by Peg Cochran
“Adora really is quite good,” Sienna commented as Adora came forward for her bow. “It’s a shame Martha ruined her career the way she did.” The clapping and cheering went up a notch, and there were several whistles from the delighted audience.
Winston emerged onstage bearing an enormous bouquet of red roses. He presented the flowers to Adora with a curt nod.
The entire cast came forward again, hands clasped, bowed before the audience, and then the dark red velvet curtain came tumbling down.
The audience shuffled in their seats, retrieving programs and discarded wraps. Gigi was thinking frantically. She had to talk to Winston again to confirm her suspicions. She was positive now that he had seen someone outside by her car the day Martha was killed. But first she had to get rid of Sienna and Oliver. Later she would worry about how she would get home. She could always ring for Woodstone’s lone taxi—an ancient, dusty van with an even more ancient driver.
“I’ll go bring the car around.” Oliver pecked Sienna on the cheek and joined the crowd trying to squeeze through the open doors.
Gigi stood frozen for a minute. She had to get away from Sienna. “I’m just going to run to the…the ladies’ room,” she said, fingers crossed that Sienna wouldn’t insist on joining her.
“I’ll wait here. For once, I don’t have to go.”
Gigi let out a sigh of relief and quickly made her way through the crowd, head down, thinking furiously. She was rounding the corner toward the restrooms when she ran smack into a hard, masculine chest. She looked up slowly.
“I’m so sorry…”
Her words trailed off as she stared up into Carlo’s very warm brown eyes.
“My pleasure, cara,” he said, then blushed lightly under the caramel color of his tan. “Do you need a ride?” he asked hopefully.
“Thanks, but no, I’m going with Oliver and Sienna.”
“There is going to be a little party at Al Forno tonight for the cast. Please say you will come,” he said, and blushed again.
“I’d love to.” Gigi smiled brightly wishing he would let her go. She had to catch Winston before he left. She had probably already missed Detective Mertz and his glamorous young date, but she could always call him later at the station.
“See you soon, then.” Carlo gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved away.
Gigi stood for a moment, the crowd parting around her like water flowing around an obstruction in a river. She watched as Carlo disappeared into the crowd.
Carlo! That was it.
She turned around and began to make her way back toward where Sienna was waiting.
“That was fast.” Sienna started to move toward the door.
“Wait,” Gigi called after her.
Sienna turned around with a quizzical look on her face. “I think Oliver is here. I thought I saw our car.” She gestured toward the door.
Gigi shook her head. “Yes, but I ran into Carlo.” She felt terrible lying to Sienna, but there was no other way. “He’s offered me a ride.” Gigi managed to blush.
“Looks like the universe is trying to tell you something.” Sienna gave Gigi a playful tap and winked. “Perhaps you should think about having a good time before you settle down,” she called over her shoulder as she began to walk toward the doors.
The crowd was thinning now, with only a few clusters of people left in the lobby. The air conditioner had picked up speed, and Gigi could hear its deep rumble as cool air blasted out of the ducts. She felt the chill tickle the hairs on her arms, and she shivered, pulling her wrap up around her shoulders.
Winston was probably backstage with the cast if he hadn’t already left. She had to talk to him right away. If he gave the answer she suspected, then she was right, and she knew who’d killed Martha Bernhardt. Gigi headed toward a door marked Cast Only. Just as she reached for the knob, the door swung open.
“Oh,” Alice cried as she and Gigi narrowly missed colliding.
“Sorry.” Gigi smiled, trying to control her impatience.
“Are you coming to Carlo and Emilio’s?”
Gigi nodded. “Yes, but first I want to talk to Winston. Is he still back there?” She inclined her head toward the door.
“I think so. My guess is he’s waiting for everyone to leave to close up.”
“See you in a bit then.” Gigi began to inch toward the door. She was relieved when Alice waved and walked away.
