Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (15 page)

Walter shut the door and walked to the stage. "Where are we?" he demanded. "And you!" he said to Henry. "Get off the stage. If I need an understudy, I’ll let you know!"

Henry nodded and ran down the stage steps to sit in the audience. As the scene resumed, Betty walked over to sit beside him.

"You were wonderful," she murmured, patting him on the arm. "I can pretty much guarantee that if you try out for the next play you’ll get a part of your own."

Henry looked at her, disbelieving. "But, I’ve never been in any play before!" he whispered.

Betty smiled. "You’re a natural."

Some of the tension eased from Henry’s expression and he sagged down in his seat. His ears were red.

Watching the play, Betty had to admit that they were in pretty good shape for a week before the production was to be staged. Every one had most or all of their lines memorized, and blocking had already been completely figured out. These last few rehearsals were really just running through the motions, getting a feel for what the production felt like as a whole, and integrating the last few props and scenery pieces into the stage. That, and the stage hands and lighting crew had to get used to working without Jarvis. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Betty grimaced and knocked on wood. There was no use inviting ill luck by getting cocky. A lot could happen in a week.

As the lights went out after the last scene, Lawrence Biel’s applause echoed through the theater.

CHAPTER 23

Melody was busy talking to one of the other actors, leaving Lawrence all by his lonesome in the audience. Judging by Melody’s animated gestures and her listener’s attentive posture, the conversation wasn’t going to end any time soon. Lawrence kept checking his watch and trying to catch Melody’s eye, but apparently years of marriage had honed Melody’s ability to completely ignore her husband. She flapped a hand at him without ever turning to make eye contact and Lawrence sat back in his chair with a huff.

Betty sidled over and slipped into the chair next to him. After all, how often did she get to see Lawrence apart from his better half? And she hadn’t been blind enough not to notice the way Melody reacted to his presence. As a Lofton citizen, it was her civic duty to pry.

Betty felt a thin tremor of fear run up her back at the thought that she might be sitting next to a murderer. The fear was a bit intoxicating. Betty wondered if she was turning into an adrenaline junky. Next thing you know, she thought, I’ll be sky diving and bungee jumping off of canyon walls. But this was just a little thrill. And she was hardly in any danger here, in the midst of a public place with multiple witnesses milling around and his wife mere feet away.

"What did you think?" she asked Lawrence. It was a reasonable question. After all, he was once of the theater’s main financial backers.

"Of the performance?" he asked, flicking his eyes towards her before turning back to watching his wife chat on the stage.

"Of the performance, of the new understudy… anything really," Betty said. She smiled, willing him to relax. "You are one of our most important audience members," she teased. "We want to make sure you like what you’re paying for."

Lawrence shrugged. "Of course I enjoyed the performance," he said stiffly. "I wouldn’t sit through it during every rehearsal if I hated it." Right, Betty thought. And your attendance has nothing to do with your wife being in the play. From what she’d been able to gather since her time back at home, Melody’s insistence that she continue acting was one of the only bits of initiative she’d taken in the years she’d been Walter’s wife. Betty had no doubt that the bulk of Walter’s "interest" in the theater was taken up by his desire to keep an eye on his beautiful wife. In this setting, she was surrounded by men closer to her own age. Attractive men. Men like Jarvis.

"I like the new understudy," Lawrence continued, unaware of Betty’s train of thought. "I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, mind, but he’s really much better than Jarvis ever was."

Betty jumped on the topic. "Jarvis was a much better stage hand than he was an actor, true. Still," she said, watching his reaction, "I can’t believe he’s gone. He was such a part of this theater, you know? I’ve never done a play here without him before."

Lawrence shifted in his seat. "We’ll all miss him."

Perfect, Betty thought. She shifted in her seat, turning to look at him more fully. Careful Betty, she thought. Don’t lay it on too thick. "Did you know Jarvis well?"

Lawrence shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes. "No, not really. Not since high school. We had different friends."

"Really?" Betty asked. "I didn’t know you knew him in high school."

"Yes," Lawrence said shortly. "Like I said, we didn’t really get along."

I bet not, Betty thought. Jarvis had been dating Melody then.

"You know," Lawrence said, "it didn’t really surprise me when they arrested Clarise for the murder. I mean, it makes sense."

Betty had to actively check herself from immediately jumping to Clarise’s defense. She had to let the conversation play out on his terms.

"Why’s that?" she choked out, forcing her voice to stay light.

"I think they were… involved." Lawrence said slowly. Betty almost laughed. Clarise and Jarvis? When Clarise had had a crush on Sergeant Wes and only Sergeant Wes for years? If Lawrence was trying to throw her a red herring, it was quite possibly the most pitiful excuse for a red herring she’d ever heard. Didn’t he have any clue that if Clarise had been seeing Jarvis, Betty would’ve known before anyone else? Clarise told her everything.

Before she could respond, Melody was there, glaring at her husband. "Shame on you Lawrence!" she said. "Jarvis and Clarise were friends, and nothing else. Anyone with eyes could see that. I think you were the one paying a little too much attention to Clarise, not Jarvis." She turned to Betty. "Don’t pay any attention him."

Lawrence stood, gripping his wife’s elbow. White marks lined his fingertips. Betty waited for Melody to protest, but nothing in the other woman’s expression changed.

Lawrence steered Melody towards the door. "You took long enough. It was nice speaking with you Betty," he called over his shoulder.

