Cilla didn’t fall into the meager attempt at humor. “I had to go and spout off like a baby.”
Angie touched Cilla’s arm. “It’s been a very tense time for you.”
“You’re very nice to say that. I feel awful for the way the conversation went. Maybe I can make it up to you. Could we get together for coffee or something tomorrow?”
Everything inside Angie screamed that this was a bad idea, that whatever Cilla had been unable say tonight was best kept in this house. Unfortunately Angie’s brain didn’t agree because, before she could clamp her lips together, her mouth said, “Sure, I’d like that. I’ll tell you a few embarrassing things, then we’ll be even.”
Cilla opened the door, laughing. “I can’t imagine you have embarrassing moments.”
“Then you’ve severely misjudged me. Thanks again.” Angie stepped quickly outside. If she got out before a date for tomorrow’s coffee was set, she’d be off the hook.
As usual, her luck didn’t hold up because Cilla said, “Twelve-thirty at Farina’s?”
“Sounds good.”
Cilla remained on the front stoop until Angie backed out of the driveway and blinked the headlights. She heaved a sigh that cleared her lungs. Angie maneuvered the car along the city streets back to the hotel. She stopped trying to figure out what the heck just happened and let herself relax. The evening was over. All could be left behind—till tomorrow at 12:30.
Angie couldn’t squelch the idea racing through her brain, that there was something strange about the Philmores, or at least with Cilla. The couple was hiding something. Something each of them wanted out in the open, but at the same time, wanted to remain secret. Again came the thought that this couple knew something about the death of Cilla’s best friend.
TWENTY-FOUR
Angie pulled into a spot in the hotel garage. She still felt wound up from…well, from either the delicious mousse or the freaky situation with the Philmores. She wasn’t ready to go upstairs. She changed into walking shoes from a bag she always kept in the back seat and set off at a brisk walk, east on Tara Boulevard, reveling in the brisk air on her face. She wished for a heavier jacket but right now needed to burn off extra energy.
She passed an all-night restaurant called Farina’s—the one where she was to meet Cilla tomorrow—and almost stopped in to pick up a muffin to heat for breakfast. But she kept walking, planning to tick off about a mile on her internal odometer. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t sugar levels that needed burning off, it was the weirdness of the evening.
What was up with Cilla? First she mentioned suspecting Josh of cheating and then took it all back as though returning a defective coffee machine. She acted remorseful and embarrassed for even bringing up the subject. So, was Josh cheating or not? How can any woman be sure her man is being faithful? It had been the last thing Angie expected from Will and look what happened there. A pang of unresolved anger pushed into her veins and Angie walked faster, rubber soles striking the pavement with muffled thumps.
Cilla and Josh had been married a long time. The stress of life and family began early. They never really got to know each other, to build the familiarity needed to relax and be themselves before life swarmed at them. Angie had the idea Cilla walked on tiptoe around Josh, always wanting to please, never doing anything for herself. The one time she’d gotten the courage to ask for something—the night together at a hotel—he’d shot her down.
Finally Angie’s frustration burnt itself out. She turned and retraced her steps on the opposite side of the street for some different scenery. Not too many shops were vacant in this part of town. With such a nice hotel in their midst, they wouldn’t be, would they? That was another way she’d changed. Last year she would’ve made a point to go inside these shops, to browse till her feet were blistered and bleeding. Tonight, Angie only took note of the stores as scenery, something to keep away the boredom—and the puzzle of Gwen Forest’s death—at bay.
Outside the hotel’s entrance Angie dialed Jarvis’ number. The call didn’t go through. There was plenty of signal. Her battery was okay. What was up with that?
Oh well, she was too tired to worry about it tonight. She only wanted to make sure he got home safely anyway. She pictured Jarvis and Red tucked into the big bed in the freshly painted bedroom in the little ranch at the end of that dead-end street. Safe. Rested. Immersed in a murder investigation in somebody else’s jurisdiction. Because of her. Well, this time it had been none of her doing.
Angie whooshed upstairs in the elevator. Normally she’d take the stairs but didn’t want to reawaken her adrenaline. She undressed and slid between the sheets, pulling the fluffy duvet up to her chin.