Gigi pushed open the door to the backstage area. It was dimly lit with only one naked bulb hanging suspended from the ceiling. She felt a chill as the door closed behind her with an ominous-sounding click.
She stopped and listened carefully but didn’t hear anything or anyone—just her own heart beating at twice its normal speed. She took a deep breath and looked around. There were several doors, including two marked Men’s Dressing Room and Women’s Dressing Room. She tapped on the door to the women’s dressing room and waited. Nothing. She hesitated for a second and then rapped on the men’s dressing room door. Nothing there, either.
Someone had finally turned off the air conditioner, and it was hot and close in the narrow corridor. A trickle of sweat slid down her back, and she jumped. What if she ran into the murderer? Everyone had probably left the theater by now. She could scream, and no one would hear. Every horror movie she’d ever watched ran through her head like a lightning-fast filmstrip. She mentally shook herself. She was letting her imagination run away with her.
She heard a faint sound and stopped to listen. Maybe it was Winston getting ready to lock up. She continued down the corridor, which was becoming increasingly dark and shadowy. She heard the noise again, louder this time. It must be Winston, she thought.
Suddenly the light went out, and Gigi was surrounded by black, velvet darkness. She stifled a small cry and felt in front of her with her hands. Nothing. She took a few steps forward, carefully, shuffling her feet along the ground, trying to feel with her toes. The blackness was oppressive. She felt smothered, as if a heavy pillow were pressed against her face, keeping her from breathing.
Her waving hands brushed against something soft. Fabric. Specifically velvet, her exploring fingers told her. She fought her way through the heavy folds, and suddenly there was a pinprick of light.
Gigi continued to bat at the enshrouding drapery until she was able to push it aside. Blessed light greeted her. She closed her eyes against the sudden glare. When she opened them again she realized she was standing in the theater wings. The light was the ghost light casting a hazy glow over the theater interior.
A movement caught her eye. Coming across the stage was a teenage boy. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and had blond hair—just as the UPS delivery woman had described him.
Gigi stood rooted to the spot as he came closer and closer and closer. She tried to hide in the shadows, but he saw her and smiled—a chilling smile that made her gasp.
“You’ve guessed, haven’t you?” He reached up and pulled off the short blond wig.
Chapter 20
Adora swept the wig from her head, and her own long, blond curls tumbled out. She was still wearing her costume—shorts and a T-shirt—which, combined with the wig, gave her the appearance of a young man—at least from a distance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gigi insisted as she tried to quietly back away. If she continued to deny it, perhaps Adora would let her go.
“Don’t be silly. I knew that you knew as soon as I saw your face.” She tossed the blond wig onto the dark red sofa that was part of the set and ran her hands through her hair, lifting it up off her neck. “You have no idea how hot that wig is.”
“I was just looking for Winston.” Gigi took another cautious half-inch step backward into the folds of the musty curtain.
“He’s gone.” Adora turned and looked out over the empty theater. She turned back toward Gigi. “I told him I’d close up, and he should go on ahead to the party at Al Forno.”
“I should go, too.” Gigi took a step backward and
made a half turn. How was Adora going to keep her there against her will?
“I don’t think so,” Adora replied, pulling a very nasty-looking pistol from the waistband of her shorts and aiming it in the vicinity of Gigi’s heart.
A gun would certainly work to keep me here against my will, Gigi thought. The realization that Adora must have lost some weight crossed her mind. How else would she have fit the pistol into the waist of those too-tight shorts?
Gigi tried to quell her panic. Surely someone would notice she was missing? And Sienna and Oliver would come? Or Carlo? Or, maybe when she didn’t show up with Carlo, Sienna would suspect something and call the police? Another irrational thought crossed her mind—that Mertz would have to put a precipitous end to his date with that eye candy he was with. Meanwhile, she knew enough from the books she’d read and movies she’d seen that she’d have to keep Adora talking to buy time.
