A dozen or so people were gathered in the long narrow room that spanned behind the main stage. All the people were in varying stages of dress and undress. Most all were shouting. A tall, lean woman, with her back to him, moved left one step at a time, coming ever closer to him. He realized she was making for the exit.
She held a crystal vase over her head. It was obvious she planned to heave it. Jarvis leaped forward and snatched the thing from her hands. A growl erupted from her throat and in one movement she spun and launched herself at him. Jarvis raised an elbow and jabbed her in the throat. She dropped like a stone. He handed the vase into nearby hands and stood over the prone and very angry woman. Even in a position of defeat she’d lost none of her spunk. “Who the hell do you think you are!”
Jarvis displayed his badge. Her anger wilted, but only a bit. “Get up,” he told her.
She obeyed, fire shooting from her bright green eyes—he’d bet they were contacts. A red-faced Tyson elbowed through the gathering of people, who’d quieted. Help had arrived.
“What’s going on here?” Jarvis asked.
Everyone started talking at once. He caught a few words. Enough to know the woman on the floor had caused a heck of a lot of trouble—and not only today.
Tyson raised a hand and the noise shushed. “Everyone, let’s call it a day,” he said softly. He waited a moment as the crowd backed away, some disappointed not to be able to see the outcome. The angry woman moved back also. Tyson shook his head. “Except you, Marie.”
She kept moving anyway. Jarvis physically stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.
“Don’t touch me you piece of—”
“Tyson, are you filing charges for any of this?”
He thought a moment. Jarvis thought it was more to calm himself than a hesitation. “No, I just want her out of here.”
“You can’t do this to me, I’m the star of this show!”
Jarvis winced. “Did you officially fire her?”
“That’s what started this whole thing. She won’t leave. The rest of the cast was ‘helping’ her go.”
“You were instigating trouble,” she said. “They don’t want me to go. Neither does Angie.”
“Yes we do,” came shouts from the dressing rooms.
“So does Angie,” Tyson said.
“No,” she said but the steam had gone from her, even her bouffant hairdo seemed to droop.
“This isn’t Broadway,” Tyson said, his mood gaining momentum. “From day one you started telling me how to run my show.”
“Because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Tyson continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I put up with it because it’s easier when things go smoothly and frankly, when you behave, you’re a damned good actress. But lately it’s gotten so I hate coming to work because I’ll have to listen to your complaining and the rest of the cast’s grumbling about you.”
“Well I never—”
“Looks like you have now,” Jarvis said. “Get your things together and take a hike. If I hear of you showing your face here again, I’ll arrest you and throw every citation I can think of at you. Now git.”
She slinked into the dressing room. Immediately Tyson and Jarvis realized in unison that putting her in the same room as the rest of the cast was a bad idea. They started for the door as a new battle erupted.
This one was quickly dispersed. Smirking cast members lined the walls as defrocked Diva Marie snatched up her belongings. Someone held the door open. Before she stepped through she turned, smiled, and gave one final soliloquy, “It’s all right. I am finished here.” And then she was gone.
Everyone cheered and high-fived as the door slammed shut.
“Okay, wait till her car’s gone, then everybody go home. Come in at ten instead of nine in the morning. Becky?” A pretty woman, though not so striking as Marie, moved to the forefront. “You know the lines?”
She gave a vigorous nod.
“Then I’ll see you at eight.” Another nod and she was on her way.
Once the door closed for the last time, Tyson heaved a heavy sigh. “Thanks. Your timing is impeccable.”
Tyson picked up broken glass, carrying it to a trash receptacle in the corner. Jarvis joined him, fingering shards of glass and collecting them in one palm. It wasn’t long before the place was clear of debris though a sour aura hung in the air.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Tyson slipped into a leather jacket in what was probably the latest style. His family was richer than God, though since Mom and Dad went back to Manhattan, Jarvis wasn’t sure how much financial support Tyson got any more. Until two years ago, he lived with them in the penthouse suite in the city. When he broke the news that he’d been taking part time jobs on Broadway, they threatened to disown him. And when he refused to go into investments with his father, the mother had gone ballistic. Jarvis had to give him credit; Tyson stood up to them and followed his dream.
