Never Thwart a Thespian: Volume 8 (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series) (27 page)

Double crap.
Leigh sighed. “You think it’s Clyde Adams, don’t you?”

Maura nodded slowly. “Makes sense. That’s why I don’t like this, Koslow. You’ve got way too many people down there with access to that building, and way too many of them have longstanding ties to West View. These murders may have happened a long time ago, but it’s not impossible that some of the principals could still be alive and kicking. It’s even possible they could have relatives acting on their behalf.
Somebody
tried to keep us from finding those bones in the coal chute, and that same somebody could have tried to keep Gordon from selling the building to Sonia Crane, because she made no secret of the fact that she would tear it down. That same someone could be behind the threat to Bess.”

Leigh nodded grimly.

“There’s a link somewhere, Koslow,” Maura said determinedly. “And we’re going to find it. Or rather, my loving husband is.”

Leigh sat up a little. “Gerry? But he’s not—”

“On the county payroll? Um, no. And please don’t remind him. But he knows me, and when Stroth got pulled to the other homicide and no one else was available to finish these checks, Gerry knew I was going to lose it, so he grabbed my notebooks and took off. Believe me, if there’s a connection between anyone working with Bess’s theater now and the murders of Andrew Marconi, Bill Stokes, and possibly Clyde Adams, he’s
going
to find it.”

Leigh pictured the city police lieutenant pounding away at a keyboard or buried behind stacks of documents — however the police actually did such things. He would be poring through the files with such intensity his brow would moisten, all the while swearing any number of profanities against whatever perp
dared
to put little Gerry or Maura junior at risk.

Leigh managed a weak smile. “I believe he will.”

Chapter 19

Warren met Leigh at the door to the parking lot, as arranged, and handed her the bag she’d requested. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I’d better get changed pronto. What time do you have?”

“Eight minutes till curtain,” he answered, not bothering to look at his watch. The man’s brain was as good as any timepiece. “Now you want to tell me why you’ve stuck around here all day?” he asked. His voice was even, but Leigh, picking up on the ever-so-slightly wounded edge to his tone, looked up at him with chagrin. He made a handsome picture, as he always did in his perfectly tailored business suits, and she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Sorry,” she apologized. “But I’m afraid that whole story would take way longer than eight minutes. Intermission, maybe?”

He grumbled under his breath. “All right. But I consider that a firm commitment.”

“Agreed.” She started to walk away toward the dressing room, but he stopped her.

“Just answer this much, then. Is that a security guard I see following Bess around?”

“Yep.”

“Did she hire him, or did Gordon?”

“Gordon.”

Warren’s eyes studied hers. “Interesting.”

“Is Allison here yet?” Leigh asked, starting away again.

“Not yet,” Warren answered, following her down the hall and stationing himself outside the dressing room door. “But I expect her and your parents any minute. Ethan is with Matt and Lenna upstairs. They said something about keeping an eye on ‘the suspect.’ That would worry me, but Cara’s on it — she swore she wouldn’t let them out of her sight.”

“Good to know. Be back in a jiff.” Leigh slipped inside the now-unoccupied women’s dressing room and changed from her jeans, cotton top, and sneakers into the slightly better-looking khaki slacks, dress blouse, and loafers she had requested. She could stop worrying about three-fourths of the Pack, at least, if all they planned to do was stare at Ned as he watched the show. But as for her daughter, it was only a matter of time—

“Hi, Mom,” Allison’s small voice greeted as she slipped inside the dressing room. “Dad said you were in here. What did you find in the boiler room?”

Leigh sighed heavily. “How could—” her words broke off as she stared at the girl in front of her, who had become as unrecognizable as Merle and Earl. She was dressed in a frilly, baby pink concoction of lace and ruffles not seen on any fifth grader since the days of Shirley Temple — with the exception of some thirty-odd years ago when Leigh had been forced to wear a similar abomination herself, compliments of one Frances Koslow.

