Sucker Punch (19 page)

She crossed her legs and smiled coldly. “You know what they say—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

I thought about Paisley’s claim that she’d seen Alexander and Laurence arguing the day before the murder, and I ran through the night of Laurence’s death again in my memory. I tried to remember what Alexander had looked like when he came into the theater, but I’d been so focused on Laurence, I hadn’t paid attention. And after the attack on Vonetta I’d been too worried about his allegations against me to pay much attention. Now I wondered if he could have been behind both attacks.

Lights swept across the window as a car turned into the driveway, and Colleen’s mood changed abruptly. She shot to her feet, a look of raw panic on her face. “That’s Doyle. You have to go. If he finds you here asking about Laurence, he’ll go ballistic.”

Pretty strong reaction for a woman who wasn’t having an affair.
I still had unanswered questions and some mean-spirited part of me wanted to see whether Doyle would actually go ballistic, or if she just wanted to avoid another argument. But the worry on Colleen’s face and a flurry of high school memories won out.

Sometimes I’m too sentimental for my own good.

I grabbed Max’s dish and the two of us disappeared out the front door as the kitchen door opened. I hurried to the Jetta, tossing out Max’s water as I walked and contenting myself with the knowledge that if Doyle’s alibi didn’t pan out, I could always come back.

“No, no, no! On the count of four, move to your
right
. And do it gently! You sound like a herd of elephants. That will never do.” Jessica O’Donnell, a petite young woman who looked about fifteen and had the body of a gymnast—all ninety-five pounds of it—clapped her hands as she looked over the ragtag collection of “talent” in the rehearsal hall.

Richie mumbled something under his breath, along with about half the dancers in the room. I had to admire him for showing up
and
for ignoring the speculative glances some people in the cast directed at him. He was stronger than I’d ever realized. I’d told Nate Svboda that I was in the cast when he questioned me after Laurence died, and Vonetta hadn’t corrected me. I figured I owed it to her to stick around. Besides, if I was going to be at the theater all the time looking for a way to clear Richie, I might as well have a legitimate excuse.

Rachel swore softly and limped toward a folding chair near the window. I dropped to the floor and tried to find the water bottle I’d lobbed into the corner last time we had a chance to catch our breath.

Outside, a small knot of reporters milled around, waiting for rehearsal to break up so they could try to find someone willing to talk. We’d run the gauntlet on the way inside, and it looked like we’d have to repeat the process when we left.

Alexander had issued an edict when we arrived tonight demanding strict silence with the press. So far, nobody seemed interested in crossing him.

Jessica clapped her hands and bellowed, “Quiet! People! Quiet, please!” in a voice far too large for a girl so small. “I know you’re all tired. I know this is a lot to grasp all at once. But this scene is one of the most important in the play. The dance, the mime, is
crucial
. Now please, get back in place.”

I found my water bottle and chugged as much as I could before she screeched again.

“Abby? That’s your name, isn’t it? Do you mind? Everyone’s waiting.”

Every muscle in my body ached. Dancing—even bad dancing—isn’t as easy as it looks. I capped the bottle, struggled to my feet again, and gimped back to my spot on the floor. This had been a mistake. I should have listened to my gut instinct and stayed out of the production. But I was here now, and with my friendship with Vonetta still on shaky ground, being part of the cast might be the only way I could get access to the people I wanted to talk to and the information I wanted to ask them about.

“Are we ready?” Jessica shouted when I’d resumed my position. “All right, then.” She turned to Stella Farmer, who sat at the baby grand, waiting for instructions. Stella’s a sturdy woman with mint green eyes and strong hands. I’ve known her since I was a kid, back when her big, frosted hairdo was actually in style. I’ve never seen her wearing anything but jeans, a man’s shirt, untucked, and cowboy boots. Except, of course, when she’s at church—and that’s only for the occasional funeral.

For years, Stella has been the go-to gal whenever anyone in town needs the piano. She’s moderately talented and has the uncanny ability to sight-read anything put in front of her. Which is why she sat at the piano now, ready to sit in for Laurence Nichols.

“From the top?” Jessica said, and Stella started in with a decent rendition of “Stay, We Must Not Lose Our Senses.”

“Stop! Everyone stop!” Alexander strode into the room wearing a deep scowl. “I thought you were going to work on the original Nichols piece.”

Groans rose up from the cast. We were up, in position, and ready to move through the steps for the umpteenth time in an hour. I don’t think anyone wanted to sit around while Alexander and Jessica argued over which song we were rehearsing.

“Take five, everybody,” Jessica called, as if Alexander’s order to stop wasn’t enough.

The cast had already tromped back to their seats or gone off to take care of business elsewhere in the building. Richie and one of the guys in the chorus disappeared into the foyer. Stella stood beside the piano and arched her back. Rachel pulled off a shoe and scowled at her toes.

I dragged a chair over to sit by her. “I’d forgotten how much of rehearsal is waiting around.”

Rachel laughed and wiggled her toes, watching carefully to make sure they all moved. “It’s practically
all
waiting. I should have grabbed dinner on my way here. I’m starving.”

“I should be at Divinity,” I mumbled. “Karen and Liberty are going to wring my neck for getting involved in this.”

“Quit worrying. Karen and Liberty are
fine
. I talked to both of them this afternoon. This is the only rehearsal scheduled for this week, and Valentine’s Day will be over before you know it. It’s not even an issue.”

I took another swig of water and stretched my legs. I could hear Jessica and Alexander arguing, I just couldn’t hear what they were saying. “What do you suppose that’s all about?”

Rachel checked the other foot and shrugged. “Could be just about anything. I get the feeling Alexander is a real control freak. It’s his way or the highway.”

