Murder in the Second Row (31 page)

Jack nodded.
‘That sounds like a really good idea.’

‘Besides,’ said
Jessica, ‘it doesn’t seem quite right to celebrate after Ruth
Fitzpatrick just splattered herself all over the tarmac, even if
she was the one trying to shut us down.’

She went
backstage, checked her plan with Howard and Austin, then made the
announcement to cast and crew.

‘I have bad
news, good news, and better news, people.’

They were glued
to her every word, as murmurs of the night’s events had been
filtering through to the cast with varying degrees of accuracy.

‘The bad news
is that since Tamara’s mother died here tonight, we will postpone
the Final Night party.’ There were gasps from those who hadn’t
heard about the death, and groans from those who had.

‘The good news
is that the party will go ahead tomorrow after pack-out.’ Solemn
faces cleared. ‘The even better news is that we’ve re-scheduled
pack-out to start at 1pm instead of 9am, so you can all enjoy a
well-deserved Sunday sleep-in.’ Wild cheers greeted this statement.
‘Now go home, get some rest, and we’ll see you all tomorrow
afternoon, right? No pack-out, no party!’

She eased
herself down from the chair she was on and shooed people towards
the door, and then went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee,
stirring in two heaped spoonfuls of sugar for medicinal purposes.
After all, it wasn’t every day that she got attacked by a
knife-wielding maniac. She sat on the high bench seat by the back
door and cupped her hands round the hot mug for comfort.

Howard came in,
smartly dressed for the party that wasn’t going to happen.

‘You’re a bit
of a hero, aren’t you? That was a bit above and beyond the call of
duty, you know, luring that homicidal lunatic outside so she didn’t
disrupt the show. Your friend Jack told me all about it. He sounds
rather proud of you, you know.’

Gazza came in,
casually dressed in his usual well-worn jeans and sweatshirt.
‘There’s some really cool footage of you on the security camera,
Jessica, good enough to put on YouTube. You look very daring,
climbing out of that window and leading your assailant into a trap.
Did you remember where those rotten boards were, or was it pure
luck?’

Jessica
shuddered. ‘I knew enough not to stand on them myself, but the rest
was a complete surprise. I thought she’d be finished off by falling
halfway through the roof, but then she just climbed back out and
kept on coming. And she never even dropped the damn knife!’

Jack came in as
her voice rose an octave describing the scene. He took the coffee
cup from her hands and pulled her to her feet.

‘Home for you,
young lady. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.
Come on guys, time to head off. You can lock up as you leave. The
officers have finished checking the inside of the building.’

Howard winked
at Jessica. ‘He’s very masterful, isn’t he, your young man?’

Jessica quirked
an eyebrow. ‘I’m quite happy for him to tell me what to do, as long
as it’s what I want.’

Gazza snorted.
‘Good luck with that one, Jack.’

There was a
record attendance at pack-out the following afternoon. Emma
Sinclair was on time for once, and not hungover. Phil and Pippa
worked contentedly together helping Clara-Jane to sort out items of
clothing to put back into wardrobe or return to their owners.
Terence carried boxes of props around for Gert, entertaining her
with blood-curdling stories of his experiences with syringes. Even
Simone put on a scarf and an apron and got to work with dustpan and
brush.

Midway through
the afternoon, Nick made an entrance. Everyone downed tools and
crowded round to welcome him back. He was especially congratulated
for turning up to pack-out when he could just as easily have stayed
home enjoying his freedom.

‘Perhaps you’d
like to help Gert in the upstairs props cage?’ suggested Austin
slyly. ‘Assuming you haven’t developed a fear of enclosed spaces
while you’ve been in the pokey?’

The stage was a
frenzy of activity. The heavy sliding doors that separated it from
the Green Room were rolled open, and the construction team worked
swiftly to break the set back into its component parts, wielding
electric drill-drivers like surgeons. As fast as walls were laid
down and stripped of their fittings, willing hands carried them off
to storage. Austin sweated in the flats bay below stage, making
sure things were returned to their right places.

The elevator
stood upstage left. Stewart ducked inside it, calling out ‘Ground
floor, cosmetics, ladies’ fashions. First floor, bedroom
furnishings.’