He climbed in the Jeep, said hello to Red, and followed Tyson’s Range Rover to the Olde Bay Diner. As usual Margie greeted them like old friends. “How’s Angie doing ‘down south’?” she asked, pouring coffees without being asked.
Tyson shoveled sugar into his practically before the brew stopped pouring.
“She’s up to her ears in teenagers,” Tyson said with a laugh.
“Has the big T found her yet?”
“Trouble? Oh yeah, several times.” This time Tyson didn’t laugh. Neither did Jarvis.
“Don’t know what we’ll do with that girl.” Margie poised her pencil over the pad, waiting. While Tyson scanned the menu, Jarvis gave his order.
“You talked to Angie today?” Tyson asked once she’d left.
“No, why?”
“Nothing. Just wondering. I er, haven’t spoken to her since yesterday. I was wondering when she’d be home.”
“Probably Sunday. No later than Monday, I imagine,” Jarvis said, though his thoughts were of a more wishful nature, if she doesn’t get hurt.
“Okay, what’s she need?”
“Huh?”
“Wasn’t that why you came to the theater? I know you weren’t checking up on how I was handling things. Although,” he tucked his thumbs under his arms and boasted, “I fired Marie.” He laughed. “Angie was coming back to do it tonight.”
“I wasn’t checking up.” Embarrassment heated Jarvis’s face. “She didn’t send me at all. My visit was, um…personal. I need help, advice in how to dress for tonight’s performance.”
Tyson tested the temperature of his coffee with the tip of his tongue then took a longer swig.
“You’re not laughing.”
“No way. Asking is a good thing.” He set the cup down and said, “Tux.”
“You don’t think it’s too much for a high school production?”
Tyson shrugged. “Might be, but it’ll let ’em know us hicks from up north have some class. It’ll be good advertisement for P&P.”
“That what you’re wearing?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, clothing problem settled, Jarvis let his mind mull over what happened at the theater.
“Really glad this thing with Marie is over.”
“Has she been like that from the get-go?”
“From day one. I’d better call Angie and tell her she doesn’t have to come up this afternoon.” Tyson drew out his cell phone and dialed. “Hey pardner, I’m surprised you answered the phone…I wanted to tell you the good news. I fired Marie… Not well,” he gave a small laugh, “she threw a few things. Jarvis and I cleaned it up… Yeah, we’re at the diner… Nothing. We met up in the parking lot.” He winked at Jarvis. “Anyway, I just wanted to say you didn’t have to come back and that we’d see you tonight… Okay, see you then.” He deposited the phone back in his pocket. “She said to meet her backstage before the show.”
“I think I’d rather stay out front. Not that I don’t want to see her, but I think I contribute to her nerves.”
“Then we’ll go back to say hi, then sit out front.”
Jarvis turned down a third cup of coffee and stood up. “I hope I can find a tux at such late notice.”
“I don’t suppose you want to ride to Carlson together tonight.”
“I don’t think I’ll be coming right back.”
Tyson nudged Jarvis in the arm. “Duh. Of course not.”
Jarvis drove north to the nearest tux rental shop in Meredith wondering when and how Tyson had lost control of his employees. Did Angelina know? If she had a clue, she never would’ve left town.
But she had left town. And therein lay their troubles.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kiana slid onto the bench at the edge of the football field, the peeling paint catching on the thighs of her new jeans. A construction crew bustled around the field—somehow without the white chalk lines. How did they get them off? She gazed across at the school. Man, she didn’t want to go there today. To face the other kids. By now they probably all knew she’d been taken to headquarters and questioned about her relationship with Ms. Forest. “When did you last see her?” “Who were her friends?” “Did she have any enemies?”
She should’ve kept her mouth closed these last two years. Shouldn’t have made their relationship so public. But she’d been proud of their rapport. Maybe rapport wasn’t the right word. But she couldn’t think of a better way to describe what they had.
Why did things have to go so wrong? Why was Gwen taken from her so soon?
Okay, okay, stop whining. Things are what they are. Life goes on. Didn’t Gwen always say that? “Accept what life has given you and make the best of it.” So, straighten up, girl, and stop crying.