Jessica’s cheeks were flushed with anger. Her arms moved with broad, jerky movements as she spoke. I looked away and met Rachel’s gaze. “Who do you think will win this one?”

“I don’t know. She’s tough, but she’s young. I think I’m gonna have to put my money on Alexander.” She grabbed her tote bag and began searching inside. She came up with half a roll of Life Savers and offered me one. That’s the kind of friend Rachel is.

“I think you might be right,” I said. “I wish I could hear what they’re saying.”

“Move closer.”

I grinned and shook my head. “I’m trying to foster the illusion that I’m a regular cast member.”

“Good luck with that,” Rachel said with a laugh. Jessica’s voice rose a level or two, and Rachel leaned back in her chair, smiling contentedly. “Looks like you might be able to eavesdrop after all.”

But the argument was over almost before it began. Looking mutinous, Jessica clapped her hands again, glanced around at the diminished cast, and shouted, “Pirates, Daughters, and Voices! Front and center! Now!”

It took a few minutes, but the cast was soon gathered again, and Jessica faced us all wearing a frown so deep, her chin turned white. “We’re going to switch,” she said. “We’re going to work on the original Nichols piece that Alexander has added to this portion of the play.”

Richie, who’d come back to the rehearsal hall a few minutes earlier, raised a hand. “Excuse me, Jessica, but we don’t have that.”

“Of course you do. It was included in your scripts.”

“No it wasn’t,” Richie said. “It went missing before they could make copies.”

“I thought Geoffrey was going to have new copies delivered.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t,” Richie’s friend put in. “None of us has seen it yet.”

“Son of a bitch!” Alexander’s voice bounced off the walls. “That music belongs here, in this production. Laurence wrote it especially for this play. Manwaring has no right to hold on to it.”

Richie caught my eye from across the room, but we weren’t the only people in the cast who looked startled and confused. “What’s going on?” Rachel hissed.

“Apparently, Geoffrey Manwaring never sent Laurence’s music like he promised.”

“He probably didn’t think he needed to since Laurence . . . you know.”

“Maybe. But it should have been here the day Laurence died. Did Geoffrey just forget, or did he somehow know Laurence wasn’t going to need it?”

Rachel slipped her feet into her shoes and lowered her voice even further “You think he knew something was going to happen to Laurence?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It just seems odd that he didn’t follow through. You remember how angry Laurence was when the music turned up missing.”

Rachel nodded. “He
was
mad, but even if you’re right, how would you ever prove it?”

I shrugged and sat back in my chair. “If Jawarski were here, I’d just tell him about it and let him work his magic. He could get phone records, maybe subpoena a computer for e-mail . . . I got nothin’.”

“Then you’ll just have to get him to confess,” Rachel said with a grin. “That should be easy, right?”

I laughed. “Yeah. Piece of cake.” But her joke had hatched a new idea. Jessica and Alexander were still arguing over what to do about the missing music, and they didn’t show any signs of letting up. I nudged Rachel and asked, “Did you walk, or did you bring your car?”

“I drove. Why?

“Want to drive over to the Summit Lodge with me? Maybe we can figure out what happened to Laurence’s original pieces.”

Rachel stared at me as if I’d sprouted a second head.
“Now?”

“It’s better than hanging around here,” I said. “I’d walk back and get my car, but if Manwaring
is
a murdering psychopath, I’d rather not show up at his hotel room alone.”

Rachel hesitated for only a second, then grabbed her bag and began stuffing her things into it. “Okay, you’re on. But only if we can grab something for dinner when we’re through there.”

That was a condition I could live with. Feeling like kids skipping school, we ducked out of rehearsal and five minutes later we were speeding toward the mountains on the south end of the valley.

The Summit Lodge is one of three new hotels that have been built in the past few years to accommodate increased tourist traffic. Nestled against the mountains between ski runs and the new golf course, the lodge is an impressive display of varnished wood and polished glass.

We found a parking space near the main entry and scurried inside out of the cold. A fire blazed in a huge open pit in the center of the lobby, and honey-colored wood gleamed all around us, as if management had people working round the clock with furniture polish.

I knew the desk clerks would never give us Geoffrey’s room number, so we nosed around until we found a house phone. The scents of garlic and beef swept over us as we searched, and Rachel was so distracted I half expected her to bolt for the hotel’s closest restaurant.

After several minutes we found a bank of phones tucked out of sight behind—what else?—a wall of polished wood. I punched the button for the front desk and asked to be put through to Geoffrey Manwaring’s room. After a couple of clicks, the connection went through and the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.

After the fourth ring, the call transferred to voice mail. Disappointed, I replaced the receiver. “Well that was a waste of time and gas. There’s no answer.”

Rachel had already moved on. She dug through her bottomless bag and pulled out a tube of lipstick. “Maybe he’s gone to dinner.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Speaking of which . . . We’re eating here.”

“Are you kidding? It’ll cost a fortune. Jawarski and I came here last year, and they charged fifteen dollars for a burger. And that was on the lunch menu!”

“So?”

“So I’ll probably have to sell my car to pay for dinner. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Rachel slicked on a layer of wine-colored lipstick and dropped the tube in her bag. “I’m not leaving here until whatever I can smell is in my stomach. I’ll buy.”

I snorted a laugh and followed her back into the lobby. “You’re not buying my dinner. There are plenty of great places in town and it’ll take us five minutes to get to any one of them. Besides, neither of us is dressed for this place. Let’s just go.”

Rachel glanced at my sweats and T-shirt with a shrug. “I don’t care how we look. If you don’t want me to pay for your dinner, you can wait for me in the lobby or you can wait in the car, but I’m not leaving.”