Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play (3 page)

CHAPTER
3

“Everyone
, I’d like to introduce you to our newest cast member,” Paulette started, looking amazingly pulled together considering what we’d discovered only five hours earlier. “This is Gabby St. Claire.”

Everyone stared at me. I hadn’t expected a rousing round of applause. After all, one of their own had just died.
Paulette had announced the news, the cast had spent about an hour crying and mourning—as they should—and now she was addressing the practical side of the loss.

We all sat in the chorus room, which had three elevated levels with chairs.
Paulette stood at the front, where a teacher might have given instruction, while the rest of the cast sat in a semi-circle on the risers, sniffling with tissues in hand and an unwelcoming air about them.

She
called me up to the front with her. The reception, not surprisingly, seemed a little cold. I would have probably handled things differently myself, if I’d had a choice in the matter. But Paulette had gotten the crazy idea in her head that I would take the lead part, and there was no changing her mind.

I
wished Mrs. Baker could have been here. My former teacher had a way of smoothing over bad situations. Things might have gone better if I’d had her in my corner, but apparently she had an awards ceremony to attend with her daughter.

I couldn’t wait to see her.

I realized Paulette was staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I cleared my throat, trying to figure out the best approach to take in the midst of the glares from the cast. There really wasn’t one, I decided.

“I’m glad to be here
but very sorry for the reason behind my addition,” I started, thinking I sounded rather graceful.

Of course, a new person getting the lead role might not go over so well with some of the folks here, and I guessed I couldn’t blame them.

After the cops left and before rehearsal, I’d reviewed the script. The play was such an odd little production—not that I’d told Paulette that. It was a mixture of
Phantom of the Opera
,
Les Miserables
, and
The Sound of Music
. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around.

In the play, a
nun was sent to star in a musical where mysterious things were happening on set. Meanwhile, a man who’d been wrongly accused of a crime he never committed had escaped prison and now lived between the walls of the old theater, hoping that the detective after him wouldn’t find him until he redeemed his life. People called him the Specter.

This
was the script that Paulette had thought was brilliant? It was practically a knockoff—a parody minus the cleverness. Add to that the fact that the songs were in abnormally high keys, the range was difficult, and the background tracks all sounded synthesized, reminding me slightly of carnival music. It seemed a recipe for disaster, on more than one level.

I kept my mouth shut.

Paulette had given me a CD of the songs I needed to learn: Yes, I’d have to sing.

And, don’t get me wrong—I loved singing. But that didn’t mean I was any good at it.

My mind jumped back to the present.

“Even though we don’t have access to the stage right now, w
e’re going to run through Act One,” Paulette continued. “Everyone in place.”

Still feeling self conscious because of the
veiled hostility of the other actors, I vowed to remain low key. Paulette remained firm that we shouldn’t tell anyone I was investigating this case. She thought I’d do better undercover—as the lead, the most vied for position.

So now I looked like the g
irl with connections, the actor who only had this role because of who I knew. Which, in reality, was true.

I had no idea where to go to “get in place,” so I wandered to the middle of the
makeshift stage.

“You’re over there.” One of the male actors pointed stage left and cast another scowl my way.

I thanked him, trying not to freeze in panic when I realized all the other actors would take one look at me and realize I was a total and complete amateur. It wouldn’t take a detective to figure that out.

I comforted myself with the
thought that this
was
community theater; I supposed most of the people up here were officially amateurs. Still, I’d bet they had more experience than me. Based on the daggers some were shooting my way, they may even be rooting for me to fail.

Just as I reached center stage
, a shrill voice cut through the air. “My play is going to be ruined!”

I glanced over
at the door and saw an incredibly tall woman with sleek dark hair push into the room, waving a stack of papers in her hands.

Paulette shrank
back. “Arie. I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight.”

“Not even a call?”
Arie demanded as she reached Paulette. “You didn’t have the
courtesy
to let me know
yourself
that the lead
actress
in
my
play
died
?”

Based on the woman’s histrionics, she should
have been an actress. She was certainly dramatic enough.

“
Arie, it’s been a long day.” Paulette tucked a hair behind her ear, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I was going to call you.”

“I had to get a text from
a cast member!” Arie’s nostrils flared and her hand went to her hip.

Paulette glanced back at the
cast. I followed her gaze and noticed a slight smile curled the lips of the actor who’d grumbled at me earlier about where to stand.

