by Ella White
“Well, I worked with Tim about two years ago. That was the same time he got another part over Jason. The two were always competitive, but no matter how hard Jason tried, the trustees always preferred Tim, so there was quite an uproar.”
“What sort of uproar?” Lydia asked.
“Well, they always fought,” Delilah said with a smile. “There was never anything physical, but as you can imagine, actors need to have a way with words, so they just constantly exchanged witty banter.”
“How can witty banter lead to an uproar?”
“That’s the thing. They had the entire cast taking sides until the animosity led to physical acts of harm between some members. I even had to call a meeting with everyone once to settle the issue. If Jenny was here, she would have told you the same.”
“Jenny was there?” Lydia asked.
“Oh yes, she was the one who led the feud against Tim with Jason. She tried to convince me to fire Tim, but he was the money horse and the trustees demanded that we keep him. You see, not only was he the better actor, but he was also the more popular one.”
“I didn’t know all that,” Lydia replied, fitting the new information into the scheme of things.
“Well, the whole feud blew over by the time the show ended, and we all parted ways swearing to never work together again. That’s why I was surprised when both Jenny and Jason applied to this show when they knew that Tim had been chosen to do the lead role.”
“You’re saying that the two of them knew that Tim would be here but decided to take the job regardless?” Lydia watched Delilah’s expressions carefully in an attempt to decipher whether or not she was telling the truth.
“As I said, it was beyond strange.”
Lydia continued asking various questions about the cast, but she quickly realized that her train of enquiry had run its course. She checked her watch and was surprised to find it was almost noon. She texted Gwen to ask if she wanted to go with her to speak to Jenny in her hotel room on her lunch break. They agreed on a meeting place, and Lydia went to pick her up.
“You look as if you’ve had an eventful morning,” Gwen joked, when she hopped into the passenger seat. “I hope it has nothing to do with Charles’ chocolates.”
Lydia ignored Gwen’s playful banter.
“I thought I told you to dress in something more flattering for these interviews,” Gwen scolded her. “Actors love talking to pretty people.”
“There is no way I’m letting possible killers feel attracted to me. It’s just weird,” protested Lydia.
“Well, there are also possible husbands to be lurking around too,” Gwen chuckled, poking Lydia's side.
“Yeah, as if I need more of those added to the list my mother has already dreamed up.”
“Well, she does have a point. Even I have a boyfriend.”
“Long distance relationships do not count!” Lydia said ludicrously. “I mean, you only see the guy what? Once a year?”
“Once a month,” Gwen retorted, opening a bag of chips and offering some to Lydia who shrugged in refusal. “Plus it’s once more than you get any good loving.”
Lydia laughed.
“He buys you chocolate and then you two happily retreat to your separate abodes to sleep!”
“Well, the chocolate is good,” Gwen mumbled.
The ladies pulled up at the Movine Hotel, where the out of town actors were being housed for the duration of the play. The place was high end and most likely the most expensive place in town to stay.
“You have her room number?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah, this says she stays here with one of the intern actors.”
“Intern actors?”
“Yeah. They’re called in for special cases when small role actors drop out. Builds experience, I’m told,” said Lydia.
“Was she there that night?”
“No, she had been home. The entire cast was set, and barring death, the interns would not have been used. Apparently, the interns took that day to relax.”
“This should be an interesting conversation,” replied Gwen.
They took the elevator to the third floor where Jenny was staying. Checking the numbers on the doors, they finally came to the right one and knocked. The door swung open, but it was not Jenny at the door, but an equally young and fresh faced girl who looked as if she belonged on catalogue pages rather than the big stage.
“You must be Dillon,” Gwen said, reaching out her hand. “I’m Gwen with the Town Gazette, and this is my friend Lydia.”
This is how they usually did it. Gwen could get a lot of doors open, but it was unlikely that anyone would invite a flower shop owner into their home to conduct interviews or investigations.
“Hi. Are you here about Tim’s murder?” she asked as she let them in.
“Yes. We were hoping to talk to Jenny. Is she here?”
“Oh yeah, she just went downstairs to pick up some coffee,” Dillon said, leading them to an impressively decorated sitting room. As they were waiting for Jenny, Gwen decided to get into it.
“So what do you remember from that night?”
“I had been working with the cast all day. It was particularly strenuous, seeing that it was the last week of rehearsal and Delilah wanted to get everything right. She kept reprimanding Tim for his attitude, which I must tell you was terrible,” she pointed out.
“What do you mean, ‘terrible’?” Lydia asked.
“Well, he is generally courteous and polite to everyone once the rehearsals are done, but on stage he throws fits of tantrums, and he gets disrespectful, especially to Delilah. Most of the cast chooses to ignore it, but Jason and Jenny have always complained about it.”
“Did they seem more agitated than usual that day?”
“Well, tempers were high. I mean, it’s the last week before the production, so most people are on edge. I believe there was even a point where Delilah offered to have Tim thrown out on his ass,” Dillon laughed.
