by Vickie Fee
“You know something else that seems odd to me, Ms. Greer, how with the alarm going off, signaling that there was an intruder in the theater, you ran to look out the window.”
“I don’t know what it says in the report, of course. But as I explained to Officer Stone, just after the alarm sounded I heard a metal clatter in the alley. I assumed someone was breaking in, not out, and I looked to see what was going on. I saw someone running away and the back door to the theater standing open. When we looked later, with Officer Stone, there were some metal pails overturned near the back door, which is probably what made the racket.”
He leveled his gaze at me, and I tried to remain calm.
“Ms. Greer, I do hope you’re not wasting police time with a false report by staging a break-in.”
“A false…Staging a…That’s a ridiculous accusation, Detective Stedman. What could I possibly hope to gain by setting off my own alarm?”
“Perhaps you believed if it appeared as though someone were after you, that you were in some kind of danger, the police would be less likely to consider you a suspect in our murder investigation.”
“I was under the impression the police had moved on to considering Joe Chang as a suspect in your murder investigation based on an anonymous tip by someone obviously trying to frame him. And just for the record, I didn’t turn in the anonymous tip any more than I filed a false report.”
I noticed people at other tables looking our way and realized I’d been talking louder than I meant to and lowered my voice.
“Besides, if Kendra and I weren’t trying to find the real killer, we wouldn’t have retrieved evidence of Vince’s relationship with Trey on Trey Tilby’s phone—evidence you could not have gotten otherwise.”
“You only shared that information with me because you got caught. And for all I know, your main goal could’ve been to go into Mr. Tilby’s phone and delete texts that could implicate you. The other texts you found may have just been a bonus.”
I’d had about as much of the detective as I could stomach, so dropped my cinnamon roll back in its white paper bag and grabbed my coffee cup.
“If you’d like to chat with me further, you know where I live—and work,” I said, getting up and storming out.
I walked slowly, expecting the detective to fall in step beside me again at any moment. But as I reached the theater, unlocked the front door and glanced back up the hill toward the muffin shop, there was no sign of him.
“Oh, that, that…policeman!” I muttered as I stomped up the steps to my apartment.
I was so mad at Detective Stedman I wished I had a voodoo doll to stick pins in.
Wonder if they sell those at the doll shop near the depot?
I took a sip of the coffee in my to-go cup and found it had gone cold. I poured it into a ceramic mug and reheated it in the microwave, then sat at the dining table. I took a sip of the coffee, which tasted foul, but I needed the caffeine to ease the headache pounding at my temples. I pulled the cinnamon roll out of the bag. Its sweetness comforted me somewhat and countered the bitterness of the coffee.
I wanted to rush down to George and Trudy’s place to tell them what the mean old detective had said to me, but I was slightly paranoid at this point that I was under surveillance. I thought for a moment about calling Trudy before deciding I was being ridiculous. I washed the sticky residue of the cinnamon roll off my hands and left by the alley door, walking to Mayfield’s Gallery.
A couple of customers were in the store. One lady was looking at some of Trudy’s handmade earrings, while another woman seemed to be studying one of George’s larger paintings. That looked like a big sale, and I certainly wasn’t going to interrupt. I waved to Trudy and pointed to the studio as I walked back. George was standing in front of an easel, stabbing paint onto a canvas. This painting was obviously in the early stages. I couldn’t tell yet what it was going to be, but the laser focus in George’s eyes told me the picture was already clear in his mind.
After a couple of minutes, he noticed I was standing a couple of feet away.
“Oh, hi, Halley. Can I do something for you?”
I felt a little guilty. George and Trudy were always doing something for me. They were so generous, I felt like a moocher. At that moment I quietly resolved to think up something nice I could do for them.
“There’s a woman in the store seriously looking over one of your large paintings,” I whispered. “Should you go talk to her as the artist to help facilitate a sale?”
“No. I always let the work speak for itself,” he said, dabbing another splotch of paint onto the canvas in front of him. I was impressed by his focus—and artistic integrity.
“Do you mind if I watch you paint for a bit. I don’t want to unnerve you. It’s just cool to watch you create art.”
“Sure. If you think it’s exciting to watch paint dry,” George said with his typical charm.
From the unformed background a landscape of rocks and trees began to emerge. I was mesmerized by the process and lost track of time. Trudy laid a hand on my arm, interrupting my focus on the painting and bringing me back to the present moment.
“Hey, hon. Good to see you. George, could you carry a painting out to the car for a customer,” she said in a normal voice before rubbing her husband’s back and whispering, “I just rang up a big sale.”
She looked at me and flashed a broad smile. If George was excited, he didn’t show it, but he complied with her request.
“Trudy, you guys are busy. I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re always welcome. Besides, there’s no one in the store as soon as George dispatches the lady with the painting.”
Trudy perched on a worktable and pointed to a stool next to the easel.
“Pull up a chair and tell me what’s shaking.”
“My fists were shaking earlier. Detective Stedman makes me so mad I can’t stand it.”
“What’s he done now?”