Interesting.
If I remembered correctly, he was Jerome—my costar.

“We’re all in shock over this,” Paulette
tried to explain.

My old friend
was going to be eaten alive, I realized.

I felt the need to jump back into my old middle school role—the need to try and protect her. But Paulette was a woman now. Certainly she could stand up for herself … right?

“I personally handpicked Scarlet to play the role of Elsa McGoverness in this musical. Now, it’s all going to be ruined! And it’s your fault!” Her icy glare temporarily froze Paulette.

Paulette opened her mouth and then shut it again. She took a step back, her hand fluttering through the air.

Meanwhile, Arie inched closer. “I
trusted
you with this script. It was going to be my
big break
! I’d be smart to pull out now and find a
new
theater troupe for the production.”

“But … I—you can’t. We—”

“I
can
, and I
might
!” Arie insisted. “It’s bad enough that a
ghost
is haunting this auditorium, but now
this
!”

“Enough!” I yelled
.

My head was going to explode if I heard any more of this.

Everyone turned to look at me.

So much for staying low key.

“Who do
you
think you
ar
e charging in here and insulting
the producer
who took a
chance
on you and your work? You’re out of line.” I took a page from her book and overly emphasized all the important words in my sentence. That seemed to be her language.

Arie
stared at me, her gaze cold enough to ice over the sun. “
Who
are
you
?”

I held my chin up
, fully aware that I was about to drop a bombshell. “I’m the new Elsa McGoverness.”

Her mouth gaped open in anger as she turned back to Paulette. “You cast someone
new
without even
consulting
with me?”

“
Arie—” I started.

“It’s not
Airie
. It’s Arie—pronounced
R-E
. No rhyming involved! How many times do I have to say that to you people around here?” She spewed before turning back to Paulette. “I’m calling my lawyer. That’s all there is to it! I will not have my name ruined like this.”

Before anyone could say anything else,
Arie stormed out the door.

I looked at Paulette. The poor girl looked like she might have a breakdown. She
did her nervous little tugging her hair behind her ear gesture and offered a feeble smile.

“The show must go on,” she said, a
little too softly for the words to have their full effect. When everyone stared at her a moment, she finally clapped her hands. “You heard me. Chop chop!”

Good for her. I was glad she’d pulled it together enough to get through practice. Otherwise, I feared too many people in this room
might smell blood and see Paulette as someone they could eat alive.

I’d seen it happen with Paulette one too many times in the past.

Maybe, finally, things had changed.

CHAPTER 4

I walked out of the Cultural Arts Center with Paulette at 11 and
watched her lock the door behind us. Before we’d left, I’d confirmed there was no one in the building. Tomorrow morning there shouldn’t be any surprises waiting for anyone.

Unles
s someone with a key, for some reason, went inside during the night. Paulette insisted that all her key keepers were trustworthy, though. She’d even given me one, which made me wonder just how many other people had keys.

I pulled my coat closer as a winter wind swept through the parking lot. It was mid-January and a cold snap had claimed the area. The air was brittle and, with the brisk wind, the bite was painful.

“So, tell me about the ghost haunting this place,” I prodded as we headed toward our vehicles—mine an old white work van and hers a Land Rover. In the heat of the moment, I’d let Arie’s words slip right on by me, but they’d come back to … well, come back to haunt me now.

Paulette shook her head. “At our second rehearsal,
Arie stormed in one night—she has a habit of doing that—and she had all these old news articles with her. They were about this teacher who’d died at the school back in the 70s.”

“What?” I would have heard about that, right? I mean, there’d always been this rumor that a ghost haunted the place, but I thought it was all just a story someone made up to scare us
measly middle schoolers. I had no idea there was actually any truth to it. I was still skeptical.

“She
found the newspaper articles to prove it,” Paulette continued, pulling her white wool coat tighter around her neck. “I guess the school administration tried to bury it. They didn’t want students freaking out.”

“
Tell me about the articles.”

We walked toward the parking lot at the other side of the building.

“The woman’s name was Rose Hines. She’d just started teaching here. Drama, for that matter. One day, a custodian found Rose in the orchestra pit. Apparently, she’d stayed late trying to prep some of the props, and she fell, hit her head, and died.”

Curiosity—and suspicion—clawed at me.
“Was there ever an investigation into it?”

