Now it was time to call Dillon and admit another failure.
“You lost your what?” He sounded almost glad she had lost the show book.
“Just let me use your video camera, and then you’ll be rid of me and my problems.” Lucy listened to him emote dramatically for a few minutes as he warned her not to screw up whatever decent footage they’d gotten of the show, then he stopped. “Wait a minute, just use my copy of the master list.”
“Of course, thanks!” She forgot about his copy. “Are you coming down here to help us then?”
“No, but I’ll fax it into the box office, you can pick it up there, still have your key?”
“Yes. Can I ask you another favor?”
“Shoot.”
“Can I see the video footage? Maybe I can see something that will explain what happened.”
“Sure, it’s no use to me now.” He hung up, and she went outside to let herself into the box office in a separate building from the theater.
No staff worked mornings unless there was a special performance, so Edith had given her a pass key in case she needed to use the copy machine. The box office was tightly guarded, and required a separate key from the other doors because of the cash and credit card information kept on file. Inside, Lucy was glad to see the fax machine had already started running. Maybe Dillon wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
Inventory in hand, she returned to the loading dock, gave Justin a copy, and laid one on her desk. She did the best she could to maintain a professional composure even though she knew the others were as convinced as she was that this was the final day in her very short career as the theater’s stage manager.
***
Just after one o’clock, the truck pulled away. Just weeks ago it had arrived with the show, and Lucy’s world had seemed as hope-filled as the Ozzian’s dreams for Dorothy. But watching the truck pull away, she felt like she was waving goodbye to a job she had tried to convince her dad would be the one she could succeed at. Her pride was puddled inside the props box, as limp and lifeless as the witch’s watered down costume. Ding-dong your hopes are dead.
Shaking off her pity party, Lucy chastised herself, embarrassed she had the poor taste to worry about herself when poor Ambrose would never sing again, never have the chance to entertain an audience or banter with the Lion backstage while waiting for a cue.
“I hate to ask, but Edith called. She wants me to get your set of keys before you go,” Justin told her while they made one last circuit of the stage. “And just so you know, I do not want your job.”
She handed over her all-access keys. One to the backstage door, and another to the box office. “If that happens, you’ll do a great job, let me know if you have any questions.” Neither one mentioned that Justin had been next in line for the job until Dillon threw his weight around, convincing the board that Lucy would do a better job.
Grabbing a box, Lucy headed for the lockers, spun the padlock and clinked open the middle school style locker. Jumbled from her recent hunting expedition, she reached in and dragged everything into the empty box. It was full of things she’d accumulated since her first gig on the running crew. A giant bottle of aspirin clattered into the box, followed by a spare set of socks, a few toiletries, an extra sweatshirt, gifts from cast members. On top of the heap, piled on all her personal items, something she didn’t recognize stopped her, hand frozen on the door. She dropped the box to the tile floor with a thunk.
“What the?” Lucy lifted the scary thing and carried it outside so she could see it in the daylight. She dialed her phone, forcing herself to breathe normally. There must be a simple explanation for what she’d found. “Belinda, this is Lucy.”
“Yes?” The show’s wardrobe mistress had left a few minutes earlier, her van filled with costumes she would repair and have cleaned before returning them to the rental company. “How are—”
“I found a d…doll,” Lucy interrupted, “I guess you could call it.”
“What? Where? I don’t—”
“It’s made to look like…”
“Like what? Lucy, what’s this about?”
“It looks like-like me.” Lucy turned the crude doll over. Dressed in black pants and shirt, someone had gathered bits of Penny’s hair and hot glued it to a rag folded over to fashion the shape of a head. Sharpie eyes stared large and round back at her. Was that why the poor dog was losing hair? Some creep was balding her to make a prank?
