The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 1

by Elaine Viets

  “He doesn’t,” Donna Sue said. “Well, every so often, he goes on a bender when the pressure gets too much. The production isn’t the same without Luke.”

  “It’s the first act of his first night,” Helen said. “Jason may get better as he warms up.”

  Donna Sue shook her head. “We knew there was trouble in the rehearsals. Jason forgets lines like crazy. He missed about a third of his speech in that last scene, and forgot the cue line. Ben—he’s the Duke of Clarence—covered for him, thank God.”

  “I hardly noticed it,” Helen said. “Really.”

  “But you did, just the same. Jason’s memory gets worse and worse. I don’t know what’s wrong. Chauncey spent hours rehearsing him. Poor Chauncey. All that, on top of Kiki’s death. No wonder he hit the bottle.”

  “Literally,” Helen said. “I could hear the clinking in the back of the theater.”

  “I figured,” Donna Sue said. “That’s why I took the glass away. You’re wondering why I didn’t take the bottle, too?”

  Helen nodded.

  “I’ve seen Chauncey like this before. In a day or so, he’ll come back apologetic and hungover with some clever way to fix the play. It’s how he works.”

  “Why did Kiki’s death upset him?” Helen said. “I saw that woman publicly humiliate him. Besides, she left him lots of money.”

  “Humiliation is no big deal for anyone in the theater,” Donna Sue said. “Some of us even like it. I know a few cast members who are into S and M. Chauncey depended on Kiki. She was his patroness. She brought big donors to his shows. She was a good critic. She could watch the rehearsals and tell him where the weak spots were. She spotted Luke’s talent and made him a leading man. Of course, she didn’t expect him to audition for son-in-law.”

  “Was she upset when he got the role?” Helen said.

  “I don’t think she liked it. But Desiree could do a lot worse than Luke, and Kiki was smart enough to know that. I was there the night Desiree met him. Her mother had dragged her to a production of Midsummer. She sat there like a bundle of old clothes. Then Luke came onstage. I think he had a small role as the changeling boy. Desiree couldn’t keep her eyes off him.”

  “Did Luke see her?”

  “Oh, yeah. He saw her all right—as his meal ticket.” Donna Sue took another drag.

  “Kiki may have helped Chauncey in the past, but she was withholding money lately,” Helen said. “Chauncey said the theater would fold unless she gave him five thousand dollars. She refused. I heard her.”

  Donna Sue shrugged. “It was a game they played. At the last minute, after he begged her hard enough, she’d give him the money. She always did.”

  But what if this time she didn’t? Helen wondered. What if the game went too far? Masochists died when their games went wrong.

  “What happened to Chauncey’s neck?”

  “Cut himself working on the set. It’s just a scratch.” Donna Sue blew out a long curl of smoke like a forties movie actress. Helen thought she’d smoke if it made her look as romantically world-weary.

  “How’d he do that?” Helen asked.

  “I didn’t see it, but I think it happened late Friday night. Chauncey is obsessive. He’ll come back to the theater at two a.m. and rearrange the set. Makes the set designer crazy, not to mention the actors. We’ll get our parts blocked and he’ll move all the furniture and we’ll have to reblock. But he’s not bad, as directors go. I’ve seen some throw chairs or scream at actors until they cried.”

  “Does Chauncey have a temper?”

  Donna Sue ground out her cigarette on the stucco wall, careful to keep from breaking the half-smoked butt.

  “I hope you’re not measuring Chauncey for a frame,” she said. It sounded like a line from a play. “Because Kiki was worth more to him alive than dead.”

  She turned her back on Helen and walked inside, like the queen she was.

  Donna Sue would not talk to Helen during the intermission after the first act. But the actress didn’t hold a grudge. After the second act, Helen found an excuse to make conversation with her backstage.

  “What’s in that locked cabinet?” Helen asked.

  “That’s where we keep the stage knives, sword canes, and guns,” Donna Sue said. “The stage manager has the key. Actors love them, especially the sword canes, but they can get killed playing with those things. The actors can use them only if they sign a release and take special training. I need a smoke. Want to join me outside?”