‘Come out of
there,’ growled Gazza. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

There was a
pause.

‘Come out? You
want me to come out?’ Stewart slid the elevator door open, struck a
pose, and exclaimed dramatically. ‘All right – I’m coming out,
people!’

Jessica looked
up and saw the determination on his blushing face.

‘You really
mean that, don’t you Stewart? You’re ready to make a public
announcement?’ She smiled. ‘Good for you. I bet it’s not easy.’

He half
laughed, half sobbed. ‘No, it isn’t. Heaven knows what my parents
are going to say. I thought I’d try it out on you guys first and
see how it went.’

‘You can do
what you like with your personal life,’ said Gazza, ‘I’ve got no
problem with it as long as it’s not made compulsory.’

‘Eh? What did I
miss?’ said Howard, sticking his head round a section of wall.

‘Stewart just
came out of the closet,’ said Jessica. ‘I reckon it’s quite an
honour that he trusts us enough to do that.’

‘I’m g- , I’m
gay, Howard,’ said Stewart bravely.

‘Well of course
you are.’ He disappeared back behind the wall. ‘It doesn’t stop you
using a screwdriver though, does it? Come on, get those flats
dismantled, will you?’

Stewart shot a
startled look at Jessica, grinned, shrugged, and got back to
work.

Once the set
had been cleared away, the lighting bars were lowered so that all
the lights and wires could be stripped off. Half-melted colour gels
were tossed in the scrap pile while less-toasted ones were
carefully stored in Gazza’s concertina file for re-use. At last
every piece of equipment was put away and every inch of the theatre
was clean and tidy. It was time to mess it up with a party.

Erica and Shane
brought in armloads of plastic-wrapped plates of food and set them
out on a trestle table in the Green Room, while the rest of the
company disappeared into dressing-rooms and private corners to
change into their party clothes.

Gazza,
resplendent in new black jeans and a dark-green shirt, rigged up a
mirror-ball and aimed a pin-spot at it, sending arcs of light
wheeling around the stage area. Greg, Matt and Paul brought in the
alcohol and started dispensing drinks to the gathering crowd.
MaryAnn, as the president’s wife, went into full hostess mode
making sure that everybody was looked after.

Howard waited
until everyone had a glass in their hand before calling for
silence.

‘It’s time for
the speeches, folks.’ There was a token groan. ‘Yes, I know, you
just want to eat, drink and be merry, but I promise we’ll keep it
short. First, I’d like to thank everyone associated with the show.’
He consulted the programme to make sure he mentioned everyone by
name. ‘Without all your efforts, Appointment with Death wouldn’t
have been the success that it was. I’ll call on Gerald our
treasurer to give you the final figures. Gerald?’

Gerald stepped
centre stage clutching a sheaf of papers. ‘I’m pleased to report
that the show made a profit.’ A cheer went up. ‘Quite a big profit,
in fact.’ An even louder cheer went up, acknowledging how rare that
was. ‘Once running costs are taken out, we will have enough to
replace the roof, fix up quite a lot of the exterior timberwork,
and still have a significant fighting fund to keep the theatre
operating.’

The crowd went
wild.

‘I’ll expect to
see you dancing on the table later,’ called Jessica. Gerald smiled
and bowed and handed back to Howard.

Howard waited a
moment for the whistling and shouts of glee to stop. ‘Thank you,
Gerald. It’s always nice when an artistic success is matched by a
financial one. With the publicity we’ve had over the last few
weeks, interest in the theatre should be high enough for us to
survive for quite a while longer. Now, here’s the final
announcement you’ve all been waiting for – nominations for the
Golden Paddle award.’

Gazza
interrupted him. ‘Sorry, Mr President, but there’s one more thing
before that. For all your assistance with the show, both as
President and construction manager, I felt you deserved a small
token of our esteem. I’d like to present you with these.’ From
behind his back, he brought out a bunch of large carpenter’s
pencils, gift-wrapped with a red ribbon. The entire stage crew
cracked up in laughter. Howard accepted the pencils gravely.