“You mean a show doll? Because I didn’t get any requests for a crew doll.” One of the theater company’s fundraising efforts was to sell hand-sewn dolls dressed to look like favored characters. They had become popular birthday or bar mitzvah gifts. One fellow had proposed with one dressed in a frock made from an old quilt to resemble a “Sobbin’ Woman.” His girlfriend said, “yes” after a performance of her favorite musical, “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.”
But Lucy realized this one was too poorly stitched to have been made by Belinda, an expert seamstress. “I’m sorry to bother you, it’s obviously not some of your work. It’s just that…I’ll let you go.”
“I’m so sorry about the way the show ended, dear. I hope they clear your name and let you manage again,” Belinda said. “You had a rough go, but I think with some experience you might be all right.”
“Thanks.”
“Any idea when I can get Ambrose’s costume back, I really hate to have to make a new one.”
Lucy gulped. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to need a new one, or we can pay the damages fee. Let me know what you decide.” She hastily hung up, aghast at the woman’s crass question. Another added expense.
She examined the doll again. Someone had gone to great lengths. The doll wore a tiny little headset, its hair braided like Lucy did during shows, and through a spot where Lucy’s heart would be, the maker had lodged a doll-sized little ax, just like the one carried by the Tin Man. It was probably just a cruel prank.
Unless Ambrose’s killer was warning her she was next.
CHAPTER FOUR
Her cup of hot blueberry tea steeping, Lucy jiggled the USB cord to download Dillon’s video footage to her ancient computer. Jabbing at the keys to bring the sound feed as high as possible, she settled back to watch the final fateful performance of the show. She surprised herself when her heart melted watching the poor dog’s public humiliation. Her little ears back, her legs trembling, it was obvious the tiny thing was miserable and embarrassed.
Eyes glued to the screen, Lucy searched for any clue to what might have caused the rigging to release too soon. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, but hoped that maybe some cast member was there and might have seen something, anything that might clear her name and explain why she was now targeted. She’d called Detective Azaria to tell him about the doll, but he merely took the description and attributed it to backstage hi-jinks.
Sipping and squinting, she rewound, pausing on frames to study the cast’s movements, watching for any unusual blocking, or someone not where they were supposed to be. By the last show, everyone’s whereabouts, both on stage and behind the curtains, were fairly consistent and predictable. Dillon, or whoever had been filming, had turned off the camera just after Justin’s announcement, so she yawned, checking the time. It had gotten dark outside while she watched the video, and she still needed to call the vet. Glancing at the makeshift bed Penny had been sleeping in the past several weeks, Lucy realized she was starting to miss having the pup around.
Patting empty jeans pockets for her phone, she remembered leaving it in the kitchenette. The cell phone rested on the counter next to the stabbed doll. Tossing a kitchen towel over it, she scrolled through the contacts to Cade’s number. A loud whump outside set her heart thundering, and pushing the call through, she maneuvered to the window. Phone to ear, she pried apart two blinds to peek outside, and sighed with relief. It was just Mrs. Chastain setting out food for the feral cats. Heart rhythm back to normal, Lucy left a voicemail on Cade’s machine and shut off the
kitchen lights to take a long, hot shower.
“I have an idea,” Cade said when he returned her call an hour later. “Except for the matinee, I haven’t had a day off in weeks. Penny’s my only patient, and I was thinking of taking her home with me so I can watch her a few more hours.”
“I can come get her right now, I don’t mind.”
“Hear me out.” Cade’s voice had a lightness that cheered her in the gloomy apartment. “Let me take her with me, I’ll make sure she’s fully recovered, and you can see my place. As a dog lover, I think you’ll be pleased.”
She started to protest, admitting that before Penny she’d never cared much for them, but something in his voice was more than she could resist. Before she could change her mind, Cade gave her his address, and then suggested, “If you want, we can even take a ride, I have a couple of horses.”
“I need to know how much all this is going to cost.” Another overnight, and his fee was no doubt going to be in the hundreds.
“Why don’t we talk about that when you get here? I was thinking I might donate my services in trade for an ad in the next program.”