George rejoined us, leaning against the table Trudy was sitting on, just as I started recounting my conversation with the detective.
“Well, I never,” Trudy said, shaking her head.
George turned red, the flush on his face rising up like mercury through a thermometer.
“I oughta go down to the station and tell the detective a thing or two.”
“George, please don’t. While I think he was out of line, the truth is we do know who the intruder was. And I didn’t tell the detective. If he finds out, it probably won’t go well for me.”
“Halley has a point, hon. We just have to hope the cops don’t question Edgar about the break-in. That man folds like an accordion under pressure.”
CHAPTER 26
Saturday night the Star Movie Palace had its biggest crowd to date. People arrived and started ordering coffee and wine early. Even Delores arrived early, and she was in rare form, chatting up and entertaining the customers as she manned the ticket booth. I was beginning to believe Kendra was right about the gold coin being a harbinger of good luck.
A few minutes after the movie began, Father Ben emerged from the auditorium and walked to the counter.
“Hi, Father Ben, I didn’t see you come in.”
“Business was booming with wine sales when I arrived. I didn’t want to interrupt you. I also didn’t want to stand in line,” he said with a grin. “I’ll have a glass of red wine, please. As much as I like your coffee, I’m afraid it might keep me awake. And I have to be at work early tomorrow, you know.”
“I’m glad you’re here, padre. Have you seen Charade before?”
“Yes, many times, in fact. It’s a favorite of mine, but I’ve never seen it on the big screen. This is a real treat.”
I served him his wine and he handed me his payment.
“Halley, I don’t mean to nag, but maybe you should call your grandmother. I talke
d to Evelyn briefly yesterday. She’s worried that you’re mixed up in this murder investigation and fears bad guys are after you.”
“What? Oh no, I’m afraid that’s my fault. In my last e-mail I think I mentioned that Kendra and I had done a little research on the victim. Gram’s imagination can go all kinds of places from there. I’m sorry she keeps pestering you.”
“Not at all. And I believe I put her mind at ease. I told her Kendra has a good head on her shoulders and is just the kind of friend she’d want you to have. I also told her that Leon’s dear friends, George and Trudy, have developed a parental, or grandparental, affection for you. But I think she’d still feel better if she heard from you.”
“I’ll e-mail her tomorrow. I promise.”
“You and Kendra will be careful?”
“I promise that, too,” I said.
“I should get back to the film. My favorite part is when they figure out where the treasure is hidden and realize the fortune they’ve been frantically searching for has been right in front of them the whole time. Thanks for the wine,” Father Ben said with a smile before disappearing beyond the auditorium doors.
Sunday morning I hurried through the bell tower and into the church just after Father Ben and the altar servers started processing to the front. I bobbed down and briefly touched one knee to the tile floor, making the sign of the cross as I slipped into the next to the last pew. I felt showing up for Mass now and again was the least I could do, since my grandmother kept calling the pastor. Plus, I’d been meaning to light a candle for Uncle Leon.
I looked around the nave as I pretended to sing along with the opening hymn. It was a lovely church with carved pews, kneeling angel statues that veiled their faces with their wings on either side of the back altar and multi-hued light pouring in through stained glass windows.
Father Ben gave a nice homily about turning the water into wine, or something about wine I’m pretty sure. My mind kind of wandered. He gave me a discreet little wave as he walked past me during the recessional.
I waited a moment for the aisle to clear out before I went against the stream flowing outward and walked up near the front of the church. A niche featuring a statue of Mary had rows of votive candles in front of it, about half of them flickering. I lit a candle and closed my eyes.
“Please take care of Uncle Leon and Josh. And watch over my Gram,” I whispered.
Father Ben was greeting everyone as they exited. I joined the line, along with the last few stragglers.
“Hi, Halley, so nice to see you,” he said.
“Thanks. It won’t be an every Sunday kind of thing,” I mumbled by way of apology.
“I understand,” he said. “We’re always open.”
I walked the several blocks from the church to Mayfield’s Gallery. Trudy had called and invited me for brunch.
“Hi, hon, you’re right on time,” Trudy said as I let myself in through the unlocked door. “I’m just about to dish up everything.”
She stepped away from the stove and gave me a quick hug.
“Pour yourself some coffee,” she said, before hollering for George to come to the table. He turned off the TV and stepped in from the living room.
Trudy usually served bread from the bakery, but today she’d made homemade biscuits. She served them buttered, alongside scrambled eggs with sausage, and cheesy hash browns.
She put generous helpings of everything onto three plates and we gathered at the table.
“I went to Mass this morning. It had been quite a while, but Father Ben’s been really nice. He even puts up with calls from my grandmother. She worries.”
“He is a nice man. I’m not much of a churchgoer and George is a heathen. But St. Cecilia’s is beautiful. We attend the occasional funeral there,” Trudy said. “Feel free to give your grandmother our number.”
“You should probably give us your grandmother’s number, you know, for if you have an appendix attack or something like that and end up in the hospital,” George said.
“That’s a good point. Assuming your grandmother is the person you’d want us to call.”
“Yeah, she’d be the one to call,” I said.