“Yeah, I know,” Allison said blandly, “It’s bad. But Grandma wouldn’t let me wear what I had on, and she’d already bought this as an Easter present. I told her Dad could bring me something to change into, but she seemed so excited about it, and you know how, when Grandma’s really,
really
happy about something, she’s more likely to—”

Run her mouth.
“Talk,” Leigh finished. “Yeah, I know.” How many times, as a child, had she herself pretended an interest in sewing or cleaned already-clean household items in a quest for crucial information?

“I don’t mind, really,” Allison insisted. “It’s not like anyone import— I mean, anyone from school will be here.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Was it Clyde Adams?”

“Wait a minute,” Leigh protested, suppressing the shudder she always got when her only daughter spoke of corpses. “Are you saying that
Grandma
told you I found something in the boiler room?”

Allison shook her head, then winced. The folds of her dress were so starched that the slightest movement made a crinkling sound. “No, I overhead Aunt Bess talking to Mr. Applegate on the phone about that just now. I asked Grandma about the Stokes and the Adams.”

Leigh considered. Her eight minutes were slipping away fast, and getting more information out of Allison than one gave to her — intentionally or otherwise — was always a challenge. “There’s a possibility that…
human remains
were sealed up in the coal chute,” she admitted. “But we don’t know for sure yet.”

Allison’s dark eyes studied her intently. “What’s a coal chute? Could it have been there long enough to—”

“Hard to say,” Leigh evaded. “Now tell me what you learned from Grandma. And talk fast or we’ll miss the opening. If it’s important, I can—”

“Oh, I already called Aunt Mo,” Allison replied. “She said Uncle Gerry’s working on it.”

A knock sounded on the door. “Three minutes!” Warren called.

“
Talk,
Allie,” Leigh commanded. “What do you know about all this that I don’t?”

“Nothing much,” Allison insisted. “Grandma never knew any of the people personally. West View’s pretty small, but they were in different social groups, kind of.”

Leigh could imagine. Her Grandma and Grandpa Morton had worked hard to scratch out a place for themselves in the middle of the middle class, and they’d been proud of it.

“Most of what she said was the same as what Grandma Lydie already told me. That everyone thought that Bill Stokes was a really horrible person who beat up his wife and stepkids and probably did something to Clyde Adams. But there’s one thing the two of them remember differently. Grandma Lydie thought that Clyde was no good either — that he was probably having an affair with Bill’s wife. But Grandma remembers feeling sorry for Clyde, because she heard that he was actually trying to
protect
Bill’s wife and kids. That Clyde knew what was going on and tried to step in, and that’s why the men were fighting.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds,” Warren called through the door, “and then I’m coming in!”

Leigh guided Allison ahead of her and towards the door. “Anything else?”

Allison shook her head. “Just that neither of the widows are still in West View. They lived here for a while after, but Grandma’s pretty sure they both got remarried and left later on. They could have come back, but if they did, they’d have different last names.”

Leigh opened the door.

“Let’s go!” Warren urged. He was smiling, but his voice was tense. He hated being late.

The annex had emptied out; as they approached the stage doors to the theater, the only person they passed was one of the actresses, who stood in a quiet corner wearing earbuds and mumbling lines to herself. Most of the cast, Leigh knew, was hanging out in the “green room,” the old choir room off the upstairs curved hallway. The room wasn’t green, but it was the closest space to the stage entrances.

“Ethan is saving our seats,” Warren explained, rushing them along. “At least I hope he is.”

They reached the door to the sanctuary and Warren swung it open for Leigh and Allison to enter. Leigh’s mouth dropped open with surprise. The theoretical audience her Aunt Bess dreamed of had miraculously appeared. The house was packed. Almost every seat was occupied, and the ushers were scrambling to add extras in the back. A loud buzz of excited chatter filled the room, and the air was thick with anticipation. Leigh shut her mouth, smiled broadly, and began to move forward, but a hand restrained her.

“Hang on, kiddo,” Bess whispered. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

Leigh stepped back. She studied her aunt’s face and didn’t care for the unusual creases of worry around Bess’s ordinarily bright eyes. “You two go on in,” Leigh insisted, throwing an apologetic glance at Warren. “I’ll join you before curtain if I can; otherwise I’ll watch the first act from the back or something.”