“Wow!” remarked Gwen, who was thrilled at the juicy information she was getting. “So you guys got to take that night off from rehearsals?”
“It was a full day. The only persons who remained for the night rehearsal were the main actors and a few supporting. They spent that time perfecting lines and blocking, so there was no need for us to be there,” Dillon shrugged.
“What did you do that night?” Gwen asked, as Lydia took careful notes.
“I was out with the rest of the supporting cast. They had planned for weeks to have a crash night before the production, so we went out and everyone got wasted. I didn’t really drink much, since I was the designated driver.”
“What time did you get in?”
“I got in about 10:30 or somewhere near there.”
“Did you see Jenny when you got home?”
“Oh no, we don’t usually get in from rehearsal until eleven.”
“Did she get in around the usual time?”
“She was a bit late, but when she came she looked excited, and she had takeout.”
“How late was she?”
“About thirty minutes,” Dillon stopped. “Wait, you don’t think she did it, do you?”
“We’re just trying to find out the truth,” Gwen responded, reaching out a comforting hand. “Tell us what happened when the police came here.”
“Well, they asked to talk to me, so they took me down to the station. I was nervous, but it’s not like I did it or anything, I have a hundred people who can confirm where I was.”
“Yes, and when you got there, did they ask you questions about Jenny?”
“Yeah, that’s all they kept asking,” Dillon said, a bit annoyed. “They told me to describe her when she got home and to recall if anything was off or even if she was a bit late.”
“And what did they say?” Gwen asked inquisitively.
“They said they had enough to not consider her a suspect of interest anymore.”
“How did that make you feel?” Gwen asked, her voice taking on a mot
herly tone, which always worked in situations like these when the interviewee relied heavily on their emotions to make decisions.
Just then, the door opened and all conversation stopped. Lydia felt as if her heart had climbed up into her throat.
“Dillon!” Jenny called from the foyer.
“In here,” Dillon yelled.
Jenny entered the sitting room carrying two cups of coffee and a box of doughnuts.
“Hey, Jenny,” said Dillon. “I was just talking to this journalist about what happened that night Tim died.”
Jenny stopped for a minute and looked at Lydia.
“Wait, aren’t you the flower shop lady? Why are you here asking questions about a murder?”
“Just helping a friend out,” Gwen chimed in. “I needed a ride over here and she was in the area.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Jenny hesitantly. “You have some questions for me?” Jenny asked, handing Dillon a coffee and sitting across from them.
“Yeah, I just wanted to know what happened that night,” responded Gwen. “The Gazette wants to do something special in the paper since he died here and all.”
“Well, I’ll tell you just like I told the chief. Rehearsal ended, I left and went to get some take out, and then I came home.”
“In that exact order?” Lydia asked skeptically. “Many of the actors remember seeing you there on their way out, which would make it seem that you hung around much longer than just to the end of rehearsal.”
“Well, I had a few things to take care of before I left,” Jenny muttered.
“Like?” prodded Gwen.
“Like packing up my costumes and retracting my stage steps,” Jenny said, slightly exasperated. She began to look very uncomfortable.
Lydia was certain that she was hiding something.
“Then you went to get take out,” Lydia added before Jenny could shut down.
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
“Ugh, the Vietnamese place around the corner.”
“How long do you remember staying?”
“Um, I’m not sure,” sighed Jenny heavily.
Something was wrong.
“I think you should leave now,” Jenny blurted out, suddenly standing up. “If you need any more information from me about that night, you can go to the police chief. I gave him my statement.”
“Yes, thank you for your help,” said Gwen, slightly confused. “We will be sure to add all the information you have given us in our article.” Lydia and Gwen bid their goodbyes and quickly made their exit from the apartment.
As Lydia walked out of the hotel lobby, she grabbed her phone and called the station. She wasn’t lucky enough to get connected to the chief today, so she had to wait five minutes to get through all the different transfers. By the time she had him on the phone, she had gotten to her car and started it.
“Hello. Chief Wyatt.”
“Hi, chief. It’s me, Lydia White,” she said carefully, knowing that she was still not on good terms with the chief.
“Ah, Lydia, the aspiring sleuth,” he said mockingly. “What is it now?”
“What can you tell me about the interview you had with Dillon, the roommate of Jenny Simpson?”
“It happened,” he said roughly. “That’s all I can tell you. Now why don’t you head on back to what you were doing and leave the police work for the real police?”
“I would love to, but I see what I’m doing as my duty as a citizen to protect myself, my family, and those I love.”
“Well, since you’re so bent on knowing, we talked to her about her roommate. As it turns out, the girl came in the same time she did every night and as an added bonus, she had takeout with her.”
“Did you check out her alibi?” Lydia asked, highly aware of the Chief’s laziness and incompetence.
“I didn’t need to. The boxes were in the bin. I mean, how much more proof do you need than that?”
“I think I would rather have been sure, if I was the chief detective of an ongoing murder investigation,” she retorted.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not the chief,” he spat before promptly hanging up.
