Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (9 page)

As promised I hurried to the theater after I left the store. One by one, cast members congratulated Magda on the Center for the Arts. Her announcement had replaced Spencer’s murder as the topic of prerehearsal buzz.

“What a grand idea!” That came from Peppi.

“When do you expect to open?” Dina asked a reporter’s questions. “Is there a chance we’ll get to see your private collection?” Magda had mentioned she would leave her own pieces of art to the new museum.

All the cast members seemed happy about the news, that is, except for the one conspicuous absence—Gene. Audie called the rehearsal to order, and Magda and Suzanne Jay as the Brewster sisters had decided to end the lonely life of their latest guest.

From my vantage point at the drinks table, I saw the door open wide and Gene march down the center aisle to the orchestra pit. Bobo ran beside him, letting out small yips. A few heads in the auditorium turned, but the people on stage didn’t notice.

“The gentleman died because he drank some wine with poison in it. Now I don't know why you're making such a big deal over this, Mortimer. Don't you worry about a thing!” Magda, as Abby Brewster, explained the reason for a dead body in the window seat to her nephew.

“Mother!” Gene bellowed in his bass voice.

Audie, too intent on the action on stage to notice Gene’s approach, whirled around. “Excuse me? Gene? We’re in mid-rehearsal.”

Gene jumped up on stage and confronted Magda.

“This is too much. I know you love this theater. And then your plans for the Center for the Arts. That was bad enough. But why did you put all that money in a trust fund? Do you think it’s your responsibility to keep it running even after you’re dead?”

9

From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])

Date: Monday, April 21, 9:41 PM

To: Eugene Mallory ([email protected])

Subject: Tough love?

Magda Grace Mallory recently made you return to work at the Circle G Ranch. Public opinion implies she wants to toughen you up.

My question is this: What did you do that made your mother so upset? I believe I know.

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Tuesday, April 22

No one knew how to respond to Gene’s harsh words. Magda’s face, already pale in the glare of the stage lights, blanched. “That’s private business, Gene. We’ll discuss it at home.”

Audie moved between them. “Gene, you’re upset. Why don’t you go on home?”

Fury transformed Gene’s face to the point that he resembled his character in the play. The sinister Dr. Gilchrist performed multiple facial reconstructions on Jonathan Brewster until he resembled Frankenstein. But he took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, dropping his hands to his sides.

Gene pointed a finger at Audie’s chest and then at the audience. “You’re stealing my inheritance, every one of you. You all have a reason to keep the theater running. Unless Mother changes her mind, you can look for someone else to play the dear old doctor. I know when I’m not wanted.”

In the silence following his remarks, he stormed down the aisle and out the door.

“I’m sorry, Audie dear.” Magda had regained some of her composure. “I’d better go speak with him, don’t you think?” She departed the stage.

Lauren Packer murmured an apology and followed her. As Magda’s lawyer, he must want to discuss the situation with the family. He would have written the trust agreement, after all.

The departure of three actors tore a hole in Audie’s plans for the night. He looked lost. Had he known about Magda’s provision for the theater or had the news surprised him?

Audie clapped his hands and whistled for everyone’s attention. The low murmur of conversation ceased.

“In view of the, um, unexpected developments, we’ll call it a night.” His eyes twinkled. “Just come back tomorrow night prepared to work twice as hard.”

After Audie’s announcement, the theater emptied in a few minutes. I put the tea and ice water in the refrigerator, ready for the next rehearsal.

Only Dina lingered. I could guess what she wanted to talk about—Gene’s outburst and its implications. A scoop all her own. She wouldn’t dare put speculation or the vague hints that Gene had dropped in the
Herald
.
But if she could confirm the information. . .

And if Dina didn’t jump the gun, Peppi might. She had left with the rest of the cast. Was she heading for the newspaper office even now to write up the events of the night?

No, I decided. As an intern Peppi didn’t have that kind of power. Her reporting consisted primarily of covering the police blotter.

Dina tagged along behind Audie as he made his rounds, locking up the theater for the night. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but she gestured to the stage, and he shook his head in refusal. By the time they reached me, her face had turned almost as pink as her hair.

Tone it down or you’ll never become a successful reporter
.
A good reporter had to be persistent, but belligerence would drive people away.

