Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) (2 page)

“You’re chicken, Amelia Prentice,” stated Lily McIndrick matter-of-factly. “You told me your dream is to be on Broadway, and now when you get a chance, you turn chicken.” She picked the cherry off the top of her sundae and popped it in her mouth.

The appellation “chicken” has lost its ability to sting in the many years since this conversation took place, but to a fifteen-year-old, it still rankled a little bit.

“That’s not true, Lily! I just haven’t got anything to sing. I’m not prepared,” I added haughtily, and returned to my root beer float. It was important that the ice cream and soda be consumed concurrently for maximum enjoyment, and I needed to eat a little vanilla ice cream to even things up.

We had just finished the last day of school before summer and were launching our vacation time with a celebratory treat at the Confectionery, the soda fountain/candy store that was one of the favorite teen hangouts.

“Not prepared!” Lily snorted.

For such a popular tenth-grader, she could make some pretty disgusting noises, but nobody seemed to care. On the other hand, I let out one burp, and oh, boy!

“Are you kidding? You know what the audition was last summer? They had me sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ It was easy!”

She fluffed her blonde hair. She wore it medium-long, with the ends kind of flipped up. I’d have liked to try that style, but I could never get my bone-straight brown mop to cooperate. A pony tail was as good as it got.

My mouth was full of ice cream, so I just tilted my head and frowned in disbelief.

Lily understood. “Really! And besides, I know for a fact you’ve memorized every one of those Broadway show tapes you’ve got in your room. Barbara told me. You could sing one of those songs.”

Leave it to my older sister to inform the world about my private life.

“I don’t know why you have to have me along, Lily. You were in
Oklahoma
and
Brigadoon
last year. You’re already in. Anyway, why don’t you take Barb with you?”

They were in the same class, after all. I was just the pesky kid sister.

I glanced in the mirror on the wall at the end of the booth, where I’d just spotted Elm DeWitt, the recently-graduated star quarterback, entering the shop. I refocused my eyes. I was wearing my new blouse with a flowered vest. That was okay. Was my hair all right? I’d washed it only last night, but it had a tendency to get greasy. I smoothed back a few stray hairs.

“Take your sister? Hah!” Lily leaned forward and whispered, “You know Barb can’t carry a tune. Everybody knows she got the looks and you got the talent in the family.”

It was typical of Lily to say something that both insulted and complimented my sister, and also implied that I might be on the homely side. As usual I decided to let it pass. It was just Lily being Lily. She had chocolate syrup on her chin, but I didn’t tell her.

“Why do you need anybody along at all?”

Lily explored her sundae dish for any remaining nut fragments. “Well, it’s my mother. She won’t let me do summer theatre without another girl along.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “She thinks I’ll be seduced or something. Allison Bouyea was in it with me last year, but she’s starting summer classes at the college and can’t do it. Come on, Amelia. It’s so much fun! You’ll love it.”

I stirred my float thoughtfully and watched Elm. At this moment he was talking to a couple of fellow athletes at the counter. Very soon now he would pass our booth. I was about to throw up. No, I was going to have a heart attack. No, I just needed to burp. I snatched a paper napkin from the little dispenser at the table and held it in front of my mouth.

“Earth to Amelia! Are you coming with me or not?”

I nodded, still pressing the napkin to my lips. Elm would be here any second now.

Here he was!

“Hi, girls. Free at last, huh? What’cha doin’ this summer?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I also couldn’t breathe.

“Hi, Elm.” Lily straightened in her seat. “We’re doing summer theatre, right, Amelia?”

I nodded and burped silently into the napkin.

Elm smiled and the sun shone brighter. “Wow, neat! Maybe I’ll go see one of the shows.”

“The first one is
The Last Leaf
,” Lily informed him. “Opens in a few weeks. What are you going to be doing, Elm?”

Looking uncomfortable, he tapped his chin. “You’ve got some, um—”

Lily looked at herself in the booth’s mirror. “Oh.”

