Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (14 page)

Betty shook her head. "You don’t want to do that—you might alert the person doing this, and then we’d never catch them. Just keep it quiet, and let me know if you hear anything."

Henry saluted her.

"I’ll do that Miss Crawford. I’ll do that gladly."

CHAPTER 21

The theater door slammed behind her as Betty jostled the boxes of props and scripts, leaving her in near total darkness. The only light came from the small windows above the door, filtering through moving specks of dust in the air. Betty suddenly became fully aware that a murder had taken place mere yards from where she was standing. The shadows took on an ominous bent. Betty’s footsteps echoed as she went to find the light switch to the hall. The switch clacked on, and the front hall of the theater flooded with light from the chandeliers overhead. Another clack, and all the lights in the nooks and crannies came on, chasing the last of the shadows away. Betty let out a gusty breath.

"Hello?" she called.

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. It was early afternoon, and rehearsal didn’t even start until 6 PM. It was very unlikely that anyone else would come to the theater this early. Any edginess that she felt was probably due to the fact that she had been in the dark in a theater with at least one ghost (who knew if Jarvis had decided to stick around and keep old Myrtle Lofton company?), and no one was around to witness any acts of fear or bravado.

She started to sing the first thing that came to mind to fill the silence, letting her steps match the sing song rhythm of her words.

"Three blind mice, three blind mice!" There was no reason to feel nervous. "See how they run! See how they run! They all ran after the farmer's wife, who cut off their tails with the carving knife! Did you ever see such a thing in your life, as three blind mice?"

There was nothing like a little macabre Mother Goose at a murder scene to calm her down.

Her skittishness chased away by her ridiculous song, Betty pushed open the door to the storage room and plopped her parcels down by the door. To the inexperienced theater observer, this room looked like chaos. There seemed to be no discernable organization to the costumes hanging on racks, boxes were piled high and a book shelf in the back of the room was stacked to toppling with old scripts and books This room represented the single greatest fire hazard in the whole theater.

And yet, any regular member of the theater would walk in and immediately find any item they were looking for. The costumes were organized   by intended time period and then size within each time period. The boxes were all clearly labeled "hats," "scarves," "fake blood," "swords," and any of the other odd groupings of items that one needed to stage a decent production. Items being used for the current play were all stacked in the front left corner, with the rest of the items stacked alphabetically. Even the bookcase was organized, if perilously close to collapsing.

It hadn’t always been like this. When Betty had first starting working at the theater, the storage room had looked like a combination of flea market tables thrown into a pile on the floor. Mice had gotten into half the costumes, and the other half were wrinkled and torn from frantic searching through the pile. Betty had taken one look at the mess and marshaled her best organization skills. She always felt a small sense of accomplishment when she came here.

No messy room would defy her.

It took very little time for Betty to find where each costume and prop needed to be placed to properly fit within the system. In fact, the most difficult part was finding room on the bookshelf. She had to rearrange the items on a few shelves to find the necessary square foot or so for her new pile.

While she was shuffling through books and stacks of papers, Betty noticed a book marked Inventory. It struck her as odd that it was in the storage room, since she knew Clarise kept all the theater books in her office. Although, Betty mused, it might be easier to keep your inventory list where the inventory was stored. Clarise could easily have left the book here while she was checking to make sure that the inventory list matched what was actually in the theater’s possession. It wasn’t uncommon for a costume or prop to get lost by mistake, or for Clarise to forget she had already ordered an item a few months or years prior.

Still. It was little odd.

Curious, Betty opened the book. She was immediately fascinated. It contained a list of everything the theater had ever owned or sold. Betty looked at the book in her hands with a newfound respect. If it was as old as the entries indicated, this book was over eighty years old! The pages were yellowed at the edges, the binding brittle.

The handwriting at the beginning of the ledger looked like something out of a calligraphy class. It was hard to believe that penmanship had once been an art perfected by almost every adult. The loops and swirls of graceful cursive writing gave way to the sharp strokes of print writing around the 1980s. And, in later entries, there was Clarise’s writing, lying somewhere between art and utility. It wasn’t the flowery cursive of the first entries, but Clarise’s "y"s and "j"s had a distinctive and artistic flourish.

The story the writing told fascinated Betty. In addition to the typical modern theater equipment, it looked like some of the older equipment had never been sold. Antique projectors, sound equipment, and even old lighting fixtures that Betty knew for sure weren’t being used. Some of this equipment would be worth hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, depending on the condition it was in. In the current economy, the arts were taking a serious hit in the funding department. Selling some of these items might help the theater keep its programs running.

A hand on her arm jerked Betty out of her inventory induced fascination. She started back, a small cry escaping her lips as she threw her hands up to bat away at whoever was touching her. In the second it took for Betty to get her bearings, she berated herself for becoming so engrossed in the book. The murderer was still out there. She had to be careful!

"Oh!" Melody Biels said, stepping back. "I’m so sorry. I thought you’d heard me." Melody looked far from her normal, immaculate self. In fact, Betty thought, she looked downright haggard. Her clothes were wrinkled, she had huge bags under her eyes, and her normally clear eyes were streaked with red and watery. Betty started to reach out to comfort her, but Melody stepped away, shaking her head.

