Authors: Dianne Yetman
“
How did you get along with the new Director
?”
“
Fine. He was a gifted man, we were lucky to have him. H
e was easier in th
e first couple of years. The man had no limits.
H
e worked tirelessly with the production teams and actors to create performances that connected with the audience.
”
“So, his star rose without a hitch?”
“
No, not really. H
e had
a
weakness
, a soft spot
. I
t was his inability to take into account the budgetary and physical constraints of production. That’s where I came in; it’s my area of expertise. We worked well together.”
“Do you know why he relocated to
Halifax
at the height of his career?”
“I’m not sure. There were rumours of course.”
“What kind of rumours?”
“Women problems
- y
oung women problem
s
- very
young
women problems
.”
“Are we talking pedophile, Ward?”
“Let me put it this way. He sailed his boat close to the shore, close enough to scrape some paint but not enough to sink it
.”
“
Did he
launch his sailboat
in New
York waters as well?
”
Ward shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? I
didn’t hear
anything.”
“
Was your recent working relationship with Stone going well?”
“Not as well as it had in the past. I never knew what to expect from him, one minute he was friendly, the next he was biting my head off at the
third vertebrae.
”
“Any idea what was going on?”
“
I think his marriage was in trouble. C
atherine had always stood behind Jeffrey
but maybe she had had enough. The woman certainly deserved better.
”
“
You never thought of relocating to New York? You have an excellent reputation.”
“No, of course not. My work was well respected.
I don’t need fame and my finances are okay. I’m not an ambitious man.
”
Roger wasn’t buying it but decided now wasn’t the time for a challenge.
“Was Jeffrey afraid of anyone?”
“Yes, I believe he was but I have no idea who it might have been. He was a complex man. Kept his problems to himself. But yes, he was afraid.”
Henry talked about the difficulties of putting on a production, the roles of the Director and his responsibilities for the next ten minutes.
“
One more question. You say you knew how to handle Stone’s tantrums and things went pretty smoothly between you.
Funny, it’s not what some people in the production
told my colleagues
.
They said they heard
q
uite a
few
shouting matches
between the two of you
.
Is that true?
”
Ward shoved his hands in his pockets.
His eyes swerved right to the window.
His hands are either trembling or clutched.
Ten dollars on clutched.
“
I know where those remarks came from and
I can’t believe the police would take what a puffed up, overweight, whiskey bloated
,
so-called southern belle, has to say
. O
r was that poker up the ass dried up fig of a set designer sp
reading her poison?”
“Just a
nswer
the question.
”
“
I already have.
Jeffrey and I got along fine. There were no problems.”
Roger turned off the machine. He found Ward’s remark as
believable as
finding
lobsters
in a fresh water
lake
but
once again, he let it go.
Chapter 4
Something in Susan’s tone of voice caught
Alexis’ attention
.
Standing directly across from her,
back to the windows overlooking the park
,
the
phone to her right ear
, Susan had became quiet, stood as still as a heron resting in water. She had hung up
.
“That was Nora
Jamieson
.”
“Nora? Catherine Stone’s sister? Haven’t seen her since the charity bazaar she co-chaired with her sister. That was two years ago
now.
A charming woman, much more open, warmer than
Catherine.
”
“Yes, she is certainly that.
If I remember rightly, Alexis,
you were a tad
warmer at the Bazaar as well. The result of
too much punch
and flirting with
Charles,
who’s gay, what a hoot.”
“
I recall
, Susan
.
No need to keep speaking of it.
So what
’s up with Nora?
Is she putting on a
nother fund rais
ing event
?”
Susan’s face darkened.
“
I wish.
Terrible news, Alexis. The accident at the theatre last night;
it was as we thought, i
t was murder. Jeffrey Stone has been murdered.
T
o think while we sat and
speculated
about what happened,
he lay dead behind that closed curtain. That’s the case Kate and Roger are working.
She didn’t say anything but it h
as to be.
The one morning I
gave the paper a miss
.
”
“
How horrid
.”
“Nora
asked if we would pay Catherine a visit this
afternoon.
”
“So soon?”
“I
know
;
it
surprised
me as well
, but Nora insisted.
To quote, ‘
Catherine needs her friends around her. The children aren’t expected home until tomorrow.
’
Actually, I think both sisters could benefit from a visit.
”
“Yes, of course. When do you want to go?”
“I said we’d be there around
1
:00pm.”
