by Louise Lynn
Long dark red hair, like Angela Dane. Also, the understudy to Lady Macbeth. “Sophia Allen. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Hazel said.
Michael tugged at the hem of his tunic. He was still in costume even though Hazel told both of them they didn’t have to be. “I didn’t think it was important at the time. Plus, you’ve been so busy, and we’ve been dealing with the booth, so it slipped my mind. Honest. Do I need to talk to the police about it?”
Hazel shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll see if Sheriff Cross wants to talk to you personally, but how do you know they were having an affair? Were they kissing?” She said and frowned, thinking of her own cheating husband.
Yeah, she could see why Angela Dane would want to kill him.
“They were talking about something intimate and they kissed. They didn’t see me because it was dark. Not that I spied on them or anything. I ducked away as soon as I heard them saying something about being alone together again. And the woman mentioned his tent. That’s all I remember. Sorry.”
Hazel patted his shoulder. “Don’t be. That actually helps. A lot. Or, it will if we can ever find Angela Dane.”
However, it gave her another idea.
If Dominic and Sophia were being that open about the fact they were having an affair, perhaps someone else besides Michael saw something.
Which meant she had to go straight to the source of that encounter—Jay Turner himself.
By then it was late enough in the afternoon that Falstaff’s Folly was open. In bright spring sunlight, it didn’t look as foreboding as it had the night before, and at least the floor wasn’t as sticky as the one in the Taproom.
All in all, this was an improvement.
“Back again? You here to try the mead this time?” Jay said in that flirtatious tone he used with everyone.
Hazel shook her head. “Seltzer water, if you have some. I’ll get straight to the point. I’m pretty sure Dominic Dane was having an affair with Sophia Allen. Did you see anything like that?”
Jay laughed. “Okay, Miss Nose. Are you trying to solve a murder or spread rumors like Darla Maple? Oh, by the way, this place isn’t haunted, so you’re safe here.”
Hazel rolled her eyes and felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “Ha ha. Very funny. That was a calculated risk that backfired. This is important. I know you don’t like to snitch or whatever but–”
Jay’s smirk sobered and he sucked in a breath through his nose. “Okay. The actor that was killed, and—who is Sophia Allen?”
Hazel described her, and Jay nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ve saw them together. Actually, not here but in the Taproom. After the cast party on Sunday, that actor guy showed up and stayed pretty much until closing. She showed up to meet him, and they were pretty friendly with each other, if you know what I mean.”
Hazel felt her lips pull into a disappointing frown. She knew exactly what he meant. And that meant two people had seen the same thing. “Would you explain this to Sheriff Cross if he wants you to?”
Jay bared his teeth but nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess I would. You think it has something to do with the guy’s death?”
Hazel shrugged. “Who knows. Like I said, it was the ghostly curse that did it, right?”
Jay smirked. “Hey, we all have to tell certain things to Darla Maple to get her off our backs.”
Hazel pouted and sipped her seltzer water. “I have a feeling it’s going to take me longer to live this down than anything else.”
Jay furrowed his brow and leaned across the bar. “Actually, I remember something else. I thought it was his wife he was fighting with, but it may have been his mistress, now that I think about it.”
The ice clinked in Hazel’s glass as she set it down. “Whose wife?”
“The dead actor. He was fighting with a woman that night, right before he went on stage and got his head smashed in. She had long red hair and was saying something like: how dare you do this to me. You promised you’d leave her.”
Hazel stood up straight. “Was it Angela or Sophia?”
Jay’s brow furrowed and he rubbed his stubbly jaw. “At first, I thought it was the wife, and I’d seen them fight before, but this woman wasn’t as regal. She looked ready to pummel him, but he laughed and took off before she could. If a look could kill, hers would have.”
Hazel felt the cold of the deepening shadows as if they were creeping under her skin. She knew that expression all too well. She’d seen it that morning. “You’re sure it was Sophia and not Angela?”