“Kendra and I took a look at that basement wall Edgar was all fired up about. If you run your hand over it you can feel some minor indentations, but I doubt that documentary guy would get excited over it, or if it would even show up on camera.”
“Maybe they could spray it with something that glows in the dark,” George suggested.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Trudy said with a surprised look. “Where did you come up with it?”
“I have brilliant ideas sometimes,” George said. “And I watch cable.”
“These biscuits are melt-in-your-mouth good. And thanks for feeding me—again. I’m afraid I take advantage of your hospitality.”
“Don’t be silly. We enjoy having you around. You’re the grandchild I’ll never have. My son is married to his job,” Trudy said.
“Wait. How did I not know you and George have a son?”
“I was well past having kids by the time George and I got married. Tony is the product of my first marriage, and frankly the only good thing to come out of that union. But Tony’s a good boy, calls at least once a month, visits at the holidays. He’s just not interested in marriage or family. He won’t even commit to a cat.”
“I’m committed to a cat, but it’s a one-way street. Eartha Kitty comes and goes as she pleases. That’s the arrangement she had with Uncle Leon, so I have to respect it.”
“As long as you keep filling her bowl, she’ll keep coming back,” Trudy said.
“Like me. You keep cooking wonderful meals and I’ll keep showing up at your table,” I said.
“We certainly hope so,” Trudy said with a laugh.
“Well, I hate to eat and run, but I have a matinee today and I’d better get ready for it. Last night we had our biggest crowd yet. I’m hoping that we have good attendance again today—and that they’re all thirsty.”
The crowd for the two o’clock showing of Charade was decent for a matinee.
Shortly before the movie began a bespectacled man with graying hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, came up to the counter and ordered a latte.
“Hi, Halley,” he said shyly. “Kendra told me I should say hi. I’m Alan, by the way.”
“From the library, right?”
“Yes. I’m the reference librarian. I work mostly with old books and archives, and on my days off I enjoy watching old films.”
“Me, too.”
Alan paid and I handed him his order. He started walking away but paused and turned back toward me.
“I just wanted to say I think you did an excellent job with the renovations. And I’m really glad because this theater is truly a local treasure,” he said.
“Thank you, Alan. I’m pretty proud of it.”
He nodded, casting his eyes down, and gave me a nervous little wave before going into the auditorium.
The bad thing about early afternoon shows is, people generally don’t order as much wine, which cuts into revenue. A consolation today was that near the end of the almost two-hour film, Marco dropped in.
“Hello, cara,” he said as he approached the bar. “I had some errands in town and couldn’t resist stopping by to see the lovely theater owner.”
“Aw, you flatter me—but I don’t mind it. Could I offer you some coffee? Or, if it’s not too early for you, we serve some of the very finest wine here.”
“Now you flatter me—but I don’t mind,” he said with a broad smile. “I wondered how you were doing and if you and Kendra were behaving. I worry.”
“Kendra and I are behaving fine. But the local police have lost their minds. Did you hear about them holding Joe Chang at the jail overnight based on some lame anonymous tip? Kendra was beside herself.”
“I don’t know about that. It means they didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him, but I worry the police are eager to make an arrest. I can tell you one thing: Kendra and I are more determined than ever to look for who really killed Vince Dalton, even though from everything I’ve heard he wasn’t a very nice man.”
“He was, as you say, not a very nice man. You and Kendra are much too nice to put yourselves in harm’s way over him. Whoever killed that blackmailer is obviously willing to kill in order to keep their secrets safe. Please promise me you won’t do anything foolish—or else,” he said, trying to put on a stern face, but the unintended smile turning up the corners of his mouth and the tenderness in his eyes gave him away.
“Or else what, Mr. Carvello?”
“Or else I’ll have to spend more time with you to make sure you stay safe.”
“If that’s a threat, you’re going about it the wrong way,” I said, reaching over and gently touching his sleeve.
He slid his hands across the counter and I placed my hands in his. At that exact moment, the auditorium doors flung open and people started pouring out as the credits rolled. Marco gave me a smile and walked over to the seating area.
A few customers lined up at the counter to get coffee and candies to go. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marco lingering in the lobby, occasionally glancing my way.
A group of four were the last ones in line. They all ordered glasses of wine.
“I know the movie is over, but we have some time to kill until our dinner reservation. Would you mind if we called some other friends to join us here? We promise to buy lots of wine,” one of the gentlemen said. “And don’t worry, we’re not driving. We’re on foot and having dinner later at the hotel on the hill.”
“Of course,” I said, looking over to Marco. I couldn’t afford to turn away paying customers.
Marco shrugged and waved before heading out.
My paying customers were true to their word. Three more friends joined them and they kept coming back for wine, and bought a few boxes of candy, as well. They were in a really good mood as they told me goodbye, promising they’d make a return visit sometime. I got busy cleaning. In a bit, I realized I’d forgotten to lock up. When I walked to the front door, I noticed Kendra pacing in front of Hidden Clue Escape Rooms, so I stepped onto the sidewalk and waved to her. She waved and jogged across the street.
