by Cindy Brown
Crack! went my head.
“Hey!” shouted the nurse.
“Aah!” yipped Candy.
My friend looked at me, water dripping down her face. “Darlin’, if you wanted me to wake up, all you had to do was ask.”
Chapter 13
Quite Extraordinary That You Should First Learn It from Me!
Somehow I managed to pocket the pill I’d lost and keep my pilfering of Candy’s bag a secret. I kissed my friend on the forehead. “Call me tomorrow when you know what time you’ll get out. And sorry about the bed bath.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled weakly. “See you tomorrow, darlin’.”
I left the hospital, wishing that Candy had been mad at me. It would have made my deceit a little easier to swallow. A little.
It was already five o’clock, and I needed to eat and get to the theater by six thirty in time for call for Twelfth Night tonight, but if I hurried and got food from a drive-through, I could just make one more stop.
Or so I thought. I’d forgotten about traffic. I know that sounds unbelievable, but when you don’t keep regular nine-to-five hours and you’re worried about your best friend and conflicted about investigating that best friend, details like rush hour tend to slip your mind. “Come on!” I pounded on my steering wheel as the ten-minute drive turned into thirty. When I got to the Grand Phoenician I was so late I parked in a pay lot rather than searching for street parking (I was a notoriously cheap parker). I jumped out of my pickup and ran across the street to the stage door. “Ivy Meadows to see Logan Gale,” I said, signing my name on the clipboard before the guard even asked. He buzzed me in.
I didn’t really want talk to Logan, just used his name as a foot in the door. I’d buy him a beer later. No, I really wanted talk to some people who had been touring with Candy and see what I could find out. I hoped they would be rehearsing, since they hadn’t managed to get through an entire rehearsal with the set. I ran toward the stage. Yes. The cast was there. I could hear music through the backstage door.
I pushed open the door and tiptoed into the theater. I didn’t want to bother the people in the wings waiting for entrances, and I could see several people sitting in the audience, so I made my way to the house. I was walking up the aisle when Arrestadt caught my eye. Should I ask him about Candy? What if he decided she was a liability to the show? No, I needed backstage gossip from the other players. I’d have to buy a lot of beers to ease my conscience.
Arrestadt was still looking at me so I slipped into the aisle behind him. “Just wanted you to know that Candy was looking better when I left,” I whispered. “She said she’s sure she’ll be well enough for the show tomorrow.” She had mumbled that as I left, even though she looked terrible. “She was afraid you would worry.”
“Thanks. I don’t know what we would’ve done. Eden is the only understudy.”
I said goodbye, went back out to the side aisle, and searched the dark house. Ah. Madison’s mother. I walked over and sat in a seat next to her. “I’m Ivy. We sort of met earlier.”
“I’m Desirée.” She gave me an appraising glance, then looked away. “And I don’t remember.”
“It was right before the accident. There was a lot going on. I’m a friend of Candy’s. In fact I just came from the hospital.”
The woman didn’t say anything, just stared at the stage. She was perfectly made up: expertly applied eye makeup, glossy lips, and foundation that looked like it had been airbrushed. Her straightened hair hung in a shimmering sheet, and she wore a low-cut top that clung to her trim figure and showed off her décolletage. Candy had dressed almost exactly like this woman, but on her it’d looked false, a poor imitation of Candy’s real beauty.
“Candy’s going to be okay to perform tomorrow,” I said.
The woman shrugged and stood up, waving to her daughter as she ran offstage with the other munchkins. Dang. Rehearsal must be over and I hadn’t found out a thing. “Aren’t you friendly with Candy?” Might as well be direct. I wasn’t getting anywhere with small talk. “I figured since you’d all been on tour for awhile that—”
“Candace never deigned to talk to us little people.” Her daughter scrambled past me into her open arms. “Oh,” said the woman, more animated than before. “I made a joke. Little people. You know, munchkins.”
“Good one.” I tried to sound sincere. “So Candy didn’t hang out with the rest of the cast?”
Desirée ignored me in favor of her daughter. “Get it, my little munchkin? My joke?”
“Mom, I hate it when you call me that.” Madison groaned. “But yeah, nice joke.” She turned to me. “Candace is nice to us kids.”
“That’s right. She said something about being the kid wrangler.”
“Yeah. We all like her. I mean, all the kids.”
“How about the adults?
“Um...” Madison hesitated, obviously uncomfortable saying anything unkind. Her mom could have learned something if she wasn’t busy staring at Babette, who had just entered the house. Babette. Why was she still here? “All the adults think she’s pretty,” Madison said finally. “All except for Eden. She says she looks unhealthy.”
“Eden would,” said her mother.
“I would what?” Eden plopped down in a seat next to me.
Desirée blushed under her foundation.
“Say that Candace looks unhealthy,” said Madison.
“That’s right. By the way, I’m Eden.” She smiled at me.
“Ivy Meadows. I’m a friend of Candy’s. And I agree. She’s never been this skinny before.”
“She keeps losing weight too,” said Eden. “I’ve had to take in her costume like four times so far.”
Eden seemed perfectly nice. Why didn’t Candy like her? “Has she ever said what she’s, uh, doing, to lose all this weight?”
