Murder on Opening Night

CHAPTER THREE-2

MR. TOUCAN APPEARED from the wings. He was wringing his hands. “Is there a doctor in the house?”

No one came forward.

“Engineering and teaching skills are never helpful in these situations,” said Myrtle regretfully.

“Anyone?” pleaded Mr. Toucan. But apparently the entire house was composed of non-medical types. “Could someone lower the curtain, please?”

The volume of the audience rose in distressed murmurs. They seemed to be wondering if this were just a very avant-guard production or if something were genuinely wrong. Myrtle took out her cell phone and turned it back on. “I’m calling Red,” she said grimly.

When Red picked up, Myrtle could barely hear him with all the commotion in the theater. Impatiently, she got up, grabbed her cane, and moved out to the small sitting area in front of the concessions.

“What’s going on?” asked Red, sounding a bit exasperated.

“It’s the play,” said Myrtle.

“Not your fixation with this play again. You know I didn’t plan on going there tonight, Mama. Besides, hasn’t it already started?”

“It’s started all right. But there was a plot twist that I didn’t see coming. One of the actresses is unresponsive on the stage.”

“What? It’s not part of the show?”

Myrtle could hear sounds on Red’s end that indicated that he was probably already getting dressed.

“It’s a very odd show, but no—this isn’t part of the storyline, I’m sure of it,” said Myrtle.

“All right. Just hold on. I’ll be there in five minutes,” Red said grimly.

Myrtle hung up and watched as Miles approached the concessions stand, solemnly holding his plastic cup. “May I have more wine?” he asked the worker earnestly.

Red arrived in mere minutes and quickly stopped the hubbub in the theater. “Okay, I’m going to need everyone here to keep it down to a whisper,” he barked as he climbed the few stairs to the stage and disappeared behind the red curtain.

The noise in the theater did drop and Myrtle could almost make out the murmurs on the other side of the curtain. A few minutes later, Red walked out looking grim. He addressed the audience again, saying, “There has been a tragic death here tonight. Under the circumstances, I’m going to need to call in a team from the state police. In the meantime, I’ll need everyone to stay in their seats, or at least in the theater, until we have a chance to take statements.”

“We’ll be here all night,” said Miles, looking slightly shell-shocked. He’d gone from accepting that he’d have an evening out to the realization that it was going to be a very long evening out, indeed.

“While we’re here, this might be a good time to try to gather some information about what’s happened,” said Myrtle.

“In a gossipy way or an official way?” asked Miles. “Because I don’t think we have any official clout, despite your being the mother of the police chief.”

“I have plenty of clout as a crime reporter for the Bradley Bugle,” pointed out Myrtle smugly.

“Crime reporter? You’ve got a helpful hints column, Myrtle.”

“Sloan has asked me to contribute crime stories when I have the opportunity,” said Myrtle.

“When Tomorrow’s Promise isn’t on?”

“When there’s actual crime in Bradley,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “Which doesn’t happen all too often. There are only so many stories one can write about Cooter Carson’s bar fighting proclivity. This, on the other hand, looks as though it might be murder. Poor lamb. She seemed to be a trouble-maker, but she was awfully young to die.”

Miles nodded. “It does seem rather unlikely that someone of her age would suffer a natural death in these circumstances.”

“Then let’s find someone we can talk to. Someone who isn’t behind that curtain,” said Myrtle.

She and Miles looked around them. The play was hardly sold out, but there were a fair number of people in the audience. None of them looked like anyone who’d know much about Nandina’s death, though. Then Myrtle spotted someone.

“That young girl there. The one with the pixie haircut and the short floral dress. She was at the diner with the cast, wasn’t she?” Myrtle squinted at the girl. She looked to be about twenty years old. She had a pointed chin and large eyes that combined with her haircut to make her look like a fairy.

Miles said, “I think so. She seemed to mostly be listening in to the conversation. Like we were.”

“Then she’s exactly the person we need to be talking to,” said Myrtle. “Could you fetch her, Miles?”

Miles looked uncomfortable. “She’ll probably think I’m some sort of weirdo or something.”

Myrtle once again took in Miles’s sensible tie, starched button-down shirt, dark pants, and silvery hair. “Unlikely. Tell her that I work for the Bugle and am trying to get some background information on the cast. There’s an empty seat right next to me.”

A couple of minutes later, Miles returned with the young woman in tow. Her large eyes glinted with interest and she offered a slim hand with bitten-off nails to Myrtle. “You’re really amazing! Being a reporter at your age. That’s so cool.”

Myrtle shook her hand and gave her a tight smile. The girl was trying to be complimentary. There was no way for her to know that Myrtle preferred to be judged on her non-age-related accomplishments. Of which, in Myrtle’s mind, there were many.

“Thank you my dear,” she said graciously instead. “I’m Myrtle Clover.”

The girl nodded absently. She seemed to totally miss the social prompt to introduce herself. Instead she was looking at the feet barely visible underneath the curtain. “I was supposed to be back there too,” she said rather wistfully, as if she’d been left off a party invitation instead of not being part of a tragic death.

Miles said, “You’re part of the cast?”

Of course she wasn’t, since she wasn’t backstage. She shook her head. “Not a speaking part, although I’m part of the ensemble at the very end. I wanted a speaking part, but I didn’t make the cut in the audition. They didn’t think I was exactly right. So instead, I help with sets and programs and stuff like that.”

