by Louise Lynn
But if Christopher Allen got the money back, why had he lied and said he hadn’t? That was odd.
“Did you know about the affair?”
Angela Dane’s jaw tightened. “Which one? Dom’s had dozens in the last six years.”
From the look on the woman’s face, Hazel could tell Angela hated it. And she couldn’t imagine what that must’ve been like. Married in the public eye to a serial cheater, and for whatever reason, not leaving him. A strange twinge of pity filled her stomach.
“The one with Sophia Allen,” Hazel said under her breath. Just in case the woman in question was close enough to hear. She could never tell with all those heavy curtains everywhere—anyone could be hiding behind them.
Angela stiffened. “I figured as much. Doesn’t matter. He never would’ve left me for her. We were getting a divorce, but she wasn’t the cause of it. And Dominic would’ve cheated on her just as frequently as he did on me.”
Hazel felt her heart pounding. Something about Sophia being the killer didn’t add up. Not when combined with the wig and that box of hidden evidence. And a certain someone trying to get Dominic fired from the beginning.
She got it all wrong.
She remembered Christopher and Sophia arguing. What Darcy said about the constant fights. Then, the image of the man sitting alone at Falstaff’s Folly filled her mind. What was it that stuck out to her then? The long red hair on his shirt. If he and his wife were at such a bad place, how did the hair get there?
She also remembered how furious Christopher had been when Hazel told him about Dominic and Sophia alone together.
“When exactly did Christopher Allen ask you to step down?”
Angela stared up at Hazel and carefully ushered her a few steps from the stage. “I told you. The night after Dominic was killed. Chris came to me and said it would probably be a good idea if I stepped down, considering the accident, and that he wouldn’t blame me and all this nonsense.”
“Did he ask again before the second performance or only after?” Hazel asked carefully.
That felt important.
Urgent, even.
Angela blinked. “He asked me before, emphatically actually. How did you know that?”
A horrible pit opened in Hazel stomach.
Sophia wasn’t the one who wanted Angela offstage so she could take the part of Lady Macbeth. It was Christopher. And if Hazel’s new hunch was right, he was after a much darker conclusion than just a sprained ankle.
The wig was the piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit with any other suspect. She’d shoved it aside and decided it was used to frame Violet like Darcy had claimed.
But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t supposed to be used to frame Violet, it was supposed to be used to frame Angela.
“How much did he want you to drop out of the second production?” Hazel asked and glanced around at the curtains and shadows that hugged the stage.
She hadn’t seen either Christopher Allen or Sophia since that morning, and it couldn’t be good.
Angela actually look like she was thinking before she spoke, for once. “Quite a bit. In fact, he even offered to let me out of the contract, but I didn’t believe him. I said I’d need written confirmation from his attorney, which would’ve obviously taken time, and he seemed a little bit put out about that. Why?”
Hazel frowned. “And this performance?”
Angela Dane slowly leaned against the side of the stage. “Since I hurt my ankle, of course he’s been trying to get me not to do it. He even cut the scene of climbing the tower since that set is ruined, but what does this have to do with anything?”
Hazel’s heart thundered in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Angela what she thought.
But Sheriff Cross was miles away. Celia and Violet had gone, and there wasn’t anybody else who would understand.
Plus, the woman was obviously invested in this. She’d been injured. She could have died. Not to mention her husband’s death.
“I think I know who killed your husband and tried to kill you, but I’ll need your help catching them. How good of an actress are you exactly?” Hazel asked and explained her theory. She even showed Angela the photo she’d gotten from Sonny Pirelli.
When she finished, Angela’s eyes had narrowed into slits. She sucked in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “I’m the best actress. Like the bard said: ‘The play’s the thing. Wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the killer.’ What do I need to do?”
Chapter 22
Hazel left Angela standing backstage.
Their plan seemed like a nebulous thing, much like the flickering torches that shone around the festival grounds itself.
In order for this to work, Hazel had to hurry.
Good thing Anthony Ray didn’t need any prompting. He jumped off his perch and trotted in front of her, his nose held in the air. She hadn’t seen Christopher or Sophia in hours, but they had to be close to the production. They wouldn’t go far, would they?
Unless she was too late—and then—no.
Hazel refused to think like that.
She’d catch them before anything else happened.
The actors’ tents were shrouded in even more shadows than the rest of the festival, and they each only had one lamp burning in front of them. The lamps themselves cast little light into the true darkness that surrounded Lake Celeste.
There were no street lamps here, no permanent glow that would light up the night sky. And without a moon, it was difficult to see.
She bypassed Angela’s tent, and was about to head straight toward the costume one where Farrah would likely be, but heard something near Dominic’s instead.
Anthony Ray perked his ears, and Darcy stepped out of the shadows near the tent. His eyes were wide, and he held a finger to his lips.
Hazel raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
Darcy shook his head. “Is Violet safe?”
Hazel nodded.
Darcy shoved his fists into his pockets. “My dad just went in there. I don’t know why but he was sneaking around and–”
Hazel let out a breath and patted his back. “Do you know where your mom is?”
