Despite the director’s fifty years, he projected a certain boyishness, which Rex attributed to the barely greying mop of dark hair and widely set brown eyes. Above these grew a pair of thick eyebrows with a few stray white hairs straggling at the outer edges.
Penny filled the silence by asking Rex if he would like milk and sugar in his tea, and then left to fetch another cup for herself. Rex explained that he had stopped by to return the DVD of the dress rehearsal.
“How was it?” Tony asked, balancing his teacup and saucer on raised knees. “I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Very professional, but rather poignant under the circumstances. Cassie looked so vibrant, as though she had the whole world at her feet.”
Penny went to sit beside Tony on the low sofa.
“She had an aura about her,” Tony agreed. “Cassie was one of those people you just enjoy being around.”
“Hard to believe that only two days later the lass would be dead, let alone through suicide.”
“You just never know,” Tony murmured, contemplating his teacup.
At this rather enigmatic statement, Rex glanced at Penny, who gave him a tiny shake of her head as though in warning.
“Mr. Graves is helping the police,” she said in the awkward pause that ensued. “He’s a private detective when he’s not prosecuting criminals at the High Court in Edinburgh.”
“I’m not acting in any official capacity,” Rex hastened to add. “I just happened to be attending the opening night with my wife.”
“Helen kindly drove me home last night.” Penny turned to Rex. “We’re all going to miss her so much at the school.”
Meanwhile, Tony had been nodding mutely at his teacup. Rex despaired that he was going to get anything out of him. The director acted as though he was the only person affected by Cassie’s death. In fact, he had been the only one involved in the play not to stay behind the previous evening, having been sedated by a paramedic and taken home.
“Was it you who recorded the dress rehearsal, Tony?” Rex asked politely.
Tony looked up in surprise. “No, I was watching with Penny from the front row. It was probably Bill or Ben.”
“Ben gave me the DVD,” Penny said. “I haven’t had a chance to see it yet. The actual rehearsal went off without a hitch and we all went off to the pub to celebrate.” Her face crumpled and she looked as though she might cry. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the coffee table and quickly dabbed under her eyes.
Tony started to reach out to her but changed his mind, returning his hand to his lap. Rex was getting the distinct impression he was in the way, and he deposited his teacup in preparation to leave. First, though, there was something else he needed to ask the director.
“Regarding the stage curtains, do you know who closed them last night at the end of the first act?”
“That would have been Bill.”
“And you were where at the time, if I might ask?”
“Backstage, sitting at the table in the cubbyhole under the stairs. I was working on some lesson plans in an effort to distract myself. I was probably as jittery as the actors. When they all came offstage and gave me the thumbs-up, I breathed a sigh of relief. Act One was almost over, and Cassie didn’t have any more lines. I really thought it would be plain sailing from there.” Tony bit down on his lip, staring morosely at his cup.
“Was Ron Wade among the actors coming offstage?”
“I think so. His job was over for the first act.”
“Is it possible you might have missed any unusual comings and goings while you were preparing your lessons?” Rex pursued.
Tony sat back on the settee and stared over Rex’s head, his symmetrical face skewed in an expression of concentration. “I was facing the back of the stage keeping an ear cocked for any pauses in the dialogue. Ron was prompting, but he’s not always very quick off the mark. Usually one of the actors improvises if someone freezes up. But it all seemed to be going well. No, I didn’t hear or see anyone go up the steps, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“And at the time of the shooting, were you still at the table?”
The director bent double over his cup, as though afflicted by physical pain. Penny grasped his hand, and he answered hoarsely, “Yes, and I heard the shot, of course, but I had no idea what it was. I thought maybe one of the speakers in the fly space had crashed to the floor. At that point, I looked around for Ben, but remembered he had left with Bill for a smoke. Oh! So maybe Bill didn’t operate the curtains after all. Anyway, I opened the dressing room door. Trey was there fixing his stage makeup and I asked if he had heard the noise, and he said he had. That’s when he went up to the stage and found Cassie.”
“Who else was backstage with you when the shot rang out?”
“The male detectives,” Tony replied, straightening up again. “Except for Timothy Holden, who plays Father Brown. A couple of them were on their phones making it difficult to concentrate on my work. And Christopher, the butler, was on the steps, knocking back gin from a flask. I wasn’t too worried at that point because he didn’t have much to do in Acts Two and Three. By the time I spoke to Trey, Christopher and the others had already gone up the stairs to investigate. Trey pushed past them, and I followed. The rest of the cast and crew returned in dribs and drabs after that. That’s all I can remember, really. It’s almost word for word what I told Inspector Fiske.”
Rex nodded in thanks and smiled at Penny. “I should really get going. I have to drop some stuff off at Oxfam. Incidentally, I don’t suppose either of you have any use for an old VCR Helen is getting rid of ?”
They shook their heads. Penny rose from the settee. “Such a hassle, moving; isn’t it? I had a lot of stuff to bring over from Paris.”
“At least most of the furniture is staying.” Rex got up too, and Tony noticeably relaxed as they exchanged farewell greetings.
