Who's Kitten Who? (8 page)

It wasn’t because I hadn’t learned the few lines my character had. Unlike in my nightmare of a couple of nights before, I’d memorized not only my opening line but my entire part. But saying those words to an audience—
acting
—was something else entirely.

My weekly live television spot felt like a piece of cake by comparison. At the Channel 14 TV studio, there were generally only a couple of people in the room, so it was easy to ignore the fact that out there in TV land, thousands were watching me. Here in the theater, I could actually see the faces of the people in the audience. True, there were no more than six at the moment, since most of the cast was onstage. But from this vantage point, I could judge their reactions by their expressions, their posture, even how much they were fidgeting.

“It begins, ‘Come on, Amelia,’” Derek prompted from the front row, where he was sitting with a script in his lap.

I swallowed hard. “Come on, Amelia,” I said aloud, aware that my mouth had become as dry as desert sand. “Let’s show these men the stuff we’re made of.” I tried to make the words sing out loud and clear. I really did. Instead, they came out a near-whisper.

“Good, but not quite loud enough,” Derek said patiently. “Let’s try that again.”

“Come on, Amelia. Let’s show these men the stuff we’re made of!” This time my words came out like a squawk. An audible squawk, but a squawk nonetheless.

“You wouldn’t get me in a plane with an instructor who had so little confidence,” some unknown person behind me commented.

“Come on, Amelia!” I cried in a powerful voice that surprised even me. “Let’s
show
these men the stuff we’re made of!”

“Excellent!” Derek exclaimed. “Let’s continue! Amelia—Elena—this is where you start singing. Can we get a music cue?”

I did it! I thought, experiencing such a rush that I was tempted to try a couple of handsprings right then and there. I actually did a good job of delivering my line!

I glanced over at Betty, who gave me an approving nod. I just grinned, glad that I hadn’t let her down.

We did a run-through of the entire number. Even I could see that it was still ragged. But I could also imagine what it was going to turn into once we’d all perfected our dance steps and added costumes, makeup, lighting, props, and hopefully a humongous surge of opening night adrenaline.

“Okay, my sweeties,” Jill finally said. “Let’s take a ten-minute break.”

“Wait!” A short, plump young woman bobbed up from the front row. “Before anyone leaves, I’d like President Coolidge and President Hoover to come backstage for their final costume fittings.”

Lacey Croft, I surmised. The costume designer who had found Simon’s body.

I studied her with interest. For someone who was so involved with clothes, she certainly didn’t appear to have put a lot of thought into her own outfit. She was dressed in a dark pleated skirt that did little to downplay her ample girth. Her white blouse was rumpled, and the burgundy cardigan sweater she wore over it looked a couple of sizes too big. Her dark-brown hair was twisted into a haphazard bun and loosely held in place with a plastic clip, allowing wisps of hair to frame her round, almost childlike face.

She was definitely on my list of people to talk to, and I made a mental note to do so the very first chance I got. But now was not the time, mainly because I wasn’t playing one of the two presidents who had honored Amelia Earhart for her splendid achievements. It was just as well, since I was suddenly aware of how much energy the thirty-minute ordeal I’d just undergone had taken out of me.

Still, I was itching to get a look at the crime scene. But Derek’s policy about cast members watching all the rehearsals made it difficult to slip backstage. Besides, finding an excuse to go into the men’s dressing room would be kind of a challenge. But checking it out was a high priority, and I intended to see it for myself the very first chance I got.

As I dropped into one of the red velvet seats, one of the actors I remembered from Saturday afternoon’s rehearsal strolled up the aisle. He was lean and on the tall side, probably in his mid-thirties but clearly striving for a slightly younger look by wearing his sand-colored hair on the shaggy side. Like most of the other actors, he wore jeans and a T-shirt. He was the man who’d agreed with Aziza Zorn that the production should be shut down. Yet here he was, enduring the grueling rehearsal, just as I was.

He stopped and offered me an encouraging smile, his blue eyes shining. “That wasn’t bad, especially since you’re new to the company,” he commented. “I take it you’ve got some serious acting experience.”

“You’re too kind,” I assured him. “I believe the last time I appeared onstage was in my first grade class’s production of ‘The Food Pyramid.’ I played a carrot.”

He laughed. “Then I guess you’re simply a natural.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kyle Carlson. Also known as Fred Noonan, the navigator who accompanied Amelia Earhart on her final flight.”

As we shook hands, I commented, “I guess this rehearsal is difficult for everyone, the first one since Simon…”

Kyle’s cheerful expression faded. “Yes. He and I were really close friends.”

“Then you must be devastated.”

“Frankly, I’m still in shock.”

“So is Betty Vandervoort,” I said. “She’s a good friend of mine. In fact, she’s the person who got me involved in the Port Players. She was really fond of Simon.”

“I know Betty. She’s a really nice person.”

Trying to sound casual, I said, “Betty thinks somebody who’s involved with the Port Players must have murdered Simon.”

“Duh!”

The vehemence of his response stunned me. “You mean you agree?”

“Of course! It’s obvious. In fact, I’m furious that the police haven’t gone ahead and arrested her. I can’t imagine what they’re waiting for.”

“You know who did it?” I asked, sounding as surprised as I felt.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist—or Sherlock Holmes—to know that Lacey killed him.”

“Lacey Croft?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed angrily. “She was standing over his body when the police came in Saturday morning. If that’s not holding a smoking gun, I don’t know what is!”

“I thought she was simply the person who had the bad luck to find him,” I said, carefully measuring my words.

“Ha!” he cried. “There was a lot going on between those two. Believe me, I know. Simon gave me an earful, especially over the last couple of weeks. That woman is not stable.