“Shooting me won’t do any good.” Gigi was horrified to note that a pleading tone had crept into her voice. “You won’t get away with it.” Now she sounded like the protagonist of a hideously clichéd movie script. Her legs were ready to buckle at any moment. “Can I sit down?” She gestured toward the sofa where Adora had discarded the wig.
“I suppose so.”
She kept her eye on Adora and the gun as she made her trembling way across the stage and sank onto the sofa. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Adora gestured with the gun, and Gigi flinched. “You are. I know you’re counting on all your friends rushing to your rescue. But when they do, they’re going to find you dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.” She held the gun up to her own head as if to demonstrate. “Administered while the balance of your mind was impaired. All caused by the thought that you’d accidentally killed your client, the dear, departed Martha Bernhardt.” Adora gave a shrill bark of laughter. “I actually had to say a line like that in a play once.” She shook her head. “I’ve had to work with some dreadful scripts, believe me.”
“That must have been difficult.” Gigi’s glance kept swiveling toward the door, but so far it had remained stubbornly closed.
“You have no idea how difficult!” Adora screeched. “If that bitch Martha hadn’t ruined my chances on Broadway…” She pointed the gun at Gigi. “It was all her fault. She wanted to get back at me for my affair with Winston.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t my fault Winston was tired of her.” She shrugged. “Anyway, as I was saying, your friends are going to find you’ve committed suicide. You could no longer stand the burden of guilt knowing you’d accidentally killed poor, dear Martha.”
“But I didn’t!” Gigi jumped to her feet in protest.
“Sit down,” Adora commanded, waving the gun in a wild arc.
“Why now?” Gigi asked as she sank back down onto the sofa. If Adora was going to kill her, she figured she might as well at least satisfy her curiosity. “All that was years ago. What made you—?”
“She was going to do it all over again,” Adora snapped. A dreamy look came into her eyes. “She was going to ruin Emilio this time. All because that clumsy waitress spilled some water on her when she went to do her review.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t have—”
“Yes, she would.” Adora spun around and pointed the gun at Gigi. “Martha was like that. Vindictive, mean, nasty…and jealous, too. She wanted Emilio for herself.” She threw back her head and laughed. “As if Emilio would even look at her! He said it made him sick to pretend—”
“To pretend what?” In spite of herself, Gigi was sitting on the edge of her seat.
Adora gave a contemptuous toss of her head. “That he liked her. He pretended to be in love with her to try to get her to cancel her review and give Al Forno a second chance.”
“I’m sure she would have—”
“No.” Adora stamped her foot. “She wouldn’t. Do you believe it? Even after Emilio had somehow managed to convince her that he loved her…she still planned to go ahead with her review.” She swiped at a tear of what Gigi supposed was frustration.
Gigi gauged the distance from where she was sitting to the door. What were her chances if she made a run for it? She doubted that Adora was a particularly good shot—if Gigi bobbed and wove, she might have a chance at making it.
All her muscles tightened at the thought of bolting, but she couldn’t make herself do it. The idea of being shot—even in some relatively harmless location like an arm or a leg—was enough to paralyze her. She’d have to pray that someone at Al Forno missed her and came looking. Meanwhile, she’d have to keep Adora talking.
“Are you the one who let Reg out of my car that day at the theater and left that threatening note?”
Adora wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand then straightened her shoulders. “I had to do something. You were getting too close.”
Gigi got mad all over again at the thought that she could have lost Reg.
“If you weren’t so nosy, none of this would be happening.”
“You’re blaming me?” Gigi’s voice rose to a squeaky crescendo.
“I didn’t think anyone would recognize me in my costume, but then you managed to put two and two together.”
Gigi remembered back to the day of Martha’s murder. Adora had run outside in her costume, hoping that anyone who happened to be passing wouldn’t recognize her in that garb.
Until Gigi saw her on stage and the light finally went on.
Adora looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. Let’s get this over with.” She gestured toward Gigi with the gun. “I need your fingerprints on here.”
