Murder Came Second (24 page)

“That would be most kind.” She nodded. She sat rigidly erect, face composed, her ramrod-straight spine four inches from the back of the chair, just like royalty. Only her eyes were a giveaway, alert and ever moving like an animal sensing danger from an unknown source.

At Sonny’s question, she recounted the rehearsal and the rain. “I guess it was about nine,” she continued, “Paul gave it up. He mentioned that he and Terese were going to the Landfall for something to eat. David asked if he and I could come along. I wasn’t thrilled to be a member of that foursome.” She shrugged. “But I was hungry, so I went along.”

“Was there any unpleasantness at dinner?” Sonny asked.

“No. Paul and Hamlet got off onto can-you-top-this tales of funny stage disasters that had happened to them. Terese was cuddling up to Paul. The three of them were drinking quite a bit. I was tired, I just ate.” She reached out for a cigarette, and Sonny politely lit it for her, followed by one for himself. I tried to think where I might buy a carton and have them charge it to Sonny.

“When we were finally ready to go, I insisted on driving home,” Elaine said. “The others were quite incapable. Paul and Terese were in the backseat doing God knows what. Hamlet was in front with me, dozing, I think. Anyway, when we pulled up, Paul and Terese headed for his room, joined at the hip and drooling.” She gave a disgusted little spitting sound.

“Hamlet and I went upstairs to our rooms,” she continued. “I took a sleeping pill, and that was all I knew till Ophelia awoke me sometime around six.” She took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, finished with her tale.

“Thank you, Elaine. That would seem to be all for now.” Sonny extinguished his—my—cigarette. “Oh, by the way, does anyone at the house wear work boots?”

“No-o-o.” She pursed her lips. “None of us at the house. The stagehands do. Some safety regulation their union requires, I think. And of course, that nice groundskeeper.”

Sonny looked at her as if she had told him the Pope was down at the bookstore signing copies of the Koran. “Nice groundskeeper. You mean Harmon wears construction boots?”

“That’s right. Harmon. I recall being in the kitchen a couple of times right after the maids mopped the floor. Harmon came up from the cellar and one of them cautioned him not to track the clean floor with his dirty boots. Will that be all?”

Sonny stood. “Er, yes. Yes, thanks.” He looked rattled.

He came into the kitchen to refill his coffee mug, and I quietly eased the new pack of cigarettes I had opened into my pants pocket. He poured his coffee and leaned against the counter. “Did you hear that about Harmon? Where’s Mom?”

I answered the second question first. “Mom’s gone to get Elaine something to wear and will be right back. Yeah, so what about Harmon? He switches from sneakers to work boots whenever he mows or uses the edger. It makes sense. I guess the boots have steel toes.”

“Yes, that makes sense! Much safer.” He sounded relieved. “I wonder why he was in the cellar? Getting some yard tools, I guess.”

“No.” I shook my head. “They’re all kept in the garage, over Nick’s vociferous objections. Early on he and Harmon almost had a knockdown over that, though I notice they’ve gotten friendlier lately. I saw them out back having a soda the other day. Seemed quite chummy. I’ve no idea what’s in the cellar . . . oh, yes, I do know one thing. Carla Brownlee told me they locked some silver in a closet down there.”

“That’s nice,” he murmured absently. “Well, back to the grind.”

158

Entering the dining room, Sonny found Noel already seated at the table.

“Hi, I figured I was next, so I came on in.”

“That’s fine.” Sonny was already sounding tired, and he had a long way to go. “Anything of interest you’d care to share?” He clicked on the recorder.

“Probably nothing that means anything,” Noel answered, “But I’ll have a shot at it. I guess Ophelia told you we came back to the house together. She took some fruit and went upstairs. I sliced some meat and cheese for a sandwich and grabbed a couple of cans of beer. That will usually put me to sleep, along with TV. At least I hoped it would.”

“Why did you hope that?” Sonny’s voice was super casual.

“Oh, I was overtired, for one thing, and paradoxically, the more tired I am, the more I can’t get to sleep. It had not been a good evening. Our little orchestra had gotten about one cue out of four correct. And that was in the first act. The lights weren’t rigged right for a couple of scenes. Everybody was cross, and then the rains came. I was hoping for a good night’s sleep and a bright new day.” He smiled wryly. “So much for that.”

“Yes.” Sonny did not return the smile. “By the way, what did you do with the knife after you made your sandwich?”

“Tossed it in the sink.” Noel paled. “Oh, God, was it . . . was it the one?”

“Apparently.”

“Shit.” Noel lifted his coffee mug with a trembling hand.

“It makes no difference,” Sonny said. “It would have happened anyway. I was just curious where the killer found his weapon. Anyhow, you made your salami sandwich . . . ?”

“Yeah, and it’ll be awhile before I make another! Well, I was getting out the beer when Paul’s car pulled up out front. I heard Elaine and David say goodnight to the others and go upstairs. Paul and Terese came through the kitchen, clinging lovingly to each other and bumping into things along the way. They were really blotto. I don’t think they even saw me. At any rate, they didn’t speak. I scooted out, went to my room and settled down to an old John Wayne oater.”

“And dozed right off?” Sonny prompted.

“Well, no.” Noel shifted uneasily in his seat. “Look, Sonny, this is embarrassing. You see, my window is right above Paul’s, and they weren’t exactly quiet. But I think you should ask them about that, if you think it’s pertinent.”

“I’m asking you. Nothing’s private when someone is killed.” Sonny loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He was not having fun.

