Murder at the Mikado (10 page)

W
hat do you think, darling?”

The workmen had finished the paint and wallpapering portion of the remodeling and gone to eat their midday meals. That gave Drew and Madeline some time to inspect the place alone.

“I think it’s going to be lovely,” she told him, “once the smell of paint and wallpaper paste and sawdust has gone away and all the furniture put back where it belongs.”

He chuckled. “We have three weeks until the wedding. I’m certain it will smell of nothing but furniture polish and roses once we move in.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I think it’s rather nice that neither of us have slept in here yet. It will make it all the more special when we do.”

“Three weeks seems a very long time just now,” he said with a sigh.

“I know.” She kissed his cheek and then pulled away from him. “But it’s not forever.”

“Even if it seems so.” He gave her a determined smile. “Very well, Mrs. Farthering-to-be, what if we turn our thoughts to matters we
can
do something about?”

She pursed her lips. “You mean the Ravenswood case.”

“I do. Shall we go down to the library and see what we ought to do next?”

He took her arm and escorted her out of the room and down the hallway.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from that lady reporter yet, have you?” she asked.

“Not yet, no. I’d like to solve this case and not have it to worry us anymore.”

“So would I.”

He was puzzled by the storminess in her expression, but then she smiled again.

“Where do we go next?”

He considered for a moment. “Well, as they say, we need to find out who would benefit from Ravenswood’s death. Financially. What do you say, darling? Would you care to pop round to the Tivoli and talk to this business manager of his?”

“Well, all right. I just wish you weren’t doing any investigating right now.”

“But, darling, what about poor Landis? It wouldn’t do him much good for us to look into the case any other time. And if his wife isn’t guilty, it would be awfully sad for him to lose her, wouldn’t it?”

She pouted. “Maybe he’d be better off without her.”

“Darling! Whether or not I might agree with you, he loves her and very much wants her cleared of suspicion. We ought to at least want the truth to be known, eh?”

“Yes, I know. I know.” Still she pouted. “I’d just feel better if she wasn’t involved at all.”

“Well, she won’t be at the Tivoli, just a desperately dull bookkeeper who probably won’t tell us much of anything useful. Now, would you or would you not like to come see him with me?”

Finally she smiled. “Who could resist such an invitation?”

Soon they were once again at the Tivoli’s stage door. It took a few determined knocks, but eventually the door opened.

“Well, good afternoon, Mr. Farthering. Miss.” Grady beamed at them, leaning on the handle of his push broom. “Back again, are you? I’m afraid Miss Cullimore ain’t in yet. Nor Mr. Benton, if that’s who you come to see. Should be soon, but not yet.”

“Actually,” Drew said, “we were hoping to speak to Mr. Zuraw. Is he in?”

“Oh, him. Right.” The stageman motioned them into the hallway and pointed. “Go round the corner there, to your right and all the way at the back. His office is the last on the right.”

“Excellent.”

Drew flipped half a crown into the air. Grady caught it neatly and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. Whistling, he carried on with his sweeping.

Drew and Madeline followed his directions and soon found themselves at the end of a long, ill-lit corridor with doors at regular intervals along both sides.

“Storage rooms, it seems,” Drew said, peeping into one and then continuing on down the hallway. “And the office of one Mr. Lew Zuraw.”

He knocked on the last door on the right.

“Yes, yes,” said a rather exasperated-sounding voice. “Come in. Come in.”

Drew gave Madeline a wink. “Unless I am much mistaken, that is the accent of our slightly foreign Mr. Zuraw.”

He opened the door, and he and Madeline stepped into a little hole of an office, remarkable for the amount of papers stacked on every available surface. Zuraw was just as Benton had described him: thick mustache, thick glasses, and thick middle. He squinted at them over the spectacles perched on his knobby nose.

“Did you want something?”

Drew removed his hat and gave the man his card. “My name is Drew Farthering, and this is Madeline Parker. We don’t want to disturb your work, but we thought perhaps you could answer a few questions about Mr. Ravenswood’s death.”

