Never Thwart a Thespian: Volume 8 (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series) (16 page)

Bess grumbled under her breath and grabbed Leigh’s arm. “You listen to this, too,” she whispered, pulling them both forward. “I don’t trust Sonia as far as I can throw her. Although right now, that might be farther than you’d think.”

They stopped near the first row of folding chairs, but Bess refused to sit. “Let’s get on with it,” she said brusquely. “What do you want, Sonia?”

The lawyer didn’t cast so much as a glance in Bess’s direction, but handed each of the others a business card, then stepped up onto the chancel and began speaking as if she were making a business presentation. “Thank you all, so much, for allowing me to meet with you today. Your desire to bring the theater arts to this community is a noble one, and I applaud you. In fact, I’m here to help you.”

“Ha!” Bess scoffed.

“I’ve come here today,” Sonia continued as if she had heard nothing, “to present you with an exciting proposal. An opportunity I know you’ll be anxious to pursue.” She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a laminated photograph. She held it out in front of her and walked from one side of the assembled crowd to the other so that everyone could see it. Leigh craned forward, but could make out only the outline of a rectangular building, as Sonia seemed reluctant to move any closer to Bess.

“This,” Sonia continued in her raspy voice, “is the future of your Thespian Society.
This
is what you’ve been waiting for. Nearly forty
thousand
square feet of theater space… with its very own huge paved parking lot!”

Sonia smiled a sickly fake smile, revealing cigarette stained teeth and a misplaced dab of dark red lipstick.

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then one of the male actors, a bearded middle-aged man with a booming voice, lifted a hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we already have a building? Or am I actually sitting in the street?”

Sonia’s forced laugh sounded like a seal barking. “This building? Oh, but you can’t possibly be serious. This building is totally unsuitable.”

“Says who?” Bess protested.

Leigh felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Sonia was
supposed
to be withdrawing her offer.

“Surely you all noticed as you walked in today how many ghoulish spectators this place has attracted?” Sonia forged on. “They are not here because they are waiting to buy tickets. They are here because this building is a crime scene. A community travesty. Do you not realize that two, count them,
two
murders have been committed here? The first, horribly wrapped up with devil worship and shades of satanism, and the second… well, who knows? The rumors I’ve heard flying are beyond ghastly. The reputation of this building as a wholesome location for community entertainment has been lost forever. It will never recover from this stigma.
Never.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said one of the actresses lightly, her brown curls bobbing as she gave a dramatic shrug. “I think a lot of people might come to the show just out of curiosity about the building.”

“Hear, hear!” Bess agreed.

“That’s just it!” Sonia said intently, her eyes bugging. “That’s what I mean! Do you
want
to stir up that kind of interest, arouse that sleeping element of evil in our society?”

Camille gasped and put both hands over her mouth.

The actors gave snorts of derision.

“Evil!”
Sonia insisted, her voice rising. “I’m talking about this building, the stain that’s upon it, and how it will color everything you ever try to do here, ever again!” All at once, she lowered her voice with a smile. “Now this place, on the other hand,” she said holding up the picture again, “is pure as the driven snow. Without blemish. A perfectly clean slate that you can write your own story on. And here’s the exciting part. I’m offering it to you, for no rent whatsoever, for the entire first
year!”

“It’s a warehouse,” the first actor said flatly.

“It’s open space bursting with possibilities!” Sonia countered.

“Where is it?” another actress asked.

“Not far at all!” Sonia beamed. “Just a short drive away.”

“How short a drive?”

“I’ve already discussed the particulars with Mr. Applegate,” Sonia went on, “and I’m sure we can work out an amicable settlement. He and I will transport all your equipment to the other location, anything you’d like to take along — including the appliances! —
and
you can start remodeling the other space as soon as you want. No questions asked!”

“But where
is
it?” the curly haired actress insisted.

Sonia cleared her throat. “Beaver Falls.”

The actors responded with a chorus of groans.

“Beaver Falls!”
Bess cried. “That’s a forty-five minute drive!”

Camille stood. “We are the
North Boros
Thespian Society, dear,” she said to Sonia sweetly, removing the picture from the attorney’s hands and setting it back on top of her briefcase. “So I’m afraid we shall have to decline. And we simply
must
get back to our rehearsal.”

