Dead Women Tell No Lies (13 page)

“Now, Luke,” Myra said. “Be sure to let your mom know the card group still misses her.” She skimmed her gaze over him. “If you wanted a role in our spring production, you’re a little late. All the main leads are gone, but we could use help backstage. You’re young and strong unlike most of the men around this place.”

Rose drew nearer although the other woman seemed oblivious to her.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Myra. I’m here to ask you a few questions about a woman named Dahlia Blue. I understand she was in your last production.”

“The Angels Are Singing Different Tonight was my best show. I tapped the retirement community for the roles. Unfortunately, the play wasn’t financially successful. Ledgeview audiences rather watch worn out, predictable productions instead of opening their minds to unique material.”

Lennox crowded closer to the director, edging Rose out. “Myra, let’s talk over here.” He gestured to a few feet away from the scenery and the lingering painter.

Rose stood alone, the odd person out. Glad Lennox included her in the interview. The painter, an adolescent with pimples on his face and a paintbrush in hand, stared at her with open curiosity. Under his gape, she crossed the stage to join Myra and Lennox.

He turned to her as she joined them. “This is Rose Blue.”

Rose extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Myra gave her a nod of dismissal and turned back to Lennox. “As I was saying, I don’t know much about Dahlia Blue. I hired her to take tickets and gave her a small part in our production. I had to replace her when she was a no show. It was very inconvenient.”

Rose definitely didn’t like this woman’s attitude.

“I need a list of the actors for police interviews,” Lennox said.

“As I told you, the play featured male and a few women residents of the nursing home.” She huffed a breath. “Step into the lobby, and you can have the names.” She turned toward her stage hand. “Horace, take the detective to the ticket booth and give him a copy of our last playbill.”

The painter and Lennox headed up the aisle. Myra’s high heeled shoes clicked across the floor as she disappeared behind the curtain.

Rose wandered toward the front of the stage and turned around in a circle until an open doorway to the side of the orchestra pit caught her attention. She walked to it and peered inside. A set of stairs descended to a lower level. When Buddy met Dahlia he’d left the donated clothes downstairs. She read the
Out of Order
sign on the banister and squinted down into the darkness. Damp, cold air wafted up from the blackness, and floating on the draft was the fragrance of rose perfume.

“Dahlia?” She inched forward searching, but the steps disappeared into the gloom. Was her sister lurking below? Rose grabbed the handrail. The support felt strong and firm. She reached her foot out toward the first step.

“Where are you going?”

She stepped back and whirled around.

Myra stood in front of her. The older woman’s thin nostrils flared. “Didn’t you see the sign? It’s dangerous walking on those stairs. You can’t use them.”

Rose retreated to Myra’s side. “Has the sign been up long?”

“It’s been there as long as I can remember. You’re lucky you didn’t slip and fall. The door is supposed to be locked, especially if the fire deputy comes for a surprise inspection. I’ve no idea who opened it.” She pinpointed her gaze on Rose.

She dismissed the woman’s suspicion and inhaled. “What’s the odor from the basement?”

“Mold invaded part of the cellar. We’re holding a fundraiser to pay for its removal.”

“No, the scent is sweet like a flower.”

“You must mean my rose perfume.” Myra patted her hair.

“You wear a rose scent?”

“Hey, Rose, are you ready?” Lennox strode down the aisle toward her.

“I’d better go.” She started past Myra and hesitated to throw a glance down the stairs. The flicker of a shadow streaked past in the light from the open door and blended into the pitch black basement. Rose blinked, peeked again and saw only the darkness.

“Did you see something down there?” Myra’s hot breath against Rose’s neck startled her.

She turned around and wet her dry lips. “Did you?”

Myra was bent forward staring below. “It must be a rodent.”

“You mean a rat?” Rose backed away with revulsion.

“I’ll let Horace know he has to set up the traps.” The tightness around Myra’s mouth eased. “Oh, by the way, you didn’t ask about your sister’s part in the play.”