Jay gave her a grin. “A hundred percent sure. Angela Dane said she wouldn’t step foot in my establishment. At least, that’s what one of the stagehands who’s a buddy of mine said, and he heard it from the horse’s mouth.”
Hazel admitted that it sounded like something Angela would have said, for sure. She thanked Jay and wandered out, leaving a quick message for Sheriff Cross with her findings about the affair, since he didn’t answer his cell.
Then Anthony Ray gave a tug on the leash. She thought he might have to go to the bathroom since he led her toward the trees.
However, when they got into the shadows of a towering cedar, a man crouched there, camera held to his chest and gaze focused on the screen. He was short, round and paunchy. The same guy Darla pointed out the day before—the same man Angela Dane complained about that morning—and Anthony Ray took her right to him.
He was definitely getting a treat tonight.
She was going to clear her throat, since the man seemed lost in his own world, but Anthony Ray let out a hiss instead.
The man, Sonny Pirelli, jumped and his head whipped around. “What the—! Get your own place to snoop, lady.”
Right. Hazel had her Nikon around her neck. “I’m not one of you, but I was looking for you. Why are you stalking Angela Dane?”
Chapter 20
Sonny Pirelli scoffed and straighten his shoulders. “Stalking? Ha! Either you’re interested in buying some photos or not. Otherwise, why should I talk to you?”
Good point. She had a feeling if she asked nicely, that wouldn’t do. Darla said paparazzi pictures were pricey, and no way was Hazel going to shell out cash for a photo.
She needed another angle.
Fear.
Maybe that would work.
But what would scare a man like this?
“I’m not going to buy anything, but if you don’t show me the pictures you have, my client, Angela Dane, will sue you into oblivion for harassment, blackmail, and more.”
That got the man’s attention. His pig-like eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Blackmail? What is this about blackmail?”
Anthony Ray let out a low growl, and Hazel stood at her full height, a good three inches taller than Sonny. “What it sounds like. The police are looking for you. After Angela’s testimony, they even think you may have had something to do with Dominic Dane’s murder. You’re obsessed with Angela, aren’t you?”
The man took a step back. “Obsessed? Murder? No, I do my job. I have to hide in bushes to make a buck. It’s not like I’m a stalker or anything. And I couldn’t have killed Dominic because I got the killer on camera!”
Hazel blinked. Now that was unexpected. “You—what? Why haven’t you gone to the police?”
The smile Sonny gave her dripped with sleaziness. “And miss a big payoff? I think not.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Right. Because a killer would just hand you over some money and let you live? Is that how murderers work these days?”
Sonny’s ruddy face turned as dark as an overripe tomato. “Oh, well, I didn’t think of that. You the killer? ‘Cause if you are, I ain’t got any evidence against you. Nope. None.”
“I’m not the killer. But you’d better let me see what you have before I call the police.” She tried to make her voice as gruff as possible. She wasn’t sure if it worked, considering she’d worn a long yellow sundress that day—which was the opposite of intimidating.
Anthony Ray’s demeanor helped. He sniffed the ma
n’s shoes and hissed again.
Sonny Pirelli only hesitated for a moment, then he turned his camera toward her and showed Hazel the screen. It was too small to make out any detail, and the pictures had been taken at night with a telephoto lens—likely the same one that shot that picture of Angela over Dominic’s body.
He caught a woman with long red hair climbing the ladder above the stage, with the same pair of heavy cable cutters Hazel had seen earlier. The ones dredged from the lake.
That was the murderer in action, but—
She squinted at the screen. “Email these to me. Your camera has Wi-Fi, right?”
Sonny Pirelli scowled. He muttered about bossy women and making a buck, but did as she ordered. “You see what I mean?” he said with a sick smile.
Hazel glowered at him as she brought up the photo on her phone. It was new—one Violet had spent a good hour showing her how to use two weeks before, and the photo program was top notch. She could zoom in with the touch screen and get a better look at the surroundings.