‘Thank you,
Gazza. I shall cherish these, and will try not to lose them before
the next production.’ He tossed them to MaryAnn who fielded them
neatly. ‘Now they’re in safe hands, let’s get back to the Paddle
nominations. For the benefit of newcomers to the society, the
Golden Paddle is awarded to the person who makes the worst mistake
that is noticeable by the audience. Actors who forget their lines,
lighting cues that are late, sound effects in the wrong places –
all the things that leave fellow performers up the creek without a
paddle. And the nominees are…’

Jessica’s
attention was suddenly caught by a familiar figure on the other
side of the room. Jack Matherson had just slipped in through the
stage door. She felt her face flushing with pleasure and surprise
as her heart-rate seemed to double. His eyes swept around the room
and settled on her with a warmth she could almost feel. She would
have loved to go and greet him but the press of people in the Green
Room meant that she’d have to wait until the speeches were
over.

Unexpectedly,
she heard Howard mention her name and her attention snapped back to
his speech. She was a nominee? For the Paddle?

‘What? Why?
What did I do?’

‘I’m afraid the
noise of the office door being broken down was clearly heard in the
circle seats. A true professional would have let herself be stabbed
quietly for the good of the show,’ proclaimed Howard, to delighted
laughter from the others. Jessica shook her head in good-natured
denial.

But she didn’t
win the trophy. Erica took the award for her mis-timed phone-call,
and bore it away with good grace.

‘I do think you
deserve some sort of reward for all your dedication though,
Jessica,’ said Howard, ‘so we have a little presentation for you.
These are domestic airline tickets to a destination of your choice.
Jack, would you like to do the honours?’

As Jessica
gaped, Jack came forward, took the envelope that Howard handed him
and beckoned her to the front of the crowd. When she reached him,
quailing at being the subject of so much attention, he shook her
hand politely and presented her with the envelope. Then he grabbed
her in a passionate embrace and kissed her senseless while the
crowd cheered and applauded.

Once the formal
stuff was over and party was in full swing, she pulled Jack
upstairs to the Rose Room.

‘Why didn’t you
tell me you were coming tonight, you rat? But I’m so glad you
did!’

‘Well, when the
president of the Regent Theatre issues a personal invitation, who
am I to turn it down?’ He sat back on the battered couch a little
wearily. ‘Besides, it’s a nice antidote to what I was doing today.
We went through the Fitzpatricks’ house. What a nightmare. Tamara’s
mother was a deeply disturbed woman,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘When we searched her room we found piles of religious quotes that
would make your hair stand on end. Warm family sentiments like
“Suppose a man has a stubborn, rebellious son who will not obey his
father or mother, even though they discipline him. Then all the men
of the town must stone him to death.” It was pretty chilling stuff.
And the clincher was “All who curse their father or mother must be
put to death”, just as you heard her saying up on the roof. I’m
afraid Tamara must have offended her mother once too often and paid
the price.’

‘That’s just
appalling,’ she said indignantly. ‘How can people possibly take the
scriptures that seriously? I mean, there’s a lot of interesting
stuff in the Bible, but you wouldn’t treat it as gospel.’

He smiled.
‘Nice line. I’m afraid there are plenty of people who twist it to
justify their own peculiar ideas though. But that’s enough of all
that,’ he said, giving her a hug. ‘It’s making you sad. How about
we get away from the serious stuff now? There’s a party going on
out there you know.’

She looked at
him thoughtfully. ‘Are you all that keen to drink and dance with a
bunch of people you hardly know?’

‘No, not
really.’ He paused. ‘Actually, I’ve got a better idea.’ His eyes
lit with a wicked glint. ‘You know this old building pretty well
don’t you – where’s a nice secluded place where a chap might take a
girl to try out for The Shield?’

She stood up
purposefully and took his hand. ‘Come with me, Detective Senior
Sergeant Matherson.’

‘I fully intend
to, Ms Jones.’

THE END

To see what’s
happening at the ‘real’ theatre that these stories are based on, go
to the Theatre Royal page on Facebook. There are photos of the dear
old place as she used to be before the recent refurbishments.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theatre-Royal-Nelson/326764620668391

All characters
in this publication are fictitious, with the exception of ‘Howard
Daniels’ who was given the opportunity to be a character in the
book by his wife. Many of the events (other than the murder)
actually happened and are part of my fond memories of messing about
backstage at the Theatre Royal.