Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (24 page)

Glenn turned to face her. Since I knew he
didn't have eyes in the back of his head, I suspected the girl had
tipped him off.

The wife, I assumed.

Glenn took a few steps toward her, and the
two seemed to have a heated exchange, though I couldn't quite make
out what they were saying.

I decided to quit while I was ahead and get
out of there.

* * *

I walked to Benson Hall, where the
Criminology Department was located on the fourth floor.

Professor Harrison Tucker was in his sixties
with fine white hair. He was sitting at his desk, seemingly deep in
thought when I knocked on the open door.

"Hope I didn't come at a bad time."

He looked up, quickly shook off his reverie,
and stood. "Not at all, Madsen. I've been expecting you. Come
in."

I took a seat across from his desk as he sat
back down.

"So let's hear about this proposal you have
for your independent study," he said eagerly.

I gathered myself, wanting to appear
knowledgeable enough about the subject so it wouldn't seem I was in
over my head.

"I'd like to recreate the murder of Marilyn
Sheppard."

"Sounds like an intriguing project. Tell me
more."

I did, laying out my vision, which included
getting volunteer actors to play the parts, having a killer other
than the victim's husband, and videotaping the reenactment.

"That's about the size of it," I
finished.

"You should do it," Professor Tucker said
without prelude. "It'll be interesting to see how things work
out."

"I agree." I was feeling optimistic now.

"So, will you be on the lookout for a
one-armed man?"

I smiled. "Only if I were recreating the TV
series. As far as I'm aware, no such man existed in the real
case."

"Ah, I see you've done your homework going
in. Nice work. I'd say you've gotten off to a good start."

I agreed, but still had plenty more to do.
And the way he kept looking at his watch, I assumed Professor
Tucker also had better things to do than talk to me.

"Where did you plan to get your cast?"

"The Theater Department." I figured Glenn
Fenkell could help me find some actors who were looking for a short
but juicy role.

Professor Tucker removed his glasses. "I
suggest you try the theater company on Biltmore Street. The actors
are older, more experienced, and always looking to hone their
skills till their big break comes along."

I cocked a brow. "I didn't know you were so
into the local theater scene." As though I would have known
such.

"I'm not really," he said almost
apologetically. "Because they are a nonprofit group, I contribute
to help keep them afloat, along with some other local
organizations."

So you have a vested interest in finding
the actors work, even if you're not getting paid,
I
thought.

"I see. Well, I'd be happy to check it out
and tell them you recommended their services."

He nodded and rose. "Keep me posted on your
progress."

"I will."

* * *

That evening, I went to Elliot's house for
dinner. He lived on the other side of campus from my condo.

Elliot proved to be quite the chef, one of
many reasons I liked him. He'd prepared breaded pork chops with
sautéed onions, rice pilaf, and a salad.

"So where's this reenactment going to take
place?" Elliot asked.

"I plan to rent a house for a month, assuming
that's the minimum time they would allow. I'd like to find a
setting reasonably similar to the one where Marilyn Sheppard
died."

"I have a friend who's renting out his house
for a year while teaching in Stockholm. Last I knew, it was still
unoccupied. It might be just what you're looking for, if you're not
too picky. I could give him a call if you're interested. I'm sure
the rental agency that's handling the property wouldn't make a fuss
about a one month rental if Parker agrees."

"Yes, please call him," I said, anxious to
get started. "I'm sure it will work."

"Will do. And if there's anything you need
for authenticity let me know."

I smiled, forgetting for a moment that Elliot
was not only a history professor but a history buff. I wasn't, but
did want some sense of historical accuracy for my reenactment.

* * *

The Biltmore Theater Company was located in a
one-time warehouse. A production was underway when I went in. I
immediately recognized the actress in a period costume and heavy
makeup as the woman who had approached Glenn at the library
yesterday. I presumed it was his wife.