Noel let out a noisy sigh. “Okay. They were playing a bit of slap and tickle, as the Brits would say, and having another drink from the sound of it. Then they settled down to business.” He sighed again.

“Look, Sonny, I tried to concentrate on the movie, but I judged—I can’t remember every word of this—I judged from what they both said, Paul was having some major trouble . . . ah, performing. Lord, Paul would kill me if he knew I was telling you this.”

“Let’s hope not,” Sonny laughed. “One’s enough. Go ahead.”

“Easy for you to say. Well, at first Terese seemed to be understanding and was apparently trying very hard to be of assistance. God, I feel like some sort of Peeping Tom, Sonny! But I guess whatever she was doing wasn’t helping, and she got snotty.”

Noel paused and seemed to collect himself. “Paul yelled back that he’d been working for sixteen hours and what did she expect. She said she’d expect better than this from a drunken eighty-yearold. He said maybe her toy boys could get it up on demand, but that he needed a little feminine charm. And on and on. Finally she slammed out into the kitchen. I heard cabinets bang and glasses rattle. I think she got a bottle of booze and maybe a glass and stomped up the stairs.”

“Did she make it to bed?” Sonny asked.

“Depends on how you look at it.” Even Noel was laughing now. “David still had his door open. He’s a fresh air freak. Freezes us all half the time. Terese called out, ‘Want a drink, sailor? I’m pissed and I’m horny.’ He said something like, ‘Sure, why not?’ She went in and the door closed.”

Sonny’s eyebrows were rivaling Cindy’s in disappearing into his hairline. “My God, what a busy little bee! Well, at least
you
got some sleep.”

Noel shook his head. “No rest for the wicked. I was just dozing off when Hamlet’s door opened. He was yelling, ‘So, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. So I was a little rushed! We could give it another go.’ Then Terese was in the hall, shrieking, ‘Why? God knows you’re a worse Romeo than you are a Hamlet! You’re hung like a Chihuahua and about as romantic as a shar-pei!’ Then she stormed into her room, and John Wayne finally kissed the girl.”

“Ouch.”

Noel nodded. “You bet. I doubt that Hamlet was in any shape for another go after that sweet goodnight. And God knows Terese was striking out all around. Surely she gave up after the second fiasco. I finally went to sleep. But seriously, as I was just going under, I thought I heard somebody go downstairs, and then later I thought I heard somebody come back up. But I could have been dreaming. I don’t know. That’s it. I guess that’s enough.”

“Quite a night. Don’t worry, I won’t use any of this unless it has some bearing on things, and right now I don’t know if it does or not. Tell Hamlet I’ll be with him in a minute. I need a coffee fix.” Sonny stood and came back to the kitchen.

“Actors,” I said.

“Reporters,” he countered.

We both laughed.

Mom came in then from the driveway with an armload of clothes. “Okay if I give these to Elaine?” she asked.

“Sure. No, wait.” Sonny walked to the door and called to the patrolman stringing yellow tape all around the Brownlees’ yard. “Ask Jeanine to come here, will you?”

She appeared at the back door momentarily. “Yeah, Sonny, what’s up?”

“Come on in.” Sonny motioned. “Take Elaine into the bedroom and give her these clothes from Mom. You keep Elaine’s nightgown. It’s got blood on the hem, so it goes to the lab. See if you spot any blood or stains on any other part of it. Stay with her while she changes. See if you notice any scratches or bruises. If you do, come and get me right away.”

“Okay, boss.” She took the clothes and turned away.

“Wait.” Sonny held up a hand. “After you get through playing lady’s maid, put on your waitress cap and offer fresh coffee, especially to Paul Carlucci and David Willem. Bring their used mugs out here and bag them. I want a DNA on both of them. If I’m interviewing Willem, come on in, it’s all right.”

“Yes, massa, I go now.”

“Me too, smartie.” He topped off his mug and headed back to the dining room.

“Now, Hamlet, let’s get this finished so you can concentrate on your press conference. Am I correct that you were at the amphitheater from about six to nine p.m. last evening?”

“Yes, I was in nearly every scene.”

“And that you went to a late dinner at the Landfall with Elaine, Paul and Terese?

“You returned to Brownlees’ shortly before eleven? Said good night and retired?”

“Uh, yes, that’s all correct.” Hamlet sat back silently, as if the interview were over. Sonny waited him out.

Jeanine came in, offering fresh coffee. Hamlet replied that he preferred English breakfast tea, if such were to be had. Jeanine volunteered to look around and find something. She picked up his mug and took it with her. The silence lengthened.

Finally, Hamlet cleared his throat. “Ah-h-h, I suppose I should mention, not that it has any bearing on anything at all, but Ms. Segal stuck her head in my door—oh, nearly midnight, I would guess—and offered me a nightcap. It had been a hectic day, and I felt it might help me sleep, so I agreed. We had a drink, chatted a few minutes and bade each other goodnight.”

“And Ms. Segal returned to her room at that time . . . after your . . . ah, nightcap? Say, shortly after midnight?” Sonny asked.

“Oh, yes, I heard her door sl . . . close.”

“And that was that?”

“Oh, yes.” Hamlet’s voice was deeply sincere. “Long day, little nip and I went right to Morpheus’s arms. Morpheus, as you may have heard,” Hamlet added for the poor uneducated cop, “is the famous Greek god of sleep.”

“Really?” Sonny replied. “And here all along I thought it was Ovid’s name for the Roman god of dreams. Thank you so much for sharing, Hamlet.”