Myrtle couldn’t see the girl playing the sultry role of Nandina. And Veronica was playing the part of an older woman. There didn’t seem to be a good part for someone who looked this young and fresh-faced.

“But my car broke down on the way here tonight. I had to flag someone down for help.”

Miles said disapprovingly, “Surely that’s not a very safe thing to do. Even in a town like Bradley.”

She pouted. “I was careful enough. Anyway, I ended up late. Thought I’d catch a couple of minutes of the play from the back of the theater before I slipped backstage. But, well, that’s when they found Nandina.”

“So you didn’t actually see anything. That is, you don’t have any information about the incident,” said Myrtle.

The girl, whoever she was, was obviously the type who liked knowing things. She didn’t want to let the opportunity pass to display some of this knowledge.

“Oh, I know things. I just don’t know anything about what happened to Nandina. Although I have my suspicions.” The girl arched her eyebrows.

“What are your suspicions? And, really, you need to give me your name. I don’t like working with sources and not have any idea what their names are,” said Myrtle. She fumbled in her large purse until she found a small notepad and a pencil. She poised the pencil expectantly.

“I’m Cady Flosser,” said the girl. She spelled it. “I work a shift at Bo’s Diner and I volunteer here and act here. Basically, I spend a lot of time with the cast. And I can tell you one thing—Nandina Marshall was trouble. I’m not at all surprised that someone ended up doing her in.”

There was a note of vicious satisfaction in Cady’s voice. Myrtle asked smoothly, “Were you also on the outs with Nandina?”

“Only some of the time. That’s mainly because she liked playing the star. I tried out for her part in this play and I didn’t get it. Nandina rubbed my face in it from that point on. But I didn’t kill her. I must have still been getting out of the car when it happened.”

Miles cleared his throat and pointed out, “You’re using the word kill. You believe this to be murder, then?”

Cady blinked, her fake eyelashes fluttering as she did. “Well, of course I believe it to be murder. Nandina was totally healthy. And everyone hated her. But I don’t know that it’s murder, since I wasn’t here. Look, if you want to talk to the cast for your story, you should come back here during rehearsals tomorrow. If we have rehearsals tomorrow.” She watched as Red’s deputy rolled out crime scene tape.

“Are rehearsals at night, then?” asked Myrtle.

“Suppertime. That’s so cast members can work their day job, if they have one. Some do, some don’t,” said Cady. “If you want to talk to people before that, though, you probably can. Blaine, for instance. I already know where he’ll be tomorrow morning. He’ll be at the gym. He’s there every morning at nine. He’s a real structured guy.”

Miles snorted and covered it up with a cough. Myrtle ignored him. Miles knew that Myrtle had an aversion to gyms, in general. But this aversion could be overcome in pursuit of justice.

Myrtle could tell by Cady’s tone that she might have something of a crush on Blaine. She suspected that Cady, besides being something of a know-it-all, was a bit self-centered. So she tried flattery. “Thanks. I think it will be really helpful to talk to the cast members. But I’m also really interested in hearing your opinion on the cast. Just to give me a sort of overview.”

Cady’s eyes glinted. “I do know a lot about them. I’m really good at forming impressions of people, too. Like Blaine. You can tell he’s such a hard worker. He’s kind of a perfectionist so he’ll come to rehearsal knowing all his lines perfectly. He’s not just a good actor, either, because he’s always writing and wants to be a playwright. And not just a local playwright, maybe someone who writes Broadway plays and things.”

Miles, sitting behind Cady, made a face at Myrtle. As Myrtle had thought, Cady did seem to have a bad case of Blaine hero worship. She felt it might be more useful to move off the topic of Blaine altogether.

“What about that sort of dark man?” asked Myrtle quickly.

“Dark man?” asked Cady, mouthing the words as if they were unfamiliar to her.

Miles nodded. “You mean the real scruffy one. With the five o’clock shadow.”

“It’s not a five o’clock shadow. It’s just a light beard for effect,” said Myrtle.

“The effect is one that makes him appear he needs shaving,” said Miles under his breath.

Cady said, “Oh, you’re talking about Roscoe. You know how I mentioned that some of the cast has a day job and some don’t? Well, he’s one of the ones who doesn’t. His wife is super-rich and Roscoe doesn’t have to do anything but theater.”

Miles’s face too clearly demonstrated what he thought of this. “He doesn’t work? It’s not that he can’t find a job, he just chooses not to have one?”

“I think he sometimes does some freelance accounting or something. But yeah—he doesn’t have to work at all,” said Cady with a shrug. “Although I really doubt he killed Nandina.”

“Why is that?” asked Myrtle sharply.

Cady suddenly frowned, glancing toward the stage. “Sorry, got to run. The cops want to speak to me.”

Myrtle turned to see Red motioning toward Cady. He gave his mother a reproving look and she gave him an innocent smile in return.

“So that’s that,” said Miles. “Looks like Red is going to shut down our little investigation.”

“As if he could,” said Myrtle smoothly. “We’ll simply have to do our investigating when he’s not around. I’m hoping, since Nandina was so unpopular, that the cast members will be happy to gossip about her.”

Miles gestured to the stairs leading up to the stage. “There’s one person who may have liked Nandina.”

Myrtle turned to see the tall, awkward man wearing black framed glasses that she’d seen in the diner. He was crying in earnest.