As she did, a chill went down her spine.
“No, because Angela Dean didn’t do it. Look, she’s on the other side of the stage, back there. You can see the top of her head and her gown. This is…”
Sonny Pirelli stared. “What? It looks just like Angela!”
It did look like her, but it wasn’t her. And who kept being mistaken for the actress again and again? Hazel herself had done it at least once.
She needed to get this information to Sheriff Cross right away, because he was about to arrest the wrong woman.
Angela Dane hadn’t killed her husband for having an affair, but, in all likelihood, Sophia Allen had killed her lover, then she’d tried to kill his wife.
And she wanted to frame it on Violet.
“You ain’t even gonna say thank you?” Sonny spat as Hazel turned to go.
Anthony Ray squatted on the man’s shoe and made a mess.
Well, she was right about one thing. Anthony Ray did have to go to the bathroom.
“That’s all the thanks you get,” she said and hurried away, hoping she wasn’t too late.
Chapter 21
As the sun dipped behind the mountains to the west, the torches and lamps flared to life around the festival.
Hazel was sure she wasn’t imagining that there were more people here than ever before.
Where was Sheriff Cross?
The audience for the final production of Macbeth was settling in their seats, Hazel’s eyes searched the growing crowd, but she didn’t see Colton among them. Nor did she see any of the deputies either.
Even worse, after she’d left two messages, he hadn’t gotten back to her. That was unlike him, to say the least. She’d even texted him and got no response.
Anthony Ray yawned from his spot perched backstage, and Hazel adjusted the leash strap she’d slung over her wrist.
Sure, she didn’t usually work with her cat nearby, but her father and Michael had wanted to enjoy the play, and she knew how Anthony Ray would get if she locked him in her studio. Angry and possibly destructive.
And Hazel liked her furniture the way it was—minus the claw marks.
The chill that shot up her spine had little to do with the rapidly cooling air, and more to do with the fact that it looked more and more likely that she was going to have to confront a killer alone.
Again.
And here she thought working, even unofficially, with the sheriff would help her avoid that.
Celia bounded out of the shadows a moment later and grabbed Hazel by the hands. “Hey, I got your message. What do you mean you can’t find any police?” Celia said, her brown eyes wide.
Hazel, still searching the crowd, sighed. “Exactly what it sounds like. I haven’t been able to get a hold of Colton, and he hasn’t shown up to the festival, which makes me think–”
Celia’s lips worked. “It makes you think you’re going to have to go rescue your boyfriend from the big bad guy?”
Hazel shook her head. “No, but I know who did it, and I have proof.”
“And he hasn’t called back at all?” Celia asked and put her hands on her hips. She’d dressed partially in costume, with a long flowing skirt and a peasant type blouse tucked into it. Though, Hazel noted that she had foregone a corset as well.
“Well, it hasn’t rang, so I don’t think so,” Hazel said and dug in her pocket for her phone. As she pulled it out, she noticed several messages waiting on the screen.
Celia laughed. “What did I tell you about turning the ringer off? Isn’t this like the tenth time it’s happened?”
Hazel scowled as she unlocked her phone and went through the messages. “Shut up. The switch is right here, and I accidentally touch it. I honestly didn’t mean to turn it off this time.”
The way Celia raised her eyebrows told Hazel she didn’t quite believe that excuse, but Hazel wasn’t going to repeat it.
The messages were simple enough, Sheriff Cross had obtained a warrant and was going to search Angela Dane’s rental property. He’d gotten Hazel’s information about the affair, but was checking out this lead first.
Celia read the text over Hazel shoulder. “Weren’t they staying at the old Barkley place?”
Hazel nodded. “Yeah, which is huge, but he’s been there at least two hours already.”
“Well, maybe that’s not the reason he didn’t answer his phone. You know, that property is a cellular dead zone.”
The house was farther out of town than Hazel’s own cabin, but she hadn’t known that. “Let me guess, the town specifically decided not to put up an extra cell tower just to spite the man for building that hideous mansion?”
