To make the memorial work into the theatre’s schedule and the other meeting I’d already set up, I had to call it for five in the afternoon, not a great time for a movie theatre. Earlier in the day would mean I’d have to staff the whole thing myself (my staff would be in school), and later would mean we’d have to cancel a showing on the night we changed films for the week. Leo Munson would probably stage a coup.
Five o’clock it was.
I spent Friday morning making arrangements: seeing to it that the funeral home had the address and the time right, ordering flowers (you’re not supposed to send flowers to a Jewish funeral, but people don’t know that and find it strange if there are none), seeing to some finger sandwiches and nonalcoholic drinks. I made some phone calls to people who might miss the ad, like my father, and cleaned up the theatre as best I could. I also alerted local (and some New York City) media on the assumption that the chance to further milk the “mysterious death of a comedy legend” they’d run a week ago might be enough to bring a camera crew and a reporter or two if I gave them enough notice, which I was just barely doing.
By three, I was on a ladder outside the theatre, changing the marquee to read HARRY LILLIS MEMORIAL SERVICE 5 P.M. when Vic Testalone pulled up in his vintage Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible. You could land aircraft on Vic’s car, which probably got less than a mile per gallon. He was smoking a cigar as he drove up—just to pollute the atmosphere a little more—and parked a few yards short of the marquee.
It was an hour earlier than I’d expected him. “Vic,” I said, coming down from the ladder (I hate heights, so any interruption was welcome). “You’re early.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said. “Elliot. Are we okay?”
“You and me?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“The last time I saw you, you seemed irritated with me.”
I took down the ladder and Vic followed me as I carried it back inside. “You mean because you ratted me out to Anthony and tried to talk him into quitting school? Don’t be silly. We’re fine. That’s just business.”
He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
We had just made it to the office door. “Go inside,” I said. “I’m going to put the ladder away. Be right back.”
Vic walked into the office and I went to the closet to put the ladder back where it belonged. I noticed Sophie as I was walking out. She hadn’t exactly reverted to her traditional Goth style, but she was wearing all black. I’d called the staff the night before to let them know about the memorial service, and urged them to dress appropriately. I believe I mentioned something to Jonathan about wearing shoes in which his toes were not visible.
“You all set?” I asked Sophie as I locked the closet door.
“For what?” she asked. “This funeral thing?”
“It’s a
memorial service
, if anyone asks, and even if they don’t,” I told her.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Sophie said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I can’t think of a reason,” I answered.
“Are we selling snacks at the funeral?”
“Memorial service. And no! We’re not selling snacks. That would be unbelievably tacky.” I started toward the office, and then turned back toward her. “Do you think we could get away with it?”
She pretended the music from her iPod was too loud to hear me, and set about getting the snack bar ready. For the evening showings.
Anthony, in black jeans and a black shirt, was walking in when I left Sophie. Carla, prim in black slacks and a scoop-neck black top, tried to look properly solemn at his side. He nodded at me, pleasantly (for him), as he walked by. We stopped and looked at each other.
“Anthony,” I said, “I didn’t steal your movie.”
“Okay.”
“I
really didn’t
,” I reiterated.
“I believe you,” he said. “I have my own theory of what happened.”
Now, that was intriguing. “Come into the auditorium and tell me. If you’ll excuse us, Carla.” She nodded, looking apprehensive, and stayed put in the lobby. Anthony looked at me strangely, but followed me into the auditorium. I sat down in the last row (row HH) and prepared myself.
“Okay, shoot.” I told him.
“I think Carla took it,” Anthony said. Over my incredulous expression, he added, “She always feels threatened by my films, and I think when she saw that
Killin’ Time
was really good and might take me away from her, she panicked and stole the movie.”
“Okay. How’d she do it?” Let’s see if he could come up with something plausible, because it didn’t make sense at all to me. I was certain by now that Carla hadn’t stolen his film.
“While I was talking to my friends from school, and my dad, and you, and your ex-wife . . .”
“I get it. While you were otherwise occupied.”
