‘That’s all right,’ Tish reassured him. ‘We were discussing earlier how all families have their fair share of drama, particularly during the holidays.’
‘We used to be a family,’ Fran lamented. ‘That’s all changed now.’
‘My wife and I have been with the group since Rolly Rollinson founded it back in the late eighties. I’m Ted Fenton.’ He extended a hand toward Tish. ‘This is my wife Frances.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Tish shook his hand and the group exchanged introductions.
‘Williamsburg Theater was founded on the belief that every member of the group had a unique talent to share,’ Ted explained. ‘Those talents would be used to bring great theater to the public at a fraction of the cost of traditional theater. And, as each of us actors brought something special to the group, material would be chosen so that a different actor would be highlighted with each new production, thus avoiding the jealousies that ensue in companies with a “lead” or “primary” actor.’
‘It worked quite well, for a time. But now Jenny Inkpen has been in the starring role for five of the past six productions, including the role of Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, which should have gone to Lucinda LeComte – Olivia in tonight’s performance. Jenny is far too young for the part. But all that seems to matter to Rolly now is the troupe’s popularity on social media,’ Frances Fenton complained.
‘According to Rolly, having followers on Twitter and other such places helps to secure advance bookings. To appeal to the Snapchat demographic, Jenny Inkpen is now the “new face” of Williamsburg Theater Group,’ Ted expounded. ‘She’s on the cover of our new brochure, in print ads, and on the homepage of the group website.’
‘Even though Lucinda can act circles around her,’ Frances added. ‘I’m telling you, being an actress is not for the meek. The moment you get a line on your face, you’re asked to play somebody’s mother.’
‘Makes me mighty glad I’m a cook,’ Tish noted.
‘I’ll say,’ Celestine commiserated.
‘Since you mentioned cooking, is there a place within walking distance where we can get coffee and breakfast in the morning?’ Ted asked. ‘Our trailers are all hooked up, so we’re without wheels until the fair is over.’
‘Well, the Bar and Grill is just around the corner and they do weekend brunch starting at ten o’clock. My café opens at seven, but it’s about a mile or so down the road.’
‘Hmm, we have a dress rehearsal at nine, so brunch is out, and the walk to and from your café would put us tight for time.’
‘How about I deliver? Check out the menu on my café website.’ She passed Ted a business card. ‘Give me your order before I leave tonight, and I’ll bring it by in the morning. No delivery fee.’
‘Really?’ Frances exclaimed. ‘That would be terrific, but we don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble at all. A mile by car is far quicker than a mile on foot.’
As Ted and Frances packed up their coffee and bowls of stew and set off to discuss breakfast options with the rest of the troupe, Schuyler observed, ‘Carry-out delivery service. Just what you need to be doing while juggling the café and the fair.’
‘It won’t be that bad,’ Tish dismissed. ‘Mary Jo and Charlotte are covering at the café all weekend. I just have to make sure the baking is underway before they arrive. Besides, how long could it possibly take to drive here and dole out coffee and breakfast sandwiches?’
THREE
Friday morning dawned cold and clear. Tish, armed against the wintry weather in her heavy black wool coat, leopard-print beret, and lined leather driving gloves, loaded an insulated jug of coffee and a reusable shopping bag filled with cooked egg dishes, breakfast sandwiches, and biscuits into the hatchback of her bright-red Toyota Matrix and drove off for the Hobson Glen Recreation Park. It was seven thirty and the sun had just begun to poke its head above the horizon, bathing the frosty, barren landscape in its watery glow.
Navigating the Matrix across the grass of the fairgrounds as she had done for the previous day’s load-in, she brought the car to halt behind her food stall and, gathering the foodstuffs from the trunk, set off behind the stage toward the area of the park that, in summer, served as an RV park and campground, but which had been temporarily reopened to serve the needs of the theater group.
Striding into the makeshift camp, Tish was promptly greeted by Frances Fenton as she emerged from her Winnebago, the first in a line of ten camping vehicles assembled there. ‘Good morning,’ she welcomed in a singsong voice.
‘Good morning. I bring nectar of the gods,’ Tish announced as she lifted the jug of coffee above her head.