She blotted her chin with a napkin and threw me a sharp glance that said,
Why didn’t you tell me
? She turned a sweet smile back toward Elm.

“You asked what I’m doing?” He shifted his canvas carryall to his other hand. “I’ll be starting summer classes at the college like Allison.” He knocked casually on the booth’s marble tabletop. “Got a football scholarship, you know.”

Lily lost her pretended composure a little bit. “Oh, yes, we heard. It was all over school.”

I nodded in nervous agreement and stared at the sharp ninety-degree angle of his jawbone. I didn’t dare look into his eyes, which were pale blue, like limpid pools of something or other.

“Um, well, good luck at the theatre.”

He sauntered away, his arms and legs working together in that unique and amazing way he had. Elm moved easily, as if he didn’t even know how wonderful he was.

I let out a long and trembling sigh.

“Yeah,” said Lily, and did the same.

There was a whirring from the jukebox and another tune began playing.

“I like that song. It’s from the new Broadway musical
Ivanhoe
.”

Lily nodded. “Yeah, it’s sweet. And so romantic. When I have a boyfriend, it’s going to be our song.” She sang along, “My knight in shining armor, he sees the same bright moon . . . ”

“You know, keeping my cool would be easier if Elm wasn’t so friendly.” I gazed across the room at the knot of athletes. “None of the other basketball players ever says a word to me.”

Lily followed my gaze. “Yeah, but you know what I say: So what? Who cares? I don’t like sports anyway. We’ll show ’em.” She pulled money from her purse and slid out of the booth. “Someday we’ll be Broadway stars. Then they’ll be sorry.”

