by Jane Tesh
“Sort of.” Lennox moved another stack of papers so he could lean his arms on his desk. “We went to college together right here at UNC-P, but over the years, we’d lost touch. The folks at Little Theater called me to direct Arsenic, but nobody showed up at auditions who looked anything like Teddy. Then I remembered George and his moustache and gave him a call. Teddy’s an easy role, lots of fun.”
I thought of George scowling in the cast picture. “Did he enjoy it?”
Lennox rubbed his chin. “Not really. I’m not sure what he expected. If you haven’t done a play before, you don’t realize what a commitment it can be. Blocking is a tedious process, rehearsals can go on much longer than you planned, and of course, sometimes you get a fractious cast.”
“Is that what happened?”
“My two leading ladies, Viola and Millicent, were divas, and George didn’t help matters. I should have remembered from our college days that he thought he was God’s gift to women.”
“But he wasn’t successful?”
“Not in college and not during the show. He always tried too hard. No one in the cast liked him. It got to where he wouldn’t come to rehearsals. He did the show, though, and did as well as I could’ve wanted. That’s the last I saw of him.”
“Did you know his plans for a new face cream for BeautiQueen cosmetics?”
“I knew he worked for a cosmetic company. He seemed to think that would impress the ladies.”
“But he didn’t tell you his ideas?”
“He bragged about revolutionizing the world of makeup. I didn’t pay him any attention. I just wanted him to know his cues. I remember one night Viola threatened to quit if he didn’t straighten up. Usually nothing kept her off that stage. She was a trouper.”
It was beginning to sound like Viola would’ve killed George, if she wasn’t already dead. “Besides Viola, do you recall anyone having a serious quarrel with George?”
“No, but he didn’t make any friends.” He pulled out his desk drawer. I expected papers to fly out in all directions, but he reached in and brought out a folder, which he searched through until he found what he wanted. “Here’s a picture of the cast.”
This was different from the one I’d seen. Viola and Millicent Crotty stood side by side. They wore long old fashioned dresses and shawls, Viola towering over the shorter, stouter Millicent. Both had on little lace caps and looked a hundred years old. There was George in his Teddy Roosevelt outfit, a younger man in a suit, and a pretty young woman. The stage manager’s girl friend, I guessed. There was an actor dressed as a policeman, someone who looked like a mad scientist, and a looming man in dark clothes who reminded me of Frankenstein.
“I understand this play is about two little old ladies who murder people with poisoned wine.”
“Yes, they think they’re doing a kindness to lonely old men. Their nephew finds out about all the bodies buried in the cellar and hilarity ensues.”
“You realize Viola was poisoned with wine and buried in her basement.”
“A very sick joke. You think it was someone in the cast?”
“Someone who knew the play, for sure. I need the names of all these people.”
Lennox had a cast list in the folder, including their contact information. Besides Viola, Millicent, and George, there were eight names. “We kept losing cast members for one reason or another, so the fellow playing Reverend Harper also played Mr. Gibbs, and the fellow playing Mr. Witherspoon played Officer O’Hara. Then I had to fill in as Officer Brophy because the actor got another role and decided not to honor his obligation to our show.”
Eight people, all of whom had good reason to hate George McMillan and possibly Viola Mitchell, as well. “Can I have a copy of this list?”
“I’ll make you a copy.”
Lennox went down the hall to the copy machine. When he came back, he handed me my copy. “If I were you, I’d start with Millicent Crotty. She’ll tell you George was unprofessional and a pest. I had to hear her say that a thousand times.”
***
“Unprofessional and a pest,” Millicent Crotty said when I called her from my car. I had to explain who I was twice, but she still didn’t remember me calling to ask about Viola. In this case, her memory loss worked to my advantage, because she didn’t remember refusing to talk to me, either. She did remember George and gave me an earful. “I’ve worked with amateurs before, and he was by far the worst. What’s he done now?”
“I’m investigating his alleged suicide.” If I thought that would make her pause, I was wrong.
“I’m not in the least surprised. He was obviously an unhappy man.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“He was incredibly moody. He got upset if we didn’t laugh at his crappy jokes. He was always bragging about his work at that cosmetics company as if his ideas were going to save the world. And he actually thought I would go out with him! I set him straight. He tried that nonsense with Viola, too, and she was pushing seventy at the time. You’d think the smell of those cats would’ve put him off, but no, he kept pestering her. Even though she said she never took her costume home, I swear I could smell cat on it. She’d lived with the damned things so long, they all smelled the same. I don’t know what happened to the cats. She was probably buried with them, like some Egyptian queen.”
“About George,” I said.
“I certainly tried at first to help the man. I showed him how to project and keep himself open to the audience and how to properly apply stage makeup, if you can believe that. You’d think he’d know something about makeup since he was such a big shot at BeautiQueen! I told Wesley Lennox I didn’t care if McMillan was a friend of his. He’d better not cast him in any show I was in ever again.”
She sounded as if she could continue like this for the rest of the day. I waited until she took a breath and changed the subject. “Mrs. Crotty, when was the last time you saw Viola?”