“No, but it can’t be good, dropping that much weight that quickly.”
“It obviously doesn’t matter,” said Desirée. “Babette and Arrestadt must like the meth-head look.”
Oh no. “Meth-head?”
The creepy munchkin with the hollow eyes turned around. “Who’s on meth?”
“No one,” Eden said firmly.
“Sorry, took it too far,” Desirée said. “Candace is not on meth. Seriously.”
“Ooh, Candace.” The boy munchkin grinned and then whispered into the ear of a girl next to him.
“You said that Babette and Arrestadt obviously like...the look. Because they cast her?” I’d wondered how Candy got a singing role. She’d been taking singing lessons for a while, but there were certainly better vocalists available.
Desirée turned and looked me full in the face. “Who are you really? Are you one of those reporters?” She pulled Madison close to her.
“No, really. I’m just Candy’s friend. Her best friend,” I added.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Otherwise,” Madison said from the shelter of her mother’s arms, “you would know that Candace is dating Arrestadt.”
Chapter 14
I Shall Save Her
“I don’t know what to do!” I wailed over the phone. I’d stepped outside the backstage door of the black box theater, hoping for a private talk with Matt before I had to go onstage. The air still smelled like the cigarettes a couple of the techies smoked right before the show. “I’m all messed up over these accidents and Babette the she-devil and whatever is wrong with Candy and why she didn’t tell me she’s dating Arrestadt Giry—”
“Really? Arrestadt Giry?” said Matt.
“And curtain is in fifteen minutes. What do I do?”
“You know what to do. You go onstage and inhabit the character of Viola. You do that magical thing you do.” Matt was always amazed that I could believe I was someone else, even for a short while. “Then you drive over here, where we’ll sit on my patio
and drink beer and look at the stars. Then I’ll take you to bed and...”
“La la la,” I sang-said. “I can’t hear what happens next or I will never be able to inhabit Viola because I will be distractedly overheated. Or overheatedly distracted. You know. But go on.” Matt always had a calming effect on me.
“Right. Then after...you know...we’ll sleep like the dead and then we’ll get up tomorrow morning and have coffee and French toast—”
“And bacon.” I was feeling decidedly better.
“And bacon. Then you can look up those pills you found on the internet.”
“Duh. Of course I can. Is one site better than another?” Matt was a social worker with the county.
“Probably the one from the National Library of Medicine.”
“Cool. I’ll check out the pill and then see what I can find out about the accidents.”
“Exactly.”
“But what about Candy?”
“Ivy.” Matt sighed. “You know you can’t help what Candy does. You can’t control whether she tells the truth, or takes pills, or signs away her soul to the devil.”
“I know, but...”
“I know. It hurts.”
Oh. Yeah. Matt did know how it felt to be dumped by Candy. I suddenly felt weird talking to him about her. But only for a second, because then he said exactly the right thing. “I love you. Go be the amazing Ivy Meadows. And break a leg.”
I felt much better the next morning after coffee and bacon and Matt. So good that I didn’t mind going into Duda Detectives on a Saturday. It didn’t hurt that one of my favorite people in the world was there. I kissed my uncle on his stubbly cheek after I walked in. “Wasn’t expecting you,” he said. “But if you want some work to do...”
“I already have some, thanks.” I planned to go to the National Library of Medicine site first, then...“How would I go about investigating an accident?”
“Well, you’d get ahold of any official reports, like police or OSHA.”
“Great. How do I do that?” I sat down at my desk and booted up my computer.
“They’re usually available after a month, maybe two.”
I shook my head. “I can’t wait that long. How about insurance companies?”
“They usually take longer and probably won’t give you the info without a subpoena. The only other thing you can do is talk to the people involved and take a look at the accident site.”
“I can do the talking bit. Not sure I’d know what to look for at the scene.”
“You’re a detective. Look for whatever seems out of place.”
A detective. I loved it when Uncle Bob called me that. I pulled up the National Library of Medicine pill finder site and plugged in the tiny number inscribed on the pill. “Bette still coming in tonight?” I really liked my uncle’s girlfriend. A lot of people did—she was famous in sort of the opposite way from Babette: known for her hard work, intelligence, and integrity, but virtually unknown in person since she did most of her work undercover.
“Yep. You got our tickets, right?” Bob and Bette and Matt were coming to closing night of Twelfth Night tonight. Cody and his girlfriend Sarah had already seen the play.
“Best seats in the house.” The theater was only one hundred and fifty seats, so all the seats were good, but I did ask for the best.
I went back to my computer screen. Huh. The numbers I’d entered didn’t match any medications. I found another pill identifier site and plugged in my info. “Are you two coming to the cast party with me and Matt?” Part of me hoped they would so they could have a peek into my world. Part of me hoped they wouldn’t. Cast parties could get pretty rowdy.
“We’ll see. I was thinking about taking her out for a late-night drink somewhere kind of romantic. Like that restaurant that spins.”
“Really? The one on top of the Hyatt?” My uncle’s usual type of bar had peanut shells underfoot. “I think they might have a dress code.”