Darcy nodded stiffly and pointed toward another tent. “Go get her and head backstage. It’s important. Angela will explain it to her.”
Darcy’s eyes widened, and he trotted toward the tent without question.
Hazel didn’t want to have to explain what she was up to, because Darcy might not agree with it. She had a feeling if Sheriff Cross was there, he wouldn’t agree with it either.
Her mother, however, would think it was the best idea ever. That gave her a brief moment of pause, but she moved past it.
She had to catch the killer somehow!
She cleared her throat before she moved into the tent. “Mr. Allen? Are you around? It’s an emergency.” She put as much frantic urgency into her voice as possible. She wasn’t as good an actress as Angela, but she hoped it wasn’t awful either.
The shadows in the tent shifted around her, the lamp flickered and sent darkness scurrying everywhere.
Christopher Allen started. His eyes looked like black pits, and he smoothed his hand over his hair to cover that bald spot. Nervous gesture, she guessed. He had a lot to be nervous about.
“What is it?” he said and had the nerve to look like he hadn’t been sneaking around in a murdered men’s tent.
She tried not to scowl at him. “Like I said. It’s an emergency.”
Christopher Allen didn’t seem so predisposed not to scowl because he did so openly. “And what are you doing away from the play? Aren’t you supposed to be photographing it, or did you forget what your job was?”
Hazel fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I said emergency. Angela Dane is refusing to go on stage, so as the director, I think it’s your job to hang around the production and fix things like this. Or am I mistaken?”
Christopher’s eyes widened, and he brushed past her qui
ckly and headed toward the stage. “Where’s Sophia? If Angela’s not going to perform then my wife will have to take her place. Not that she’ll be upset about that, she can’t wait to get in the limelight.” His voice was nearly a growl.
Hazel had never heard him sound like that before, but now she knew why.
It turned her stomach.
Sophia and Darcy had reached the stage first. From the look of fury on Sophia’s face, Hazel had a feeling the woman knew the truth. Hopefully, she was ready to play along.
Hazel carefully adjusted her camera to the video setting to record everything. No use putting on a show if they didn’t have a potential audience, right?
“What’s going on?” Christopher hissed.
Angela sat on the back of the stage, her legs dangling.
Anthony Ray jumped up and sat on her lap, as if it were one of his beds at home. The woman mindlessly ran her fingers through his fur, and Anthony Ray trilled. “I’m not going to get myself murdered for this production. And I expect to be let out of my contract, like you promised last time,” Angela said in a haughty voice that wasn’t anywhere near a whisper. It was more like her stage voice, and Hazel hoped it carried to the audience.
She really had missed her cue, so the actors moved on without her, which left a sizable gap in the play. Hazel overheard the audience murmur about the scenes not making sense.
“Keep your voice down!” Christopher Allen hissed. “Sophia. You’re on.” He cast a quick glance at his wife. “If you’re done here, Angela, you can return to your tent, and you, Ms. Hart, can get back to work.”
Angela made no move to budge and kicked her feet. Her eyes hooked on Sophia, and her lips twisted into a terrible smile. “Not so fast. I really don’t want my husband’s mistress as my understudy anymore. Someone else should play the part.”
Sophia’s face went pale, and Darcy glanced between the two women.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sophia said and shook her head. Long red hair tumbled around her shoulders.
Angela laughed, a shrill biting thing. “Don’t play dumb with me. I knew the entire time. I also know that you were the one who killed him,” Angela said and scratched under Anthony Ray’s chin.
Sophia shook her head. “I never—I loved him. I couldn’t have hurt him. You’re the one who did it,” she cried and pointed a shaking finger at Angela. “You wanted his money.”
Christopher Allen looked back and forth between them. “Keep your voices down. Everyone in the audience will be able to hear you,” he said in a whisper.
Angela laughed again, louder this time. “His money? Ha! A lot of it was my money. And yes, now I get a much bigger payout, and I get to be the poor widow. But it also means I can’t get my old name back. Do you know how annoying it is? To live in the shadow of a man I surpassed before I married him? I suppose you never will, because I’ll make you pay for what you did,” Angela said, and somehow managed to scramble out from under Anthony Ray without him yelling at her or scratching her gown.
That was impressive. The woman must be used to cats, Hazel decided, and discreetly kept her camera recording. Thank goodness for digital cameras coming equipped with audio and video nowadays. Otherwise, she never would have been able to manage this.
“What are you doing?” Hazel cried.
Angela lunged at Sophia and managed to yank a knife from her gown.
Sophia screamed, and Angela held it to the woman’s chin and gripped her shoulder.
Darcy fell back and glanced around wildly.
“Do you have anything to say before I kill your wife?” Angela said and smiled at Christopher.
He gaped and didn’t make a single move.
Darcy started to cry. “Please don’t hurt her. Please–” he mumbled.
Hazel frowned and darted to his side. She grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Run. Go find the sheriff or a deputy.”
The boy took off into the darkness.
That would save him the worst of it, though he’d learn the truth soon enough.
Angela stayed in character and didn’t pay any attention to him, while Sophia screamed. “Do something, you idiot,” she cried at her husband.