Rose shrugged. “What was her role?”

Myra folded her arms over her chest and threw back her head like she’d accepted a challenge. “Keep in mind I’d no idea what would happen to your sister. She only played the role once in rehearsal, but—Dahlia Blue played the murder victim.”

Chapter 9

Faded paper dragons decorated the wall above the booths of the Chinese restaurant. As Lennox and Rose walked past an elderly couple, the white-haired woman raised her head, ran her gaze over Lennox and then winked at Rose. He sailed past the woman without a glance.

Rose sat across from him and perused the menu. Within minutes, the waitress was taking their order and the food arrived. She inspected her meal. The lunch’s consistency reminded her of dog food. Her hunger disappeared.

“You’re not eating,” he said. “Order something else. You’re too thin.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m more the straight hamburger type.”

“Try General Tso’s chicken. It’s my favorite.”

“Let’s talk about Myra. She’s not the friendly type, is she?”

“I’ve found people don’t like questions from the police or advice. Note
vice
is part of the last word.”

“I’ll remember your ad vice. Do you want to hear what I learned from Myra while you were with Horace?” She couldn’t wait for him to take her bait and blurted, “Myra assigned Dahlia the role of the murder victim in the last play.”

“Maybe Myra knew more about your sister than we guessed.”

“I don’t think she was psychic, Lennox.” Rose sat back and frowned. “Since Myra told me, I’ve envisioned Dahlia lying on the stage with her mouth duct taped.” The hairs on Rose’s arms stood at attention and shivered. “Then I picture her at the morgue.” Dahlia’s fixed glassy eyes would never see anyone again. Her frozen, blue lips would never speak. Rose swallowed the sob in her throat.

“Sorry, Rose,” Lennox’s low voice broke into her recollections. “My men will interview the cast now that I’ve a list of names. Horace told me he overheard your sister say your mom loved acting.”

“That’s right. Mom was a drama queen. Any local play and she was there. I remember Gram babysat us during those late evening rehearsals and productions. I think Dahlia inherited her gene. What did Horace know about Dahlia?”

“That was the extent of his knowledge.”

“Don’t forget Frank gave us Buddy as a suspect.” She waited for his response, but he sat silent. She picked at the food while she continued. “I’d like to question him.”

“You’re not a cop, remember? And, I already interviewed Buddy. Until I’ve evidence that incriminates him, he’s not a suspect or a person of interest. If I find a witness or a discovery that supports an interrogation, I’m all over him.”

His words didn’t reassure her. At the moment, she needed caffeine for reinforcement. She’d pay a hundred dollars for a steaming mug. “Do they serve coffee in this place?” Where was the waiter? “I’d like a pint of strong French Roast.”

“Try tea.” He poured the liquid from the pot on the table into her cup. “Any hints from your sister at the Audi?”

She sniffed at the pungent tea. “Don’t worry. Myra won’t be passing the Ghostbusters’s number to me any time soon. Dahlia and I didn’t speak.”

“Forget Myra. When Dahlia reappears, get the name or initials of her attacker.”

“It’s not like we’re texting or having a phone conversation.” Frustrated, she tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “What’s the bully story Frank mentioned?”

The corner of Lennox’s mouth turned upward. “The story’s not exiting. When I was a sixth grader at Ledgeview Middle School, a few eighth graders decided to beat me up because I was the son of a cop and it would prove they were tough. Buddy had just moved here from Maine with his mom and Dean. As the new kid he was out to prove himself by teaching the older kids they’d chosen the wrong victim. The next day, Bud and I went one-on-one on the basketball court at lunchtime.”

She leaned across the table. “And you beat the bullies and Buddy.” “The odds were against us, five of them to two of us, but the fight was broken up by a teacher before a winner or loser was determined. School suspended me, and my father grounded me for two months. But Buddy and I became friends. We covered each other’s backs and were always there for each other in and out of school.”

