtains are only going down to your calves, don’t you? I can see your feet.”
The ladies looked to me to come up with a plausible explanation.
I unwound our little group from the curtains to face him. “Hello, Officer Birkwell. We were just doing an acting exercise.”
His mouth was set in a grim little scowl. “Uh-huh. I need the four of you to listen to me very carefully. You seem to be under the misguided notion that you are private investigators. Now don’t give me those innocent looks. I know you’ve been sneaking around, looking into windows, and breaking into offices. It has to stop before someone gets hurt. I know you miss your friend. It was a terrible thing that happened here the other day. If you want, I can arrange for a grief counselor to come in and talk to you.”
Mrs. Dodson looked down her nose. “We don’t need a grief counselor. What we need is a police investigation. What are you doing about all the accidents that keep happening?”
“And the sabotage,” Mrs. Davis added.
“Those can all be chalked up to old equipment and human error.”
Mother Gibson gave him a look you would give your child caught in a lie. “And the threats?”
Officer Birkwell shifted on his feet. “Mr. Hansen has decided not to file an official complaint. Now please, leave the police work to the professionals before one of you ends up injured or arrested. And Poppy, Officer Fenton told me to tell you: if there are any more complaints registered, she’s holding you personally responsible.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I wish the drive home from the Senior Center took longer, because a few blocks did not give me enough time to cool off. Who did Amber think she was? Threatening to hold me responsible if these ladies get any more c
omplaints. I can barely control myself, let alone a group of stubborn biddies who have their minds made up. In their heads, those ladies were conducting an FBI sting rivaling that of capturing Osama Bin Laden, and they were going to get their man.
If truth be told, I was more concerned about Royce and his relationship with Aunt Ginny than anything else. I didn’t want to see her get hurt. She was so trusting that he was the same man she fell in love with when she was sixteen. How can you expect to know a person after so much time has passed? People change. And there was something not quite right about Royce. Of course, people could say the same thing about Aunt Ginny, but she was just a little eccentric. At least that was my take on things.
I pulled into the CVS parking lot and pulled out my cell phone. Royce said he’d just finished doing a run of A Christmas Carol and he was fabulous. Was he Hugh Jackman fabulous or the kind of fabulous I am when I sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in the car? I needed to confer with the internet.
I found a few reviews for Royce’s most recent play online that ranged from eight to ten stars. Playbill gave a favorable report of Royce’s “avant-garde rendition of Ebenezer Scrooge with a side of Hamlet.” Variety said, “Royce Hansen does it again and freshens up a Christmas classic with a keen mash-up and brilliantly delivered satire.” And the New York Theatre Guide claimed “All we want for Christmas is Royce Hansen as Julius Caesar Scrooge. Brilliant!”
Then there was a rough review from the New York Times. “Don’t mess with the classics.” And one from the New York Post, “Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare should rise from their graves and come back to haunt Royce Hansen for desecrating their works.” Ouch. It was obvious that Royce had been influenced by his time with the Royal Shakespeare Company. Was he reliving the glory days? Or did he even realize it was happening?
I was starving. I had a salad covered with almonds and tears of disappointment hours ago and the satisfaction lasted about as long as it took me to notice Smitty eating a Wawa hot dog. I could see the candy aisle in the CVS from the car. Across the street was a gourmet cheese shop and behind me was a bakery. It was like being in the first level of Dante’s Hell with the little old ladies who brought store-bought pies to the church bake-off.