“Ah, Miss Cullimore said you might wish to talk to me.”

“I understand you were present at the little party after the last performance of
Mikado
,” Drew said. “Is that correct?”

Zuraw nodded his balding head. “I’ve already told the police everything, but I suppose we must go through it all again.” He jabbed a stub of a pencil toward a pair of well-worn chairs piled with papers. “Sit. Sit.”

“Thank you, er . . .”

“Oh.” Zuraw looked around as if noticing the mess for the first time. “Anywhere. Anywhere.”

Drew stacked the papers on the already cluttered floor and then pulled the chairs closer to the desk.

“Could you tell us about that night?” he asked once he and Madeline were seated. “About the party.”

Zuraw shrugged. “Nothing much to tell. After the show,
everyone gathered in Mr. Ravenswood’s dressing room for champagne and congratulations. He made a speech, mostly telling us all what a fine fellow he was. There wasn’t enough champagne but for everyone to have one drink, save himself, so it was rather a quiet affair and broke up early.”

“Was Mr. Ravenswood intoxicated?” Madeline asked.

“Tipsy more like, I’d say.” Zuraw pulled out a large handkerchief and polished his glasses. “I never saw Mr. Ravenswood actually drunk, though he certainly could put it away when he liked. The only way one could ever tell he’d really had too much was he got sullen. Not generally a sullen man as a rule. Not sober anyway.”

“So he wasn’t sullen that night?” Drew asked.

“Not at all. He seemed in a jolly humor. Thick as thieves with that reporter he’s friends with, of course, but happy to talk to anyone.” Zuraw grinned. “So long as it was about himself.”

Drew nodded. “Besides the reporter, was there anyone else there who wasn’t part of the company?”

“Not that I noticed. No. It wasn’t much of a party at all.”

Madeline looked at Drew, then smiled at Zuraw. “Do you know Fleur Landis?”

“I’ve met her. Well, Fleur Hargreaves they call her more often than not, but yes, I’ve met her. Mr. Benton says she’s the one who killed Mr. Ravenswood.”

“And what do you think of that theory?”

“I can’t really say, I’m afraid. I don’t know her more than to say good day to, myself. They say she and Mr. Ravenswood were carrying on some years ago, but that was well before my time here.”

“So she hasn’t been around the theater lately?” Drew
glanced at Madeline, but her expression didn’t change. “I mean, you haven’t seen her about during the rehearsals or anything?”

“No, no, I don’t mean that at all. She’s been about right enough.” Zuraw nodded rapidly. “Always telling the actors what they ought to do and such. When I first saw her, I thought, with her looks and all, she must be an actress trying to get work. Just the past three or four weeks now, though, I didn’t see her about much. I mean, I’m not really one to notice other people’s business, so I’m not saying she wasn’t here now and again, but I didn’t see her about often.”

“Right,” Drew said. “Where did you see her when she was in?”

“About the theater, of course, usually during the afternoon. And I heard her and Mr. Ravenswood squabbling from time to time in his dressing room and sometimes in the hallway.”

Madeline frowned. “Every afternoon?”

“No,” Zuraw said. “Several afternoons, but not with any kind of regularity. Just now and again.”

“What else was she doing besides squabbling?” Drew asked. “Just now and again.”

“I saw her near Mr. Ravenswood’s dressing room a couple of times while he was out. And when she was leaving the theater one time, I saw her then. Alone. Before that, I saw her talking to Miss Cullimore.” Zuraw’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s all that comes to mind just now.”

“Do you suppose she and Mr. Ravenswood were seeing each other again?” Madeline asked.

“Hard to say, miss, but I wouldn’t have thought so. She seemed to be badgering him about something. Something she didn’t want him to do.”

Drew’s eyes met Madeline’s. That was more or less what Miss Cullimore had said. “Do you know what that was?”

Zuraw shook his head. “None of my business. Mr. Ravenswood paid me to see to the books, and that’s what I did. So long as Miss Cullimore keeps me on, I’ll carry on doing it. Anything else is between the parties in question and their own consciences.”

