Night Storm (31 page)

Adair checked his timepiece. Half past seven. “Early this afternoon, I have an interview with the young man who discovered the body. If I’m lucky, he’ll recall something unusual in the passage as he entered. I’m not hanging on to a great deal of hope, however. From there, I’ll either head back to my office to assess things or return to the theater and see if I can ruffle any feathers there.”

“Do you need any assistance?”

“No, you’ve helped a great deal already. Be sure to send the reverend my thanks in whatever form he desires. Vaughn will see to it.” Adair pushed out of his seat. He stood there, glaring down at Jules’s desk.

“Does something on my desk offend you?”

He blinked, dragging his attention back to the present. “I keep getting this nagging feeling that Charley knows something important about the murder she’s not sharing.”

“Could she be protecting someone?”

“For a time, I believe she was shielding the Scott whelp.”

“Who?”

“The young man I’ll be interviewing later—Felix Scott. He works for Charley, and the day of the murder, he auditioned for a part at the Augusta.”

“But she’s not protecting him now?”

Adair shook his head. “Something changed. I don’t know what, and it’s part of the reason I believe she’s hiding something.”

“Reassure her. Let her know you have everyone’s best interests at heart, especially hers and the boy’s.”

“I tried, dammit.” Adair opened the door. “Perhaps I had it right from the first. When all this is over, maybe it would be best just to say good-bye.”

He left Jules’s office without another word. A decision made out of necessity rather than choice. All his words seemed lodged in a great heap at the back of his throat.

# # #

“Felix, thank you for seeing us.” After Mrs. Scott had been assured that her son was not in trouble, she had given Cameron permission to speak with Felix as long as Charlotte was present. She had thought the caveat would chafe Cameron, but he had taken the demand in stride.

Charlotte glanced around the Scotts’ cozy sitting room. It had been several months since she’d been here, and she could see the small improvements made by Mrs. Scott—new draperies, a side table, a vase of freshly cut flowers, and more. All wonderful signs that the family was headed for better times.

Sitting in a lemon-colored chair, Felix stared at her and Cameron with wary eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Adair has been hired to look into Lady Winthrop’s death. He’s here to ask you some questions about the day of the murder.” She reached across the short distance and laid her hand over his briefly. “It’s all very routine. Mr. Adair has spoken to a number of people who were at the Augusta that day.”

Felix gave a sharp nod, transferring his attention to Cameron.

“Think back to the afternoon you stumbled over Lady Winthrop’s corpse in the passage,” Cameron instructed. “Walk me through your day, from the time you arrived at the theater to the time you found the body.”

“Well”—Felix shifted in his seat—“when I got to the theater, I went to see the wardrobe mistress.”

“At what time?”

“I don’t know. Around noon, maybe.”

“For any particular reason?”

“She likes pistachios. I took her a bag.”

“Is this something you do on a regular basis?”

Felix rubbed his palms down his trousers. “I—”

“Mr. Adair,” Charlotte interrupted. “I don’t think a pistachio killed Lady Winthrop. Could we please move on?”

Felix glanced at Cameron.

“Answer my question, Mr. Scott.”

Charlotte’s grip on her reticule tightened.

Felix cleared his throat. “No.”

“Why did you this time?”

“I needed a favor.”

Cameron waited a heartbeat, then sighed. “What type of favor?”

“Did Mrs. Fielding tell you I’d auditioned for a part the day her ladyship died?”

“I had heard about your audition, but not from Mrs. Fielding.”

“Jeffrey Gallow auditioned for the same part. He’s better than me. Older, too.” Felix’s thumb rubbed back and forth against the smooth grain of the chair’s wooden arm. His voice dropped. “I had to stand out, somehow. Make them forget my age and lack of experience. So I traded a bag of pistachios for one hour’s use of a Roman costume.”

“It was a good plan,” Charlotte said.

“Why did you select Roman garb?” Cameron asked.

Felix glanced away, embarrassed. “I used Marc Antony’s speech for my monologue. Seemed fitting.”

As if sensing Felix held something back, Cameron said, “I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Scott. Only to get the facts so I can locate the baroness’s murderer.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw jumped as his gaze shifted from Cameron to the wall and back again. “Romans were warriors. Courageous, strong, unstoppable. I thought if I could—” He broke off to sit forward, resting his forearms on his knees while one palm rubbed anxiously over the knuckles of his other hand. “If I could pretend for five minutes that I was a Roman general on the edge of a battlefield, then a mere audition would not seem so impossible.” He peered at them both with a mixture of chagrin and challenge sparkling in his eyes.

“Did your stratagem work?” Cameron asked.

“Yes—” Charlotte said.

“I don’t know—” Felix answered at the same time.

Cameron stared at Charlotte and Felix. “Which is it?”