Sonia’s eyes flashed with panic. “But… I have another building, too! In Butler County. And it’s even bigger!”

The actors began to rise and take their places on the stage.

“But you
can’t
stay here!” Sonia began to preach again, her deep voice rasping with near hysteria. “This building is
cursed,
I tell you.
Cursed!”

Bess’s eyes slid sideways over toward Leigh, who looked down at her shoes self-consciously. It did sound silly when someone else said it.

“The only way to root out the evil is just to level this place and start over!” Sonia continued to rail. “Don’t you see? By moving out now you would be ridding this community not only of a blot on its past, but a magnet for future criminals! Think how much better off everyone would be if this monstrosity were razed, and a new shiny building built in its place! You
must
make it happen! It’s your civic duty!”

Sonia was losing it. Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth, and everyone in the room — except the actors she was talking to — had stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

“My dear Ms. Crane,” Camille said in a wispy, angelic voice as she floated over and put a hand on Sonia’s arm. “You mustn’t upset yourself. The society will be just fine, I promise you. In the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ‘For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.’”

Sonia frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re out of here,” Bess said curtly, stepping up onto the stage. She made a series of exaggerated gestures to Gerardo, pointing first at Sonia, then at the door, and he smiled an obsequious smile and hastened forward.

“But I—” For a long moment, Sonia’s eyes darted warily between Bess and the approaching bouncer. Then, with an indignant huff of breath, she grabbed her briefcase and stormed past Gerardo. Leigh expected a parting shot from the door, but was disappointed. Sonia continued straight out into the vestibule without looking back. Gerardo followed her, returning a few seconds later with a confirming nod to Bess.

“Good riddance,” Bess muttered. “The nerve of that woman!”

“All right, everyone,” Camille was saying to her actors onstage. “Exercises! Now, hands on hips! And bend,
slow-ly.
That’s it! Now, breathe with me.
In. Out. In, out…”

Leigh looked at Bess, who rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask,” Bess murmured.

“Aunt Bess?” Mathias called, hurrying up to them.

“Yes, kiddo?”

“You told us to make a center aisle, but the director lady, she said we needed to make zigzags. Something about having the chairs look like the outline of a flower from above? Then she started going off about orchid blossoms—”

“Oh, for the love of—” Bess cut herself off with a groan. “We need a large center aisle for the wedding scene, as I told you. Just ignore the director. Lord knows everyone else does.”

Camille moved from the breathing exercise into a round of jumping jacks.

“Can we stay and watch the rehearsal when we’re done?” Mathias asked them both.

“You may if you’re excited by calisthenics and poetry recitations,” Bess replied. “But that’s all you’re likely to see happen.”

Mathias and Leigh both blinked at her. “But isn’t the day after tomorrow opening night?” Leigh asked.

“Without question,” Bess replied glibly. “But no one expects to make any progress while Camille’s here. That will come later.”

Leigh’s brow furrowed. “You mean, the cast is going to practice
without
the director?”

“Why, of course,” Bess said matter-of-factly. “We always make up one hush-hush schedule for the cast and another for Camille. We couldn’t possibly let her direct otherwise.”

Leigh cast a furtive glance back at the stage. The actors were now all crouched on the floor, their arms arched over their heads. “Acorns!” Camille crowed with delight, flitting about between them. “We are all acorns!” She stopped by the male actor who had been so outspoken earlier, and her face drew into a frown. “Oh, no,” she chastised. “No, no, no. You must be more three-dimensional!”

“Um…” Mathias said dubiously, “
Yeah.
Maybe we’ll finish the chairs and just take off, then.”

“An excellent idea,” Leigh agreed.

Mathias returned to the Pack, and Leigh watched as her aunt’s face slowly reddened. “I can’t believe Gordon subjected us all to such nonsense,” Bess fumed. “Beaver Falls, indeed! He should have known better. Well, he’ll get an earful from me next time I see him, that’s for sure.”

Uncomfortable thoughts swirled in Leigh’s brain. “Sonia definitely still wants this place,” she thought out loud. “And badly. I have to wonder what else she might do to get it. How far she’d go.”

