Set Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries) (18 page)

“Then why hasn’t she? She needs to be incarcerated!
 
Fined and incarcerated!”

Edie Towler seemed to ignore these orders, and chose to address Margot again:

“What do you mean, Margot, about
 
Mr. Bennett abusing women?”

“I mean he likes to hit his wife. Isn’t that abusing women?”

“By ‘his wife,’ you mean Helen Reddington?”

“Yes.”

“And when did he abuse her?”

“At their rehearsal two days ago.
 
He slapped her.”

“And you know this how?”

Margot shrugged, but said nothing.

“Margot—how do you know this?”

“It’s common knowledge.”

Upon hearing this, Clifton Barrett’s attorney threw up his hands in despair.

Clifton Barrett himself merely smiled, and shook his head.

An unstoppable train, Nina thought, is coming right toward me.

And I can’t do anything about it.

“Common knowledge? What is that supposed to mean, Margot.”

“It was seen.”

“Seen by whom?”

Traaaaaaain Comin’!
 
Comin’ Round the Bend!

“Well, for one, Ms. Bannister there saw it.”

The train was in fact stopped by Tomlinson, who sat
 
down, seemed to gather himself together after suffering, along with his client, through the monstrous indignities that were being ladled out.
 
Then he opened a briefcase that sat in front of him on the desk, took out a sheaf of perhaps twenty papers, and held them up.

“Ms. Towler, before this goes any farther…”

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“We need to deal with a spate of pure vicious rumors that seem to have been circulating for the past hours, about some bizarre and completely imaginary event that, as far as my client and I can gather, is supposed to have happened at one of the last rehearsals.”

“Go on,” said Edie.

You’re going to deny it, aren’t you?
thought Nina.

Why you…

…oh where was profanity when one needed it?

“To begin with, I need to point out that, for reasons that will very quickly become obvious, attendance at the professional rehearsals is almost invariably strictly limited to cast members and other crew personnel who are a part of the production.”

“I can understand that; go on.”

“This is not true, of course, of community theater, which by its very nature exists as a social event for the community.
 
The point of it is, everyone comes together, everyone gossips a bit, eats a bit—has a good time.”

“Yes.”

“But the professional theater is an entirely different matter. Rehearsals can be extremely intense, and are not to be attended by the general public.
 
On the other hand…”

He now turned and looked back over his shoulder at Nina.

“…due to a special request from Ms. Reddington, her mother was given an invitation to attend a rehearsal the day before yesterday. She was accompanied by this lady now sitting with us, whose name is, I believe, Ms. Bannister.”

“Nina Bannister, that’s right.”

“At this rehearsal, Mr. Barrett somehow was perceived to have struck his wife. An event that purely and simply did not happen.”

“That’s a lie,” said someone in the courtroom.

It was Nina.

Clifton Barrett’s attorney now turned in his chair, rose, and leaned toward her, so that his shadow, like that of a great mountain in the early afternoon, began to creep across the flat and unspectacular land that was her.

“I beg your pardon?”

They were all looking at her now, of course.

“I beg your pardon?” came the repeated question.

“That’s a lie.”

 
“You’re saying that Mr. Barrett did in fact strike his wife?”

“Yes.”

“You saw it?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips, nodded, and continued:

“You are close friends with Ms. Gavin here?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her about this alleged ‘attack’?

“No.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell anybody else?”

She thought of John Giusti, standing there on her stairway, asking:

‘Did he hit her?’

She remembered her reply.

‘Yes.’

And she listened as Clifton Barrett’s attorney asked once again:

“Did you tell anybody else?”

She said nothing.

“Did you enjoy telling about this alleged ‘assault’?

No reply.

“How many people in the community of Bay St. Lucy did you entertain with this fairy tale, Ms. Bannister?”

“It’s not a fairy tale; I saw it.”

“Really? You were the only one who saw it?”

 
“No, everybody there saw it. Everybody on stage, everybody in the balcony.
 
The whole company saw it.”

“The entire company?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, then turned to Edie Towler and handed her the rest of the sheaf of papers.

“Then,” he said, the back of his neck now talking to Nina, “can you explain how I happen to have twenty eight sworn affidavits here, all from people in attendance at that morning’s rehearsal, all swearing that nothing such as you described ever happened?”

Silence in the courtroom.

Silence silence silence.

Silence until something or other was heard.

But whatever it was, Nina wasn’t listening.

She sat as though hypnotized for what must have been an hour. Back and forth, back and forth, with Edie doing everything she could to keep Margot out of jail, and Clifton Barrett, who apparently had to leave town early in the afternoon and fly back to New York for a brief time, finally agreeing to let matters rest, if given Edie’s assurance that any such similar behavior from townspeople would be harshly dealt with.