“In fact, looking back, I’m not surprised.” He clenched his fists tightly. “I should have seen it coming. Simon should have seen it coming.”

I blinked. “Why? What was—”

“I can’t believe how incompetent the police are!” Kyle was apparently too wrapped up in his tirade to notice that I’d asked a question. Or at least tried to. “All they have to do is ask anyone who knew him! There’s no mystery here.

“The way this whole thing is being handled is an abomination,” he continued bitterly. “In fact, I was even furious with Derek at first. I couldn’t believe he wanted to continue with the production. I thought it was really bad taste. I was seething when I walked out of here on Saturday.”

“Yet you decided not to quit, the way Aziza did,” I said gently.

“That’s right.” He sounded a tad defensive. But at least he’d calmed down. “After I got home and had a chance to think about it, I realized that Derek was right, that going ahead with the production really is the best way of honoring Simon’s memory.”

“I suppose it is,” I agreed. “And it’s a great show. I didn’t know Simon, but I think he would have been pleased that this production of
She’s Flying High
is going to live on.”

“I suppose,” he agreed gruffly. “But I still think it’s a travesty that they’ve allowed Lacey to remain part of this production.” And then, after an awkward silence, he asked, “So what do you do when you’re not thrilling audiences with your innate acting talent?”

“I’m a veterinarian.”

“No kidding! How cool is that?” Kyle seemed to have completely recovered from his tirade over Simon’s death. He hesitated for a few seconds, then asked, “Be honest: Would I be overstepping the bounds of polite conversation if I asked you for some free advice?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I give out advice all the time—even some that’s completely unsolicited. What’s the problem?”

“A couple of days ago, Monty, my Weimaraner, was chasing a squirrel and he squirmed through a hole in the metal fence around my property. I guess it had some sharp edges, because he got a couple of pretty bad cuts. I’ve been trying to clean them with bacitracin and hydrogen peroxide, but they don’t seem to be getting any better. What do you think I should do?”

“I hate to make recommendations without actually examining the animal,” I told him. “Monty might need stitches, but I can’t tell without seeing how bad his cuts are. If you’d like, I could check him out.”

“Where’s your office?”

“All over Long Island. What I mean is, I operate a mobile services unit. A clinic-on-wheels. I travel to my clients’ homes to treat their animals.”

“Wow. I’ve never heard of that. But it sounds great, not only for your patients and their owners but for you too.”

“I enjoy it,” I agreed. “It’s certainly better than being holed up in an office all day. If you’d like, I’d be happy to stop by your house to take a look at Monty. How about tomorrow? It’s a fairly light day, so I’m sure I could fit you in.”

The vehemence with which Kyle Carlson had insisted that Lacey killed Simon had piqued my interest. I sensed that making a house call to treat his dog would be an excellent way to begin my investigation.

“Tomorrow would be great,” Kyle said. “I often go home for lunch, since the place where I work is so close to my house in Melton. Would twelve-thirty work for you? I’ll give you my address and phone number….”

I’d barely had a chance to copy the information down when Derek clapped his hands.

“Okay, everyone, let’s run through the opening scene,” he boomed.

This time, going up onstage didn’t seem nearly as frightening. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I’d already broken the ice by delivering my first line. Or maybe it was because my little chat with Simon’s pal Kyle had helped me put things in perspective, reminding me of the real reason I was here.

I hoped going to his house to check out his dog the following day would give me a chance to find out more about Simon and the rest of the cast. At the moment, however, my focus was Lacey Croft. The fact that she’d reported Simon’s murder to the police and been found standing next to the body, combined with Kyle’s contention that she was the culprit, had earned her the honor of becoming the very first person on my list of suspects.

While Theater One was the obvious place to corner Lacey, I didn’t think it was the best place. For one thing, she was almost always surrounded by other cast members, and most of the time they were either stripped down to their underwear or up to their necks in straight pins. But I also wanted to catch her with her guard down by talking to her in a completely different environment than the one she’d shared with Simon Wainwright.

That meant calling in the big guns.

“Forrester?” I said as sweetly as I could after dialing the
Newsday
reporter’s cell phone number on Tuesday morning. “It’s Jessie.”

“Hey, Popper!” he returned with his usual enthusiasm. “Always a treat to hear from you. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find Lacey Croft during the day. She’s the costume designer at Theater One.”

“I know who she is, since she also happens to be the person who discovered Simon Wainwright’s body.”

“Good memory,” I commented.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he returned. “And it just so happens I have that piece of information.”

“I thought you might,” I said, gritting my teeth and wishing he would just tell me.

Instead, he said, “If I tell you, it’s part of our deal, right?”

“What deal—oh, that.” I realized he was referring to the ridiculous terms he’d laid out when I first asked for his help: that in exchange for his assistance, I’d agree to go out with him if Nick or I ever broke off our engagement. “Sure, Forrester,” I said impatiently. “Whatever you say.”

“Just checking. Lacey Croft runs workshops at the Yellow Brick Road. It’s a school for kids who are interested in the theater arts.”

“That’s a relief,” I returned. “For a minute there, I thought you were telling me Lacey’s day job was being a Munchkin.”

“Good one, Popper. See, that’s just one of the things I like about you. You’re as sharp as a tack.”

“I try.” Jotting down the name of Lacey’s workplace, I added, “I don’t suppose you have an address or phone number?”

“I’ve got both.” Once he’d delivered that information, Forrester said, “So tell me, Popper. How are things going with you and that fiancé of yours?”

“Just fine,” I shot back.

He chuckled. “Am I imagining things, or do I detect a little defensiveness in your tone?”

“Things between Nick and me have never been better,” I insisted.

“Goodness gracious, I do believe I’m sensing trouble in paradise. Be still my heart.”