I shrugged and sucked up the last mouthful of my float with a loud rattle before I followed her.

~~~

“I don’t know, Amelia,” said my father when I announced my plans for the summer at the dinner table that evening. “It’s not a real job. They don’t even pay you, do they?” He reached for the gravy boat.

That afternoon, with Lily nagging me, I had been a bit apathetic. Now that my participation was in doubt, I was suddenly passionate on the subject.

“That’s just it, Papa! In summer stock the apprentices are never paid. They work for the experience. It’s how they learn about the theatre!”

Papa put down his fork and looked at my mother. “What do you think, Janet?”

He never made decisions without her approval. They were an incorruptible, immovable, exasperating team.

Mama salted her potatoes thoughtfully. “She’s right about the wages, I think. I read it somewhere. And Sarah McIndrick did tell me that working in the summer theatre really boosted Lily’s confidence.”

My sister and I looked at each other across the dinner table. Barb rolled her eyes. As if Lily McIndrick needed more confidence!

Papa chewed up a bite of Swiss steak and swallowed. “Well, Clancy Jamison was a mighty nice fellow, and if his son’s running it, I suppose it’s all right.”

“Terence Jamison’s practically famous! He’s been on Broadway and everything!” I waved my fork, quoting Lily. Until this afternoon, I’d never heard of the man.

Mama frowned slightly. “The only thing that bothers me is that Sarah said they practice into the wee hours. I don’t like the idea of Amelia walking home so late at night. Barbara, elbows.”

My sister sat up and removed her elbows from the table.

“It’s only three blocks away,” I protested. “Look, I’ll only do one play, not all four. I just want to try it. Please?”

Mama’s expression remained troubled. She shook her head slowly. If she exercised her veto, there would be nothing I could do, I knew from long experience. Mashed potatoes reconstituted themselves in my middle and began turning to lead. My show business career hung in the balance.

Then Papa said something that utterly astonished me. “That’s no problem, Janet. We’ll see she gets home okay.” He smiled at me. “I think it sounds like fun. Just make sure if you start this thing, you finish it, right?”

Barbara put her two cents in. “Not like those violin lessons.”

I kicked her gently under the table, just enough to let her know I was within range. She pulled her feet back and narrowed her eyes at me.

“Of course, Papa, I promise. I’ll stay with it to the bitter end. I promise.” I drew an X on my slightly burgeoning chest.

The weather was warm for early June in the North Country.

“You do, too, remember Terence Jamison,” Lily said to me as we walked together to tryouts a week later, “He was the one who always danced last at the recitals. There’s a big picture of him on the wall of the studio. He was the star of Serena’s School of Dance who went on to make it in show business.” She curved one arm in a graceful circle and executed a shaky ballet turn. “
Tour jeté
,” she said under her breath.

“I don’t remember him, Lily. If he made it in show business, why haven’t I heard of him? Besides, that was Barb who took all those lessons.”

“Oh, that’s right, I remember. She told me you cried so hard at your first lesson that they made you breathe into a paper bag and you never went back.”

Was there
no
aspect of my private life my sister had not announced to the town at large?

“That’s not the point. I just don’t remember this guy. Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s pretty old. He was maybe seventeen when he stopped taking lessons at Serena’s, and then he went to New York, so that would make him ten or twelve years older than me.”

“Than I.” Lily was careless about her grammar and it was my duty to correct her.

“What? Oh, all right, teacher’s pet—I. Anyway, where was—I?”

I did a quick calculation. “He’s about thirty. Maybe even older.” It was an advanced age.

“Oh, yeah. Well, his dad gave him the money to go study in New York, and he was in all kinds of shows on Broadway.”

“Which shows?” I knew them all and had albums for nearly every one.

“
The Rockets
, of course. That was early in his career and he played one of the teenagers. He had big parts in
Hearts in Motion
and
San Juan Hill
. He played the younger Teddy Roosevelt in the first part of the play. I saw the picture in his wife’s scrapbook. He wore those little pinchy glasses and had a moustache. And—”

“Glasses like that are called
pince nez
,” I put in, using the French pronunciation, “Any big shows?”

I wasn’t impressed with the resume so far. The shows Lily mentioned were short lived.
Hearts in Motion
never even put out an original cast album.

“Wait a minute. I was just getting to it. He was in
Othello in Brooklyn
. Understudied Ian, you know, the best friend who’s really the villain? He even got onstage once or twice.”

“Wow! Co-starring with Elizabeth Trotter! She won a Tony for playing Dolores in that play, you know.”