"I’m fine." Her voice was curt.

Betty dropped her arm and stood, brushing dirt and dust from her pants. She carefully replaced the inventory book on the shelf, making sure she put it back just as she’d found it.

"Okay," she said slowly. Did Melody honestly think she’d believe that? The woman looked about as far from fine as it was possible to get.

Melody’s eyes darted around. "I… well, that is I…" She wrung her hands. Betty watched her steadily, letting Melody work out the words in her own time. "Oh Betty, it’s so terrible!" Melody looked behind herself, as if checking to make sure no one was creeping up on her.

Somehow, Betty didn’t think she’d get any coherent thought out of Melody while they were in the storage room. Betty tried to quell her own nervousness, reminded of Melody’s absolute certainty that Walter didn’t kill Jarvis. She might have information about the murder. Betty needed to get her to a place she felt comfortable enough to talk.

"Alright," Betty said, taking Melody’s elbow to steer her out of the room. Melody moved as if she were on automatic. "Why don’t we go sit somewhere a bit more comfortable, and you can start from the beginning?" She guided Melody to one of the comfortable nooks in the lobby. From there, you could easily see the entire front hall and know if anyone else was within earshot. "Let’s sit."

They stayed silent for a while, and Melody visibly tried to regain some sort of composure before starting to talk.

"Take your time," Betty said. "People won’t be arriving for practice for a few hours yet."

Which seemed to be the cue for people to start arriving. The door slammed open. Melody jumped and shook and Lawrence stormed towards their table.

"Melody," he snapped, "I’ve been waiting in the car for almost half an hour! I thought you were going to be quick."

Betty looked over at Melody. The other woman had stopped shaking. In fact, she’d completely clammed up, pasting a bright expression on her face that belied her guarded eyes that warned Betty to stay silent.

She’d get nothing out of her today.

As Lawrence held the door open for Andy to enter as he and Melody left.

"Miss Crawford?" asked Andy as he came towards her. He held out a clipboard. "I have packages for you."

CHAPTER 22

Betty directed Andy where to place the packages. By the time she’d finished unpacking and organizing everything, it was time for rehearsal to begin. She was covering rehearsal one more time so that Clarise could get some rest.

The cast arrived for rehearsal in small groups. No one wanted to pair off and be alone with just one other person just in case they wound up alone with murderer. It’s not that they mistrusted each other. Of course not. But what was the use in taking unnecessary risks? One murder was more than enough. So the actors and crew clumped together and carefully avoided looking at Clarise’s office as they passed by. Talk of Jarvis or his death was avoided by unspoken agreement, much like the name of a certain Scottish play on opening night.

Thankfully, at least a little luck seemed to have returned to the group. When Walter didn’t show up for rehearsal, Henry Whitt was ready and able to fill in. He read from the script, learned the blocking, and generally wowed everyone in the production. Betty watched him practically glow with pride and congratulated herself on a new actor found. If this was the type of performance he gave within a day of learning he was an understudy, she could hardly wait to see what he came up with for a character where he was the primary actor with weeks of practice under his belt.

Betty kept trying to catch Melody’s eye, but the actress gracefully sidestepped all of Betty’s attempts. Her husband sat in the audience, watching her every move. After the third attempt, Betty gave up. If Melody wanted to talk with her, she’d find a way.

Betty had just asked the troupe to run through a scene again when the doors to the auditorium slammed open and Walter strode in.

Rehearsal came to an abrupt halt as the actors fell silent. Walter glared at Betty. Mentally, Betty cursed. She’d almost had a Walter free afternoon. The prat must have been released on bail. In the audience, Lawrence Biels turned around in his seat to watch Walter.

"What do you mean, holding rehearsal without me?" Walter squared his shoulders and jabbed a finger at his chest. "I’m the only one who knows the part now. You can’t put the show on without me!"

Betty pointed at Henry. "Actually, we have a new understudy." Walter turned his glare on Henry, who cringed. Betty continued as though she hadn’t noticed. Acknowledging a bully only made them repeat their actions. "I found him this morning. He’s been doing a wonderful job." She raised one eyebrow meaningfully. "And, unlike you, he hasn’t disgraced the theater, been arrested in the middle of the last week of rehearsals, or tried to frame my best friend for murder." It was almost comical to watch Walter’s face redden. "So, I’d say the show can go on perfectly well if you’re unable to play your part."

"Excuse me?" Walter bellowed. He was taking a deep breath to continue his tirade, but Betty didn’t plan on hearing any of it.

"In case you couldn’t read between the lines Walter," she explained in tones that implied that she had no doubt he was completely incapable of any complicated thought, "you have no more chances. If you disrupt this practice any further, continue to show a lack of respect for this theater, or negatively affect the preparations for this show in any way, shape or form from here until closing night, you will be fired and our new understudy will take your place. So, shut up, close the door, and get your script or get out."

Walter gaped. His mouth opened and closed, his face reddening. He raised a finger and took a breath as if to begin anew, and Betty raised an eyebrow. "Try me," she said. "I beg you."