Never Thwart a Thespian: Volume 8 (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series) (24 page)

“You’re lucky they let us stay in the building at all,” Leigh reminded. “Now sit down and eat your pierogies.” She patted the seat of a chair beside her. “I got those potato, bacon, and blue cheese ones that you love so much. Eat up!”

Bess grumbled, but sat. “The men had better come back,” she said worriedly.

“They will,” Leigh assured. “I’m sure they’re delighted to have an unexpectedly long lunch break. They needed to change clothes anyway. Mom would have a fit if they all paraded back in here covered with grass clippings. There would be green specks stuck in the floor polish for months.”

“They’ll suspect something,” Bess fussed. “What if they’re afraid to come back?”

“All Gerardo and Chaz know is that Mom doesn’t need them until two-thirty. But even if they did know what was going on, they would still come back. Chaz loves the macabre and Gerardo is getting paid twice. As for Ned, whatever you said seemed to calm him down just fine. He finished sweeping the clippings off the sidewalk, didn’t he?”

Bess nodded and took a bite of pierogie. “Umm, these are good,” she mumbled.

Leigh allowed herself a smile. It was the first she had managed in hours.

Stroth had shown up within twenty minutes of her voicemail, looked around inside the boiler room, traced the same path Leigh had followed through the hallways and out the back door, then called for backup. Much to Bess’s relief, however, that backup had come in an unmarked car with no flashing lights or uniforms in sight.

Stroth’s questions had been predictable; his comments few. Leigh knew he would soon be reporting everything that had happened to Maura, and she hated the thought of the expectant mother worrying over the implications. She didn’t want to worry, herself. But it was hard not to.

If the bone she had found
was
human, it almost certainly had not been the only bone in the boiler room twenty-four hours ago. It had probably been bricked up in that coal chute with a full complement of its skeletal cohorts for the last fifty-plus years. That it had been put there by the murdered-soon-after janitor, she had little doubt. That it belonged to the man who went missing just before then, Clyde Adams, seemed equally likely.

What made no sense was how anyone else could know about it. And why, if someone did know and had known about it all along, they had suddenly been possessed by an overwhelming desire to disturb Clyde’s final resting place
last night.

“We’re all done for today, Ms. Cogley,” Stroth announced from the alcove, startling them both. “You can return to the basement and clean up the mess if you’d like. We’ve taken some samples and the scene has been thoroughly photographed.”

“Was it human or not?” Bess demanded, rising.

Stroth’s face gave no clue. He was a sober man who talked little and showed emotion less, and Leigh found him difficult to read. But because Maura seemed to trust his judgment, Leigh did also. “We’ll have to wait for the lab to tell us that,” he answered simply. “But you should know one thing before I go. The door at the rear of the building — it looks like you recently had a new mechanism installed?”

“Yes,” Bess answered, her tone almost defensive. “Gordon — I mean, Mr. Applegate, the owner, hired a locksmith to change all the locks. I believe the old knob on that door was broken altogether.”

Stroth nodded. “Well, it’s broken again.”

Bess’s face paled. “It’s what?”

“Either the part was faulty, or it was intentionally tampered with,” Stroth explained. “It’s a one-way mechanism — designed to hold the door closed and locked unless the inside knob is turned. But it doesn’t lock at all. Anyone could pry it open from the outside, at any time. There is a separate sliding bolt on that door which does work; have you been using it?”

Both women nodded. “I check it every night!” Bess protested.

Stroth looked thoughtful. “The casement window beside that door has a broken lock as well.”

“Detective Stroth!” A male voice shouted from the front entrance. “I need to speak with you!”

They turned to see a livid Gordon marching down the aisle, an unusually large and burly man following one pace behind him like a dog at heel.

“Mr. Applegate,” Detective Stroth said mildly. “There are some things I need to discuss with you as well.”

Bess made a small sound rather like a whimper.

“Well, you can start by continuing what you were about to say,” Gordon instructed as he reached them. “What’s this about a broken lock?”

“The detective was just telling us about a few minor security matters that need to be attended to,” Bess soothed. “Nothing to worry about, though. Everything with the show is right on schedule!”

Leigh suppressed a snort.

“I believe we’ve been playing phone tag,” Stroth said to Gordon apologetically. “But I’d like to update you on the matter of the break-in last night.”