“I know! There’s a picture of Terence with her in Pat’s scrapbook. I’ll ask her to show it to you.”

“And so now he’s running this theatre. Where’d he get the money?”

“Well, when his father died, he inherited Clancy’s Tavern, so—”

“Clancy’s? That was
his
father? My dad talks about him.”

It was a standing joke at our house that when Papa became overwhelmed with all the femininity around him, he would say, “Well, I guess I’ll just get my hat and coat and go down to Clancy’s Tavern.” He never really did, though.

“Sure, didn’t you know that? Clancy Jamison. So Terence sold the tavern, and he used part of the money to start this summer theatre. His sister Deirdre told me that. Hurry up, we don’t want to be late. Terence always gives a little speech at the beginning of every play. I heard it four times last summer, so I practically know it by heart.
Pas de chat
,” she mumbled, and gave a little ballet hop. She’d already been there, and I hadn’t, and she was rubbing it in.

Lily was wearing madras Bermuda shorts. I bent over and squinted at the back of her leg. “Boy, you got eaten up, didn’t you? Looks like you have about six bites there.” Summer in the Adirondacks meant mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds.

She stopped and scratched behind her knee. “Aww, why’d you remind me? Now it itches again!”

“Careful, Lily, you’ll make it bleed!”

I’d mentioned the bites on purpose, and now I felt guilty. As insufferable as Lily was, she was still doing me a favor.
I had seen all four of last summer’s plays:
Kiss Me Kate,
Oklahoma, Carousel,
and
The King and I
, and I seethed with jealousy watching Lily and Allison in costume and makeup being part of something so incredibly magical that it made me ache. Now, thanks to Lily, I had my chance to be a part of it.

The Adirondack Bijou Theatre was just one block away now. I could see the marquee in the distance. I started to breathe faster. How humiliating would it be if I turned around and ran all the way home?

The answer was easy: too humiliating to risk it. Lily and Barbara would see to that.

I squared my shoulders. I could do this. Besides, I wasn’t four years old and this wasn’t Serena’s School of Dance.

However, I was experiencing some familiar physical symptoms. I wondered if they could spare just one small paper bag from the concession stand. The kind used for popcorn should do nicely to correct hyperventilation. Or to be there if I threw up.

Lily remained oblivious to my condition, thank goodness. “Lots of the same people are gonna be back again this year. Neil Claussen, Celia Hurley—she was Anna in
The King and I
—and Danny DiNicco, of course.”

“He played the king, right? And Curley and Billy Bigelow.” I ticked off the names of lead characters in last summer’s plays. “He’s got a terrific voice.”

“He’s great, but Neil’s the best.” I thought I heard a sigh when Lily spoke Neil’s name.

“Wasn’t that the short guy who made all the funny faces? The one with the deep voice who played Jud in
Oklahoma
? I thought you only liked tall boys.”

“He is a bit short,” she conceded, “but he’s extremely talented. Only twenty-one and already been in three Broadway shows.”

“Well, they all have, haven’t they? Last summer the posters said so. Look!”

I pointed to a printed announcement that looked tiny in the large, glass-fronted poster frame next to the ticket window. It said, “Terence Jamison’s Adirondack Summer Theatre presents:
The Last Leaf, Merry Marinade, Paddy’s Magic Potato,
and
Brigadoon
.”

“ ‘Featuring Seasoned Broadway Professionals.’ ” I looked down at my hand. It was trembling.

On the door was a hand-lettered sign: “Tryouts Today, 10 a.m.–3 p.m.”

I had never been to a movie in the Bijou Theatre because for long as I could remember, it had specialized in lurid horror films that my parents deemed unsuitable. They preferred the more proper, Disney-oriented Strand several blocks away. Perhaps other parents felt the same because for the past several years the Bijou had stood empty with a real estate agent’s sign in the ticket window.

“Come on!” ordered Lily and pushed through the front door.

The lobby was empty save for some standing posters with black and white pictures of the Seasoned Broadway Performers. I would have paused to examine them, but Lily jerked on my arm.

“Come on, don’t be chicken!”

I had been in the Bijou four times last summer for the plays, but the atmosphere was completely different today. Gone were the smiling ushers and the eager, anticipatory audience. I paused at the back of the auditorium and looked along the rows of empty seats, wondering how many there were. But there was no time to count now.

“Ah, hello!” said a booming, friendly voice. “Welcome, ladies! Won’t you come join us? Come on, come on. Don’t be shy!”

The center aisle sloped gently down to the orchestra pit. As we neared the clump of staring people gathered in the first few rows, I saw that we were being addressed by a handsome auburn-haired man standing alone, center stage, gripping a clipboard to his chest. He had a narrow face with even, expressive features and a knowing gaze. He was medium height, and slim, but gave the impression of strength and movement, even when standing still.