“Did you get the information you wanted?” Penny asked in a low voice when she and Rex reached the hall.
“Not sure,” he replied truthfully.
She accompanied him out the front door and into the soft morning sunshine. “Tony lost a sister to suicide,” she confided. “That’s what I was trying to signal to you. It’s a touchy subject.”
“No wonder he was so upset last night.”
“Yes, it must have brought it all back. And I was afraid he would suffer another anxiety attack just now.”
“When did it happen? The sister’s suicide, I mean.”
Penny walked him to Helen’s car. “When she was eighteen. It was just before her A Levels. A long time ago, but, still.”
“The pressure of exams?”
“Tony didn’t say. Only that she took an overdose of sleeping pills and no one found her in time. Tony had to break the news to their parents who were away in Spain. He felt responsible because he was supposed to be looking after her.”
Rex gave a low whistle. “I see.”
“He told me this morning. I think Cassie reminded him of Gisella, and that’s why he took her death so hard.” Penny gazed at the gravel at her feet. “I thought he was smitten by Cassie. Now I know it was something else.” She looked wistful, almost hopeful, and Rex understood better the feeling he’d had in the sitting room of interrupting something between her and Tony.
“Cassie’s death may not have been a suicide,” he pointed out. “You said so yourself.”
“I think, either way, Tony feels he should have been better able to protect her. I suppose we all feel that way. She was the youngest member of the cast. Not that she wasn’t mature for her age. She was. But if she didn’t shoot herself, who did? I almost find the idea of murder harder to contemplate. I mean, who would do such a thing? I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“Were you able to come to any conclusions?”
Penny tilted her head, causing her loose knot of dar
k hair to slip to one side. She raised her hands to secure it. “It has to have been someone with ready access to the stage, someone who would not have alerted suspicion, don’t you think?”
Rex smiled at her. “I’d almost forgotten you’d written a murder mystery play. Aye, I agree, and I’d go so far as to say the perpetrator would have had to have acted with a cool head and perfect timing. Let me know if anyone comes to mind.”
“Well, not Tony, for starters. You can see for yourself he could never do anything like that.”
Rex could not quite agree with Penny there. Tony might not say boo to a goose, perhaps, but a man with a sensitive nature could murder a woman if he’d had his feelings hurt badly enough. Tony may have treated Cassie with brotherly regard, or he may have wanted something more.
“I should be getting back,” Penny said, rousing herself to action. “He’ll be wondering where I am.” She gently touched Rex’s arm. “Thank you for helping.”
“Of course. Well, goodbye,” he said, opening the driver’s-side door of the Renault.
“Drop by again with Helen if you have time before you leave for Edinburgh.”
He said he would and lowered himself into the car seat, turning the key in the ignition as Penny began walking back to the house, her silk scarf billowing lightly behind her. A nice woman, he thought, reversing out of the driveway. Perhaps if her budding relationship with Tony bloomed into love, something positive could come out of the tragedy.
His mind then switched to the more practical matters at hand. Oxfam first, and then Sainsbury’s, he decided, only wishing he had as good an idea of where he was going next in his investigation. Inspiration struck as he pulled out onto the road. He would buy Helen some flowers. He knew just the place.
ten
Rex found A Rose by Any Other Name tucked between a newsagent and an off-licence. A decorative wind chime on the door tinkled as he entered the shop, and he was immediately assailed by the heady scent of cut flowers, which abounded everywhere in an explosion of colour, tiered rows of almost every variety arranged in transparent plastic buckets. It appeared he was the only customer.
Rodney Snyder stepped out from behind a tall rack of quality greeting cards, instantly recognizable as the man who had played Sherlock Homes, even though he had swapped his Inverness cape and tweeds for a brown canvas apron that covered the front of his shirt and the top half of his trousers.
“Hello, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked affably, in marked contrast to the acerbic Holmes of yesterday, and quite unlike Andrew Forsythe, who seemed to have difficulty shaking off his Wimsey character. “Have you come for flowers?”
“Partly.”
“What sort of thing are you looking for? Is there a special occasion?”
“More spur-of-the-moment.” Rex surveyed the vast selection. “I’d like something romantic and cheerful.”
“Tulips? You can mix and match. Perhaps a bunch of carnations, irises, and freesias?”
Rex noted an undercurrent of flat Essex vowels, which Snyder had managed to transform into a cultured accent for Holmes. As was the case with most of his flowers, Rodney Snyder appeared to be a transplant from warmer climes south of Derby.
Rex wandered to the large section of roses in every shade, from white to blood-red. “A dozen of these pink-tinged yellow ones, I think.” Like most shop-bought roses, they did not give off much of a fragrance, but they would appeal to Helen, who had once remarked that pink and yellow were “happy” colours.
“Do you prefer open or buds?”
“Buds, so they’ll last longer?”
Rodney Snyder’s gloved hands duly selected a handful of furled roses, dewy-fresh and flawless, and wrapped them in stiff cellophane tied off with a pink bow. “A card to go with?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I trust my own words will not fail me.”
