“Call an ambulance,” he said.
“Is she ⦠is she okay?”
“She's alive, but she won't be for long if you sit there and bat your eyelashes. Call an ambulance. Tell them to haul ass.”
I ran around the building to the front door and through the lobby to the office. Luanne held the telephone receiver in her hand, but I snatched it from her, hit the disconnect button, and dialed 911. Once I was assured help would arrive within minutes, I told Luanne to send the paramedics to the alley behind the building and dashed back through the front door. As I reached the sidewalk, Peter's car pulled to a stop in front of me. Senator Stevenson sat in the passenger's seat; Warren and a woman were in the back.
I went around to Peter's side and managed to croak out an abbreviated version of what had happened. Then, ignoring his spurt of questions, I ran around the corner and along the sidewalk to the back of the building. Mac was still bent over Cyndi's body, his mouth covering
hers as he administered resuscitation. I told him the ambulance was on its way, and was standing there helplessly as Peter came into the alley.
“How is she?” he demanded.
“Mac said she was alive. I ought to do somethingâbut I don't know what to do. IâI didn't know she was in her dressing room. We should have unlocked her door earlier this afternoon. None of this should have happened. I feelâI feel responsible.” The hysteria I'd resisted earlier caught up with me. My voice collapsed into gulping sobs and my knees buckled. Peter caught me and held me tightly against his chest as blue lights flashed in the alley. A siren deafened us momentarily, then faded in a whining spiral. Men scrambled from the ambulance, barking questions. Equipment materialized. A radio from inside the ambulance crackled with static fury. A police car added to the confusion. A curious crowd gathered at the top of the alley, babbling and pointing at the body surrounded by kneeling paramedics.
Mac, relieved of his job, moved away from the circle of paramedics. I forced myself to find some vestige of control, and fumbled in Peter's pocket for his handkerchief. Once I'd wiped my face, I let Peter join the fracas and walked over to the edge of the alley where Mac stood, his hands in his pockets and his expression flat.
“Thanks for dragging both of us out of there,” I said. “I couldn't get a good grip on Cyndi, and I was about to pass out from the fumes.”
Ignoring my expression of gratitude, he took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. He took a long drag as he studied the paramedics clustered around Cyndi. In a bemused voice, he said, “I don't know how this happened. It wasn't supposed to happen. Damndest thing that it did.”
“The heater was from antiquity. Either it had a rusted pipe or the pilot blew out. You shouldn't feel responsible for what happened,” I said soothingly.
He gave me a surprised look. “Oh, I don't feel any responsibility for this, Claire. None at all.” Whistling under his breath, he flipped the cigarette into the weeds, then strolled to the top of the alley and disappeared through the crowd of tourists.
Cyndi was loaded into the ambulance and taken away. A policeman dispatched the crowd, while another approached me with a scowl. “I need the girl's name and address, and that of her next-of-kin. Then you can explain your relationship and exactly what happened.”
“Her information ought to be in a file in the office,” I said, wishing Peter would rescue me from the grim-faced inquisitor. He and several other officers had vanished, however. I related what I knew, which didn't take more than a minute. I graciously added that Mac was the person who owned the theater and was most familiar with the heaters, and that he might be found on the stage or in the light-control booth.
The policeman snorted and went toward the front of the theater. I hesitated at the metal doors, still somewhat queasy as gas drifted past me. Peter and his minions were in the basement; I could hear low voices and the sound of doors being opened and furniture scraping on the concrete floor. I finally accepted the fact I could not force myself to go inside and walked back along the sidewalk to the front door.
Luanne was propped on her crutches in the office doorway. “What is going on? First Heidi came in here shrieking about a gas leak, then you barreled through to call the ambulance. Now there's a policeman hunting through the file ⦠Is Cyndiâ?”
“She was alive when they took her in the ambulance.” Since the office was occupied, I leaned against the wall and tried to focus on a particularly odoriferous basket of flowers. “I don't know much more than that. I smelled gas and sent Julianna to get a key from Mac. He unlocked the door, and the room was thick with the stuff. He carried Cyndi outside and gave her artificial respiration while I called the emergency number. Peter and his men are examining the dressing room now. I suppose they'll find a rusty pipe or something.”
“How long had Cyndi been in there?”
I let my shoulders sag. “I have no idea. Long enough to lose consciousness, obviously.”
“Why wouldn't she have smelled the gas when it first began to leak? It has a very distinctive odor.”
“Why would someone fire a shot at a convertible in the middle of a local parade? I'm an assistant pageant director, not an oracle.” I looked at Luanne, who had much the same horrified expression I suspected I had. “What about the pageant? Are we going to cancel it?”
“I don't see how we can. Over two hundred tickets were sold in advance, and the girls have been preparing for this for weeks. Some of them have spent a fortune on clothes and accessories. I feel dreadful about Cyndi, but I have an obligation to those eighteen girls.”
“Who are in the auditorium, and can't return to their dressing rooms until the basement is aired out. What's more, the reigning queen will not be available to perform in the opening number or crown her successor.” I held up my hands and shook my head. “Don't even think about it. Personally, I suggest we tell everyone the pageant's been postponed for a month or two. Your ankle will be well. Cyndi will be back in bloom. The girls might have learned another step or two of the opening
number, although I have reservations about that.”
Steve came up the corridor from the auditorium. “What happened in the basement? The girls are dithering and crying, but none of them seems to know exactly why. A gas leak?”
I told him about Cyndi. He seemed deeply shocked, and suggested we go to the hospital to check on her. I mentioned the proximity of the pageant, and Luanne added quite firmly that the show would go on.