‘Oh, bless you for doing this. If I had to go on to that stage this morning without my java, I’d probably be kicked out of the group.’
‘Not a problem.’ Tish followed Frances to a collapsible steel table that had been erected in the center of the row of camping vehicles. ‘Cold time of year to be camping.’
‘It’s not too bad, actually. We all have gas heaters, which keep things warm and snug through the night. That said, I am glad this is the last performance of the season. We’ll do two or three indoor venues through the winter, but when you’re as busy as we are from March through December, it’s nice to have some time off. Also, even though camping with one’s husband for ten months of the year can be romantic, there are moments when one yearns to be alone with one’s thoughts in someplace larger and more scenic than a cruise-ship-size bathroom.’
Tish plopped the jug of coffee and the bag of food on to the surface of the table. ‘There are moments when my apartment above the café doesn’t feel far enough away from work. At least I can hop in my car and drive somewhere.’
‘Yeah, it does get tough at times, but so does any job. We’re both lucky to be doing what we love.’
‘I hear you on that one.’ Tish took some recycled paper coffee cups and a bunch of sugar and sweetener packets out of the bag and directed Frances to help herself while she went about locating the containers of milk and soy milk she had brought from the café refrigerator. Once found, she then went about the task of distributing orders. ‘What did you order again, Frances?’
‘The Italian ham, egg, and pineapple-mango chutney sandwich,’ the actress replied as she poured two cups of coffee.
‘Oh, yes, the Tropic of Capicola. And your husband is having the Ham-elet.’
‘The Ham-elet? I don’t remember seeing that on the menu. What is it?’
‘A basic cheese omelet with ham. Not the most adventurous item I serve, but “To thine own self be true.”’
Frances gave a hearty guffaw. ‘Yep, that’s Ted all right. Non-adventurous.’
‘Hey, it takes all kinds. Let him know he can order off-menu, should he want something plain,’ Tish offered. ‘That is, if you don’t have other breakfast plans for tomorrow.’
‘No, it’s the same schedule as today, so if you could deliver again, that would be fantastic.’
‘You bet.’
‘Thanks, Tish. I’ll let Ted know about those menu options. As for the bill, Rolly will settle up.’
As if on cue, a man in his mid-fifties exited from the trailer beside the Fentons’ Winnebago. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that was graying at the temples, and a pleasant yet nondescript countenance that lent itself well to the parts of Scrooge, Orsino, and the countless other roles he must have played in his lifetime. ‘Morning.’ He waved.
Tish returned the gesture.
‘Morning, Rolly. Just bringing Mr Ted his breakfast. I’ll see you at rehearsal,’ Frances bade before heading back to her camper.
‘You must be Tish Tarragon.’ Rolly approached the folding table with an outstretched hand. ‘Rolly Rollinson, Director of the Williamsburg Theater Group.’
Tish accepted the hand and gave it a shake. ‘Nice to meet you, Rolly. Yes, I’m Tish, owner of Cookin’ the Books Café.’
‘The Fentons told me all about
you. Nice name for a restaurant owner, by the way.’
‘Yes, I’m a born caterer.’
‘You probably hear the name thing all the time, don’t you?’ Rolly blushed self-consciously.
‘Occasionally.’ Tish maintained a friendly smile.
‘Sorry. We, um, we really appreciate you coming out here with breakfast. Normally, I’d unhitch my trailer and drive my truck into town for food and supplies.’ He gestured toward the black pickup still attached to the trailer from which he had recently exited. ‘But one of our sound guys called in sick, so I’ve been filling in as needed. I scarcely got the plumbing in the trailer hooked up before it was time for our first rehearsal.’
‘No problem. I appreciate the business.’
‘Speaking of which, how much do we owe you for this morning?’
Tish handed him a slip of paper.
‘Do you accept checks?’
‘I do, but if I’m doing breakfast again over the weekend, why don’t we settle up at the end? No sense taking the checkbook out twice.’
‘That would make accounting a lot easier,’ Rolly deemed as he helped himself to a cup of coffee.
‘What did you order, Rolly?’ Tish asked as she rummaged through the bag. From the opposite end of the line of campers, Justin Dange approached.