  The actors’ parking lot was a desert of broken asphalt with a rusty chain-link fence. Helen thought she saw something interesting. She wanted to examine it alone.

  Three actors were huddled at the far end of the lot, puffing on their cigarettes. Donna Sue waved at them, then lit her half-smoked butt.

  “I should quit,” she said. “Funny, I don’t smoke at the office. But get me onstage and I crave nicotine.”

  All the cars on the lot were clunkers, except one. A black Eclipse was parked beside the battered Civics, Neons and rusting Toyotas.

  “Who owns the hot new Eclipse?” Helen asked.

  “Jason.” Donna Sue spat out the word.

  “He must have a good day job.”

  “I don’t think he has any job at all,” she said.

  “Really? Where’s he get his money? It can’t be from acting.” Helen hoped she wasn’t pushing too hard again.

  But Donna Sue had no protective instincts toward Jason. “Don’t know. I stay away from him. I don’t like touchy-feely creeps. His hands are all over the younger actresses, and they’re too dumb to see past Jason’s good looks. I call him the Green-Eyed Monster.”

  “Those green eyes are compelling.”

  “He doesn’t bother flashing them at me. He likes younger women. Real young. Some of his dates have lollipops.”

  Jason liked younger women? Then why was he hanging all over the much older Kiki?

  The outside light flicked three times, the signal to return. “Gotta go,” Donna Sue said. “Are you coming in?”

  “No, thanks,” Helen said. “Think I’ll enjoy the night air.”

  Donna Sue tossed the butt into the pile by the door, then went inside. The other actors followed. Helen waited a few minutes, then examined the cast’s cars. Young actors lived in their cars, sometimes for real when they couldn’t make the rent. Looking in their cars was like peeking into their homes.

  Helen saw piles of scripts, demo tapes, photos, and resumes. There were college textbooks, old carry-out bags, and whole wardrobes, from skirts and jeans to high heels and running shoes.

  Jason’s Eclipse stood out from this sorry pack. The sleek outside was polished. The interior was pristine. There were two odd touches: dozens of stuffed animals were in the backseat—bears, elephants, kittens, even a fuzzy fish. A bouquet of lollipops was stuck in the drink holder.

  Jason was not in touch with his inner child. He was selling Ecstasy. Helen knew the drug left people extremely sensitive to touch, especially soft, plush surfaces. The suckers relieved the clenched teeth it could cause. Jason must hand them out to his customers. Dr. Feel Good gave a little extra relief.

  “Some of his dates have lollipops,” Donna Sue had said. Not because they were young. They used X.

  She remembered Lisa’s taunt at the rehearsal when another bridesmaid mentioned a newly thin friend: “It’s the South Beach Diet—Ecstasy and Corona. Right, Jason?”

  Helen slipped back inside as the actors were taking their final bows. She stayed to clean up. “You are the greatest,” the stage manager said when she found Helen vacuuming the lobby rug. “I wish all our volunteers were like you.”

  No, you don’t, Helen thought, and gave a traitor’s smile. She wasn’t there to help. She was planning a little drama of her own tonight, as soon as Jason showed up. The elements were worthy of Shakespeare: Money, murder, sex, and blackmail. If she succeeded, it would be curtains for the struggling playhouse.

  Helen was out to prove their new leading man
murdered their major benefactor—then blackmailed her only daughter.

  Chapter 20

  Jason materialized in the backstage blackness, green eyes glowing like a cat’s. He was wearing the softest sweater. Helen wanted to pet it. Once again, she was startled by his good looks. His face had a perfection Luke’s lacked. But his beauty seemed without animation. Jason wanted to be admired.

  Helen followed him to the back door. “So how long have you been selling X?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason tried to push past her. She blocked his way.

  “I could call the cops and let them jog your memory,” Helen said. “Based on what I saw in that car, they could get a search warrant.” Helen was bluffing. She didn’t think stuffed animals and suckers counted as drug paraphernalia.

  Jason’s green eyes burned with anger, lit by an odd fire she never saw onstage. “So what? It’s recreational. I’m only helping my friends.”