“
Strange, Susan, t
he two of us
attending the play
;
Kate and Roger a
t the scene of another murder.
What a coincidence.
”
“
I believe it’s
more than a coincidence that we keep bumping into each other whenever there’s a murder.”
Alexis didn’t like the sound of this.
“
I hope you are not seriously thinking
of getting involved. If so,
I’m out of here.
Fancying yourself as a private detective is ridiculous.”
“Detect
ive
? What on earth do you mean, Alexis? I’m
simply an observer.”
“Detect
ive
is the right word, the word that led us both into trouble two years ago.
So dump the Marple/Pollifax image. I mean it, Susan, lose it.”
“For God’s sake Alexis, don’t let one little remark ruffle your feathers. I was thinking about the nature of coincidence, that’s all. I have no intention of offering our services – as if Kate would accept! I do feel terrible for Catherine. I know what it’s like to lose a husband although I can’t imagine the horror of losing one by murder.
”
***
Kate
had no problems locating Catherine Stone’s home. It was two blocks around the corner from where she grew up. She drove the unmarked
Ford
sedan past
her
homestead and was surprised at
jab of disappointment at the
sight of the
empty driveway.
She waved to Ruth Jamieson,
her family’s life-
long
next
door neighbour, who
,
with
trowel in hand
, was
walking towards her perennial bed.
Mom’s probably off to one of her speaking engagements and Dad, of course, is with his cigar smoking cronies at the once a month cholesterol pack
ed
breakfast.
She
was scheduled to meet with them this evening for a family dinner party and made a mental note to call and give her regrets once she parked the car.
As she
drove past
the
sweeping m
anicured lawns, wrought iron gates, Victorian and Early Colonial
mansions
, she remembered growing up and playing in what was a much less populated neighbourhood then – although the area was the last one in the city where people could still buy a home built on a three acre property.
She turned right at the end of the street, drove two blocks
and turned left on
Mullen
Drive. If she had forgotten the street ad
dress, it wouldn’t have mattered, the
small group of
media and journalists
gathered in front of the large mansion
would have been a
clue.
Unlike the majority of her colleagues, Kate didn’t have a problem with
the
media or journalists.
Granted there were the sleaze balls but th
ose
types
are found in every profession. She respected the good ones; the ones who reported responsibly, protected their sources
, valued
their readers’ opinions.
She had
never experienced a problem with any of them but then again,
her
father and his family
have
owned and
operated
the city’s largest newspaper for two generations.
She parked the car
,
walked past the group, smiled and
waved. Some smile
d back, some nodded, said hello,
others ignored her.
She pushed the bell.
N
o one came. She lifted her hand to ring again when the door opened.
A tall, angular woman, dressed in ivory silk pants, a black silk blouse, ivory coloured he
e
ls, with mint green jewellery
and matching scarf
, extended her hand.
“You must be
Detective
Sgt. Fraser. I’m Nora
Jamieson
,
Catherine’s sister. Please come in.”
Kate stepped into the large, marble foyer.
“Catherine is in the library. If you’ll just follow me.”
Spoken like the humble servant rather than the sister
, Kate thought
.
She followed Nora down the cavernous hallway, stopping behind her at the door the right. Nora gave a quiet knock before entering into the library. Kate maintained her discreet distance from Nora,
taking
the time to gaze around the library.
The room was
exquisite w
ith its
built in cherry wood cabinets displaying books, blueprints and maps
,
the
o
verstuffed leather
couches and chairs,
and
the floor to ceiling
French Doors draped in velvets and silk
.
D
irectly across from the entrance to the room stood a red brick fireplace that commanded attention; it was
twice as wide as it was long
and
f
amily photos were s
cattered
across
length of
its mantle
. From the hearth, the tang of low burning apple wood filled Kate’s senses with nostalgic memories of Christmas,
roasted
chestnuts and presents.
Catherine sat in one of a pair of wing chairs placed adjacent to the fireplace.
Kate advanced quickly before the woman rose
,
introduced herself
and
offered her
condolences.
The widow
invited her to sit in the other wing chair
and turned to
speak with her sister. Kate
studied
Catherine’s profile. She
was
subdued rather
passive
looking;
her
features
, like her sister’s,
were sharp, angular, the high cheek bones emphasizing
her
deep set eyes.
As she spoke to Nora, h
er long, slender hands swept through her coiffed blonde hair as if searching for stray strands. She wore a simply cut black dress, black shoes with
wedged heels, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace.