The Murder Next Door

by Emily Queen

  Vera’s eyes narrowed, but her spine straightened, and she tilted her nose in the air. “Come on then. We wouldn’t want to miss the opening curtain.” She strode out of the room followed by Rosemary with Frederick and Desmond on her heels.

  Chapter Five

  When they pulled up in front of the theater, Rosemary was dismayed to see that a line ran out the theater doors and down the block. Her heart sank at the thought of standing on the footway in a pair of new, unbroken-in high heels for the length of time it would take to gain admittance. She scratched an itch on her neck and scowled when she felt the clasp of her necklace snag on her sleeve and break. Into her handbag, it went with a sigh, and she wondered if the night wasn’t just set to be a disaster.

  “I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, Vera,” she whined.

  Frederick snorted. “Old Des here will have to carry you,” he said out of the corner of his mouth and earned himself a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Ouch, Rosie, I was only joking.”

  “Stop your bickering, children,” Vera retorted. “Just because I didn’t get picked to play the role of Titania doesn’t mean I don’t still have friends in high places. Or, at least, friends with access to the side entrance.”

  Vera instructed Wadsworth where to turn. “Pull up just there, if you don’t mind.”

  The four piled out of the car and onto the footway, where Vera led them into a short alley and knocked on a door hidden in a shallow alcove. It swung open, and a short, balding man with rosy cheeks peeked out from inside.

  “’Ello, Vera. You’re looking splendid tonight. Come, come.” He motioned them inside and led them along the edge of the backstage area where actors and crew bustled about getting ready for the show. The mixture of excitement, nervousness, and impatience made for an intense atmosphere.

  “Hurry up with the corset, I’ve got to be strapped into this thing by curtain call,” one of the actresses snapped at her aide. “I can’t imagine how women used to dress this way every day. It’s positively barbaric.” Rosemary heartily agreed with the sentiment.

  “Yes, but they do make for the most amazing view,” Frederick snickered to Desmond, who grinned in agreement.

  “Shush, Freddie,” Rosemary warned, “at least until we get to our seats, and then you can mutter inappropriate remarks under your breath where Vera and I don’t have to hear them.”

  Not in the least bit chagrined, Frederick shut his mouth and made a mental list of inappropriate remarks with which to regale his sister later.

  An irritated looking man shoved past Rosemary on his way towards the back of the stage. He bumped her elbow and sent her handbag flying without a backwards glance, the contents spewing out onto the floor. “Oh, no!” she cried, kneeling to retrieve the items from beneath racks of costumes and stacks of stage props.

  “Hey, there!” Desmond shouted as he took a few steps after the man. “You owe the lady an apology.”

  The man didn’t turn and simply tossed a “bugger off” over his shoulder.

  Vera placed a hand on Desmond’s arm. “That was the director. Let him be. He seems to be having a fabulously rough go of it,” she said cheerily. “Come, our seats are this way.”

  She thanked the man who had let them through the side entrance, and he winked at her as he circled back in the opposite direction.

  Having skipped the line out front, the section of ground-level seats where Rosemary and company were situated was relatively empty, and they were allowed an opportunity to watch as the space around them filled with men in their natty suits and women decked out in their best finery.

  “Explain to me why we’re sitting down here in the stalls,” Frederick griped to Vera. “I thought you had more pull than this.”

  “It’s opening night, Freddie,” Vera retorted. “All the box seats were sold ages ago. And besides, I happen to think these are the best seats in the house. I like to be able to see the nuances of the actors’ expressions. Now, why don’t you shut up and order a drink so I can tolerate you?”

  Frederick obliged, taking Desmond along with him and allowing Rosemary and Vera some moments to people watch. As the sounds of shuffling feet, rustling dresses, and polite conversation rose to a dull roar, Vera fell into an increasingly and uncharacteristically morose silence.

  Until that is, she flipped open the playbill and scanned through the section listing the accomplishments of the major players.

  “Did you read this … this scandalous horror?” Vera flapped the pamphlet in Rosemary’s face. “It’s fiction, I tell you. Pure fiction. It lists Jennie Bryer as a former student of both the Royal Academy and Guildhall. Look at the dates. Impossible. You know I attended the Royal Academy during the same period, and I can tell you she was not a student while I was there.”

  The Vera who normally took life with a wink and a smile had flown, leaving this unsettling creature in her place. Rosemary tried to talk her friend around.

  “Someone made an error. Maybe the printers mixed her up with someone else.”

  “More likely she’s a scheming, cheating—”

  “Excuse us, please.” A man’s voice interrupted the conversation, and as Rosemary shifted to allow for his passage, she looked up into the eyes of her neighbor, Abigail Redberry.

  “Oh, hello.” Rose ignored the seething Vera and said pleasantly, “You look lovely this evening, Abigail.” She merely nodded towards the dress Abigail wore, a silvery sheath of beaded silk, but Martin Redberry took notice.

  He smiled at his wife indulgently, and Rosemary remembered Abigail’s description of teenagers in love. “She absolutely does. Worth every penny, darling.” He kissed Abigail full on the lips, bringing a soft smile to the woman’s face that made Rosemary’s heart ache.

  “I should have realized it was this play to which you referred earlier, but I’m happy for the coincidence nonetheless.” Rosemary gave Vera a nudge with her elbow.

  “My friend, Vera here, was up for the part of Titania. We’re here to decide whether the director made the right choice or not.” She introduced Vera to Mr. And Mrs. Redberry, who both promised to assess Jennie Bryer’s performance with the shrewdest of eyes.

  “You’re Vera Blackburn?” Abigail’s eyes widened with shock and pleasure. “I saw you in a performance of Othello, the one in the park a year or so back. I’m a huge fan!” She looked positively thrilled, and Vera preened at the compliment.

  “Thank you so much,” Vera replied. “But I don’t think the director felt the same way, considering I’m here in the audience instead of backstage waiting for my cue.”

  Frederick and Desmond chose that moment to return, and a second round of introductions finished up just as the lights blinked to warn that the play would begin shortly.

  “Now that I know you might have played Titania, I fear some of the shine has gone from the evening,” Abigail assured Vera while her husband nodded in agreement. “However, I will relish your company almost enough to make up for the lack.”

  Leaning over to talk past Martin, Abigail said, “Darling, didn’t I tell you these seats would be the berries?”

  In answer, he glanced back and up towards the box seats. “I suppose.”

  Abigail’s cheer could not be contained. “Martin prefers sitting in the back,” she explained, “but I always try to get closer to the action. He’s a darling to indulge me. I haven’t missed a show here for the last three seasons, and box seats are awfully dear.”

  Vera winked at her. “Well, now I know whom to invite. You’ll be better company than this lot, save for Rosie here.”

  Tired of being the man in the middle, Martin suggested a swap so that Abigail could sit on Rose’s other side during the show. Rose watched the couple carefully to see if Martin might exhibit signs of loutish behavior, but it seemed the moment of upset had been forgotten as the man played the attentive husband.

  Smiling as if besotted, Martin held Abigail’s hand gently in his own; he whispered in her ear, words that turned her lips up into a sm
ile. Still, Rosemary wondered what could have caused a man who appeared so attentive to engage in a screaming match just that morning.

  She thought perhaps she’d been hasty to jump to the conclusion that the man was a cad. Anyone could have a beastly day. She wondered why she cared so much anyway; it was absolutely none of her business. She vowed to mind her manners in the future and clasped Vera’s hand as the opening curtain rose to reveal a representation of ancient Athens.

  As soon as Theseus began lamenting the interminable length of four more days, Rosemary forgot about everything else around her. She enjoyed the rhythm of Shakespeare’s cadence, and the complexity of the language, not to mention the elaborate costumes and sets that transported one to a fairy woodland.

  Vera’s fists clenched and her body went stiff in the seat when Jennie Bryer emerged from between two enormous papier-mâché flowers. She smiled benevolently at the sprites who fluttered around her skirts, anxious to do the queen’s bidding.

  “Well, she does look the part.” Desmond offered in a low voice. “Statuesque with queen-like attributes.”

  Vera might have let the comment pass as it hadn’t been uttered in any leering sort of way, but Freddie spoke up and doomed the pair of them to her bad graces.

  “Yes, and just look at those attributes.” He earned a pinch for his efforts.

  From the corner of her eye, Rosemary watched Vera mouth the words along with Titania. “Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beachèd margent of the sea—” Jennie Bryer stumbled over the line, and for a moment, her mouth opened and closed without any sound escaping at all.

  Vera didn’t even try to hide her triumphant smile, but she never said another word during the rest of the performance.

  Chapter Six

  When the final curtain rose, so did the crowd, but in the absence of a second gaffe big enough for a true celebration of Jennie Bryer bungling the part, Vera only allowed herself a half-hearted attempt at applause.

  “You would have performed the role brilliantly, Vera,” Rose assured her friend.

  “Jennie did a credible job, but I wouldn’t call it a spectacular performance to be sure,” Abigail contributed with enough sincerity that Rosemary decided she liked the woman even more.

  “Thank you for saying so,” Vera replied. “Would you and your husband like to accompany us backstage? My friend, Samuel, played the part of Bottom, and I’d like to tell him what a splendid job he did.”

  Abigail looked at Martin, her eyes sparkling, “Oh, can we, please?”

  “Of course, my love,” Martin agreed. “Your wish is my command. I do demand we retire for drinks afterward, as I wouldn’t mind washing the excess of Shakespearean prose from my memory.”

  Frederick craned his neck around Vera and Rosemary to heartily agree. “Desmond and I concur. In fact, why don’t we get a table at that pub just around the corner, and you can meet us there when you’ve finished?”

  Rosemary thought Freddie’s idea an excellent one. Even if Jennie hadn’t bungled Titania to Vera’s satisfaction, there was no denying the woman had looked magnificent onstage. It would be best if he and Desmond resurrected their discussion of her finer attributes well out of Vera’s earshot. Not, of course, that Des would purposely utter a word intended to infuriate Vera—he knew better than to poke a raging lioness. Besides, he’d been too busy surreptitiously watching Rosemary’s facial expressions during every scene to ogle Jennie anyway.

  With a plan in place to spend a scant few minutes congratulating Vera’s friend before catching up with Frederick and Desmond, the Redberrys followed Vera and Rose to the backstage area where they’d arrived at the start of the night.

  Before the show, the atmosphere had been hopeful, but now it fluctuated between frustration and elation; those who felt they had played their parts well making up the latter, while the actors who had missed a line or a cue accounting for the former.

  “This is so exciting!” Abigail whistled out a breath and clutched her husband’s hand. “I’ve never been backstage before.” Wide eyes took in the whole beehive of activity behind the scenes: actors wearing various bits and pieces of costume, stagehands tearing down and setting up for the next run, props being gathered and returned to their places.

  They found Vera’s friend easily enough, as he was sitting in front of a mirror and wiping the last of the donkey makeup off his face. After planting a kiss on his cheek, Vera gushed over his hilarious portrayal of an overzealous actor who found himself entangled and then dragged into the middle of an argument between the faerie king and queen.

  “You were simply marvelous, darling Samuel,” Vera concluded sincerely. “If I weren’t leaving for holiday tomorrow afternoon, I would make a point of attending the entire run of shows if only to cheer you on.”

  “You are too kind, and you know it, Vera dear,” Samuel replied. “You must have caught my stumble in the second act, and I felt as though my Bottom could have been a bit more whimsical.”

  “Perhaps if you’d been cast alongside an actress worth her salt, you’d have had more to play off from,” Vera said wryly, and then took a surreptitious look around for Jennie Bryer.

  Unfortunately for her, the actress in question had been seated at a mirror on the opposite side of Samuel’s, and when she poked her head around the corner to see who had the temerity to critique her performance, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

  “What are you doing back here, Vera Blackburn? This area is for members of the company only, and the last time I checked, you were not included in that group.” There was such derision in her tone as to send blood rushing into Rosemary’s cheeks, abruptly turning them to flags of red, and she automatically opened her mouth to defend her friend.

  She needn’t have worried, because Vera was more than capable of taking care of herself. Before Rosemary could get a breath out, Vera pierced Jennie with a look and retorted, “And what exactly did you have to do to get the part, Jennie? Take a little after-hours romp with the esteemed director? At least I have enough pride not to stoop that low.”

  The most poisonous of snakes couldn’t have held more venom than the smile Vera turned towards her nemesis.

  Rosemary glanced between the two women as animosity built until the pressure nearly made her ears pop. Abigail clutched her husband’s arm, her breath hitching, and her eyes sparkling with excitement. The scene playing out before them was better than anything they’d witnessed on the stage that evening.

  “Your pride isn’t worth nearly as much as your mother’s money, is it? How lovely for you not to have to worry about paying the bills. Acting is not a flight of fancy for the rest of us as it is for you. It’s not all fun and games. When you’ve finished for the evening, you get to cool your heels in a lavish flat while the rest of us work for a living. You don’t have the drive or the hunger to succeed, and you never will. You’ll wind up a no-name has-been, just like your mother, mark my words!”

  Jennie Bryer had gone too far. The next moments seemed to crawl past, and still, Rosemary couldn’t have warned Jennie in time to duck. Nor would she have, since she considered the punishment far less than the crime deserved.

  Light glinted off her diamond ring as Vera reared back and curled her hand into a fist. She might have stopped herself, even hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Jennie smirked, and that was all it took to push Vera over the edge.

  Arrowing towards its target, Vera’s fist landed with a dull thud that sent Jennie reeling back a few steps. Scarlet erupted from her lip, and her eyes widened as she touched the painful spot and came back with bloodstained fingertips. Abigail, upon seeing the spout of blood, grimaced and turned away.

  “How dare you!” Jennie cried, whirling towards the mirror to examine her face. “You could have knocked my teeth out, you jealous, horrible witch!” Two strides had her standing eye to eye with Vera, whose face had contorted into an expression displaying both satisfaction and shame.

&
nbsp; She hauled back as if to return the blow, but Samuel grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. “Let go of me!” Jennie screeched, drawing the attention of everyone within hearing distance, which included the entire company and the director.

  “Let me take a look,” Martin said in the tone adults usually reserve for small children or yapping dogs. “I’m a dentist.”

  The girl allowed Martin to examine her, and Rosemary noted that he was extremely gentle for a dentist. “You’re going to be just fine. Ice that lip, but your teeth are intact.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and deposited it into Jennie’s clean hand. “Call me if you experience pain or if you feel any shifting of the teeth.”

  “I think it’s time for us to go, Vera,” Rosemary said, shooting an apologetic glance at Abigail and Martin and pulling Vera towards the door.

  “You’re banned from all further performances, Miss Blackburn,” the director informed her in an icy tone as they passed by him on their way out. Head bowed, Vera nodded and made a hasty retreat along with the rest of the group.

  Once outside, Vera crumpled and apologized. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” She directed the sentiment towards Abigail and Martin since Rosemary was already well acquainted with her temper.

  “Oh, don’t apologize! The events of this evening were most exciting. Believe me, aside from the blood, I’m having an absolutely fabulous time!” Abigail gushed. Martin smiled tightly and nodded absently in agreement, his gaze having settled upon something across the street.

  When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. “You three go on ahead. I’ll meet you at the pub in a few minutes. I have some business to attend to.” With that, he dropped his wife’s hand and walked off in the opposite direction.

  “Martin!” Abigail called to her husband’s retreating back. “Of all the nerve.” She turned to Rosemary, her face flushed. “I’ve been abandoned like something meant for the bin. Oh, I could simply kill him for the way he’s been acting lately.”