Murder Came Second (25 page)

My mother snapped her fingers and murmured, “Attaboy! Put that ignorant snob in his place.”

Jeanine got Hamlet off the hook by arriving with a cup of tea.

“Ah, here’s my favorite brew.” He took a deep swallow.

“Yessir.” Jeanine smiled. “Luckily I found an old Red Rose teabag in the bottom of my purse.”

Hamlet looked greener, if possible, and ran for the powder room.

“Send in Nick Peters,” Sonny called after him, with a wink for Jeanine.

While they waited, Jeanine moved closer to Sonny and said softly, “Elaine has a fairly nasty bruise on her right forearm, says she accidentally got caught it in the van door. It looks about right for that. No scratches or cuts I could see.” Sonny nodded.

Nick’s interview was like the man himself—short with no wasted motions. He confirmed the six to nine routine. He then took one of the vans from the amphitheater to the Bradford Drive-In, ordered some take-out food and went home. He ate while watching
House
, followed by the news, took a sleeping pill and knew nothing until awakened by the loud noises coming from downstairs about six a.m. No, he had not seen or spoken to anyone, although he heard Teri come into her room shortly after he got home.

Sonny asked if anyone could place him at the drive-in.

Nick thought for a moment. “I didn’t notice anyone I knew. But the bag the food came in is upstairs in my wastebasket. I imagine the receipt is in there, too. They’re usually date and time stamped.” He gave a sour grin. “Your people probably got it already.”

Sonny nodded. “That’s fine. Oh, do you or anyone else in the troupe wear work boots?”

“The stagehands. It’s an insurance thing, in case they drop a sofa on their toe or something. I don’t have to.” His voice sounded bitter. “I’m considered an executive, if you please. I don’t move furniture. Anyway, sneakers do it for me. They’re quieter backstage and more comfortable. Why?”

“Somebody tracked some mud into the dining room. We just wondered who might have come in wearing boots.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“No problem.” Sonny stretched. “Ask Paul Carlucci to come in, will you? I feel like I’ve been in this chair since Easter.”

“As long as you don’t lay an egg.” Nick’s laugh sounded rather like a rusty cackle itself. I judged it wasn’t used much.

Paul came in with an almost shy smile. “Hello, Sonny, I’ve been trying to decide whether you’ve saved the best for last, or the worst. I feel just awful about this. That poor woman! I still can’t believe it.”

“Would you be surprised to learn that you’re the only person out of this entire group that has uttered one word of regret that Terese is dead?”

“Oh, I imagine they’re just in shock.” Paul sipped his coffee, now in a fresh mug. “They don’t—didn’t know her as I did. She barked worse than she bit.”

“I read her article, Paul. It bit. I didn’t understand all the nuances about the actors, but I understood she called me gay. I could care less, but in some place other than Ptown, an accusation like that could have a police lieutenant back to patrolling the municipal parking lot. And she made hamburger out of Harmon, one of the nicest guys God ever sent along. And I understood well enough when she hinted that Polonius likes his girls young and virginal. And she didn’t care if she hurt Noel’s kids. So what was so great about her, Paul?” Sonny’s voice was hard.

Paul sighed. “Look, Sonny, somehow Terese liked me. She had it in her head I was some kind of delicate artistic giant that needed protection . . . that I was vulnerable. Maybe I was the child she never had. I don’t know. And this doesn’t say much for me, but I knew as long as I acted the part she had created for me, I’d keep getting pages of good coverage. Maybe a few cheap shots at some of my people, but not at me. And you can bet, Sonny, even if everybody in this play showed up on Saturday drunk, missing cues, forgetting lines and falling into the orchestra pit, we’d get rave reviews, even the people she sniped at last week. She thinks being with me gives her a touch of class. She told that to her editor, and he told me. You think I was going to risk losing that? I played right along with her . . . in every way.”

“That side of her is hard to see,” Sonny said.

“I can understand that. But go back and look at her past reviews. It’s the way they play her game at the
A-List.
They love to get everybody upset and wondering what she’s going to say next, but believe me, they always back off in the end. Their editor admits it openly. They love to have people
threatening
to sue, but not actually filing suit. Hell, in the end Terese even praised
The Tanqueray Tragedy
, calling it a sensitive insight into the problems of today’s alternative lifestyles. Frankly, Sonny, it stank. But she made it into a gay cult piece that still gets performed hither and yon. And I’ve been approached regarding a TV movie. Nothing definite, but who knows?”

“Un-huh.” Sonny sounded disbelieving, but to me it all sounded crazy enough to be true.

Sonny fiddled with the tape recorder volume. “Now you went out to dinner with Terese, Elaine Edgewood and David Willem, right? Were there any arguments over dinner?”

“Yes, we four went to dinner. No, there were no arguments that I can recall. David and I got to telling old war stories about plays we’d been in. Frankly, I don’t remember much after that. We were all a little high except for Elaine. She was exceptionally quiet, I think.”

“Who drove home?”

Carlucci looked confused. “Why, we were in my car. I would assume I did. You mean all this third degree is because I dinged some guy’s fender in the parking lot and forgot to leave my name or something?”

“It’s about what you remember.”

“All right, so I drove home and pulled in the driveway as usual, and we all went inside and went to our respective beds. That do it for you?”

“No. In point of fact, Elaine drove home, and parked on the street so as not to block either of the vans, I presume. She and Willem went upstairs. You and Ms. Segal retired to your room off the kitchen.”