  “Let’s ask the cops what they think about your help.”

  “What do you want from me?” Jason’s perfect mouth was distorted by hate.

  “I want to know what happened after you left the rehearsal dinner.”

  “I went home. Alone.”

  “Liar,” Helen said. “You went back to the church to have sex with Kiki. I bet the police don’t know that. But I do.”

  Jason shifted uneasily. Helen had won that bet. She remembered what the chauffeur said: He’d heard a man arguing with Kiki at the church. It was time to gamble again. “You fought with the murder victim the night she died, didn’t you, Jason?”

  Jason looked frightened now. He didn’t ask how she knew. “It wasn’t how it sounds. Kiki said she could help me. She knows—knew—the whole theater community. She had the bucks. I thought I should make nice. I agreed to meet her at the church. Just for a talk.”

  “That’s not what I heard. Kiki said doing it in church made her hot.”

  Jason’s green eyes opened in surprise.

  “I’ve got a witness,” Helen said. “You didn’t want to screw on the steps.”

  “She wanted me to fuck her, okay? In the church. She thought it would be a hoot. That’s what she said. A hoot.”

  “And was it?” Helen said.

  He stared at her, defiantly silent.

  “Jason! Tell me or tell the cops. What happened next?”

  “Nothing. She was old.”

  “You didn’t think so earlier that evening,” Helen said. “You were all over her.”

  “Maybe I was. But during the rehearsal, the church was dark. So was the restaurant. When we went back to the church, she was drunk, stumbling around and giggling. She wanted to put on that stupid rose dress for me.

  “We went upstairs to the bride’s dressing room and she flipped on the overhead lights. They were real bright. She took off that gold dress and that’s when I saw how old she was—old like my grandmother. She had wrinkles on her neck. Her stomach was flabby. Her tits sagged to her knees. It was gross. She wanted me to kiss her again, but she had these lines around her mouth. She started screaming at me. I said she was a hag. I left her there. She could find her own way home.”

  “You killed her because she insulted your manhood.”

  “My what?” Jason laughed. “What century are you in, lady? I wasn’t insulted. I don’t screw grannies.”

  “You had to shut her up. She could ruin your career.”

  “What career? I’m a character actor.”

  “You’ve got the lead now,” Helen said.

  “Not for long. I’m a stand-in until Chauncey can find someone better. That’s what he told me tonight.”

  Helen heard the sad truth in his words.

  “To be honest, Kiki couldn’t do me any damage,” Jason said. “She’d look silly if she tried to pressure some director not to hire me. I’m not worth going after, and that’s the truth.”

  In Helen’s experience, when people mentioned the truth a lot, they were lying.

  “Why did you ask Desiree for twenty thousand dollars after the funeral?”

  “You’re nuts, lady. I’m leaving.” But Jason stayed.

  “Were you trying to blackmail Desiree? Did you have photos of her mother?”

  He laughed contemptuously. This time, her gamble didn’t pay off. She’d guessed wrong. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Still Jason didn’t storm off. Helen tried again. “Where did Chauncey go when he sneaked out of the rehearsal dinner?”

  A sneer disfigured Jason’s handsome face. “An evening with the breeders makes Chauncey nervous. He went to a gay bar to get in touch with his inner boy.”

  “You don’t think he came back to the church and killed Kiki?” Helen said.

  Jason gave a nasty, braying laugh. “He’s an old queen. He wouldn’t touch a fly—unless it was unzipped.”

  Unzipped. “Did you unzip Kiki out of that rose dress?”

  “What? I told you. I walked out. I didn’t care if she spent the rest of her life in that dress.”

  “That’s exactly what she did,” Helen said.

  Helen waited for Jason to leave first. He was furious at her, and she’d be walking alone down a deserted street. When she heard his car start up, she shut the door sadly behind her. Helen could never go back to the Shakespeare Playhouse. Not after that scene with Jason.

  She crunched across the theater parking lot, heading for the bus stop. A car pulled into the lot and blocked her exit. It was one of those plain sedans that might as well have “Unmarked Police Car” painted on the door.