“C’mon, give me something. You know the grapevine will have the news about the scene here tonight all over town by morning. And my editor will expect me to know what went down since I’m Miss Johnny on the spot.”

“Not yet. And that’s final.” Audie smiled to soften his refusal. “I don’t know anything for certain, and I need to discuss it with Magda before I tell the world. I promise that as soon I know something solid, you will be the first to hear about it.” He nodded in my direction. “After my fiancée, of course.”

Dina scowled but accepted Audie’s limits. “I’ll expect details tomorrow night. Or sooner.” Her face had returned to its normal color, and she grinned, her good spirits restored. She bid us good night and walked out, leaving us, finally, blissfully alone.

“I thought she’d never leave.” Audie blew the air out of his cheeks and put his arms around me.

I leaned into his chest, welcoming the warmth and security. We stayed that way for a long moment, not speaking until Audie pulled away.

“I intend to go see Magda and find out what this is all about. Do you want to come with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

We each drove our own cars to Magda’s house, a two-story brick-and-stone edifice that Bob Grace had built for Mary in town when his ranch prospered. The porch light turned on as soon as I pulled my Civic into the drive, as if Magda had anticipated company.

By the time Audie parked on the street, Magda had come outside to greet us. The normally lovely matron looked haggard, a great weight wearing her down. “Audie, Cici. I’m so glad you stopped by. Please come in.”

We followed her into her formal parlor and sat on chairs that Mary Grace had decorated with needlepoint. Soft light glowed from genuine Tiffany lamps. “Would you like something to drink?”

Audie shook his head. My mouth felt as parched as a baseball diamond in mid-July. “I’ll have a glass of water, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Minutes passed before Magda returned. She set out tall goblets on china coasters and poured water from a cut-glass pitcher.

Hostess duties dispensed, Magda plunged into business. “I’m so sorry that Gene disrupted the rehearsal the way that he did. I meant to tell you the news, privately, of course.”

“What was he talking about?” Audie didn’t dance around the question.

“I have set up a trust fund to finance the Center for the Arts, including the theater, of course. Gene does not share my passion for the arts; and I want to provide for its future after my passing. I told him tonight.”

No wonder Gene was upset. From his vantage point, the theater was stealing his birthright. How would I feel if Dad mortgaged the family ranch and gave the money away?

“That’s very generous of you.” Audie managed a gracious response.

Magda must have sensed my doubts. “You needn’t worry about Gene. I have also set up a trust fund for him.”

If Cord was right about Gene, a trust fund would protect his cousin from squandering a lump sum inheritance. But Magda would never admit that to us.

“I was so pleased when the two of you became engaged.” Magda refilled our glasses. “That stirred me into action. Audie, you should know you have a job here in Grace Gulch as long as you wish to stay.”

What a grand wedding present!

Audie flushed and stammered a thank you. Why did he look uneasy? I was ecstatic, myself.

Magda turned her violet eyes in my direction. “Saturday evening, Audie and I were discussing the terms of his contract. When I went to Lauren’s office to set up the trust funds, I also asked him to draw up the paperwork.” She smiled, a benevolent dictator who had arranged things to her satisfaction. “There is no hurry, but I would like to settle the matter as my wedding gift to you.”

“I explained that I needed time to consider her generous offer,” Audie told me.

Why did he want to wait? The same hesitant undercurrents I had sensed all week returned, tugging at my spirit. But I refused to worry about it. Instead I returned to the subject of the morning’s press conference.

“The new arts center sounds wonderful. How are those plans coming?”

Magda waved her hands. “We want to do it right. Architectural designs are due by the first of May, and we will make our decision a month after that. Of course, that is only the start.” She settled back in her chair, her water glass held by her slender fingers. “Now tell me. Have the police returned the pearls to you yet?”

“No. They promise it will be soon.”

“Good.” She smiled, revealing even teeth well preserved for someone of her age. “I want you to wear them, Cici. Don’t keep them hidden away in the box until the play. Pearls lose their luster if you don’t wear them, you know.”

The old maxim wasn’t exactly true. In fact, skin oils could harm the jewels; pearls worn frequently required extra care. I suspected Magda knew that, but she wanted me to enjoy them before I sold them, all the same.