Anthony nodded. “She went up into the projection booth. She knew she couldn’t sneak the reels out, so she stashed them in the floor.”
“Uh-huh. And how did she get the key to the projection booth? How did she even know there was storage space in the floor under the console? How did she get
back
into the projection booth to remove the reels after Chief Dutton and I found them, but before we were ready to give them back?”
Anthony’s lips pouted out as he thought. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t Carla.”
“No, but it’s nice to know you two have such a trusting relationship. Look, Anthony, it’s none of my business, but Carla is a great girl and she’s crazy about you. That doesn’t happen very often. You should stop looking for reasons to push her away.”
He stood up. “Forgive me, Mr. Freed, but I don’t know if I should be taking relationship advice from you. You know, your track record isn’t great.”
I nodded, although that one stung because it was true. “Your parents have been married for twenty-eight years. What do they think?” I asked.
Anthony didn’t answer, and he left the auditorium to get the projector threaded.
I went back to my office, where Vic was sitting with his feet up on my desk. “I’ve been looking through your Rolodex,” he said. “It makes no sense.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d realized that casual visitors would be leafing through it, I’d try to organize it more efficiently.”
He didn’t catch the sarcasm. I saw Sharon walk by the office door, but she avoided looking in. She appeared to be heading for Sophie’s station. “It’s not even alphabetical,” Vic persisted. “How can you tell where anything is?”
“I have my own system, and I don’t need to explain it to you.” Actually, I
couldn’t
explain it, since the system consisted of sticking in a new card wherever the Rolodex happened to be sitting when I got a new phone number to add. It wasn’t efficient, but it did help me to review my list of acquaintances on a regular basis. Sometimes it gets slow in a movie theatre. At least, it does in mine.
Luckily, Barry Dutton walked in at that moment, followed almost immediately by Danton, and then Jonathan. “Good,” I said. “We’re ready.”
“For what?” Vic asked.
“A meeting in the projection booth.” I walked out the door, and he followed me. Not that I had actually invited him, or anything.
I called, “Meeting upstairs,” as soon as I hit the lobby, and I watched the assembled group: Sophie, Jonathan, Sharon, Dutton, Danton, Anthony, Carla, and Vic, start up the stairs. Sophie turned to me with an expression that indicated she’d just thought of something.
“Why do we have to crowd into the projection booth? Why can’t we can have the meeting down here, or just sit in the balcony?”
“Good question,” I said. “In fact, two good questions. There’s a reason, and you’ll see once the meeting gets under way.”
That didn’t satisfy her, but she turned and continued up the stairs, with the group trudging up behind her.
I watched them for a moment, and then retreated to my office. Vic saw me back off, but shook his head at my eccentricity and continued on his way. Nobody’d asked him upstairs anyway.
Inside the office, I quickly threw on a trench coat I’d had in the office since last winter and a fedora I’d borrowed from Dad for a Halloween party eight years ago. Had to get that back to him any day now. I buttoned up the coat, looked at my reflection in the computer screen to adjust the hat, and left the office to climb upstairs.
Anthony had let everyone into the projection booth by the time I got there. I flung the door open and strode into the room as if I owned the place, which I did.
“So,” I said. “I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you all here.”
There was a long pause. Sharon broke the silence with a dry tone that said, “I’ll bet you’ve been waiting your whole life to say that.”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” I answered. The rest of them stared at my outfit and said nothing. This wasn’t as much fun as I’d anticipated, but I went on with it anyway. “I think we all know that a crime was committed in this room some weeks back, and you’re here today because I can definitively identify the person who perpetrated it.”
“What?” Jonathan asked. I noticed he was still wearing the sandals, but with long pants and black socks. At least you couldn’t see his toes. Not clearly.
“He’s going to tell us who stole Anthony’s movie,” Barry Dutton said.
“Good,” Vic said. “Maybe I can still make a deal with Monitor Films. Tell us, Elliot: Who took the film, and where is it now?”
“It’s someone
in this room
,” I intoned, expecting the requisite incriminating glances and beads of sweat on a forehead.