  Detective Janet Smith got out of the driver’s side. She looked lean and mean. Her partner, Detective Bill McIntyre, looked malevolent and muscular. The two of them stood side by side in gray suits, their arms folded.

  Helen could hear the blood rushing in her ears. How did they find her?

  “Just thought I’d give you the results of your DNA test,” Detective Smith said. “We found your blood on the dress. We also found your fingerprints on the dress and the closet door.”

  “Of course you did,” Helen said, trying not to panic. “I helped put the dress on Kiki. I hung it in the closet.”

  “And the blood?” Detective Smith said.

  “I told you. I cut my hand and bled on both dresses—the wedding gown and the rose dress.”

  “We checked the wedding gown. We didn’t find any blood,” Smith said.

  “That’s because I cleaned it off. Then the bride threw hot coffee all over the dress.”

  “We should have found traces,” Smith said. Helen wondered if the detective was telling the truth. Maybe she should get that lawyer Colby Cox. Helen had about seven thousand dollars stashed in her suitcase. That should buy her a few hours of help. Right now she’d give it all to make these two disappear.

  “How did it feel when you cut the victim’s fingernails?” Detective Smith said.

  Helen saw those pathetic gold claws again and nearly threw up.

  “Are you going to arrest me?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say we’re a step closer,” Detective Smith said. “Don’t leave town.” Detective McIntyre said nothing, which was even more ominous. They got into the car and drove off.

  As Helen waited for the bus home, she couldn’t stop shivering. Her encounter with the cops frightened her. Her DNA was in all the wrong places. Was anyone else’s blood on that dress? She should have asked. But they probably wouldn’t have told her.

  If the police weren’t scary enough, there was Jason. He frightened and confused her. Helen knew he was lying, but she also thought he was telling the truth. He believed Chauncey was no murderer. Donna Sue, whose opinion she respected, thought so, too.

  The fight scene with Kiki probably happened pretty much the way Jason described it, Helen decided. But she thought he was leaving something out.

  Did Jason murder Kiki in an impotent rage? Or did he stalk off and leave her, tipsy and trapped, alone with her killer? Kiki couldn’t run awa
y in that hoop skirt. And why would Jason ask Desiree for money at her mother’s funeral?

  It was almost midnight when Helen got to the Coronado. It was a warm night for December. She went by the pool, hoping for some company. Margery and Warren were drinking champagne in the moonlight.

  “Come join us,” Margery said.

  This time Helen did. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to think about the cops, Jason, or Phil. She wanted to believe that people could live happily ever after and have real love at age seventy-six. Her landlady sat on the chaise longue next to Warren, smoking a Marlboro. She had the smile of a satisfied woman.

  Warren filled a flute with champagne and handed it to Helen. She toasted the couple, then took a sip. The bubbles tickled her tongue.

  “Do you dance, Helen?” he said. His tanned skin was like fine old leather, and he had interesting crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Margery had herself quite a catch.

  “I grew up in the dreaded disco era, Warren. I just bounce up and down.”

  “You should take dancing lessons. Many young people do.” It didn’t sound like a sales pitch. Warren seemed to believe dancing was good for people. It had done wonders for Margery.

  “I give lessons to brides and grooms,” Warren said. “Many couples dance together for the first time at their wedding. They’re afraid of tripping or looking foolish. A lesson or two from me, and they have a beautiful start to their married life.”

  “I’m not planning to get married anytime soon,” Helen said.

  “You never know. You’re certainly in the right business. I gave the most unusual lesson of my life at your store. An emergency dance lesson, if you will.”

  “My store? You mean Millicent’s?”

  “Yes, Millicent had a gay couple in the shop after hours. She sold the bride—a female impersonator named Lady George—a lovely dress. An Oscar de la Renta, if I remember correctly. It had this deep-pleated ruffle running down the back. Very graceful. The groom’s name was Gary. The couple admitted that they were nervous about dancing together at their reception.

  “Millicent tried to send Gary and Lady George to my studio, but they didn’t want to be seen learning to dance where others could watch. I have those large windows, you know.