Paulette shrugged. “I think so, but there were no signs of
a crime. It just appeared to be a tragic accident. So now Arie thinks that the ghost of Rose is coming back to haunt us.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I stated, just to get my opinion out there.

“I don’t know if I do or not. I went to a psychic once and some of the things she told me came true. Maybe there is a supernatural element alive and well in this world.”

“I believe in the supernatural, but I don’t put my faith in ghosts or psychics.”

“Then who?”

“I put my faith in God,” I told her. “I’d love to tell you about Him sometime.”

I swallowed hard. I was a new Christian and whenever it came to talking to people about my faith, I started to feel like a little child, for some reason. I guess I was a baby Christian. Still, I had great news to share about how Christ had changed my life and given me hope. Why would I want to keep that to myself?

“Sometime,” Paulette said with a nod as we reached the
end of the sidewalk

I paused
at the edge of the parking lot. A man was leaning against my van.

“You good?” Paulette
asked nervously. She was probably still thinking of Scarlet’s demise and wondering if the man was trustworthy. Everyone in the cast seemed to be on edge, and rightfully so. Whispers had run rampant during practice. Cast members had insisted on walking each other to cars. I’d noticed several looking over their shoulders while on stage.

All
of them except Jerome. He seemed content to glare at me. What was his problem? And what about that glance I’d seen him and Arie exchange?

I
remembered Paulette’s question and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow for rehearsal.”

I watched her walk away before turning back to my van. I smile
d at the man there. He leaned against my door, his ankles crossed, and wearing clothing that cost more than my monthly rent. An overhead streetlight illuminated his grin.

“Garrett Mercer,” I
murmured. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I
quite enjoy hanging out in dark parking lots, waiting for beautiful women until the wee hours of the night.”

I playfully jabbed him in the chest.
“If you weren’t so cute, that would sound creepy.”

He stood and straightened his sleeves. “It does, doesn’t it?
” His British accent had a way of sounding self-deprecating and adorable. “I didn’t think you were ever going to get out of there.”

“It’s been quite the day, to say the least.”

“You still up for dinner?” he asked.

“I totally forgot
to call! I’m sorry.” I’d even texted him right before practice to tell him I was at the school and running late. I was supposed to call when I knew when we’d be done.

“No apologies necessary, Love. I know you’re a busy lady.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Only three hours.”

“Three hours!”

“I jest. I jest.” He chuckled, the moon reflecting
in his gaze and making his eyes glimmer. “I actually tried to call about an hour ago. When you didn’t answer, I decided to swing by. I saw your van was still here. You hungry?”

I glanced at my watch.
“At this hour? Isn’t it late to eat?”

He
shrugged. “You can think of it as late or you can consider it romantic. I know what I choose.”

I smiled. “Why not then?”

“Great. I found this cozy little place. It’s only about a mile from here. Want to give it a try?”

“Why not?”

We bypassed my van—which smelled like cleaning fluids anyway—and climbed into his hybrid. I let myself melt into the soft leather seat. It had been a long day, and I was tired. I wished I could hop in the shower, change into something more respectable—something that would make me feel pretty. But Garrett seemed to like me just as I was. He never complained, at least.

Usually,
his companionship had a way of cheering me up. The two of us had a bit of a complicated relationship that wavered somewhere between friendship and romance.

I first met him when I was trying to figure out who’d shot my
then fiancé, Riley Thomas. Garrett had later hired me to work a cold case involving the murder of his family. During that time, my fiancé and I had decided to take some steps back—way back. Riley was recovering from a brain injury, and he’d moved back up to D.C., a good three hours from here, in order to let his family help with his grueling therapy.

Riley and I still talked
every so often. It had started weekly, then moved to every other week, and eventually less than that. Every time I heard his voice, my heart panged with sadness.

Initially, I’d hoped he might come down for a visit or that he might fight to keep me in his life. He hadn’t. He’d all but disappeared.

I’d gone up to visit him twice. After the second time, his mother had kindly told me that he seemed upset every time he talked to me. She’d hinted that I was hampering his recovery.

At that moment I’d realized that, m
ore than anything else, Riley needed time and if I truly loved him that’s exactly what I should give him. I knew that things might never return to the way they’d been. All the dreaming and wishing in the world wouldn’t do a thing to change those possibilities.

So now I left the ball in his court. I
didn’t like it, but I accepted it.