Instead, Sophie said, “Well,
duh
. You wouldn’t make this whole show if it was some guy in Utah.” Some people just aren’t tolerant of high drama.
“You were never really a serious suspect,” I told her, doing my best to pace in a room that held five more people than it should. “You were downstairs the first time the film was discovered missing, and couldn’t have moved it. Besides, you don’t know where the key to the projection booth is kept.”
She sputtered her lips into a raspberry and said, “Yeah, right. Like I don’t know it’s on a hook in your office.” Sophie needed a short course in how not to be a suspect.
Still, I knew Sophie hadn’t taken the film, so I moved on to Jonathan, who was standing to her side. “And you, young man,” I said.
Jonathan, who had been watching Sophie, looked surprised to be included in the conversation. “Me?” he asked.
“Yes, you. You weren’t here when the film was first taken, but you
were
here when it disappeared from the storage space. Yet how would you have discovered the film in the first place? Had you stolen the key before?”
“What key?” Jonathan asked.
“So,” I said, playing the part to the hilt, “you could have found the film, and then decided to hold it hostage and demand a ransom from Anthony.”
“Huh?” said Anthony.
“But no,” I continued, trying to ignore them both, “it doesn’t add up. There was very little motive, and it still doesn’t explain how the film originally vanished. So I eliminated Jonathan as a suspect.” I began to wonder why I wasn’t using a British accent. That might have sounded more authoritative.
Next in the extremely close line was Carla, who seemed startled that she was being included at all. “Now, you had a motive. If Anthony’s film were a huge success, you might lose him to Hollywood. You might not want the movie to come out at all.”
Carla’s forehead scrunched up like a cross section of a phyllo dough pastry. “I love Anthony,” she said. “I want him to be happy. He’s not happy with his movie missing. Why would I want that?”
“Suppose you were selfish, and wanted him to stay at school for another two years so he’d depend more on you. Suppose you wanted him to stay close to home.” My heart wasn’t in it, but I figured I’d play it to the end. How often do you get the spotlight, after all?
“If Anthony loves me, we’ll be together,” Carla said with great certainty. “If he doesn’t, it won’t matter where or when. We’ve
talked
about this, Mr. Freed.”
I walked to Anthony (which took roughly two steps), pointed directly into his face, and said, “Marry that girl. You’re not going to do better.” Carla smiled.
I moved past Anthony, to Danton. “Now, you were very convincing when I interrogated you about the missing film. You said you weren’t a film major, and therefore harbored no grudge against Anthony about his sudden success.”
Danton, who had been trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Sharon, turned to me. “Yeah,” he said. “So?”
“But you did have a motive: you wanted to sleep with Anthony’s girlfriend, Carla, and she wouldn’t succumb to your usual lines. So you decided to make Anthony less attractive to her, by removing his film and his success. Isn’t that so?”
“Um, no,” Danton said. “Carla’s not my type.” He turned to Anthony. “No offense, dude,” he said.
“No problem,” Anthony answered. He turned to me. “I don’t think you got that part right, Mr. Freed.”
“I was making it up,” I admitted. “I don’t really believe Danton took the film cans.” I sidled past Danton, who shifted his gaze to try for eye contact with Sophie, equally without success. I stood just a few inches from Anthony.
“Now, you,” I started. “You were the most elusive of all. Seemingly the victim in this crime, you could actually have been the perpetrator, if there had been an insurance policy taken out on the film. With a studio interested in its distribution, it would have been worth a good deal of money.”
“There wasn’t any insurance on the film,” Anthony said. “I’m still on my parents’ policy.”
“Yeah,” I said, a little deflated. “I found that out. I called your dad. Tell him sorry for me.”
“No problem,” Anthony said.
Reluctantly, I faced Sharon. “You were the one I didn’t want to believe had committed the crime,” I told her. “You had the opportunity, as you were out of sight when the film was first discovered missing. You know where I keep the key to the projection booth, and you had a motive, as you were trying that very night to convince Anthony he shouldn’t give up his education to pursue a directing career, even if he could find a distributor for his film.”