“What about Buddy?”

“Bud and I called our game a tie when next period bell rang.”

“I can’t imagine you in a schoolyard brawl. You seem too…law abiding. Did you get in a lot of trouble?” She imagined a younger version of Lennox swinging punches and sporting a black eye. “I bet you could have beaten them without Buddy.” Lennox could win with both fists handcuffed behind his back.

“I wish I’d seen you take on a bunch of bad dudes.” She conjured up the image of Lennox walking down the school hall with her, his arm around her shoulders. She glanced at him, glad he wasn’t psychic. “Any other brawls during your middle or high school years?”

“A few, I avoided them if possible. My dad taught me being a good law enforcer was about thinking and psyching people out, not punching them out.”

“What about your mom? Was she in favor of your grounding?”

“She always supported my dad. They were a solid team. I haven’t seen her much lately. After my Dad’s death, she moved away to recover. She took his death hard. I rent the house from her. She didn’t want to sell it, and the former tenants gave their notice when I snagged the job in Ledgeview. The timing was perfect. Why are you asking all these questions?”

“I’m just curious.” She shrugged.

“I’m curious why you asked Frank to join the investigation.”

She shifted and caught a strong whiff of the fried rice on her plate. “I decided he’s not a lost cause if he thinks his cat’s clairvoyant. How’s your food?”

“The verdict’s still out on the eats, but Frank’s a unique individual.”

“Your friend’s a flatterer,” she said, inspecting the meat. “Did he compliment too many females during his marriage or was his compulsive gambling the reason his wife left him?”

“You should join the force. You have a suspicious nature.”

“I’d be good at interrogation. I should talk to Buddy, and it doesn’t take an investigator to guess what happened in your retired detective’s marriage.”

“Frank always kept his betting under control. As for women, he appreciates a pretty face, but he never cheated. He believes in the laws of marriage.”

“People call them vows in the real world.” She waited a beat. “What about you? Did your ex wander?”

“Getting a little personal, Miss Blue?” He glanced at her over the table with those now icy blue eyes. “What’s my former wife got to do with solving a crime?”

“I was thinking how life often throws similar people together. My ex boyfriend strayed, too, if it makes you feel better. He put the blame on me. He said I cared more about my shop than him. Turns out while I was busy doing my part to open my store, he was doing everyone he could find.” Her lower lip quivered despite her best effort to control it.

“The guy was a pig. Glad you dumped him.”

“Thanks, Lennox. You’re sweet sometimes.”

“I’ve arrested plenty of people who’d disagree.”

“Who’d believe them?” She lowered her voice in case the elderly couple at the next table could overhear. “I don’t think my ex and I were a good match though I didn’t see it for a while. The Blues are cursed in love.”

“You believe in curses
and
ghosts.”

“I bet you’re happy you met me.” The memory of the breakup bit into her with fresh pain. She managed a brief smile to hide her sadness. “Now he’s gone and the
Blues Sisters
isn’t. None of the women in my family have done well in love. My Gram loved my Grandfather but he died of a sudden heart attack when my mom was in high school. Gram was like your mom, Lennox. When Gram’s husband died, she and my mother moved away for a short time, but they missed their home and returned to Brattleboro.”

Rose gripped the napkin in her lap, gearing up to ask the big question one more time. “So what was the story about your ex?”

“Mine?” He shrugged. “She never mentioned that our marriage was cursed, if that disappoints you.”

“Funny.” She tossed the napkin on the table.

“My ex wasn’t happy married to me, a detective. She felt I gave all my energy to the criminals,” he admitted between bites. “My hours off were pretty limited. She had a point. When I was home, I was usually thinking about the job and not her or us.”

“I’d imagine a police detective’s career is exciting. You solve mysteries, put clues together and shoot at people. I could never do those things. I’m better at ordering supplies, working on my budget or thinking up fund raisers for the business association.”