Betty started to follow them, but Walter called her name.

"Miss Crawford," he said, walking over to her. She almost had to do a double take. He wasn’t blustering, or yelling. In fact, he was holding his hat in front of him, fiddling with it and looking, dare she even think it, abashed. "Miss Crawford, would it be alright if I spoke with you for a moment?" Betty gestured to the seat Lawrence had just vacated and Walter took it with a nod of thanks. She tried not to gag on the scent of his cologne.

"I…" Walter cleared his throat and looked her square in the eye before continuing in a rush. "I wanted to apologize. You’re right, I have been horrible. It’s just… well, it’s just, you see theater is everything to me. Everything. Acting is the only thing I’ve ever loved, the only thing I’m any good at. And, well, I promise I won’t cause any more scenes. Only please, don’t pull me out of the show. I don’t think I could stand it if I couldn’t even act on the stage. Please, Miss Crawford. I’ll be the best cast member you ever saw from here of out. Just don’t throw me off the play."

Betty looked at him in shock. If this was an act, then Walter had more skill than she thought. She was even starting to believe him. She started to talk, but Walter ran right over her words, as if he didn’t even notice she was trying to respond. Same old Walter, she thought, and waited for him to finish.

"See," he said, looking towards the stage. "While I was up there, practicing, I realized something. I thought back to the look on that new understudy’s face when I walked in, and I realized how much fun he’d been having. Then I figured out that I’ve let the fun go out of acting. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in promotions and making a living and the like that I forgot what started the acting bug in the first place. And it wasn’t the sitcom I was in. It was standing on this stage during my first play in high school and seeing the audience laugh, or cry, or get mad, because I made them react that way. So," he said, turning to look at her again, "I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ll try and be better from here on out. Because this is what I love, and I plan to enjoy it."

Betty looked at him, dumbfounded. "Well," she began slowly, "I’d like to see that. Because you’ve been an ass." He laughed ruefully. She patted him on the arm, standing. "Tell you what Walter. You keep eating that humble pie, and I might even let you audition for a role in the play after this one. We’ll just have to see."

Betty fervently hoped that she wasn’t making a mistake. Still, she thought as she walked Walter out and locked up the theater, everyone deserves a second chance.

But only one. After all, she wasn’t a complete pushover.

CHAPTER 24

When Betty got home, find her mother was sitting alone at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and the lights in the rest of the house were all out. Mary looked up as Betty entered and straightened up in her chair.

"Betty," her mother said, patting the table in front of her. "Come sit down for a minute. I want to talk with you."

Uh oh, Betty thought, her mind whirling. The last time she could remember her mother looking this serious, she’d been about to tell a 16 year old Betty that her dog died.

"Okay", she said, trying to keep her expression neutral. After all, her mother might just want to talk. The two of them hadn’t had a good mother daughter night for a while. It was entirely understandable that she might want to talk to Betty for a little while.

"I’ve heard some rather… upsetting news," her mother began. "Well, the news itself isn’t that upsetting. More that I had to hear it from sources other than my own daughter." Her mother sighed, reaching out to grasp her daughter’s hands. "Betty, why didn’t you tell me?"

Shit. She’d heard about the diabetes. Not for the first time, Betty cursed living in such a small town. News always reached back to her mother.

"Tell you what?" she asked, still keeping her voice light.

"Don’t play dumb," her mother snapped. Betty’s stomach dropped. Her mother was angry. She’d been right. Her mother was angry at her for being sick. "I heard about your diabetes. What I want to know is why didn’t I hear about it from you?"

"Who told you?" Betty asked around the lump in her throat.

Her mother held her hands tighter, her eyes kind. "Reliable sources," she said. "More than one. It doesn’t really matter who told me, except that it wasn’t you. Why didn’t you tell me?"

So that was it. Betty looked away and studied the design of the wallpaper. She wasn’t angry about the diabetes. All the worry and anxiety over how her mother was going to react, and the thing that upset her most wasn’t that Betty was sick, but that Betty hadn’t told her?

Well, Betty thought, I feel stupid.

"I thought," she said haltingly, "I thought you’d be angry. Or upset. Or disappointed, or    I don’t know!" she refused to meet her mother’s eyes. Her mother stayed silent, letting her work through her thoughts. "I didn’t know how you’d react. I mean, this family is so healthy, and here I go, ruining our genetic track record or something. I just… I didn’t want to make you angry, or make you feel like you had to change your life for me. I didn’t want  " She felt herself working up into a frenzy of hysteria, unable to stop the flood of chaotic emotions. Relief, Guilt. Anger at herself. Angst. More angst. And damn, she was hungry. Her mother’s chair scraped against the floor, and Betty’s whirling mind was stalled by her mother pulling her into a hug.

"You listen to me Elizabeth Crawford," her mother said from her shoulder. "I am your mother. If I want to help you through this, you will damned well let me, do you hear?"

And just like that, Betty broke. All her worry and confusion and fear welled up, and she clung to her mother, taking great heaving gasps of air as tears leaked from her eyes, wetting her mother’s shirt. She cried for herself, for the disease that was changing her whole life. She cried for Clarise, who’d spent days with the people she’d known for years thinking of her as a killer. She cried for Jarvis, and for Melody who was too afraid to talk. She cried for Lofton, that was losing its easy going lack of suspicion. And she cried just because it felt so good to cry and not have to stop. Her mother just held her.