‘In my heart, the Portrait of the Artist as a Young Ham, but then I thought about my cardiologist and ordered the Danielle Steele Cut Oats. Come to think of it, put me down for that tomorrow as well.’
‘Chin up, Rolly. You can live vicariously through me,’ Justin teased and then quietly requested the aforementioned breakfast sandwich from Tish.
‘Thanks, Justin.’
‘Hey, a friend in need …’ Justin turned to Tish. ‘I want to apologize about last night. I hope we didn’t embarrass you and your staff with our antics.’
‘Not at all,’ Tish dismissed. ‘When people work together as much as your group does, there’s bound to be arguments, just as there are in any family.’
‘What “antics” are you apologizing for, Justin?’ Rolly’s voice took on the tone of a vexed parent.
‘Just Frances sharpening her talons on Jenny again,’ Justin grumbled. ‘The way she goes after that girl.’
‘So you leaped to Jenny’s defense,’ Rolly surmised.
‘Of course.’
‘Jenny isn’t some helpless innocent, you know.’
‘Don’t you start on her, too.’
‘I’m not starting anything. Justin, I rely upon your even temper in these situations. Between Bailey and Frances, there’s enough hot-headedness in the group already. We don’t need you flying off the handle.’
‘OK,’ Justin capitulated. ‘I’ll apologize to Frances, but you’d better do something to rein her in. Most of her spare time is spent wagging either her finger or her tongue.’
‘I’ll talk to her this morning,’ Rolly promised as he made his way back to his trailer. ‘See you later, Tish. Thanks again.’
‘See you on the stage,’ Tish replied. ‘Well, I’d best deliver this food before it gets cold.’
‘I can do that for you if you’d like,’ Justin offered.
‘That’s most kind, but I’m not sure you’d be able to decipher my labeling system.’
‘And I’m not sure you want to just “drop in” on everyone in our little encampment without having met them, so why don’t I come with you?’
‘That would be great,’ Tish agreed and followed Justin to the end of the line of trailers.
‘That’s me.’ He gestured to the black Travato camper van parked at the end of the row. ‘Small, but plenty enough room for one person. It even has a kitchen.’
‘Ah, so you didn’t need my services this morning,’ Tish presumed.
‘I said I had a kitchen. I didn’t say I knew how to cook.’ His hazel eyes danced. ‘And if I did, I’m not sure I’d want to cook for this lot, anyway. All I’d get would be complaints.’
‘I’ll be sure to brace myself for the backlash.’
‘You have nothing to worry about. You’re an outsider. This group is all about the infighting.’ He pointed to the vintage 1950s Airstream camper parked beside his Travato. ‘That belongs to Lucinda LeComte.’
‘Wow, what a beauty.’
‘Classy camper for a classy lady. We all purchase our individual trailers and campers. A means of retaining a sense of self while on the road.’ He gave a quick rap to the camper door. ‘Lucinda. Breakfast.’
Within a few moments, the door swung inward to reveal a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. She had long, luxurious auburn hair, soft ivory skin and wide blue eyes, and was draped in a resplendent floral kimono. ‘Perfect timing. I’m starving!’ She addressed Tish, ‘Hi, I’m Lucinda, by the way.’
‘Hi, I’m Tish. I loved you as Olivia last night.’
‘Thanks. That was my first time playing Olivia. In the past, I’ve always played Viola. I’m relieved I kept my lines straight.’
‘You did more than that. You were wonderful.’ Tish reached into her bag. ‘So what am I bringing you this morning?’
‘The Belinda.’
‘Ah, yes, the “Good ’wich.”’
‘Sounds healthy,’ Justin mocked.
‘Egg-white omelet with avocado, kale, and sautéed shitake mushrooms on spelt bread,’ Tish explained.
Justin gagged. ‘Woman, eat some bacon.’
Lucinda laughed. ‘I would if I didn’t have a corset to wear later today. Now, I have to take the approach that my body is a temple. Ancient, crumbling, and in need of both preservation and restoration.’
Tish scoffed at the actress’s self-deprecating remarks. ‘You look fabulous.’