Snyder smiled, baring a set of even teeth. “Indeed. The best sentiments come straight from the heart, don’t they?” He tactfully did not ask whom the roses were for, even though Rex’s silver wedding band was much in evidence as he drew out his wallet at the counter and sifted through his cash. No doubt, not all the florist’s married clients were buying flowers for their spouses.
“However, I wonder if you can help me in another matter.”
Snyder regarded Rex with sly interest. “This must have something to do with last night. I saw you with the redoubtable inspector. It was obvious you were more than just a witness.”
“Unfortunately, I was not much help in that regard. I had a front row seat, but can’t say I saw anything worth reporting. I’d be more interested to know what went on behind the scenes.”
“Yes, I heard you do a bit of Sherlocking yourself. Even as that most esteemed detective, I couldn’t offer much to Inspector Fiske either. I was checking my messages and emails backstage when the shot went off. Andrew and Dennis, two of the other sleuths, were with me,” Synder volunteered. “And Tony.”
“Christopher Ells was with you too?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Snyder mimicked taking a surreptitious gulp of something from an upheld hand. “Christopher rather likes his drink. Hope he doesn’t do it on the job,” he added in a snide tone.
“Which is what, again?”
“Something at the hospital. An orderly or lab technician or some other low-level position, but still.”
“So, it was just the five of you backstage when the shot was fired?”
Snyder nodded. “Plus young Trey. He came in from the dressing room. The others, except for Cassie, of course, had left. The notion of a gunshot never seriously occurred to me. We went to investigate, to make sure she was all right. But, regrettably, it was curtains for Cassie.”
Snyder struck Rex as rather glib in his reaction to her death. “Aye, it was.”
At that moment, a flustered woman entered the shop and asked about a bridal bouquet for her daughter. Rex lifted his hand to the florist in a gesture of thanks and goodbye.
“Ta-ra.” Snyder pointed to the roses in Rex’s hand. “Enjoy.”
Rex left the shop and drove off down the street to continue his rounds, first to deposit the donations and then to take care of the shopping. He arrived back at Barley Close with three filled bags from the supermarket and hauled his purchases through the front door of Helen’s 1930s semi-detached house.
“Guess who I ran into at Oxfam?” he asked as she took one of the bags into the kitchen.
“Who?”
“A younger Aunt Clara. Well, I didn’t see Susan Richardson to speak to. She was driving off when I arrived. I thought it a bit curious that she’d be there the morning after Cassie’s death, so I asked at the collection desk what she’d brought in.”
“You were dropping off stuff, so why not she?” Helen pointed out, taking the vegetables out of the shopping bag she had deposited on the counter. “What did she donate?”
“A box of clothes. Teenager stuff, mainly.” Rex set his remaining load on the floor by the refrigerator.
“Well, then. Presumably, her youngest has outgrown the clothes, and she decided to de-clutter.”
“Aye, but her purple trousers, the ones she was wearing yesterday, were in the box as well.”
Helen paused in her sorting of items. “That is a bit peculiar, like you said. Perhaps she wanted to get rid of them because they reminded her of what happened.”
“Possibly, but there’s a dark stain on the upper leg, though not very obvious unless you look closely.” He pulled the corduroys out of one of his plastic bags.
“You brought them here?” Helen asked. “Not that I should be surprised by anything you do anymore.”
“I paid three pounds for them.”
“Well, they won’t fit me,” she said holding the ribbed velour against her leg. “I’m too short. Shame. It’s a lovely plum shade.”
&nbs
p; “I’m going to give them to Inspector Fiske for analysis. See that stain mid-thigh?”
Helen flapped the trousers open so the front was displayed. “Just barely. Mostly in the grooves.”
“I didn’t notice anything on them when I was speaking to her last night, but by then it was dark outside and the hall was only dimly lit. Not to mention it would have been rude to stare at her legs.”
He had noticed Trey’s brogues earlier that night, however, having dropped his business card in an attempt to get a close look. These had shown no trace of blood in the decorative perforations in the leather, which would be nigh impossible to clean in a limited amount of time.
Helen brought the corduroy material up to her face. “They’ve been washed. I can smell lemony detergent or fabric softener. I wonder what brand she uses.”
“It didn’t get it all out.”
“And your suspicious mind is thinking it might be blood.”
Rex took the corduroys from her and folded them back up neatly. “It’s a good way to hide evidence, donating something to charity among a pile of other clothing. You don’t even have to leave a name, and she didn’t. Anyhow, I do have something for you that isn’t another woman’s castoff.”
He returned to the car for the roses and held them out to her in the kitchen.
“Oh, Rex, you shouldn’t have.” Helen took the bouquet and put her nose to them. “Actually, I really don’t know why people say that. I’m so glad you did. What’s the occasion?”
Remembering his comment to Snyder, he did not want to come up short. “They’re for my beautiful wife on our first week wedding anniversary.” He hoped she didn’t think the roses were a peace offering for bailing out of the packing in the pursuit of a potential murder investigation.
“How sweet. But we’re not going to have much time to enjoy them.”
“We can take them back to Edinburgh,” he said as she lay the flowers on the counter and reached for a vase in the cupboard.
Upstaged by Murder Page 7