Lydia smiled. She had a strange relationship with the chief. She wanted him to do the right thing and carry out the investigations properly or at least hire someone to do it, but the man wanted to do everything within the force. She was convinced that if he could make a hundred copies of himself and send them out into the district, he probably would.
“That didn’t sound good,” Gwen muttered.
“You can say that again,” chuckled Lydia. “He insists on handling this as if he were in the middle ages. I don’t even think he thought to check with the restaurant to see if they had any tapes with Jenny entering and leaving at the times she said she had.”
“Well, when the cops fail, in come the sleuth sisters!” chimed Gwen. “Ah no, that won’t work. I’ll keep working on a name. It needs to fit you, me, and your mother.”
“I look forward to hearing all about it,” Lydia responded sarcastically.
They drove a few blocks towards the theatre, then rerouted themselves to stop right in front of the Vietnamese restaurant Jenny said she had visited.
“This is the only one between her apartment and the theatre,” noted Gwen.
They both got out of the car and walked in. The place was mostly empty except for a few people eating and chatting idly in a few booths on the side.
“You know, since this is supposed to be my lunch break, I should probably get lunch while we’re here,” Gwen joked.
“Okay, but let’s see if this place has any footage of their customers first.”
They walked up to the cashier who was busily texting on her phone. She looked up as they approached.
“Hello, ladies. How can I help you today?”
“I’m not sure if you can help us, actually,” Gwen stated, once again taking the lead.
“Okay, let me go and get my manager then,” the girl replied, turning before they could say anything else. A few moments later, a man they both assumed to be her manager walked through the back door. He appeared to be Vietnamese, which made the restaurant a bit more authentic in their eyes.
“Hi, ladies. My cashier said you two needed my help,” he said, speaking with an American accent.
“Hi, yes. My name is Parker, and I’m with the Gazette doing an investigation on the death of Tim Maddow.”
“Oh yes, yes,” he said, shaking his head. “That poor actor who died on his set a few days ago. Tragic.”
“Yes,” Gwen continued, playing off of his knowledge of the event and his obvious sympathy. “We actually have reason to believe that the killer stopped by your restaurant after committing the murder.”
The man’s hand flew to his mouth.
“My restaurant!” he exclaimed. “That’s impossible!”
“Well, it just might be. It’s just that we’ve been having a bit of trouble confirming it. We were wondering if you could make a copy of your security tapes from the past week and send it to us,” Lydia said, stepping forward with a smile on her face.
The manager hesitated for a moment.
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh my,” Gwen sighed. “I guess we’ll never catch the killer now.”
She batted her eyes at him and pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. Shrugging, she began to turn away. Lydia knew this trick all too well. Her friend was going to play with this man’s emotions to get him to give her what she wanted.
“I don’t think I could get it to you right away,” he stammered, “but if you give me a few hours, I’ll have it delivered to your office.”
Gwen burst into her gracious smile, which was usually bright enough to rival the stars.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” she cooed. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my article.”
This made the manager’s face light up.
“Well, thank you very much, Miss Parker,” he exclaimed.
Five minutes later the two women walked to Lydia’s car weighed down with enough food to feed a small army.
“What are you going to do with all this food?” Lydia asked laughing.
“I have no idea. Hopefully no one at work has eaten lunch yet or have any dinner plans.”
Lydia couldn’t contain herself and laughed.
“I better get you back before you have to bribe your boss with Asian food.”
“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Gwen giggled.
Lydia dropped Gwen off at her office and helped her unload the boxes of food before she left.
“Just come by later so we can go over the tape. Who knows what might be on it,” Lydia said before heading back to the flower shop.
Back at the shop, Barbara walked out onto the floor to help Charles prepare the wedding arrangements.
“So how’s the prep coming?” she asked.
“It’s going great. I have the bouquet and the corsages done. I’m just prepping the rest for when Lydia gets back.”
“Lord knows how long that will take,” Barbara sighed. “Have you seen the cat?”
“Oh yeah, I just fed him. He should be hanging out somewhere around here.”
Just then there was a loud crash from the flower room.
“I’ll bet you ten dollars that’s cat related,” groaned Barbara.
“It’s not a fair bet if you already know the answer,” Charles said as he rushed to the flower room.
When they entered the flower room, they found an overturned mixing bowl on the ground.
“I think we have an interesting cat burglar case,” Barbara surmised.
“A cat burglar?” Charles asked, a glint of laughter in his eyes.
“You know, ‘the cat who burgles.’”
Before Charles had any time to comment, the bowl moved.
“Ah, trapped cat,” Barbara cried.
Charles laughed at how ridiculous the old lady could be.
“Do you think we should let her out or let him stew in there for her bad behavior?”
“You two better let my cat out,” warned Lydia.
Barbra and Charles froze and turned to find her leaning against the door panel.
“Fine,” Barbara mumbled, going over to trapped victim to uncover him and pick him up. “Little Melvin here has once again gotten himself into some trouble.”