“That was Wednesday night after rehearsal. I gave her a ride home.”
“Did she have any enemies, anyone who might want to harm her?”
“Viola had an abrupt manner and always spoke her mind, but she was never cruel to anyone. Her murder shocked everyone in the theater community.”
“Were you aware her death was arranged like the plot of Arsenic and Old Lace?”
“Poisoned wine and buried in the cellar. Someone out there is very disturbed.”
“Someone who knew the play.”
There was a brief silence on Millicent’s end of the line. “Aside from McMillan, the cast was very congenial and supportive. We had several folks quit, and other cast members stepped up and took extra parts. Even Lennox had to take a lead.”
“I understand you’ve taken Viola’s part in My Fair Lady.”
“Yes, and don’t go thinking for one minute I coveted that part! It was Viola’s from day one of auditions, and I never begrudged her that. She was perfect for the role. We never fought over any part in any play. She was very tall, you see, and I’m short and plump. Directors are always looking for certain physical types. Henry Higgins’ mother needed to be tall and imposing. I’m neither. They’re just going to have to deal with that. But no matter what happens, the show must go on.”
Once Millicent began talking theater stuff, it was hard to get in a word, but I managed to ask about all the other people in Lennox’s production. She’d worked with most of them and gave me succinct views on their appearances and their characters, both on stage and off. Everyone had loved Viola, so Millicent was certain I could mark them off the suspect list for Viola’s murder.
“And as for McMillan, I would say the men tolerated him, and that lovely little girl playing Elaine laughed off his advances. Her boyfriend was our stage manager, so George didn’t try anything with her. After a while, he stopped coming to rehearsals, and as far as I was concerned, the problem was solved.”
>
“But he did the show.”
“Oh, yes, he did every single performance and didn’t miss a line or an entrance, not that Teddy has a lot to do.”
I thanked Millicent for her time and all the information and managed to hang up without cutting off another stream of backstage gossip. Next I called the man who had played Mortimer Brewster, the lead, then the two villains of the play, and the man who had filled two parts. All told me abbreviated versions of Millicent’s story. Viola had been a tough old gal, a real queen of the theater, someone they respected. They were very sorry she was dead and hoped I could catch her murderer. George McMillan was full of himself, cocky, and at first, they feared he was unreliable. But he’d come through and done the part, so they didn’t consider him a total loss.
“Sometimes in community theater you have to take whatever you can get,” the man who had played Dr. Einstein said. “You get people who’ve never been up in front of a crowd before and they freeze on stage. You get people who drink and fool around backstage and walk right through the scenery. You get people who fall into the orchestra pit. I’ve seen it all. McMillan didn’t bother me.”
Since I’d seen a similar incident during the performance of My Fair Lady, I knew what he was talking about. As for George’s performance, there was a general consensus among the actors I talked with. He did his job. They’d worked with worse. Why would any of them track down George, travel to Florida, and shoot him?
***
I returned to 302 Grace to review what I had so far. George McMillan, failed pickup artist, tried to sell a secret face cream formula to rival companies, then stole BeautiQueen money and ran off to Florida where, tired of being a screwup and filled with remorse over his evil deeds, supposedly committed suicide. So far, I didn’t have much of a case.
Rufus clumped by the office door on his way to the porch. He had a beer in one hand and a kitten in the other. “How’re things goin’?”
“Not real good. You leave any beer?”
“Yeah, there’s a couple.”
I joined Rufus on the porch. Over the dim rush of traffic noise from Food Row, we could hear a chorus of little frogs cheeping from the park. The kitten snuggled in Rufus’s huge hand and began to purr.
“How’s your house hunting going?” I asked.
Rufus shifted the wad of tobacco to his other cheek. “We’ve ‘bout decided on the one on River Street. It needs work, but Cam said he’d help out. ’Course it don’t seem like he’s gonna be available to do repairs if he calls off the wedding. Ellin’ll stomp a mud hole in him and walk him dry.”
“I think he’ll reconsider.”
“Don’t know what’s going on around here. Him and Ellin, Charlie and Taffy, Charlie and Kary.”
Even though Rufus isn’t psychic, he seems to know everything that happens in the house. “Don’t start.”
“Somebody needs to, and it ain’t me. When the wind blows hard enough, even turkeys can fly.”
I stared at him for a minute and then had to laugh. “Damn, where do you come up with these sayings?”
“Don’t come up with them, Yankee boy. Everybody round here knows ’em.”
“I never hear Camden talking like that.”
“That’s cause he didn’t have the proper raising.” He took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bet he knows some, though.”
The spider up in the corner had snagged a fat moth. Rufus gestured to the web. “Wonder if Cam knows what he’s getting into. Never can see his future, you know.”
I can’t see my future, either. I’m not sure I want to. “It’s what he’s always wanted. A home, a family.” That’s what I wanted, too.
“Yeah. Guess that’s what everybody wants.” When a car drove up with Ellin’s sisters waving out the windows, he grinned. “Now here’s some gals who know how to have fun. Oughta get yourself hitched to one of them.”
