Stranded (37 page)

Beautiful. Very beautiful. But not a ring. Actually, now that I saw it, I didn’t know how I could have mistaken it for a ring. The center hole was too large, the silver circle too flat. And there was the attached chain, of course.

Maybe I’d made the mistake because I’d wanted it to be a ring?

Oh, Ivy, get your act together. What do you want?

“Want to put it on?”

That much I knew I did want. “Oh yes!”

I turned around and leaned my head forward. He draped the chain around my neck and fastened the latch. I adjusted the circular pendant at my throat. I was wearing a black sweater and pants, good, inconspicuous backstage wear, but perfect for showing off the striking colors of the necklace.

“Thank you, Mac. It’s a wonderful gift.”

I was also thankful I hadn’t made an idiot of myself by throwing myself in his arms and yelling that ridiculous, “Yes, Mac, yes, I’ll marry you!”

Okay, down to the nitty-gritty here: was I disappointed? Another of those seesaw emotions. Yes, one part of me was a little disappointed. Sometimes Mac’s ambivalence, his three steps forward and two steps backward in our relationship, was frustrating, and a ring would mean all those steps were forward now. But another part of me felt almost giddy with relief that he hadn’t offered a commitment I couldn’t accept.

They balanced out, I realized. Disappointment. Relief. Which left us both free to explore where, if anywhere, we wanted to go from here.

I stood on tiptoe and gave him another kiss. “Thank you, Mac.” With thanks for more than he probably realized.

The music signaling the show was about to begin started, and we edged over to the side of the stage where we could see onstage. The curtain was still closed, but the chorus line stood poised and ready to go, draped arms uniting them. Magnolia looked glorious, hair piled high, a white magnolia perched on top making her look like a centerpiece in a flower arrangement. Paul Newman stood right behind where the curtain would split when it opened. His face looked as grim as if he were about to face an IRS audit, but his black suit looked sharp and sophisticated.

I could hear Lucinda’s voice from in front of the curtain. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she had a special gown for the occasion, a slinky satin ’20s thing decorated with seed pearls. She welcomed everyone to the Revue, thanked all those who had worked hard to make it a success, and remembered Lulu and Ben as casualties along the way.

“So, without further ado, to get our show under way, here is our master of ceremonies, our very own Paul Newman!”

Paul swaggered through the curtain, and we could no longer see him, but I could tell from his voice that his onstage personality transformation had kicked in again. He gave a brief, lively history of the Revue, tossing in jokes here and there, finally saying, “But that’s enough from me, because I know what you all really want to see are the lovely ladies in our Hello chorus line. And here they are!”

The big moment. Except that nothing happened. The curtain didn’t sweep open. It just hung there like a dishrag.

More loudly, as if he thought the person operating the curtain perhaps hadn’t heard, Paul repeated his dramatic words. “And here they are!”

The music for the first chorus-line number began, but no curtain flew open. On the far side of the stage I could see the woman who was supposed to operate the curtain struggling with a tangle of ropes. Mac leaped away from me and raced across the stage. The chorus line shifted like a breaking wave as everyone tried to see what was going on.

Mac might have trouble with a cowboy rope, but he worked a miracle with the ropes on the stage curtain. It flew open, catching the surprised-looking chorus ladies standing there as disorganized as a flock of Norman’s chickens. Magnolia took charge. “C’mon, ladies,” she boomed. “Let’s go!”

The chorus ladies whipped into a ruler-straight line, and they were off, kicking and sidestepping and whirling.

And from that point on, everything went like clockwork. With Mac’s help, I got the props on and offstage in record time for each skit. His monologue and bumbling with the rope brought whoops of approval and applause.

I did have to make two quick runs up to the third floor to get a dog collar that had somehow disappeared, and a replacement for a dish that had been stepped on. They were awkward trips because I had to sneak along an outside aisle beside the audience to get to the stairs in the lobby, but no one seemed to pay much attention. Charlotte was up there once, frantically looking for a boa to replace one that had unexpectedly started to shed feathers.

“I know we had a couple extras. I ordered them because I knew some dumb thing would happen. It always does,” Charlotte moaned as she tossed costumes like confetti. “But where are they?”

I finally found one of them for her. Someone had draped it around the stuffed skunk. “Bless you, Ivy,” she said and raced for the stairs.

Paul was there the second time, fretting about a lost cuff link and looking for a replacement in the glass jewelry case.

When the final curtain closed on the chorus line, and Paul, complete with two cuff links, stepped out to wrap things up, we all knew the evening had been a big success. The applause proved it.

Everyone was hugging everyone else backstage as the audience milled around and out into the lobby. I hadn’t thought since opening curtain about murder and Chris, but when he and Kelli came backstage to give Charlotte a congratulatory hug, the truth hit me hard.

On Monday, when I went to the authorities with the evidence about Chris, another curtain would be closing. And that time there’d be no applause and congratulations.

27

With Friday night’s successful performance behind us, the high-energy atmosphere backstage just before the Saturday night show was more party time than performance. A celebration party for the cast was, in fact, scheduled for later.

The curtain had been tried and pronounced in perfect working order for tonight. Laughter but no squabbles were issuing from the dressing rooms. Magnolia had had her hair coloring refreshed this afternoon, and it looked like a royal flame piled atop her head. Even Paul Newman was smiling and cracking jokes.

I was wearing my new necklace again, and I’d made a wonderful discovery. Mac had had the back side of the silver circle engraved!
To Ivy from Mac.