Gordon’s already fiery eyes turned to Bess. “The
what?!”

“It’s nothing!” Bess protested. “Nothing at all, really. There was no harm done. Just a little banging around in the boiler room. That’s all we really know for sure at this point,
isn’t it,
detective?”

Bess turned the full force of her pitiful, pleading eyes on Stroth, and it was all Leigh could do not to groan out loud.

Stroth, thankfully, was unaffected. He launched into a summary of his recent findings in the building that was thorough, concise, and completely devoid of any embellishment or drama whatsoever. Leigh was so impressed she wanted to applaud.

Bess was less amused. “I’m sure the detective is making way too much of this,” she insisted to Gordon, taking his arm. “There’s no reason whatsoever for you to be bothered, dear. Where old squirrels go to die is hardly our concern! We’ll simply fix the door and the theater will go on as planned. No worries!”

Gordon stared back at her with unbridled skepticism.

“As I was about to say when you came in, Mr. Applegate,” Stroth continued. “I believe that another security check of the building, by a professional locksmith, would be advised. I noticed that the lock in the window by the back door was broken as well, even though the latch appeared to have been recently replaced, just like the doorknob.”

“Oh, bother,” Bess said lightly. “Nobody could crawl through a hole that size anyway, could they?”

“Crawl through, no,” Stroth said heavily. “But any burglar worth his salt could fashion a rod to slip through it and pull back the deadbolt.”

Bess’s face paled again. She opened her mouth to say something, but reconsidered and shut it.

Leigh watched curiously as Gordon slid a proprietary hand over the small of Bess’s back.

“This is what I came here to discuss with you,” he said to Stroth in a low voice. “I don’t know what’s going on with old bones in boiler rooms, but I believe there is a very real threat to this theater project of Ms. Cogley’s — and to her personally. And after everything you’ve just said, I am more certain than ever that it’s coming from the
inside.”

Chapter 17

“The
inside?”
Bess protested, twisting away from Gordon’s protective hand. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Gordon frowned at her. “You’ve had an army of people in and out of this building the past week. Any one of them could have slipped off downstairs and tampered with the locks, making sure they could access the building at any time.”

“But why on earth would anyone associated with
my
theater want to do that?” Bess protested again.

“Damned if I know!” Gordon countered hotly. “But I refuse to take chances where your safety is concerned!”

Bess’s eyes widened with alarm, but Leigh knew that alarm had nothing to do with Bess’s fears for her own safety. She was afraid that Gordon was about to pull the proverbial plug.

“My…” Bess sputtered. “But that’s ridiculous! I’m not in any danger!”

“I’d wager Sonia Crane didn’t think she was, either,” Gordon said heavily.

“What happened to Sonia has absolutely nothing to do with me or this theater!” Bess insisted.

Gordon huffed out a breath and pulled an envelope from a suit pocket. “We’ll let the detective decide about that.” He withdrew a note-sized slip of paper from the envelope and held it out towards Stroth. “I received this at my business address this morning. One of my secretaries brought it to my attention, but I’m afraid she did so only after it had been handled by quite a few of my staff. It’s bound to be crawling with extraneous fingerprints.”

Stroth took hold of the letter with a handkerchief. He examined it for a long moment before asking to see the envelope as well. Gordon handed it over wordlessly.

“Well, don’t keep us all in suspense!” Bess cried. “What does it say?”

Stroth cleared his throat. “It says just five words.
Don’t sell…”
he studied Bess’s face as he spoke,
“or Bess dies.”

Leigh felt a sharp prickle of horror, and she could tell from her aunt’s rigid stance and rapid loss of color that the words affected her similarly. Only in Bess’s case, the effect did not last long.

“That’s preposterous,” Bess announced. “Absolutely preposterous! I certainly don’t want this building sold! Why threaten me?” She turned to Gordon indignantly.
“You’re
the one who keeps threatening to close down this theater. Why not kill you?”

Leigh could swear she saw the hint of a smile twitch at Gordon’s mouth. “I am touched by your concern,” he said evenly. “But whether it makes logical sense or not is hardly the point. The most dangerous people are often illogical.”

Bess sniffed and turned to Stroth. “When was the letter mailed?”

“Yesterday,” the detective said thoughtfully, watching both her and Gordon. “From this zip code.”