I also recognized the young woman who
suddenly burst into theatrics as the girl at the library from whom
I checked out my books.

One big happy family.

A tall, dark-haired man in his thirties
approached me. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. My name's Madsen Vensetta. I'm a
doctoral student at Everly and—"

"Say no more," he cut me off. "Harrison
Tucker said you might drop by. I'm Jason Weiss, the director of
this stage show."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weiss."

"Same here, Ms. Vensetta." We shook hands. "I
understand you're looking for a few good men and women to volunteer
their services for your school project."

"Actually, I just need one woman and two men.
And I can probably pay a small amount for their services."

"Don't worry about that. Harrison's already
taken care of it."

I wasn't sure how to interpret that.
Apparently, other than being my advisor and independent study
professor, Harrison Tucker was putting his money where his mouth
was. Something told me there was a bit more to it than goodwill.
Maybe he would seek payment from me in the form of grading the
papers of his undergrad students.

Or maybe he just wanted me to deliver one
hell of a true crime revisit.

"Could I talk to some of the actors about
it?"

"Sure." Jason suddenly yelled, "Stop
everyone!"

They did, right on cue.

"This is Ms. Vensetta—"

"Madsen," I said, preferring not to be too
formal.

"Madsen has plans to reenact a famous murder
case for her independent study. She's looking for a woman and two
men to volunteer. Any takers?"

I thought Harrison had already taken care of
it. Or was his contribution being misdirected?

"I'll do it." The striking woman from the
library stepped off the stage and walked up to me. "I'm Camelia
Fenkell."

"You must be Professor Fenkell's wife," I
said while thinking she would be a suitable Marilyn Sheppard.

Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly. "You know
Glenn?"

"Not very well. I took his course last
semester. We ran into each other at the library yesterday. Then I
saw you there and put two and two together."

"Well, it's nice to know at least one student
acquainted with my husband actually has a brain."

I grinned at her obvious dig toward some of
his younger female students. "I'd like to think I have a working
brain inside my head."

A soft smile played on her lips. "Are you the
Madsen who Elliot Arness is dating?"

I reacted with the same surprise she had that
I knew Glenn. "Yes, I am. How do you and Elliot know each other?" I
was merely curious and hoped it didn't come across as jealously.
Aside from trusting Elliot, Camelia was married, even if Glenn
appeared to have a wandering eye.

"We both work in the History Department,"
Camelia said innocuously. "He's mentioned you from time to
time."

"I see." I felt flattered that Elliot thought
enough of what we had to mention me by name to his colleagues.
Another sign that things were headed in the right direction in our
relationship.

"Anyone else interested?" Jason asked,
intruding upon my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm in," said a man in his forties
with thick salt and pepper hair. He came over to me. "My name's
Victor Hawthorn, but everyone calls me Vic."

"Then Vic it is." I shook his hand.

I looked to my left and saw a man approaching
who hadn't been on stage and wasn't in costume.

"I'll give it a go."

"Uh, I don't think you're exactly what she
had in mind," Jason said with a snicker. "She's looking for
actors
."

"So I'm just a
lowly
production
assistant," he spat sarcastically. "Every great actor has to begin
somewhere. I'm game, unless you have someone better and more
expensive in mind."

I sized up his almost brutish appearance and
bushy blond hair, reminiscent of the man Sam Sheppard claimed
murdered his wife.

"I think you're perfect for the part,
Mister..."

"Darren Baker."

"Well then, Darren, I guess we're all set as
far as cast."

"So whose murder are we recreating?" Vic
asked.

"I think her name was Marilyn Sheppard," I
heard a familiar female voice say.

I turned and saw the library clerk. "Looks
like we meet again."

"Looks like it. I'm Tatum Douglas."

"Hi, Tatum."

"So that's why you checked out a load of
books about a woman who was killed by her doctor husband in the
1950s. You want it to happen all over again."

"Not exactly," I said. "And for the record,
the victim's husband was acquitted of her murder."