Caroline and Sandra got out of their car and bounded up the porch steps.
Caroline said, “David, you’re the very man we want to see.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“This is serious. Hi, Rufus.”
He touched the brim of his cap. “Afternoon, ladies.”
I offered my rocking chair, but Caroline sat on the swing, and Sandra sat on the railing. She leaned closer.
“What’s all this with Cam calling off the wedding? Does he have a death wish?”
I’d been wondering when the sisters would hear the news. “He’s a little edgy, that’s all.”
“Ellin hired you to straighten him out, so do it.”
“I’m working on it.”
“And his bachelor party? Have you planned that yet?”
“No, I hadn’t thought that far.”
Caroline reached over to punch my arm. “Do we have to do everything?”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”
“I got that under control,” Rufus said.
“Then it ought to be legendary. No, really, David, what’s the problem?”
I didn’t see any reason not to tell them an abbreviated version. “Okay, it’s like this. Camden’s having a little trouble controlling a certain element of his talent. He’s afraid to pass this on to his children. I’ve tried to explain to him that if he does have psychic kids, he can help them understand what’s going on.”
“And Ellin can exploit them on TV.”
“Exactly. Once he’s calmed down, he’ll be fine. He loves Ellin. He’s not going to let her get away.”
The sisters exchanged a glance. Sometimes I think they’re psychic. “We’ve never seen Ellin so upset,” Sandra said. “We had to come see what was going on. Is Cam here?”
“He’s taking a nap,” Rufus said. “Got another show tonight.”
Caroline got up. “We came to warn him that Mother plans to stop by later. She’s not pleased.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“We could only distract her for so long. There was a screwup with the church fellowship hall being booked for a reunion the same time as the reception, so that kept her busy for a while, but now she’s out for his blood.”
Sandra checked her watch. “We’ve got to go change the ring bearer’s pillow. It’s the wrong shade of green.”
“Ring bearer? I thought Ellin didn’t want any kids in the wedding.”
The sisters shared an evil grin. “She doesn’t,” Caroline said. “See you later!”
Rufus chuckled as the sisters drove off. “Them two’s got more than their share of sass.” He shifted the kitten to his other hand where it promptly attacked his thumb. “And speaking of sass, we gotta find homes for these little monsters. Why don’t you take care of that? Maybe that Folly woman would take one.”
“She would if it was peach-colored.”
“What about your other clients? They likely to take one?”
I didn’t think Charlie would be a responsible pet owner. Lucy Warner, however, even though she wasn’t a client, might be a very good choice. “I’ve recently met someone who loves animals. She has a doberman, though.”
Rufus shook the kitten off his thumb. “Damn. I think this one could hold its own.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Ding, dong, the bells are gonna chime.”
Around noon, I decided to take a break from the alien casseroles and have a peanut butter sandwich. Camden got up from his nap in time to join me and Rufus in the kitchen for lunch.
I tossed him the jar of peanut butter. “The sisters came by to tell you Mom is on the warpath.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Rufus and I can probably smuggle you out of the country.”
“No, thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He made a sandwich and brought it to the counter where Rufus was chowing down on what looked like a ham and potato casserole. “There�
�s still some of that left?”
Rufus swallowed. “And a couple more in the freezer. This one’s not too bad. Got something in it I don’t quite recognize, but it’s good and chewy.”
Which was why I opted for peanut butter. I sat down at the counter. “I talked with Wesley Lennox this morning. He confirms that George was a lousy actor and even lousier with the ladies. Then I finally got in touch with Millicent Crotty. She’d still be griping about him if I hadn’t hung up. Other cast members confirm what she told me.”
Rufus took another big spoonful of casserole. “Sounds like this guy was universally disliked.”
Camden and I both paused. My eyebrows went up. “‘Universally’?”
“Reckon that earns me ten points.”
“Nice one, Rufus.”
“Was gonna use unequivocally, but that’d just be showin’ off.”
Camden passed me the chips. “So what’s next?”
“I’ve got some more cosmetics companies to talk to and Drug Palace patrol.” And I’ve got to get Charlie and Taffy back together, I added to myself, although I’m sure Camden heard me. “And there’s the little matter of my other client and her Case of the Reluctant Bridegroom.”
“I’ll work it out.”
Rufus spoke through a mouthful of casserole. “What’s the problem? Afraid she’ll go nuts ‘bout you movin’ stuff around?”
Again we both stared at him.
He wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “I live here, you know.”
“Rufus, when did you see me moving stuff around?”
“Wasn’t you sleepwalkin’ last night?”
Camden looked wary. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”
“It was either you or Casper the Friendly Ghost. You walked right past my door, and all these little things was followin’ you. Coupla of magazines, a plastic cup, some of Ellin’s seashells. I turned you around and sent you and your parade back upstairs.”
“You’re sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“Not the way Angie was snorin’ last night. I was wide awake, but you weren’t. Ellin’s bound to see something like that sooner or later. Might as well come clean. Sure, she’ll want you on that show of hers, but you’ve held out so far.”