“I think your brain is sprained,” I said. “However, I'll tell the girls to grab their things and use the greenroom to dress. Steve can explain that the opening number has been canceled because of the accident. He can read the names of the finalists, and tomorrow night he can crown the winner. We can then wipe our tears and go away from this place, which is beginning to have the allure of Bleak House.”
A woman in a print dress and jacket came up the corridor. She eyed the three of us curiously, then slipped her arm through Steve's. Her hair was fashionably cut and colored, her clothes expensive yet conservative, her eyes a cool, appraising shade of gray. She would have been equally at ease in front of a country club fashion show committee or astride a thoroughbred horse. I was not surprised when Steve introduced her as his wife, Patti.
“I've been trying to calm down the girls, but they're frantic to know what's going to happen,” she said in a soft voice that had a Southern lilt. “They were already excited about the pageant before this terrible accident occurred. Now they're buzzing so wildly I'm afraid they'll explode.”
I spotted Eunice coming through the front door. “I'll go talk to them,” I said hurriedly. “Someone needs to
tell Eunice about Cyndi.” I went down the corridor, aware of Luanne's black look burning into my back, and went into the auditorium. The girls crowded around me and demanded to know how Cyndi was. I told them the truth, which was I didn't know but that she was alive when taken to the hospital. Then I told them the latest plans.
Julianna regarded me mistrustfully. “There are policemen in the basement. Does that mean someone tried to murder Cyndi?”
“The police always investigate accidents,” I said with more assurance than I felt. “I'm sure the gas company has found the leak and corrected it by now, and the police are simply there to assist. You all know this is an old building and therefore likely to have faulty plumbing, rotting ropes, and bent nails.”
“What about the shot fired during the parade?” another girl said, moving forward. “My mom saw something on the news. Senator Stevenson said it was fired at him, but Cyndi was in the car, too.”
“There could be a crazed rapist stalking Cyndi?” Heidi bleated helpfully.
“He could be in this theater right now,” suggested a reedy voice from the back.
They inched forward, closing me in. Julianna said, “But the theater's been locked for rehearsals. No one could have walked in from the street.”
“He must have been here all along,” said a nasal voice.
“He? Why do you assume this horrible maniac is a man?” Julianna's voice fell to a melodramatic whisper. “It could be one of us.”
The girls glanced at each other and edged backward, thus allowing me to catch a breath of air that was not
laden with perfume. “Now, let's not get any wild ideas,” I said sternly. “We have a pageant to produce in less than an hour. It's going to be crowded in the greenroom, but we have no option. You'll have to make the best of it. Go get your things.”
“I'm not going down to the basement,” said a snub-nosed baton twirler.
The others nodded and repeated the avowal that they indeed were not going down there. I wasn't sure if they were afraid of a madman, the police, the stench of gas, or each other, but I was quite sure I was facing a mutiny of epic proportions.
“I can't carry up all your dresses, swimsuits, props, makeup bags, hair dryers, and whatever else is down there,” I said.
“We're not going down there,” said a mulish voice from the crowd.
We were in a wonderful stalemate when Eunice came into the auditorium. She clapped her hands and said, “Girls, I know that Cyndi wants you to put on the best pageant there's ever been. Now stop gawking and go fetch your things at once! Most of you look disheveled, and the judges simply will not look kindly upon a gal with inferior grooming. We must think poise, poise, poise!”
They obediently scuttled down the steps, no doubt panicked by the nightmare of being deemed inferior groomers. I thanked Eunice for her inspirational talk and asked her if she'd called the hospital.
“I spoke to a nurse in the emergency room. Cyndi is already much improved, although she is still unconscious. Her complexion is gradually turning pink, and she's breathing without artificial aid. They'll move her to a private room shortly.”
I sank down in the front row. “Then she must be recovering. That's wonderful news, Eunice. I was terrified that she ⦔
“Cyndi's a tough cookie,” Eunice said, sitting down beside me. “I'm usually around to rescue her, but this time it seems she owes you a debt of gratitude. Gratitude is hardly one of her strong points, so please allow me to express my thanks for your act of courage. I seem to have misjudged you, Claire; it must have taken great strength of character to go back into her dressing room.”
“Mac carried her out,” I said, wincing as the scene replayed itself in my mind. “And I wasn't courageous; I was too frightened for that.”
“Why did you think she might be in there?”
I rubbed my face as I tried to remember what had gone through my mind. “I don't really know. I suppose it was because I never saw her leave the theater.”
The contestants came up the stairs, their arms piled with pageant paraphernalia. They trooped across the stage and went behind the curtain. Abruptly the auditorium echoed with squeals and brays of manly laughter.
“The football team is in the greenroom,” I said to Eunice. “I believe I suggested it in a previous life.”
“The gals can hardly dress under that condition. Concentration is everything.” She stood up and stalked across the stage, clearly concentrating on how best to squelch any malingering.
I felt a twinge of fear for the well-being of the football team, but sat and gazed blankly at the stage. Caron danced onto the stage and gave me a glittery smile. “Shall I take Cyndi Jay's place in the opening number? I know practically all of it.”
“Where were you during all the excitement? I thought you'd be out front directing traffic by now, or holding a
press conference to explain your perspective on the events.”
“The television crews were busy,” she said with a pirouette. “Are you absolutely positive I can't take Cyndi's place? That Horrid Man insists that I sit in this incredibly dumpy little closet and read some idiotic manual about lights. Inez is having oodles more fun than I am.”