Celia scratched her nose and shrugged. “It was decided at a town meeting that happened before you lived here. He still built the house though.”
He’d also died, but Hazel decided against mentioning that.
And dead zone or not, Hazel needed to speak to Sheriff Cross now, and he wasn’t anywhere around.
Which meant, either she had to go looking for him, or wait for him to call her back. Both sounded like bad ideas, considering a killer was on the loose.
“Hazel? Have you seen my uncle?” Violet said and trotted up to them, her eyes wide with the same sort of worry that Hazel felt.
Hazel shook her head. “We think he’s at Angela Dane’s rental but–”
Violet scrunched her nose. “Angela Dane’s here. I just helped Farrah get her into costume and makeup. She’s ready to go on stage in a few minutes.”
“What?” Hazel cried and looked around.
Celia looked back and forth between the two of them. “Wait, isn’t she the one you think killed Dominic Dane?”
Violet looked ready to agree, but Hazel shook her head. “No. But if she’s here, that means she might be in danger. Listen, Celia, can you do me a favor? Can you go to the old Barkley place and tell the sheriff to get back here right away? Violet, go with her. Sophia is the killer, not Angela.”
Celia flung her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Got it. I’ll call you as soon as I get back into cell range. Anything you want us to tell him in particular?”
Warmth spread in Hazel’s chest. Good old Celia. She could always count on her best friend when it mattered. “Yeah. Tell him it definitely wasn’t Angela Dane.”
With that, Celia and Violet hurried away into the darkness, casting each other curious glances, but they didn’t bother questioning Hazel further.
Good. Not only did that mean Sheriff Cross would be here within a half hour—Hazel hoped—but it also kept Violet out of danger and any more trouble. The sheriff should appreciate that.
But Angela Dane, here?
That couldn’t be good.
Especially if Sophia still wanted the woman dead.
Violet was right, Angela was headed for the stage, and Anthony Ray perked up at her. To Hazel surprise, Angela actually smiled at the cat and held her fingers out for him to sniff. Anthony Ray did so, and then allowed her to p
at him on the head three times before he turned in a circle and laid back down.
“Mrs. Dane—Angela, are you performing tonight? What about your foot?” Hazel asked.
Angela gave her a dismissive glance. “You’re the photographer, last time I checked. Not the doctor or the director. And of course I’m finishing the play. I’ve iced my foot all day, and I’m fine. Why? Did the sheriff catch that toad trying to blackmail me? Or have you come to accuse me of murder again?”
Hazel bit the inside of her cheek. This woman may not be a killer, but dealing with her was murder itself. Or it made Hazel feel murderous.
Both, actually.
“No, but I think you’re in real danger here. I think the person who killed your husband also wants you out of the picture, and if you go on stage one more time–”
Angela Dane let out a shrill laugh. “I see what you’re doing. You want me to break my contract, just like Mr. Allen wanted, and I’m not going to. I intend to follow through to the end, and that means doing this final performance. Excuse me,” she said, lifted her gown and limped onto the stage to wait for her cue.
Hazel watched her go, her heart heavy.
Christopher Allen wanted Angela to break the contract?
Why?
Hazel climbed up on the stage, and carefully tapped Angela Dane on the shoulder.
The play had already begun, and the woman turned and glowered at her. “I’m getting into character. Leave me alone,” she said in a whisper.
“Why do they want you to break your contract?”
A knowing smile spread across Angela’s lips, and she looked more Lady Macbeth than herself. She wasn’t kidding about getting into character. “After Dom died, Christopher asked if it would be better if his wife took over—my understudy. Of course he wants me out of my contract. He already got the money back that he paid Dom, but the money he paid me is still up in the air.”
Hazel mulled that over for a few seconds. “Wait. You gave him the money he paid Dominic back?”
Angela nodded. “Yes. The payment went through this afternoon. Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t need it, and it was the right thing to do.”