Both Warren and Allison returned disgruntled looks, albeit for different reasons. Warren because his flighty wife was forever standing him up at such events, and Allison because she wanted to stay and overhear the conversation. But they both walked on into the theater without her and without comment.

“What’s wrong?” Leigh asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

Bess hesitated a moment, fidgeting with her hands. “Hopefully nothing,” she replied. “But I am getting just a teeny bit concerned. Have you seen Camille lately?”

Leigh shook her head. “Not since I got back from Maura’s. Why?”

“Well, she did that blessing nonsense on most of the cast, but when Chuck went in to see her, she wasn’t there. She left the candle burning, so he stuck around a while, but she didn’t come back. They all figured maybe she just ran out of time and was getting ready for her big moment — she always sings an aria for the cast right before she calls places — but it’s time now and she’s not up there.”

Bess continued to wring her hands together. “I didn’t want to worry the cast, so I gave them a little pep talk myself and then I told them… well, I sort of
implied
that I had seen Camille and that she wasn’t feeling well.”

“But you haven’t seen her and you have no idea where she is,” Leigh supplied.

Bess shook her head slowly. “I wish I could tell you that it was perfectly in character for her to disappear before a show, but as loopy as the woman is, I truly can’t see her missing her own opening night. Why, she lives for this!”

Leigh looked over Bess’s shoulder at the security guard, whose face remained as impassive as ever. “Who else have you told?” Leigh asked. “Have you looked for her? Is her car still in the parking lot?”

“Nobody, a little, and yes,” Bess answered. “Her car’s still here, and she couldn’t drive off now if she tried. The parking attendants blocked in all the cast cars to make more room. I’ve looked around a little, but it’s a big building and I’ve had so many other things to do…”

“Well, we’ll look now. Maybe she really is sick and just went to some quiet corner to rest,” Leigh suggested, not believing it for a minute. “Can the guards help us?”

Bess scowled. “They absolutely refuse to leave the posts Gordon assigned them. And Gordon won’t tell them otherwise — he thinks guarding the doors is more important. I don’t even know where the man is — he was supposed to be here already, to watch the show!”

Chaz tore around the corner and nearly ran into them. He stopped himself short and then, with a sheepish look, removed his hardhat. “Had to run to the bathroom,” he explained. “You can’t be too careful in this building, you know. I didn’t miss anything, did I? Has it started yet?”

His question was answered by a chorus of chuckles drifting through the door.

“Aw, no!” he said, disappointed. “Can I still go in this way?”

“No, you may not,” Bess replied, turning him around. “You should have used the basement bathroom and come in through the back. As of now, this door is a stage entrance only!”

As if to prove the point, one of the actresses walked down the stairs from the green room and planted herself by the door, obviously preparing for her entrance. She looked over the assembled group with a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Absolutely not,” Bess lied, pushing both Chaz and Leigh back toward the annex. “Break a leg,” she called to the actress. “The audience is loving it already!”

Once they were out into the main hallway, Bess turned to Chaz. “You might as well put that hardhat back on,” she instructed. “I have a job for you.”

Chaz’s face fell. “What? But I thought I’d get to see the show!”

“You can watch it Saturday and Sunday both,” Bess responded. “I’ll get you a seat front-row center. But tonight we need your help. Don’t we, Leigh?”

Leigh hesitated. Did they?
Somebody
needed to search for Camille, but the
who
part was tricky. She didn’t trust Chaz. She had no reason to trust any of the hired men, or any of Gordon’s guards, or even Gordon himself, for that matter. The only people she trusted were family, and they were all inside already watching the show, where she wanted them to stay.

Her first instinct was to pull out her phone and call Maura, but what could the detective do besides send over some uniformed officers, which Leigh could just as easily call for herself? And was that drastic a step really warranted? Camille couldn’t have been missing for more than half an hour, and Bess hadn’t even checked all the rooms yet.

“Let’s do this,” Leigh decided. “We’ll search in pairs, and move through the building top to bottom, checking in with each other as we go.”

“Ooh!” Chaz enthused, his chagrin forgotten. “Sounds fun. What are we searching for?”

“Camille,” Bess answered. “She seems to have not been feeling well; we need to make sure she hasn’t… passed out or something.”