"Then who did it?" Tatum challenged.

I looked at Darren and thought about the man
Sam Sheppard was unable to prove killed his wife till the day he
died.

Turning back to Tatum, I said, "That might
remain a mystery forever. As for my reenactment, we'll just have to
wait and see who the killer turns out to be, won't we?"

She sneered, glancing at Camelia and Jason.
"Yeah, guess
we
will. By the way, I'm available as an
understudy."

I smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. But this
isn't exactly a major production, so I really don't think I'll need
anyone else."

I could see the disappointment on her face
and wasn't quite sure why, since the work would only be for a few
days at best. Was she trying to prove something to someone?

"You bastard!" blared a woman's voice from
the other side of the theater.

We all looked in her direction and saw a
thirty-something petite brunette barreling toward us at full
speed.

When she reached our group, the woman ignored
us and glared at Jason. "Is it true?"

Jason's face showed little expression. "I
have no idea what you're talking about."

"Are you having an affair?"

He frowned. "Don't be ridiculous."

She curled a lip. "For once in your life,
tell me the truth. Are you cheating on me or not?"

"Really, Sharon, now is not the time—"

"Now is the perfect time—right here in front
of your friends who may not see you as the asshole you are."

"You've been drinking."

"Yes, I had a couple of drinks," she
admitted. "So what! I needed them to give me the courage to face
you..." Her eyes were now riveted on Camelia. "...and your little
whore here!"

Camelia grimaced. "You think that—"

"Don't play innocent with me, bitch! You
think I don't know what's been going on between you and Jason?
Well, I do. And I'm warning you to stay the hell away from him—or
else!"

"That's enough!" Jason's mouth was a straight
line. "We'll talk about this at home. Come on."

He grabbed Sharon's arm and began to walk
away, ignoring her protests.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Jason's wife," Darren answered.

"Looks like he's got some major kissing up to
do," remarked Vic.

"Yeah, but with who?" Tatum gave Camelia a
dirty look.

Camelia continued to play the innocent part.
"I honestly have no idea what she's talking about. The woman's
obviously deranged."

I doubted that very much. Having experienced
infidelity firsthand, I would hardly dismiss such claims. A woman
was usually the first to know when her husband was cheating, but
the last to come to terms with it.

Made me wonder what it said about Camelia's
marriage to Glenn Fenkell. Or vice versa.

At least Elliot and I were happily single
again, though involved. I decided that having no legal binding
forcing us to stay in line probably made the difference in terms of
our commitment to each other.

* * *

"Sounds like there's some real drama within
your little acting group," Elliot said as we met for lunch at a
wonderful seafood restaurant called Soldad's Place.

I'd filled him in on my somewhat colorful
cast of characters, including his colleague Camelia Fenkell, though
the most colorful appeared to be those on the sidelines. Elliot
seemed to take it all in stride.

"Guess that's show biz," I said dryly, and
dipped a fried shrimp into sauce.

"Do you think Camelia and Jason are really
involved?"

"Do you?" I returned the question. "I think
you're in a better position than I am to know what Camelia's
capable of."

Elliot remained unflappable. "Not really. I
only know the lady on a professional level. What goes on in her
personal life is a mystery to me."

I had no reason to believe otherwise. "I just
thought that since you mentioned me to her, she might have—"

"Let me in on her sexual liaisons outside the
marriage," Elliot finished. "I don't think so." He paused. "So what
do your gut instincts tell you about this alleged affair?"

I pondered the notion, feeling foolish for
expecting Elliot to be privy to gossip. "I don't know," I admitted.
"Jason certainly denied it and so did Camelia."

Elliot snickered. "Did you honestly expect a
full confession in front of a group of nosey onlookers?"

"I suppose not. But if they are involved,
there's a lot of cheating going on between the various parties. I
don't know Glenn all that well, but I get the impression he still
cares for his wife."