A dancer, I surmised. In true dancer fashion, he wore a sweater draped over his shoulders with the arms tied around his neck. Very Gene Kelly.

“That’s Terence Jamison,” Lily whispered as we took our seats, which squeaked loudly as we pulled them down.

“Oh, it’s another familiar face!” called Terence Jamison to Lily. “Welcome.”

Lily ducked her head as she sketched a meek wave.

Someone handed us each a clipboard and a pencil. “Fill this out and pass it down front.”

I wrote down my basic statistics, including height and dress and shoe sizes. My list of theatre/drama/musical/dance experience filled only one line of the eight provided. It was pitiful: the high school girl’s chorus and church youth choir. I added angel in three Christmas pageants, then immediately erased it.

Someone tapped me on the back. “Finished?”

Glumly I handed the clipboard over my shoulder, then followed the long legs up to a pair of limpid blue eyes. “Elm! What are you—”

He leaned down and whispered, “Crazy, isn’t it? We get three credit hours in our arts requirement for building scenery and helping out and stuff. Allison’s here, too. Be seein’ ya.” He loped off down the aisle.

Lily and I exchanged wide-eyed smiles.

While Terence received and examined our applications, I relaxed a little and looked around at my fellow hopefuls. There were some faces familiar to me: a few of my classmates and several older people. I recognized a man who was a physical education teacher at one of the elementary schools and his wife, who taught first grade. To my surprise I spotted feisty little barrel-chested Ben Patchke, who even at the tender age of sixteen was able to grow an impressive pair of sideburns. And there was Allison Bouyea, Lily’s tall, willowy buddy from last summer, sitting in Elm’s row.

Well, it looked like Lily didn’t need me after all. The acrobat I always pictured in my middle was still doing flip-flops. Was it too late to bolt? I stood and struggled past her.

“Where’re you going?” Lily demanded.

“Restroom,” I whispered, and scurried up the aisle, ignoring the announcement Terence made. I hadn’t told a lie. I was a little bit nauseated.

“Now, all those of you who are trying out, please gather down here in the first two rows.”

It seemed to take forever to get to the exit. Lily wouldn’t notice until I was long gone, I told myself. She didn’t need me now. Allison was here. Lily’d forgive me.

Someday.

Maybe.

Just as I pushed through the doors at the back of the auditorium, I heard someone strike a chord on the big piano in the orchestra pit, then run through the opening bars of “I’m Doing This for You,” the poignant love song from
The Last Leaf
.

I paused and turned around. Brenda Bernard, with whom I had often shared a sandbox, stood on the stage and began to sing in a thin, virtually inaudible voice.

“I’m doing this for you,

Your heart will see you through—”

“Excuse me!” Terence interrupted, “Brenda, is it?” He consulted the filled-out forms on a clipboard.

I was frozen in agonized embarrassment for her. We’d been angels together in those Christmas pageants.

She nodded mutely, her eyes wide.

“Well, you have a lovely soprano voice, my dear, but I can barely hear it, and I know that young lady standing back there definitely can’t hear you, isn’t that right?”

I realized with horror that he was asking me. Feeling like the cruelest sort of traitor, I nodded.

“Right, so let’s turn up the volume, okay?”

Another nod from Brenda. Terence resumed his seat in the front row and the pianist launched once more into the opening bars. Brenda took a deep breath and began again.

“
I’m doing this for you,

Your heart will see you through
. . . ”

Her voice was stronger, if still a bit shaky, and she maintained the volume level until the end of the song. Personally, I thought she sounded just the tiniest bit flat.

“You might call this an act of love

It isn’t me I’m thinking of

It’s what I have to do . . . ”

“There, now! That’s much better, isn’t it?” Terence asked me.

I waved and smiled as encouragingly as I could at Brenda.

“Now, Brenda, if you’ll just read the lines for the character Johnsie in the little brown booklet you have in your hand. The ones that are underlined in pencil. Don’t forget to mind your diction and keep your volume up, please.”

Brenda brought the book up in front of her face and read aloud, remembering this time to speak loudly enough. “It’s-true-it’s-absolutely-true-I’m-dying-and-I-don’t-care-I’ll-be-gone-when-the-last-leaf-dies.”

“Thank you!”

Brenda heaved a well-projected sigh and scampered down the stairs into the auditorium.

“Who’s next?” Terence consulted his clipboard. “Where’s . . . Amelia Prentice?”

“That’s me, I mean, I!” I blurted, but he couldn’t hear me. I began to walk rapidly down the aisle. “Mr. Jamison,” I called, “here I am.”