“I’ll do that,” I promised.

“It’s been a long day.” She stood. “If you will excuse me?”

We took our cue and departed. A flurry of questions for Audie rushed through my head. Did he intend to sign the new contract? Was there a problem with it? Knowing Magda, I believed it must be fair. Another thought struck me. Was he holding out for something else—like a position as the director of the entire arts complex and not only the theater? I decided to invite him home so we could talk.

Audie followed me out onto the driveway.

“Care to come over for a cup of coffee?” I asked.

Audie shook his head. “Not tonight. Magda’s right. It’s been a long day.” He kissed me on the cheek and walked to his car.

I wouldn’t learn the answers today. But Magda’s promise of a lifetime contract for Audie buoyed my spirits. Once in bed, I drifted to sleep, visions of my fiancé as director of the arts complex dancing through my dreams. He had never mentioned any interest in working outside the theater world, but no one was more qualified to run the complex existed in all of Grace Gulch. Lincoln County, for that matter. I couldn’t believe the trust fund Magda had set up. Security was a luxury that most people in the theatrical world did not enjoy.

My dreams had Audie retiring from a long and illustrious career that won Grace Gulch international respect in the arts world. When I woke up, I came back down to earth. There were other candidates for the position. The high school music teacher, who also worked with the community chorus, might want to apply for the job, or the arts professor at the community college. They could even bring in someone from the outside. After all, Magda had hired Audie away from Chicago.

On Wednesday morning, still in a hopeful mood, I dressed in one of my favorite vintage outfits, a dreamy gauze skirt and blouse from the Sixties. I called it my gypsy outfit. What should I do after I let the carpenter in to work on the floor? Take care of online business, like a responsible store owner, or hunt down Spencer’s killer?

I should concentrate on my business. This was the perfect time to develop an idea I had toyed with. Customers could insert a photo of their face onto a particular style and see if they liked it or not before they placed an order. But while the concept seemed simple, I didn’t know how to program it into the computer, so it stayed filed in the “maybe someday” file in my brain.

Let me be honest. I
wanted
to track down the murderer. The best lead lay in finding the blackmailer. For that I would need Dina’s help at the college. I would call her from the store. But first I decided to stop at gossip central, Gaynor Goodies.

My hippie outfit put me in the mood for some health food, so I opted for multi-grain muffins. Of course all the customers wanted to talk with me. They either wanted to discuss the murder or the uproar at the theater last night, or both. I couldn’t believe that four days after Spencer’s murder, I knew almost nothing more than I did on the night Audie discovered his body in the store. By this time after the gunfight last fall, we had identified the primary suspects. Beyond our surmise that Spencer was a burglar and had a partner, we had made no progress at all. Zilch.

Gaynor Goodies thrived on the local grapevine. Maybe I could find the grains of truth behind the blackmail rumors. So I answered questions as simply as possible and then I listened. People liked hearing themselves talk.

They threw out a dozen names of possible murder suspects. Every store owner made the list, with Gaynors pointing fingers at Graces and vice versa. The general theory was that Vic Spencer had uncovered some skullduggery at one of the businesses and was killed to silence him.

But in that case, Spencer was the blackmailer, and not the one being blackmailed. The police asked me to keep quiet about the blackmail note in Spencer’s possession. That seemed like the most promising angle to me. I wondered if I could get into his office and see if he had left any hints there about blackmail. Probably not. Besides, that was illegal entry.

A few people commented on Vic’s connection with the theater and the exciting news about Center for the Arts, and did I think Audie would get to manage the whole shebang or would he stay with the theater only? I gave them noncommittal answers and didn’t mention the negotiations—the exact nature of which I still did not know—between Audie and Magda.

One name kept popping up: Lauren Packer. That made sense, given his position as Magda’s lawyer, the creator of the trust funds, and one of Spencer’s many clients downtown. On top of that, he was involved with the theater. More than one person suggested him as possible director for the arts complex.

I thought of the way Lauren had run after Magda after Gene’s outburst last night. Did he want to work his way further into her plans for the complex? Did he resent Audie’s friendship with Magda? I felt a moment’s trepidation. Audie made a great theater director, but how would he manage against a wily courtroom attorney?