“Ties look good with Hawaiian shirts.”
I thought about it for a moment while my computer program continued searching. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen that combination before. I wonder if a bolo tie would count.”
Uncle Bob grinned and slapped his desk. “You’re a genius. I’m sure it would work. It is the official neckwear of Arizona, you know.”
Huh. No matches with this program either. “Have you ever used one of these pill identifier sites?” I held up the mystery drug. “I can’t seem to find a match for this pill.”
Uncle Bob ambled over and picked it up. “Doesn’t look familiar. Is it yours?”
“Candy’s.”
He gave the pill back to me. “And she doesn’t know what it is?”
I answered the question he was really asking. “She, uh, doesn’t know I have it.” I slid the pill back into my pocket.
“Olive.” My uncle looked as stern as a man wearing a shirt with monkeys on it could. “Did you steal that?”
“I borrowed it. I just want to know what’s going on with Candy.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Yeah. She babbles about stupid stuff and lies about real things. That’s why I need to look out for her.”
My uncle pulled his wheelie chair over to where I was and sat down. He looked me in the eyes, his frown lines morphing into a worry wrinkle between his eyes. “Hon. You know those cop shows we watch?”
I nodded. We’d started out with NYPD Blue years ago and devoured every decent cop show since.
“Think about it: when someone gets too personally involved with a case, they take him off it, usually saying something like he’s too emotionally involved to be objective. It’s no different with PIs. Investigating your friend is never a good idea.”
I nodded again, but my mind was on those cop shows. Sure, the higher-ups usually took the guy off the case. And then he would ignore them and keep investigating, saving his friend in the nick of time.
Chapter 15
It Was an…Accident…a Sad…a Very Sad…Accident
But how in the world was I going to investigate the accident site? I had no good reason to be snooping around backstage. People at the theater had already seen me around, so I couldn’t pretend to be any sort of official. Who else would have any reason to want to examine the site?
Ah.
“So I’m writing an article about the Grand Phoenician for The West Coast Stage,” I said as I followed Logan back to his office. “It’s a theater magazine.” That was not true.
“I didn’t know you were a writer.”
“I’m not really.” That was true. “A friend got me the gig”—(false)—“and I can always use the cash.” (True.) Though lying was sometimes necessary in PI work, I didn’t like doing it. Sprinkling in some truth made me feel better.
“And you promise that you’re not really writing about Babette or Candy or Itty Bitty or any of that crap?”
“I promise.”
“I refuse to be part of anything that promotes that fake ideal of beauty in order to get people to buy more crap. It’s conspicuous consumerism personalized. If you buy this, you’ll be pretty. If you drink this, you’ll be thin. If you—”
“I understand. I will need to ask about the accidents, though. It’s one of the reasons they’re interested in the theater.”
Logan opened the door to his office. “Can I read the article before you send it in?”
“Sure.” That was sort of true, since I would never actually write an article. Logan ushered me into his office, which was crammed full of boxes. They were stacked almost from floor to ceiling, in sizes that ranged from shoeboxes to liquor boxes, and each one was neatly labeled: Allen wrenches, Adhesives, Rubber, Foam, Carving knife (carving knife?) and more. A framed poster of the seventies sci-fi flick Logan’s Run hung above the desk. A grinning white mask with black eyebrows, mu
stache, and goatee hung next to it—the anti-establishment symbol from V for Vendetta.
Logan sat down in his desk chair and I sat in the only other chair in the room, a cracked Naugahyde recliner that had probably been a set piece somewhere.
I took out my notebook and grilled Logan for ten minutes about the history of the theater (built in 1925, survived the Depression by cutting ticket costs, turned into a movie house in the 1960s, closed when mall cinemas drew audiences away in the 1970s, fell into disrepair and was rescued from the wrecking ball in 1990 by a small group of history and theater buffs). “Now,” I said, “about those accidents...”
A noise from the hallway. A snuffle. Nothing visible through the slightly ajar door. I looked at Logan, but he was examining his fingernails. Then, a smell. Sweet and flowery, like...shampoo? The door creaked open by itself. And suddenly there was a scuffle and I was engulfed by something dark with claws and...wet dog fur.
“Toto.” Logan admonished the dog. “Get off Ivy.”
The little black terrier jumped off my lap and sat obediently on the floor.
“Must have just had a bath,” Logan said. “He likes to run around afterward and dry off. Sometimes on people’s laps.”
I scratched Toto’s damp head. “Should we get him back to wherever he belongs?”
“Nah. He belongs to one of the munchkins. She lets him roam around the theater. He’s really well behaved, and he can’t go anywhere. We’re pretty much locked in here.”
“Which brings me to the accidents.”
“It does?”
“Sure. I mean, they couldn’t have been caused by someone outside the theater, right? Everyone has to sign in.”
“But no one has to cause accidents. In fact...” Logan turned around and tapped a few keys on his keyboard. “An accident is defined as ‘an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury.’”
I looked over his shoulder at the dictionary site he’d pulled up. “Or ‘An event that happens by chance or that is without apparent or deliberate cause.’ An accident could be caused by a person, but we can’t see how or why.”