All of that said,
I wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship. Garrett knew that. We were just hanging out, talking almost every day, and enjoying each other’s company.

In all honesty, I was surprised that he’d stuck around this long. He was a hot commod
ity in the area and could date anyone he wanted. He owned a successful coffee business, he was interested in giving back to the community, he was rich, handsome, and he had a killer accent. He’d even warned me a couple of months ago that he wouldn’t wait forever.

That had been in N
ovember. It was now mid-January, and he was still hanging around. For all I knew, he could be dating other people. But I had a feeling he wasn’t.

My friends all liked Garrett. There was really nothing not to like about him.

Except that he wasn’t Riley.

We pulled up to a restaurant off Shore Dr
ive in Virginia Beach. The eatery was a little shack that sat on the Chesapeake Bay and, despite its rustic appearance, it had five star prices.

Garrett didn’t even have to say anything to the waiter. As soon as he spotted Garrett, he nodded toward the back, motioning for us to follow him.
He led us to a covered deck overlooking the water. Party lights hung overhead, and the Mamas and the Papas played from somewhere overhead. Most of the people around us had had too much to drink, evidenced by both the bottles and glasses on their tables and the volume of their laughter.

But I tuned all of that ou
t. Garrett and I had a corner table. Glass covered the sides of the deck, but I guessed it was removed in warm weather so patrons could enjoy the balmy breezes off the water. The place was nice, and it had great views.

“
You like?” Garrett asked, that charming smile on his face.

I’d al
ways said he reminded me of Gerard Butler, only more handsome—if that was possible.

I nodded. “I like.”

His smile widened. “Great. Now, I have to recommend the tuna—grilled with the mango salsa—or the scallop cakes. Both are wickedly wonderful.”

“Sounds like you’ve eaten here quite a bit before.” Maybe he
was
seeing other women. My heart ached a little at the thought, though I knew I had no right to feel that way. Everything was way too complicated right now.

“Business meetings
,” he corrected, almost as if he could read my thoughts. “I love bringing board members here for lunch. Wild caught local fish. Vegetables grown through sustainable, clean farming. Fresh air off the bay. It gives them just a taste for the area without being too overwhelming. Don’t you think?”

I nodded
and stared out at the black water outside for a moment. “I do.”

I loved his enthusiasm for his job.
He was passionate and innovative and he’d pulled his life together in the face of tragedy. What was there not to admire about that?

“So, how was
the meeting with your friend?” Garrett closed his menu and took a sip of his water. He knew I wasn’t a fan of alcohol—my dad had been a drunk for most of my childhood—so he respectfully refrained when he was around me.

“We found a dead body behind the stage,” I blurted.

Garrett stared at me. “What?”

“It’s true.” I explained what happened.

“You don’t have to look for mysteries, do you? They just find you. You’re like a magnet, and crimes are like the anvil that’s always being drawn closer.”

“
An anvil that’s bound to start coming at me so fast that it knocks me smack in the forehead?”

He chuckled
. Even the way he held his water goblet, raised suspended in the air, made him seem affluent. So different from me.

“Now, I didn’t say that
,” he started. “I’m sure you’d still look charming, even if you had a big red welt on your face.”

“
You’re kind.” I straightened the napkin in my lap. “Anyway, Paulette asked me to investigate.”

“And you said?”

I shrugged. “I said yes.”

“Good girl. You’re in your element when you’re investigating.”

I felt myself beaming. “Thank you.”

The waitress interrupted
to take our orders. I got tuna, cooked medium, with a cucumber salad and rice pilaf. Garrett ordered oysters and some she crab soup.

As soon as the waitress wandered away, I leaned toward Garrett, my thoughts still on my eventful evening. “
I guess Paulette has a lot riding on this whole musical. Yet, despite that, she gave me the lead role. I’m taking the place of the woman who died.”

The pit in my stomach grew as I said the words aloud.

Garrett seemed a little too amused as he bent toward me. “Now, that is something I wouldn’t miss for the world. Gabby St. Claire, on stage, star of the show.”

“Singing and dancing,” I finished.

“Even better.”

“It’s going to be humiliating.”

He waved his hand in the air, as if swatting away the negative thoughts. “Don’t be silly. You’ll be great.”

“That’s kind of you
, but you’ve never seen me sing or dance.”

“We’ve danced together. Remember—at the gala you attended with me.”