Bess harrumphed. “It will never happen. Gordon promised me. We make a success of this show — good crowds, positive reviews, excitement in the community, and the theater is ours.
No one
is knocking this place down to make some shiny new hamburger stand. Not while there’s breath in my body!”

“Aunt Bess!” Leigh said sharply.

“What?” Bess asked with surprise.

The image her aunt’s euphemistic words created in Leigh’s fertile imagination could very well make an appearance in future nightmares.

“Nothing,” Leigh answered quietly. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.”

Bess’s expression softened. “Don’t you worry about me, kiddo,” she said confidently. “If that pint-sized harpy sticks her nose in my business one more time, it’s
her
that can do the worrying.”

Chapter 11

When Leigh arrived in Avalon the next morning to visit Maura, she found her friend sitting up in bed surrounded by an even wider array of paperwork than before, plus a laptop and a printer.

“This doesn’t look so relaxing,” Leigh commented, entering the room with Allison behind her.

“It’s just right,” Maura replied, closing the file she’d been studying. “Technically I’m on modified duty, not disability, much to Gerry’s annoyance. Hey, Allie.”

“Hey, Aunt Mo,” Allison said quietly, slipping into a chair.

“Where’s the Chewmeister today?” Maura asked.

“He had a prior social obligation,” Leigh replied. “Cara took the rest of the Pack to North Park this morning for a charity-sponsored dog walkathon.”

Maura’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She turned to Allison. “You’re not missing that just to come over here and babysit me, I hope?”

Allison smiled shyly and gave a shrug.

Leigh’s teeth gritted. She had good reason to fear Allison’s motives in asking to come, and the internal debate she’d waged over whether to ship the girl off to the park with the others had been fierce. She had relented in the end only because she knew that Allison’s curiosity, once sparked, was impossible to quench, and that any attempt to thwart it only made the child more determined. And potentially, more devious.

It was Maura’s fault the child was so fascinated by crime anyway, Leigh thought ruefully. Why not let the detective deal with it?

Maura studied mother and daughter a moment, then moved the files on her lap aside and picked up her notebook and pencil. “So,” she said cheerfully. “Somebody catch me up. What’s been going on at the theater lately?”

Some time passed before Maura received the complete rundown, perhaps because whatever details Leigh left out in the interest of sparing Allison, the girl herself made a point of supplying. The detective listened carefully, making occasional notes.

“So, I guess Sonia’s out as my prime suspect for Marconi’s murder,” Leigh admitted. “Did you ever find a connection between the two of them?”

Maura shook her head. “She wasn’t named as his attorney on any of the public records, anyway.”

“Are you in charge of the case now, Aunt Mo?” Allison asked.

Maura grinned. “Well now, that’s a more complicated question than you might think. Officially, no, Detective Stroth is heading up the investigation. Unofficially, well… assume what you will.”

Allison grinned back. “Could I ask you a question? If you’re not allowed to answer it, that’s okay.”

“Agreed,” Maura replied. “Shoot.”

“Do the police know yet exactly how Andrew Marconi was killed?”

Leigh got a familiar sick feeling in her stomach.
Why
would Allison need to know something like that?

“Yes,” Maura answered. “The autopsy results just came in. What will become public knowledge soon, if it hasn’t already, is that Marconi was most likely killed by a blow to the back of the head.”

Allison’s eyes widened. But she made no response.

Leigh hastened to change the topic. “What do you think about Bess’s one hire pretending he can’t speak English?”

Maura shrugged. “Could mean a lot of things. You have any reason to believe he has ties to the building or any of the people involved, aside from trying to make a few bucks doing manual labor?”

Leigh shook her head.

“Yes,” Allison answered. “Maybe.”

Both women turned to look at her. “What?” Leigh barked. Allison had already confessed that the Pack had suspected Gerardo’s deceit from the beginning and had even gone so far as to confirm it. Evidently, he had underestimated their powers of observation — a costly error, always — and had been tricked into acting on several throwaway comments, like “Look at all this cash!” and even the classic “Quick, duck!” But the Pack, like Leigh at first, considered the deception a harmless enough secret. They all liked Gerardo, and Mathias and Ethan were convinced that he had begun the ruse just to shut Chaz up.