Christopher stood, shoulders slumped, and in the heavy shadows that surrounded him, Hazel swore she saw him smile.
Angela took that moment to move in close to Sophia, and plunged the knife into her stomach.
Sophia stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide. The woman’s body stiffened, and she doubled over and fell to the ground.
“Oh my goodness. You really did it. You killed Sophia!” Christopher Allen said, and made no move to run for his wife. He looked more dumbfounded than upset, and Hazel knew why.
She looked between the two of them and smiled. “Actually, Angela, I think we had it wrong. I don’t think Sophia was the one who killed Dominic. I think it was Christopher. Now that you’ve killed his wife, you did the job he’s been trying to do all along, isn’t that right?” she said and turned towards the director.
Christopher Allen stared between the two of them. The actors on stage quit speaking their lines, but Christopher Allen didn’t seem to have noticed. “What are you talking about? She just killed my wife, and you’re claiming I’m to blame? You can’t prove anything.”
Angela grinned and moved toward him faster than a person with a sprained ankle should be able to move. She grabbed him by the front of the shirt and held the knife to his chest. “Oh, Ms. Hart has plenty of proof. What was it you told me earlier? You have pictures of him?”
Christopher Allen sputtered.
Hazel began her tale. “Your marriage has been struggling for a long time, hasn’t it? Your son told me as much, but it was easy to see from the way you two bickered. And then you got this directing gig and spent all your money to bring Dominic here, only he was a drunk, and while he performed the play fine, you realized you’d stretched yourself too thin. You were going to be in debt for years after this, and what would happen when Sophia finally filed for divorce? Because it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? You knew about the affair—about her and Dominic. The man you paid half a million dollars to bring here and his wife. That’s enough to drive anyone to murder, but you couldn’t just kill them straight off because, of course, they would think you did it. So, you had a plan.”
Anthony Ray wound around her ankles and moved toward Christopher, who tried to take a step back.
Angela held him close.
“That’s absurd. You can’t prove any of this. I—I didn’t even know about Sophia and Dominic until just now,” he said, though Hazel could see the color rising in his cheeks.
“Oh really? Then why would you try to get Dominic out of the festival? Before he even performed, you planted those photos in the vanity. You knew about the secret drawer because the piece of furniture came from your house. You wanted him to get outed as a pervert so the festival would drop him and you’d get your money back. You already admitted that this morning, but it didn’t happen how you’d planned. So, you rigged a little accident. Only, you didn’t do it as yourself. You dressed up in a red wig and a gown to climb the ladder and cut the cable while Dominic was on stage. That was all a preamble for killing Sophia. You had to make it look like it was someone else—someone who wanted Dominic dead. And who else but his wife? The one who he’d had plenty of public spats with. The one who he kept bragging about how close he was to divorcing. She was the perfect patsy, wasn’t she?”
Christopher Allen stared at the knife held to his chest. “I—you have no idea what it’s like. When we left L.A, I thought it would get better, but things just got worse. And then she talks me into hiring Dominic Dane so she can run off with him? No. I had to put my foot down. There was no way I compared to that man. Alcoholic or not, he had money and everything. I—Angela, really. I didn’t mean to hurt you. That never was supposed to happen,” he said and shook his head.
Angela sneered.
“I believe you,” Hazel said. �
��You didn’t want Angela to get hurt, because that accident was supposed to befall your wife. In fact, part of the reason you killed Dominic besides him being the man having an affair with your wife, was so you could pin the whole thing on Angela. Of course Angela would want to kill her cheating husband and his mistress. And what better way to do it than on stage? It had a certain dramatic flair, I’ll give you that. And as the director you knew exactly where Dominic would be standing, and which light cable to cut. But, you didn’t count on Angela not dropping out of the play. You thought she was made of weaker stuff than she is, right?”
“You should never underestimate a woman,” Angela said, and dragged the knife down Christopher Allen’s cheek.
The man whimpered.
Hazel went on. “You rigged the tower set to break since you thought Angela would drop out and Sophia would be the one to climb it and fall. Only, when Angela went up there, it didn’t work. Now you had to come up with a different accident. How are you going to try and kill your wife this time?”
Christopher glanced at Sophia’s still form. “I was going to cut another light. It’s the only thing that worked. I had to get rid of her. You don’t understand! In L.A, it was all about her. Everything was about her! I was the producer, but the only thing anyone cared about was my wife! Being married to me wasn’t enough. She always needed more. A career! A famous actor! Please, you have to–”
Angela smiled. “Oh, no. Don’t you get it? You’re next,” she said and plunged the knife into his chest.
The blade disappeared, and Christopher Allen let out a choked cry. Then, as Angela pulled the blade back out, he blinked. “A st-st-stage knife?” he stuttered and stumbled back.
Suddenly, Sophia was on her feet, angrily marching toward her husband. “You tried to kill me? After everything I did for you, and you wanted to murder me? It wasn’t about me, Christopher, it was about you!” she cried and looked ready to murder him herself. “I gave up my career for you! I moved here for you, and you were never happy with any of it! I fell into Dom’s arms because at least he thought I was a good actress, good for more than a pretty face on his arm!”