Earlier, when I’d showed it to Kelli, she’d said, with a knowing nod, “When a man gives a woman a piece of jewelry, it means something. And engraved, that really means something.”

I wasn’t examining what the necklace or the engraving might mean, but both brought me great chunks of joy.

I checked my props carefully to make certain nothing had gone astray overnight. I spotted Lucinda standing at the edge of the curtain. It was surprisingly chilly backstage tonight, and she was wearing a jacket over the satin gown. She still looked slim and slinky, but there was a peculiar stiffness to her stance as she peered around the curtain at the audience. I walked up behind her.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

She jumped, her expression oddly guilty, as if she’d been doing something illicit, but her smile flashed spotlight bright. “Oh yes. Fine! We’re sold out tonight.”

Unconvinced that she was as fine as she said, I stood on tiptoe to look over her shoulder. I saw Geoff, of course, right up front. The fire chief was there. Oh, and there was Nick from Nick’s Garage, along with a chunky, red-haired wife. I was surprised to see Kelli and Chris in the audience again tonight. Then I realized Lucinda’s gaze wasn’t targeted on any of these people. She was staring at a young woman alone in the back row. There wasn’t enough light to see the woman clearly, but I could see enough to flutter my toes. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but that curiosity gene got to me again.

“Is that, uh, someone you know?” I asked cautiously.

“The woman with dark hair in the third row? She looks familiar, doesn’t she? I think she’s someone’s granddaughter.”

An adroit detour and a safe enough comment. Isn’t every woman someone’s granddaughter?

“No, the one in the back row. With the long blond braid.”

Lucinda gave me a sharp glance, spotlight smile turned off now. “Do you know her?”

“She looks familiar.”

“Yes, she does, doesn’t she?” Lucinda said in a tone that held enough acid to dissolve every hair in that blond braid.

Before I could think what to say next, a frantic voice interrupted.

“Lucinda, help! Stella is saying she can’t possibly wear that black dress again tonight! This afternoon someone told her it made her look like a hooker in mourning, and she’s all in a tizzy. I don’t know what to do!”

“For goodness sake, who’d say such a terrible thing? And why? She looks great in that dress.”

“I have no idea.” Charlotte threw up her hands in helpless exasperation. “Would you talk some sense into her? We have nothing else for her to wear. Nothing. She’s too short and chubby for any other dress in our wardrobe.”

Thank you, Charlotte
, I murmured silently, because Lucinda, distracted, rushed off to soothe Stella.

I peered out again. No doubt about it. The young woman was definitely KaySue. What was she doing here? The Revue posters, of course. They’d been plastered all over Hayward, with Lucinda’s name as director in small print down near the bottom.

Had KaySue come here with the idea of carrying out her threat, confronting Lucinda, and making her confess to killing Hiram? Did she intend to sit through the performance and then seek out her former rival? Or, remembering KaySue’s soup-tossing, fist-throwing temper, did she plan some spitfire drama backstage . . . or even onstage?

Frantically I scrambled around the curtain, down the side steps, and up the aisle. The seats were now filling rapidly. By the time I reached KaySue, she’d moved down three rows. Oh yes, she had something in mind. I scooted in beside her.

“KaySue!” I whispered.

“Oh. You.” She gave me a look as if I were a sack of garbage that had just been dumped beside her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the props person for the show. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free country. I bought a ticket.” She held up a torn stub.

“KaySue, I don’t know why you’re here tonight, but if it’s to cause Lucinda trouble, she didn’t kill Hiram—”

“You’re just saying that because you’re afraid I might do something to mess up your big show!”

I thought she might do something, all right. Anything from an onstage Perry Mason–type confrontation to a catfight in the aisle. “No, KaySue, it’s true. I found some papers and letters that I’m sure prove someone else did it. Someone who also set the fire at the house.”

“Yeah?” she challenged. “Who?”

“I can’t tell you yet. I haven’t told anyone yet. But I’m taking everything to the authorities soon. Very soon.”

“Why haven’t you done it already?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin the Revue.”

She gave me a look that would wither an oak tree. Not ruining the Revue was right up there with a Save the Cockroaches campaign on KaySue’s list of concerns. But then her head tilted with reluctant interest. “It’s someone else in the Revue?”

“I can’t explain now, but please, KaySue, please don’t do anything awful tonight. Just enjoy the show. We’ve all worked very hard on it. A friend of mine does a great Will Rogers impersonation. And come Monday—”

“Who’s Will Rogers?”

Generation gap. I squelched a sigh. “An entertainer from a long time ago, someone I’m sure Hiram liked very much.”

The music was starting. The seats were almost full, and people were settling down. Anticipation danced in the air.

“Please, KaySue? Promise, no fireworks tonight, okay?”

“Does this mean you don’t think I killed Hiram?”

“Exactly! Not Lucinda, and not you either!”

Paul Newman stepped out from behind the curtain. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! So good to see you all here tonight!”

I was out of time. I jumped up, gave KaySue a hopeful thumbs-up gesture, and hastily scurried to my position backstage.

The show moved along nicely. The Three Stooges skit drew enthusiastic applause. The chorus line still wasn’t precision-perfect, but the big smiles and enthusiasm made up for any glitches in timing. I kept dashing over to the side of the stage to peer around the edge of the curtain at KaySue, still afraid she might do something drastic. Lucinda was busy keeping everyone organized, but once I spotted her peering around the curtain on the far side. Did she think KaySue had killed Hiram?