There was an apology from Margot, who, Nina realized, could never have given it herself, and had to slip into the role of Mother Superior to manage it.

Then they all left the courtroom.

They walked down one hallway, around another, and through the door leading outside.

There was a crowd of fifty or so people awaiting them.

Flashbulbs, pictures of the great Clifton Barrett, pictures of Margot.

No pictures of Nina.

Thank God.

This from Barrett’s lawyer:

“We can take one or two questions from the press.”

Question:

“Will Mr. Barrett be pressing charges at this time?”

Answer:

“No. This has been a terrible misunderstanding, stemming from malicious and untrue rumors. As far as Mr. Barrett is concerned, the matter is dropped.”

“Will this have any effect on the play?”

“No. Mr. Barrett must fly to New York this afternoon.
 
He will return early tomorrow morning. Then he will be following the production schedule as will the entire company.”

Next question:

“Could you tell us…”
          

“I’m sorry, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule. If you’ll excuse us…”

Press conference over, making their way through the crowd…

Don’t anyone notice Nina.
 
Don’t anyone notice Nina.

Almost to the waiting patrol car.

And there stood John Giusti.

At the edge of the circle of spectators.

Blue denim shirt, blue jeans.

Simply standing and staring.

Clifton Barrett no more than ten feet away now.

Five feet.

And both men simply stare at each other.

When John Giusti says, flatly, with no trace of emotion, and so privately that no one except for Nina seems to hear.

“If you hit her again, I’ll kill you.”

Clifton Barrett shows no sign of recognition or emotion.

John turns away and leaves.

Barrett enters his car.

The door closes.

And the car drives away.

CHAPTER 11:
 
BY THE SEA BY THE SEA…

Slightly before noon, Nina was dropped off by one of the town’s squad cars.

She made her way up the stairs, pushed open the door, which she’d forgotten to lock, and went out onto her deck, where Helen Reddington was smoking a cigarette.

“Hi.
 
Welcome back to where you live.”

“Hello, Helen.”

“I made myself at home. The door was unlocked. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t.”

Helen was wearing a black bikini and had propped her feet on the rail. She’d pulled a small end table up beside her.
 
On the table was a glass half filled with water, a package of Marlboro cigarettes, and a small dish that she’d taken from the kitchen to use as an ashtray.

“Like my abs?
 
I have great abs.”

This was true. There was no fat at all on her stomach, and the softly curved tan muscles looked like dunes in a quiet desert.

“No boobs of course.
 
But that gets taken care of.”

“Really?”

She drew on the cigarette, then exhaled smoke over the rail and half-smiled.

“I have a contract to do a film next year. I’m some sort of super heroine. Powers and all that.
 
I get to beat people up.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, I enjoy it, except it isn’t real. Same thing with my body. If the upper part needs to be bigger, then they make it bigger. All illusion. All, all illusion. I’m sorry for what just happened to you in court, Nina.”

“You know?” asked Nina, drawing up a chair and sitting down.

“Overheard. Overheard Clifton and his lawyer talking when they got back to Grandmamma’s. He wins again, of course.”

“I don’t think they’re going to do anything to Margot.
 
She apologized.
 
It almost killed her, but she apologized.”

“That’s good.”

She drew hard on her cigarette, then stubbed it out.

“I didn’t know that you smoked, Helen.”

“How could I not smoke? Given everything. The way things are, the way I’ve made them—how could I not smoke?”

They were silent for a time.
 
Finally Nina asked:

“So how bad is it? You don’t have to pretend anymore
 
that things are wonderful. I’m your friend, Helen; you know that. How bad is it, really?”

Helen shook her head while lighting another cigarette.

“It’s hell.”

More silence.

Then:

“The great actress, Helen Reddington. Come down to Bay St. Lucy to convince everyone that I’d achieved it all.
 
Great career, New York, fame, London. Wonderful marriage, wonderful husband––heaven. But Nina—be careful what you wish for.”
   

Nina could think of nothing to say. Finally Helen gestured out toward the ocean.

“Look, porpoises.”

“Yes. The two of them swim by every day about this time, going south, toward Hatteras. I suppose they pass by the other way sometime. During the night.
 
I don’t know.”

“I used to love watching the porpoises. I’d name them, like kids do.”

She took a deep breath and said:

“I had it all out there. It was waiting for me. The whole world. And now…now I’ve ruined it. I’ve lost it all, and I’ve ruined it.”

“Helen, you have your career.”

She shook her head.

“No, he has my career.”

“You mean Clifton Barrett?
 
But that can’t be true.”

“What is true, what is not true—that’s more confusing than you might think, somehow.”