“I doubt if I could get you a complimentary soda at the snack bar at this point.” Lucy tried to sound light. “But that’s very generous. I’ll think of some way to make it up to you.”
***
Lucy tossed and turned in her bed, listening to the feral cats brawl under her window. Unable to sleep, she got up and wandered to the kitchen. If she hadn’t already surrendered her keys to Justin, she might go back to the theater and look for the notebook. She hadn’t searched the orchestra pit. Below the stage, it was not someplace she usually went, and there was no reason her binder would be there, but it was worth a look.
Unable to do anything else until morning, she decided to try looking through her desk again, even if that meant she’d have to face bills she was unable to pay. Pulling out drawers she knew did not contain the show book, a pile of old playbills tumbled onto the floor. For every show she’d worked, she saved one as a souvenir. Her collection was nearing the hundreds, and she had to find some way to store them. Fingering the programs that held memories besides the customary bios and shout outs, a thought occurred. When she’d first become involved at the theater, she had worked as head usher, willing to work “front of house” as long as it took to wait for an opening on the crew. Edith had given her a personalized security code to unlock the digital entry keypad. It was a better method than handing out keys to ushers, and could be changed easily. The door provided access to the theater’s house, and she knew how to get backstage from there. If there was a possibility that no one had thought to deny her access. Yet.
***
A light rain had fallen, and the streets were slick. The traffic lights’ red, yellow and green reflected up at her as Lucy drove the few blocks across town. Accustomed to late hours, arriving after midnight was still unusual, and she dry swallowed as her car rolled up to the loading dock and into her customary space, alone in the lot. With the thoughts of creepy doll in her head, she almost changed her mind and backed out to go home, but chided herself for letting a prank scare her. She’d worked hard to become independent and fearless, and darn it if she was going to let a doll scare her from proving her worthiness as a manager. Still, she checked her pocket for her knife, and switched on the small flashlight on her keychain.
She skirted around the darkened building. There were usually a few homeless people swaddled in blankets, underneath the overhangs in the occasional Southern California rains. But tonight she had the place to herself, and she shone the light onto the keypad. It took a couple of tries, but on the fourth attempt she forced her fingers to obey, and the digital lock responded. Her dad’s birthday still worked, and the responding snap indicated she was in.
Lucy’s penlight shone a beam into the darkness. The building’s breaths and sighs were as familiar as her own after the months of arriving first, and leaving last. Where others might feel anxious, she was comfortable. When her mother had died while she was in middle school, Lucy had spent long afternoons alone after school. Once, she’d called her dad at work, worried about noises she didn’t recognize. He had sternly warned her that she couldn’t bother him every time the house settled in the desert heat. “I can’t be rushing home to check on you every afternoon, Luce. If you’re scared, I’ll hire a babysitter.”
Unwilling to admit she was so pathetic she needed a sitter, Lucy trained herself to be brave. She came up with games to amuse herself. One was to listen to the birds outside chirping in the feeder her mom had loved to fill. Lucy would recall her mom at the kitchen window, telling her about each species, native or migratory. Until they flew away, she imagined them crouching in the thin branches outside her window, guarding her until the welcome sound of her dad arriving home.
Without realizing what she was doing, Lucy had taught herself to be attuned to her surroundings in her solitary world. Her keen sense had grown with her, and applying it to her skill set attained in community college classes, she was a natural at running intricate productions. Until something went horribly, fatally wrong.
She moved past the audience seats, sweeping the light back and forth toward the stage. She could take these steps by rote memory since she’d trotted them so often. At the stage’s apron, she jumped up, landing bottom first, and twisted up to stand on the wooden floor she’d swept hundreds of times. It was then she realized the ghost light hadn’t been switched on. Probably her fault as well.
Anxious to search the pit, she decided to hook up the light after she found the binder. And at this point, she was also keeping an eye out for anything unusual.