She woke with a start, flew into a sitting position, eyes wide in the dark-as-charcoal room. The red LED on the bedside clock clicked from 3:35 to 3:36. Most times, when she woke like this in a hotel, it was because of some sound in the hallway, or the flushing of a toilet in an adjoining room. Right now, the building seemed quiet.
Wait, hadn’t she pushed that chair straight under the table? She squinted at it, trying to remember.
Maybe. She recalled sitting on the chair to remove her shoes. But couldn’t remember standing from it, let alone pushing the thing in place. It was the kind of movement, in her neatnik mode, as Jarvis called it, that she did automatically.
What about the brass lock on the door? Pushing that in place was automatic too, wasn’t it? When a person entered their room for the night, it was the last thing they did. Try as she might, Angie couldn’t remember touching the bolt. What was the difference—nobody would want to break in here. Over and over she’d made it clear she had nothing to do with the case. She’d been careful to do only things related to the production of the play. The fact that she socialized with key people in the case wouldn’t be a contradiction at all. The thought made her grin.
As she sat in the dark, the duvet clutched against her chest she knew what woke her. It was nothing to do with crooked chairs or toilets flushing. It was something that happened at the Philmores’. Or something one of them had said. But what?
Angie lay back and sought the answer on the ceiling as the evening’s events replayed on the stark white rectangle. And came up with nothing.
She woke to the alarm beeping at 7 a.m. The day of the first performance had arrived. Two more days and she’d be back in her normal life. Normal? What a joke. Fifteen months ago, her life ceased being normal. The day she gave Will that fiftieth birthday fishing trip, things had been forever changed. This life—this crazy schedule at the theater—was the new norm. Not a bad thing usually.
After a shower, Angie settled at the table with a cup of coffee, made there in the room. Though the school was footing the hotel bill she didn’t take advantage of room service. The coffee from the tiny coffeemaker wasn’t bad, but that powdered creamer left something to be desired. She opened the drapes and stood there fingering the pretty sapphire pendant and looking out at the city street below. Right now the traffic was moving faster than the pedestrians.
Her phone rang. The caller ID said it was Tyson. She answered with a jolly, “Mornin’ pardner. How’s our little diva doing?”
“Fine for now. I gave her yesterday off so I could work with the understudies.” He laughed. “You should’ve seen her face when I said she could take the day off. At first she looked happy, then this layer of suspicion glazed over. I walked away expecting to feel claws in the back of my neck.”
“She didn’t say anything?”
“Not to me. I heard her asking the others if they got the day off too.” He gave a sigh that came through the cell phone as a hiss. “Why didn’t we hire Lynn instead?”
Angie didn’t reply.
“I thought about hiding in the wings with a baseball bat and…oh, never mind, breaking her legs wouldn’t solve anything.”
Angie laughed. Tyson was usually a mild mannered guy. Marie must be even worse than Angie thought.
“I guess I’ll hold off hurting her for now.”
“I’ll come back this afternoon and talk to her.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I do. You know it and I know it. The sooner it’s done, the better.”
“How was your dinner with—what was their name again?”
“Philmore. It was delicious.”
“Did they bombard you with questions about the murder?”
“As a matter of fact, neither said much of anything.” Which, Angie just realized, was the whole problem. Gwen and Cilla had been best friends. Gwen was devastated at her loss. And yet, when someone is brought on the scene ostensibly to solve the case, she asks only if Angie has any idea who did it, but when no answer came, she didn’t press the issue. Didn’t ask a single question more.
“Angie!”
“I’m here. Sorry. What did you say?”
“Never mind.”
Angie sat in the chair to put her shoes on. “Anything new besides Diva Marie?”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. The ticket order didn’t come in. The distributor stopped carrying the makeup we use. And, oh yes, my stockbroker buddy bought four season tickets.”
She stood and made sure to tuck both chairs squarely under the table. “Four season tickets—isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”
“Would be, except his check bounced.”
Damn. “Any of ours bounce as a result?”