Wouldn’t pay to have Evan find her in this condition. He’d never seen her cry—never would. Crying was a sign of weakness. Kiana made a conscious effort to sit up straight, set her feet flat on the too-long grass, flatten her palms on her thighs, and place a smile on her face. Smiling really did make you feel better. What sort of hormone made that happen? One of these days she’d have to research it.
On the football field, the long rectangular stage was finished. Two men were setting steps at either end of it. Three others were erecting a giant frame at the front. It would hold the big heavy curtain that she and four crewmembers had removed from the auditorium and taken out for dry-cleaning. The scent of the fresh sawn pine lumber hung in the still morning air. The weatherman had predicted a clear but chilly evening. Even so, Kiana wouldn’t feel secure until the show started—without precipitation, without anyone being hurt or… Kiana literally shook off the trepidatious thoughts. She smiled at the coined word.
The putt-putt of a small engine motorcycle had her turning on the bench. Evan stopped the bike at the sidewalk, set his helmet on the seat and came toward her. His manner was determined, as usual, his face set in the same no-nonsense way.
Kiana swiped at the corners of her eyes to make sure no tear-remnants hung around, then pasted a smile firmly in place. Evan settled beside her, close but not too close. Not like last night in the cafeteria when he was almost in her lap. What was he trying to do, establish her as some sort of territory? For whose benefit? Looked like he was trying to impress that detective friend of Mrs. Deacon’s. “See, I can get a girl too.” Kiana couldn’t stop a grin. She knew how Evan felt about her. It was apparent in everything he did and said. She expected that someday they would get together. Right now just wasn’t a good time. Not with the play and her worries about the scholarship. School—her future—had to be the single focus for now. So, till he actually spit out the words, put her on the spot, she’d pretend they were nothing more than friends.
“Hey,” they said at the same time.
Evan watched the workers on the field. “Looks like they’ll be done in time for a full dress rehearsal this afternoon. Are the costumes ready?”
Kiana nodded. “Mrs. Philmore busted her butt making sure everything was complete, right down to the socks and jewelry. Had some trouble finding another leather jacket. I think she ended up borrowing from one of her sons.”
“You ever meet them?”
“I met the youngest one once when she came to pick up Mr. Philmore. He’s kind of dorky.”
“Like his dad.”
“Right. Say, why do you think the Philmores invited Mrs. Deacon for dinner?”
Evan’s face scrunched. When he did that, he looked like an old man. She thought it best not to mention it.
“Probably trying to show what a shining pillar of society he is.”
“He isn’t?”
“I guess he’s okay. I get the idea he’s the type to want people to know.”
“Maybe. I think Mrs. Deacon was wondering why they invited her too. I mean, Mr. Philmore doesn’t have anything to do with the drama department. He never even shows his face at this end of the school.”
“Maybe Mrs. Philmore told him to ask her. She and Mrs. Deacon seemed pretty friendly when we went to the shop.”
“Maybe. Okay, so what’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why all this dumb chitchat about nothing? You hate chitchat.”
Evan pulled in a breath and let it all out before saying, “I got called in for questioning by the police last night. I’m scared they think I killed Ms. Forest.”
So, they’d called him too. The information made her feel a little less suspect. She’d done the same as Evan though—spent what little there was left of the night feeling the same way. She had even fantasized about running to Canada to hide.
“What did they want to know?” Kiana asked.
“They asked if I knew who Ms. Forest hung out with. Did any of the other teachers dislike her? Stuff like that.”
The same things they’d asked her.
Word would spread around the school today like wildfire. Kids would be anxious to brag how they’d been interrogated. She looked up, from her hands still lying flat on her thighs, and into Evan’s bright green eyes. She’d never seen anyone with eyes that color and often told him so. It always made him blush. Maybe now would be the time to say it again, to get his mind off the interrogation. But she suspected nothing would dissuade those thoughts right now. She’d been unable to keep them from overwhelming her own mind. She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first. “The only thing I could tell them was about Mrs. Philmore being Ms. Forest’s friend. They already knew about her.”
Had he mentioned the argument he overheard in the green room? She didn’t want to come right out and ask so she skirted around it. “What did you say when they asked if you knew anybody who didn’t like her?” It would absolve him of the guilt he’d been feeling for keeping it inside all this time.