“Helen—Helen, you have to leave this man.”

 
“Really, Nina?
 
Do I?”

“Of course you do.
 
He beats you!”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He does; I saw him!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I was there! I saw him hit you!”

“But twenty-eight people saw him not hit me. And that’s the reality, don’t you see?”

“All right, so twenty eight people are scared to death of the man.”

“Cross him and they’ll never work again.”

“It doesn’t matter.
 
You can still leave him.”

“But I can’t.”

“Leave him!”

“I can’t!
 
I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because he has my money!”

They sat for a time, Nina remembering something that Frank had been told about unforgivable mistakes in interrogating witnesses:

‘Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.’

Good, she thought, that the two of them were not in court now.
 
Of course she’d been in court two hours ago and had made a fool of herself.

Somehow that seemed unimportant now.

“How—how is this possible, Helen?”

A shrug. “Lawyers.”

Nina nodded. “I know about lawyers.”

“Not the kind of lawyers Clifton has.”

“All right.
 
I guess that’s true.
 
But still…”

Helen leaned across the table:

“The long and short of it is this: a year ago Jackson Bennett called me and said there were—well, concerns, about Grandmamma’s age. She was fine mentally, but at over eighty…well, he suggested that there be a power of attorney giving me control of her business affairs.
 
So such a document was made out, and signed by all parties.
 
Grandmamma had no objection.”

“All right.
 
So you have her power of attorney.”

“Which means Clifton has it, as my husband.”

“Helen, you kept none of your property?”

“No. It’s all in his name.”

“But why would you…”

“Why would I what?
 
Say ‘no’ when the smartest lawyers in the world are telling me how rich the man was already, and how Grandmamma’s funds would be tripled within six weeks if placed together with Clifton’s fortune and invested wisely?
 
Would I say no to that?”

“But…if he has that wealth…”

“He has nothing.”

“What?”

“He’s a fraud financially.”

“He’s one of the most successful actors in the world!”

Helen smiled:

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?
 
Yes, he is.”

“But he must have made a fortune as an actor!”

“And lost it. Several times over. Lost it, Nina. Most of what he has now is Grandmamma’s money.”

“All right.
 
So divorce him and get that money back!”

“And why would he allow me to do that?”

“Threaten him! Threaten to tell the truth about him!”

“The way you just did?”

“But surely someone…”

“I’ve had three affairs, Nina.”

Shocked, Nina could only stare for a time across the table.

Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.

Except, Nina found herself thinking, there is a better version of that piece of advice.

The better version:

Just shut up and never say anything at all.

“Helen, how could you do such a thing?”

“Nina, how could you lie in court about having seen Clifton hit me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Everybody thinks you did, so you did.”

And, finally beginning to understand, Nina shook her head slowly.

“The affairs you had were fictitious.”

“Oh what a thing to say! Fictitious! Why, there are pictures of the men! There are hotel receipts! If I have a hard time remembering ever having done these things, taken part in these assignations, slept with these men—and by the way, one of them is quite famous, the story will break next month, it will be fabulous for his career––if I forget these things, it’s because I have Alzheimer’s Disease.
 
Just setting in early.”

“You didn’t do it?
 
You didn’t have these affairs?”

“No.
 
Of course not.”

“But he’ll convince the world that you did.”

“Yes.”

“And then…”

“Then he’ll divorce me. “

“When will this happen, Helen?”

“When he gets tired of me. I’m already twenty-three.
 
Clifton, I’ve found, prefers younger women. He was with a thirty-five year old—Constance––at the restaurant when Margot slapped him. But that’s not like him. I’ve heard that he has a twenty-year old in mind. His next ‘minion.’ So the story about my affairs will break. He will, in tears, announce the divorce, we will separate—Grandmamma and I will receive a small settlement, he will keep the rest—my career will be over, he will see to it—and that will be that.”

Nina was silent for a time.

Finally she said:

“I believe I understand now, why the two of you agreed to come and do this play.”

“Yes, you probably do. We came for the money. A million dollars.”

“Are you going to get any of it, Helen?”

She shrugged.

“We’ve talked about it. Clifton has…well, he’s held out some hope.”

“Nice of him.”
        

“There’s a possibility that we will simply split it, and go our separate ways. But he hasn’t agreed to that formally. He says he’s being advised concerning his options. We’ll see.
 
Knowing him, the way I have come to, we’ll see.”

“I hope it goes all right. I hope he agrees to split the money.”

“That third wish,” said Helen, softly. “The third wish, in most stories about deals with the devil, when one is granted three wishes––is always for death.”

“You can’t wish for death, Helen.”

“Oh, but I do, Nina.
 
More than you know.”