“Not yet. So, how’re things on your end? Solve that case yet?”
“Tyson.”
“I know, I know.”
“I have some news. I found us a girl Friday. She can write, she can act and she’s willing to do about anything backstage.”
“Tell me more!”
Angie told Tyson about Kiana and her need for credits toward her scholarship.
“Have her come in after school on Monday,” he said. “We’ll show her around. We have plenty for her to do. Maybe I can set her on Diva Marie.”
“Marie will be gone by then. Besides, let’s not alienate the girl right away.”
“Right. Best to let her see the bad side of things, so she knows what she’s in for.”
“Believe me, after this past week, she knows. On top of all the stuff going on here, she’s got personal troubles too.”
“She gonna bring them here when she comes?”
“I doubt it. That’s what’s impressed me about her. No matter what’s going on, she handles it with style.”
“Any idea what the problem is?”
“Not yet.”
“But you will. You will,” Tyson chuckled.
Angie opened the top dresser drawer and reached in for her red scarf. The scarf was all bunched up—not folded neatly the way she’d left it. Maybe it got caught on something when she closed the drawer last night. She’d been so tired, most of the evening was a blur. She picked up the scarf. Something heavy held it down so she pulled until the lightweight silk came free. The brown and gold scarf underneath was bunched up too. What was going on?
Wait, she didn’t have a brown and gold scarf. Angie looked closer. “Oh my gosh.”
She vaguely heard Tyson’s shouting voice in her ear, but couldn’t answer because her attention was riveted on the enormous snake peering at her, its bulbous face looped through one of her bra straps.
TWENTY-FIVE
Evan stopped the bike at Mine Falls Park. Dawn was just creeping between the trees in a mottled display of greys and yellows. The weatherman said it would be cold and blustery today, but right now it was calm and clear—two things Kiana definitely didn’t feel.
He drew two steaming cups of hot chocolate from a holder on the handlebars and led her along one of the many paths through the park. They found a bench overlooking one of the canals and sat wordless for several minutes. Something was wrong with him. It wasn’t the not-talking, they never spoke much early in the mornings, it was more in his demeanor. On the bike, he rode stiff and formal beneath her arms around his waist. In line at the coffee shop he gazed around like a zombie.
What reason would he give today to quit investigating? Too much danger or he didn’t like the sour news they kept turning up?
They’d always been able to talk about anything, even internal emotions. At one time or another she thought they had discussed about every topic—even politics. Kiana realized yesterday that a conversation on homosexuality had never come up. She wondered if Evan was grossed out mostly because it was Mr. Reynolds, the school principal. Maybe the news wouldn’t have been so momentous if it was somebody more obscure in the school. Like that janitor.
To her right, Evan sat on the bench with his forearms on his thighs, the hot chocolate clutched in his hands. So far, he hadn’t touched it. Well, she wouldn’t make this easy on him. If he was about to drop another bomb, she would wait him out.
After a while Evan sat up straight, pulling the cup close and raising it up. She expected him to finally drink but he set the cup on the bench between them and stood. Kiana was about to ask what was wrong when she saw the movement down the path. Two people had strolled up and sat on a bench about forty feet away. Kiana would bet money that other couple wasn’t here to discuss a murder investigation. Or homosexual principals.
Evan stepped behind a tall bush. What was up with him? She turned her gaze away thinking he had to go to the bathroom. But when a suitable amount of time passed and she dared look again, he’d disappeared. She located his dark shadow behind another bush. Kiana couldn’t believe her eyes; he was sneaking up on those people.
Curious, Kiana rose and tiptoed along behind him. Through the shrubbery, she had occasional glimpses of the silhouetted couple. They sat close, upper arms and legs touching. The woman was almost equal to the man in height. She had on a dark color knit hat and a heavy coat. The hat bulged, which meant she either had a lot of hair or long hair tucked inside. The man was clean-shaven with short hair and glasses. He was wearing a parka of some kind, with fur around the hood. Something about him was familiar. Kiana caught up with Evan at a bush covered in tiny leaves. Under the leaves were clusters of long thorns that pricked her hands and wrists.