Leigh’s discomfort ratcheted up another notch. What was Stroth thinking? Surely he didn’t believe that Bess had sent the note herself. Not that such a stunt would necessarily be out of character…

Leigh frowned. The note did make little sense otherwise. What if Bess, as a knee-jerk reaction to Sonia’s attack, wanted to keep Gordon in line but was loathe to make false threats to anyone but herself?

Please, no.

Leigh simply
had
to get to work on that bail fund.

“I believe that someone in your acting troupe is taking this project of yours far too seriously,” Gordon declared. “It’s the only semi-rational explanation, since artistic people are well known for being irrational.”

Bess’s cheeks flared with color again. “I
beg
your pardon!”

Gordon ignored her and turned to Stroth. “I have no idea what this note has to do with the break-in last night, or whether they’re even connected. But regardless, I believe that security in this building is unacceptably lax, and I intend to rectify that situation immediately.”

He turned and gestured to the hulking man who had followed him in, whose presence Leigh had forgotten. “This is Jenkins,” Gordon informed Bess sternly. “He’s going to be your new best friend. He’s staying here at the building and he’s not letting you out of his sight until we figure out who’s behind all these shenanigans. I have two more guards coming in a matter of hours, and from then until this damnable show closes on Sunday, there will be security watching this building 24/7. Is that understood?”

Bess blinked. Her eyes grew suddenly moist. “You mean, you’ll let the show go on?”

For the briefest of moments, Leigh believed she saw Gordon’s eyes soften to mush. But just as quickly they flashed with blue fire again.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” he spat back gruffly. “An Applegate never reneges on his promises. But the original bargain still stands. If this show doesn’t cut the mustard, if this theater doesn’t prove itself an instant cultural asset to the community, I’ll pull the rug out from under it in a trice and won’t lose a minute’s sleep over it, either! Do we understand each other?”

The fierceness of his tone, particularly when directed toward a woman, caused Leigh and even Stroth to wince a bit. But it had no effect whatsoever on Bess.

“Perfectly,” she said sweetly, stopping just short of a wink.

Leigh stifled a sigh of frustration. As well as she knew her aunt, the woman was such a good actress — and such a shameless schmooze — even Leigh couldn’t always be sure where reality ended and illusion began. All she could tell for certain was that Bess, at least at this particular moment, was getting what she wanted.

What the detective had made of the bizarre exchange, God only knew.

“I’ll need to keep this letter,” Stroth informed, dropping it into his own pocket. “And I’m glad you plan to improve security, Mr. Applegate. I think that’s well advised. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have quite a bit of work to do.”

Bess jumped to walk the detective out, and as she moved toward the front door, Jenkins the giant wordlessly detached himself from his employer and followed her, leaving Leigh and Gordon alone to stare at each other awkwardly.

“Your husband’s been a big help to me,” Gordon said finally.

The change of subject took Leigh aback. “I’m glad to hear it,” she responded.

“Keep an eye on her for me, will you?” he said, his blue eyes focused on Leigh a little too keenly for comfort.

She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. She also didn’t need to ask why he’d brought up Warren.

Her eyes narrowed. The man might be cute sometimes, but “master manipulators” were not to her taste. Particularly ones who juxtaposed statements about her husband’s employment next to demands for personal favors.

“I’ll watch her, all right,” Leigh said evenly, staring back at him. “But I won’t be doing it for you.”

***

Leigh sank into a chair in the front row of the empty theater and fingered the car keys in her pocket. She should probably try to leave. Again. Maybe she would actually succeed this time. She did have other things to do today, didn’t she?

Truthfully, she did not. Allison had requested to stay with her grandfather at the clinic until the show tonight, which was the best news Leigh could possibly imagine. She was sorry for the litter of newborn mongrels that had been brought into the clinic after having been abandoned near the elementary school, but if the task of tube-feeding puppies was what it took to distract Allison from thoughts of murder and corpses, Leigh would not argue with providence. Ethan was spending the afternoon with a friend, and Cara had taken her two out shopping somewhere. Warren was meeting with a client in Fox Chapel; Mao Tse never rose from her afternoon nap before four. Leigh could not even use Chewie as an excuse, because Lydie had taken both him and Cara’s spaniel Maggie to the dog park for some kind of social outing. (A mystery in itself, as Lydie frequently disappeared for social outings which she refused to explain, leading Cara to believe that her mother was secretly dating either a priest or a mafioso.)