“Oh, well, I said I was a little drunk.” He blinked his eyes hard. “Are you saying Terese heard that glass door break and went to see what happened and the burglar stabbed her?”

“No, she left your room—at least the first time—before we think the door was broken.”

“The first time?”

“Yeah, apparently Ms. Segal was quite amorous, but you were quite drunk and couldn’t—shall we be frank?—you couldn’t get it up. Remember that? Or did you manage to forget that part of the evening, too?”

Carlucci actually blushed. “No, I don’t remember that at all. But, hell, it happens to us all sometimes. Surely you have had times when things just didn’t work well, haven’t you?”

Obviously Sonny was not about to swap tales of any malfunctions he might ever have suffered. “Ms. Segal got angry at your inability. The two of you had loud, unfriendly words. She left in a huff and went upstairs, where she had drinks with David Willem.”

“Willem?” Carlucci sounded incredulous. “Are you sure? They didn’t much like each other.”

“Maybe he was the least of the evils left awake.” Sonny accepted a thin, expensive looking cigar from Carlucci’s gold case. Well, I wasn’t going to take up cigars so Sonny could swipe
them.
“Or maybe she was just getting even with you.”

He looked at Paul quizzically, but got no answer and continued. “Everybody else in the house seems to have been drunk and passed out or sober and took a pill and passed out. I’ve never seen people so concerned about sleep.”

“Now, my question is this.” He nudged the tape recorder nearer to Paul. “We know Terese later went back downstairs for a drink or something to eat. Did you hear her or did she come to your door? Did she come into your room? Did she start taunting you again? Had you had enough of it, enough of her ridicule, enough of Lady Dominatrix? Enough of playing sad little boy to promote your shaky career? Had
she
had enough of your saccharine yes-man behavior and threatened to reveal your sexual non-prowess in her column? Did you stab her several times and then smash the French doors and make it look as if some unknown burglar had broken in?” He ground out the cigar and stood up. “Paul Carlucci, did you murder Terese Segal?”

Carlucci jumped up and huffily threw his cigar at Sonny, who managed to deflect it into the ashtray.

“Well?” Sonny asked.

“Well, shit, Sonny. To be honest with you, I don’t remember a damn thing after I ordered dinner last night until I woke up this morning. But I would never kill anybody. I’m not that kind of person. I wouldn’t lower myself. And I certainly wouldn’t have thought to throw dirt all over the floor. You’re just being mean, Sonny, downright mean!”

He ran his hand through his already unruly hair. “You know I’m worried sick about this play. I don’t have time to go around killing people. And I’m not the one who hates her. The whole cast does.”

He blew his nose. “So do half the people in town. Don’t pick on

me, Sonny. I’m not well.” He buried his face in the handkerchief and sobbed. Sonny sighed and clicked off the recorder. “I’ll take that as a definite maybe not.”

Chapter 20

Sonny came out and slumped at the kitchen table. “Is it too early for a drink?”

“Not if you need one.” I smiled. “But I can’t very well go into the living room to get it with that flock of vultures roosting there. Settle for a beer?”

“I better not. Too many people would love to say they smelled it.”

“Yeah, probably. Sonny, can you get these people out of here soon? I’ve about had it with them and their pills and lies and messes and demands and complaints.” My voice sounded shrill to me, and I saw Mom look up sharply from the morning paper.

She turned to Sonny. “Why don’t you see if Ellen Hall has come up with any place for them to stay? Otherwise, send them out to their precious theater. This really is not Alex’s problem.” He looked at me and nodded.

The wall phone was beside me. “I’ll call,” I said, checking a small address book on top of the phone.

Ellen picked up on the first ring. As I announced myself, she interrupted. “I was just looking up your number. We lucked out. The Chambered Nautilus had a cancellation. Somebody got sick. Your two women will have to share a room and bath, but it has two double beds. I found four rooms on the ground floor of the Marshes, so your men can go there.”

I thought of the group sprawled in my living room. “Oh, God, Elaine and Teri will scream at having to share. And the men, especially Hamlet and Carlucci, will take one look at those third-rate rooms at the Marshes, opening onto a parking lot, and toss a fit.”

“Alex, this weekend is Labor Day. I booked those rooms and considered all of us fortunate I found them. If they don’t like them, their only other choice is going to be a sleeping bag in their vans. Who told them to go and stage a murder, anyway?”

Mother took the phone out of my hand. “Ellen, it’s Jeanne Peres. They’ll take the rooms, wherever they are, and owe you a bottle of Moet for them! They don’t know how lucky they are.” She paused and listened. “Thank you, my dear. Ladies at The Chambered Nautilus and men at the Marshes. We’ll get them there shortly.” She hung up.

“Sonny, these people are now leaving. I will deliver Elaine, Teri and Noel in my car. The other three, for all I care, can be sent in the paddy wagon. It might be good training.”

Sonny and I looked at each other and chorused, “Yes, Mommy Dearest.”

The house felt strangely empty and silent. Yet somehow vague aromas of cologne and cigars and coffee and the occasional whiff of sweaty fear made it seem still eerily populated. I went around opening windows while Fargo plodded, whuffling, beside me.

I picked up mugs and cups and plates and dumped ashtrays and loaded the dishwasher. I moved tables and chairs back where they belonged. I even vacuumed and used some of that spray stuff that makes smells go away without leaving its own sickening perfume behind.