“I see.” Drew glanced at the stack of checks Zuraw was writing. “I see you’re in charge of disbursements as well as simply keeping the books.”

“That’s right. I pay the bills, including the payroll. Manage the bank account. Everything to do with money, I see to.”

“And you don’t have trouble keeping everything straight?” Drew gestured to the clutter. “In all this?”

Zuraw looked at him coldly. “I know where everything is, young man.”

“Oh . . . certainly. So, how did you and Ravenswood get along?” Drew asked. “Any disagreements over how things ought to be managed?”

“Not at all. He didn’t much care how everything was handled so long as it was handled. If the bills were paid and the troupe had their wages and he had enough left over to live as pleased him, he didn’t much mind.”

“And Miss Cullimore?” Madeline asked.

“She asked a question or two here and there, and I told her I was happy to show her the books. But she’s an actress. She doesn’t know a debit from a credit and doesn’t care to be taught. I told her to have an audit if she liked, but she didn’t seem to care for that idea, either. Mr. Ravenswood only laughed at her and said she shouldn’t worry her pretty head over such things, that it was all seen to.”

Drew looked again at the stack of checks on the man’s desk. “I understand the theater was owned by Ravenswood.”

“By him and the bank,” Zuraw clarified. “Mostly the bank. You know how it is, Mr. Farthering, especially in the early years of a mortgage. Most of the payment goes for interest, and the principal stays almost the same. If you’re asking if someone killed Mr. Ravenswood for his interest in the Tivoli, I’d say no. It would be precious little to commit a murder for.”

“Do you have any idea why someone
would
have killed Ravenswood?”

“As I said, Mr. Farthering, I’m not much of one to get involved. I mind my business and do my job and leave them to theirs. Easier to stay out of trouble that way, that’s been my experience. I’m sure you’ve heard it already, but Mr. Ravenswood was one for the ladies. It may be one of them didn’t like being thrown over. It may be whatever that Fleur Hargreaves and he were arguing about. It may be one of the actors didn’t like how the theater was run. Whatever it was, nobody told me about it, so I can’t tell you. The last I saw Mr. Ravenswood, he was drinking champagne in his dressing room, surrounded by friends and loved ones. Beyond that, I can’t say.”

Drew stood and brought Madeline to her feet beside him. “You have my card. Mr. Zuraw, if you happen to think of anything else. Or, if you’d rather, telephone the police and let them know. Even the slightest bit of information may be the key to cracking the case.”

He offered the man his hand. After wiping his own hand on his sleeve, Zuraw took it and gave it a rather tentative shake. Zuraw then nodded at Madeline. “Miss.”

Drew escorted Madeline out of the office and back down the hallway to the stage door.

“Do you any good?” Grady asked, looking up from his dustpan.

“Not in any measurable amount, I’m afraid,” Drew told him. “But thank you for letting us in.”

“Ah, well, I might’ve saved you the trouble. Mr. Zuraw don’t pay much attention to folk. He might be able to tell you how much money’s in your pocket just from the jingle of the coins, but you could come in painted bright blue and never get anything out of him but a ‘good morning.’ ”

Madeline gave him a warm smile. “Thank you all the same. We’ll try not to bother you anymore.”

He touched his forehead in respect. “No bother, miss, to be sure. Always happy to oblige. We’d all sleep a sight sounder if you and your gentleman figured out who’d done for Mr. Ravenswood.”

“That’s just what we mean to do,” Drew assured him. “You keep your eyes open, you hear?”

“I’ll be doing that, sir,” Grady said, and then he opened the stage door to the street and made a bow to Madeline.

The next morning, Madeline kept Drew busy with planning their wedding.

“As long as, by the end of the thing, we are well and truly married, I don’t mind what you do, darling,” he said as he escorted her to the table at midday. “Between you and Aunt Ruth, I am certain the affair will be stylish and tasteful and just opulent enough to be taken notice of without being a local scandal.”