She took the steps down, and was glad she did because the chairs were still set up. It would have been Justin’s responsibility to have them collapsed and stacked, but under the circumstances she wasn’t surprised this job was overlooked. She didn’t mind lifting and closing each one, and she quickly formed a neat row across the back. Now the janitorial crew could do a good cleaning the floor. The janitor! She hadn’t looked in Barnie’s area. Maybe one of his crew found her book and took it into the supply closet.
Most of the cleaning supplies and equipment were kept in a locked room and she no longer had a key, but there was also a small closet he kept stocked with a few consumables like spare toilet rolls, a broom and mop. And it just so happened that Lucy had seen Barnie’s wife using a hidden key few people knew about when she’d been in to cover for him when he was out with appendicitis. Swiping her fingers behind the “Take only what you need for the theater” warning sign, she unhooked the key, and unlocked Barnie’s workroom.
Inside, she switched on the light, and spent several minutes scanning the orderly, well-maintained shelves of supplies. Barnie rarely missed a day of work, and the theater was always clean and polished to his superior standards. Shutting the door, Lucy realized the futility of her errand. If Barnie had found her notebook, he would have let her know, and even chided her for leaving it behind for him to clean up. She returned the key to its hook, and wandered down the darkened hallway. She remembered the ghost light, and headed for the spot where they kept it, in the wings near the assistant stage manager’s station.
Rounding the curtain leg, her foot struck something hollow. A plastic jug of some sort skittered across the boards. When she reached down to pick it up, every nerve from her toes to her fingertips tingled. Turning over the empty bottle, Lucy wondered why someone would have needed antifreeze inside the building, and why was the empty bottle tossed behind the curtains as if in haste?
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning, Lucy turned onto a road she’d passed before but never been down. In a half mile or so, as Cade had warned, the pavement ended, and her compact car bumped over bone rattling ridges until the mailbox with “C.Winston” appeared. Turning in, she pulled up to a low, adobe and tile-roof ranch style home. A large black and tan dog ran from the back yard, woofing, head low.
“Harry, that’s enough, she’s fr
iendly.” Cade’s command sounded muffled through the car windows, her door still firmly shut. “He’s okay, come on, get out!”
Lucy cautiously opened the door, then Cade spoke softly, and the dog promptly sat down.
“Glad you found the place, I’m making our breakfast burritos. You vegan, or is bacon and real eggs all right in yours?”
She kept a close eye on the dog while she followed Cade inside. “Bacon sounds great.”
The morning sun was already warm, but the interior of the small home was quite cool. Harry curled up on the generous porch, and Lucy pulled the door shut.
“Sorry I’m a little late, I overslept the alarm.” That was kind of a fib. After her unsuccessful trip to look for her notebook, Lucy had tossed and turned, wracking her brain about the events, Tin Man’s death, and why she’d found an empty antifreeze container hidden in the curtains.
“Not a problem, I can always find something to do around this place.” Cade was stowing a thermos and two bottles of water into a backpack. “But we’ll have to hurry, I have to get to the clinic this afternoon. Let’s go check on our girl, and I’ll give you a quick tour before we ride.” Why hadn’t she noticed until now how blue his eyes were? “Shall we?”
Harry joined them out back as they walked over planks laid out toward a low barn, similar in construction to the house. It housed a tractor, large animal veterinary equipment. The wood walkway crisscrossed the generous yard, level and cleared of rocks. “And through here, Cade swept his arm wide, and quite new if the freshly cut lumber-aroma was an indication, “is the kennel.”
Lucy knelt in front of a low gate, behind which a wriggling Penny greeted her, tail whirling in delight. “Hey, sweetie, you look like you’re feeling better.” She laughed as Cade opened the door and the little dog lunged into her arms. “I’ve missed you.”
When she’d cuddled and calmed the dog, Lucy looked up at Cade. “Thank you so much. I…we really appreciate you saving her. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there and realized how sick she was.”
Murder, Most Sincerely: A Romantic Backstage Mystery Page 3