‘Thanks, but that’s only because I’m vigilant about not eating things like bacon.’ She glared playfully at Justin Dange. ‘Can I put in an order for the same thing tomorrow, Tish?’
‘Of course. I can even add some smoked salmon to it if you’d like.’
‘Hmm, yes, please. It’s Saturday. That’s my treat day.’
‘To be clear, adding fish to a breakfast sandwich isn’t a treat,’ Justin ribbed. ‘It’s a punishment and possibly a crime in several states.’
‘Oh, you.’ Lucinda swatted him away with a laugh and a roll of the eyes. ‘See you on the boards in a bit. And, Tish, thank you for the food.’
Justin and Tish moved to the next vehicle in the camp – a vintage 1970s’ van with beaded curtains in the window and a bevy of decals on the rear bumper. ‘Bailey Cassels’s pied-à-terre. Presented without comment.’ He knocked on the rear side door.
There was no reply.
Justin banged again. After a few moments’ silence, he tried the door handle. ‘Locked. Must have gone out somewhere. Strange, he knew breakfast was coming. Though he can be a flake.’
‘We can come back again later. Let’s deliver everything else before it gets cold.’
Justin nodded and led Tish to the small red-and-white travel trailer next door. ‘This is Jenny. I loaned her the money to purchase it when she joined the group.’
‘That was nice of you,’ Tish remarked.
‘Jenny,’ he called and then leaned toward Tish to explain. ‘Jenny can’t stand people knocking on her door out of the blue. It startles her. You have to call her name first.’
When there was no answer from inside the trailer, Justin called her again. ‘Jenny? Jenny, it’s Justin. Breakfast is here.’
The call was met with silence. Within moments, a chilling breeze swept through the campground, grabbing hold of the door of Jenny’s trailer, blowing it open, and slamming it shut again.
‘It’s not like her to leave her door unlocked,’ Justin noted.
‘We’d better go inside and make sure she’s OK,’ Tish suggested, even though she was reluctant to violate the young woman’s privacy.
‘Jenny, we’re coming in to check on you,’ Justin announced as he stepped inside, Tish close at his heels.
As Tish’s eyes acclima
tized to the dim interior, she was able to pick out certain features. The cool early-morning sunlight filtered between the slats of the Venetian blinds, while strands of multicolor Christmas lights draped along the ceiling cast the camper in a warm glow.
To the left of the door stood a single bed, lined with a bevy of sequined and animal-print cushions. The bed had been turned down, but the sheets were unwrinkled and the bed pillows plump and undisturbed.
‘She obviously didn’t sleep here last night,’ Justin noted with a frown.
Meanwhile, Tish examined the rest of the trailer. Across from the bed, a narrow door led to a bathroom. And to the right, a single row of upper and lower cabinets, a mini refrigerator, a microwave, and a hot plate served as a kitchenette.
A wall-mounted foldaway table divided the kitchen from the sleeping area, serving as both extra counter space and an eating/work area. Given the presence of a laptop computer and empty fast-food containers, Jenny used the area for both purposes.
‘We should probably get out of here.’ Justin sighed. ‘Wouldn’t want Jenny to come home and find me here snooping around. She’d accuse me of interfering with—’
He was interrupted by a loud gasp. ‘What is it?’
‘Call nine-one-one,’ Tish ordered, her voice quavering. Beneath the table, slumped against the far wall of the trailer, rested the body of Jenny Inkpen. Her mouth was agape, and her lifeless eyes stared blankly back at Tish. She was dressed in fuzzy pink mules and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, but the gaping wound in her chest and the vast quantity of blood encircling it made it impossible to discern what she was wearing on top.
From his position at the head of the bed, Justin could not see what was hidden under the table. ‘What? Why?’
Tish thought that she might be sick, but she steeled herself. ‘It’s Jenny. She’s dead.’
FOUR
As Justin Dange was escorted into the back of a nearby ambulance to be treated for shock, Tish accepted a blanket from one of the paramedics and, wrapping it tightly around her torso, gave her statement to a member of Sheriff Reade’s team. She had just finished her account when Reade approached.
The Christmas Fair Killer Page 3