“No.” Gigi struggled as Adora tried to grab her hand and press it against the handle of the gun.
“Stop squirming,” Adora commanded. “Your prints have to be on here just the right way.”
Gigi looked up into Adora’s eyes and realized it was hopeless. Adora didn’t care what she had to do to get her own way. Gigi shivered and glanced toward the door again. No one. No knight in shining armor coming to save her. She’d have to do this herself.
She began to struggle in earnest, but Adora was surprisingly strong and succeeded in twisting Gigi’s arm around so that the gun was pointing at her head. She felt the sharp edges of the barrel pressing into her temple and renewed her struggles.
“You’re not going to get away with this.” Gigi strained to put as much distance between her head and the gun as possible. “Someone else might have seen you that day. They’ll figure it out.”
“No one else saw me. Just that stupid woman driving the delivery truck.”
“Au contraire, my dear.” The voice came from somewhere out of the blackness enveloping stage right, and both Gigi and Adora swiveled abruptly in that direction.
Winston stepped from the shadows and stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest.
Gigi went limp with relief. Surely Winston would be able to do…something.
The gun in Adora’s hand wavered but still hovered in the vicinity of Gigi’s head. Gigi’s mind whirled through an entire gigabyte of thoughts in a matter of seconds. If Winston had seen Adora tampering with Martha’s food that day, or had even seen her outside at the relevant time, why hadn’t he said anything before now?
Winston cocked his head in Gigi’s direction. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I didn’t immediately go running to the police.” He shrugged. “Frankly, it was in my best interests not to. Not”—he held up a hand palm facing out—“that I had any idea what you were up to that day.” He pointed accusingly at Adora.
Adora snorted. “Darn right it was in your best interests, as you put it. You wouldn’t have been able to make the deal for this property if Martha were still alive.”
“And you”—Winston pointed at Adora again—“are getting a completely new, state-of-the-art theater, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”
“But they’ll arrest her when they find out, and you…” Gigi trailed off in the face of Winston’s expres
sion.
“I know.” He paused dramatically. “I’ll be an accessory to the crime. My girl, you are truly naïve.” He threw his head back and laughed theatrically. “I have no intention of allowing you to ruin my happy little scheme. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when Adora decided to take things into her own greedy little hands and get rid of that large, cumbersome obstacle known as Martha. Far be it from me to stand in her way. She took all the risks”—he gestured toward Adora—“and I get all the rewards.”
“And so you’re throwing me to the wolves?” Adora jumped to her feet. “If I’m going down, so are you.” She moved the gun from Gigi’s head and Gigi breathed a momentary sigh of relief.
Adora held the pistol at arm’s length, braced with both hands and aimed directly at Winston.
“No!” Gigi cried. She waved an arm trying to throw off Adora’s aim.
Winston just stood there and watched. “Don’t worry,” he said with a smirk, “it’s not a real gun.” He gestured toward the revolver in Adora’s hand. “It’s a prop.”
“This”—his hand disappeared into the folds of his jacket—“is a real gun,” and he pulled out a serious-looking pistol. He aimed it casually but steadily at Adora. “What a pity, but this has to be done. You”—he cocked the pistol in Adora’s direction—“are going to kill yourself after having murdered our little Gigi here. So sad. You were overcome with remorse and saw no way out but to take your own life.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Gigi stammered, realizing how ridiculous that sounded even as she said it.
Winston took a step toward Adora.
“Don’t you come any closer!” Adora brandished the prop gun as if it were real.
“Nonsense, dear, I don’t want to put too much trust in my aim.” Winston steadied the gun with his left hand and moved his finger to the trigger.
Adora closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger of the prop pistol a second before Winston squeezed his.
The explosion was massive, and Gigi’s hands flew to her ears practically of their own accord. It took her several seconds to realize she was screaming and several more to force herself to stop.