Charlotte said, “Mr. Riordan asked Felix to perform a second monologue, which meant the manager liked what he heard.”

Cameron raised a questioning brow at Felix.

“She’s right,” Felix mumbled. “But I’ve been told not to go back to the theater, so I don’t know if I got the part.”

“Why are you not allowed to return to the Augusta?”

“Because I asked him to stay away.” Charlotte straightened her spine, bracing herself for Cameron’s rebuke. He already thought her overprotective of Felix. Hearing she’d all but forbidden Felix to return to a place he loved would no doubt add another mark to her list of sins. “At least until we have a better idea of why Lady Winthrop was killed.”

“A prudent decision.”

Charlotte frowned, uncertain if she’d heard him correctly.

Felix threw himself back into the chair, crossing his arms.

Cameron pushed on as if he’d not noticed both hers and Felix’s reactions to his comment. “Can you describe the Roman costume for me?”

“Looks just like the paintings of Julius Caesar or Marc Antony or Augustus.” Felix’s eyes narrowed on Cameron’s blank look. “Haven’t you seen any of those?”

“Not that I recall.”

“I wore a long red cloak shot with gold thread, arm guards and a leather apron, and a gold-colored breastplate.”

“Sounds like the wardrobe mistress did well by you.”

“It was a big bag of pistachios.”

“Tell me something, Felix. What did you wear beneath the body armor?”

Charlotte gritted her teeth. All of Cameron’s questioning came down to this one answer. She tried to think of a logical reason to stop Felix from answering, but nothing came to mind. In the end, Felix’s answer didn’t change anything. It would simply leave Cameron wondering why she’d had her nose buried in a sixteen-year-old boy’s costume. She shuddered.

“A long tunic,” Felix said.

“Did it match your cloak in color?”

“Yes.” Felix glanced at Charlotte, suddenly sensing her distress. “Why are you so interested in my costume?”

“No particular reason,” Cameron said. “Other than it helps me to visualize things. What did you do after leaving wardrobe?”

Felix went on to explain how he found a secluded area to practice his lines until the manager called them to the stage. “After Mr. Riordan finished his opening remarks, I ran to wardrobe, put on my costume, and hurried back to the stage. After the audition, I joined Mrs. Fielding and my sister, and we left.”

“I understand you may have been a little late to your audition.”

Felix nodded. “The wardrobe mistress couldn’t find the brooch she always used to pin the cape together at the shoulder. Luckily, the cape had multiple costume uses and came with ties that could be used to secure it at the neck instead. But, unfortunately, one of the ties broke.”

A whirring began in Charlotte’s ears, momentarily disorienting her. What were the chances two broken red cloak ties would show up on the same day at the Augusta Theatre? None, zero, naught. And she didn’t believe in coincidence—not of this magnitude. She struggled to decipher what this new information meant, but she couldn’t seem to connect the layers.

Cameron cut into her panicked thoughts. “Sounds like you had a bit of bad luck before treading the boards.”

“If I were the superstitious kind,” Felix said, “I would have tucked tail and gone home.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I remembered something Mrs. Fielding told me once.”

“Which was?”

“We are only defeated when we allow ourselves to be. She said the mind produces many fears. Fears that give us permission to quit rather than face possible failure.” Felix sent her one of his mischievous smiles. “I wasn’t about to let a brooch or a broken tie defeat me.”

Tears stung the backs of Charlotte’s eyes. After Felix’s moving audition, she thought she couldn’t ever be more proud of him. But she was wrong. So wrong. “Bravo, Felix.”

He folded his arm across his midsection and performed a seated bow.

“How did you wind up securing the cloak?” she asked.

“We ripped the place apart until we located another brooch.”

“After your successful audition,” Cameron said, “you located Mrs. Fielding and your sister before leaving by way of the staff entrance. Correct?”

“Yes, sir—after I returned the costume.”

“As you approached the passageway door, did you see anyone entering or leaving the theater?”

“Not that I can think of. But there were so many people flitting around, I might have.”

“You were the first to enter the passageway leading out to the street?”

Felix nodded.

“Did you see anyone in the passageway?”

“No. I didn’t even see her ladyship’s body until I fell flat on my face.”

“Lady Winthrop’s black cloak covered every inch of her, even her face,” Charlotte added.

Cameron nodded, thoughtful. “Did anything unusual catch your notice?”

“Unusual how?”

“A shadowy movement, a strange sound—anything out of the ordinary.”

“We were all busy talking about ways we would celebrate my audition as we entered the passageway. I didn’t hear anything beyond our conversation.”

Cameron nodded. “Had you ever noticed Lady Winthrop around the theater before the incident?”

“Sure.”

Several heartbeats slammed by without clarification.

“Mr. Scott,” Cameron said, “the more detail you can give me, the better chance I’ll have at locating the killer.”

“I’ve seen her before.” Felix slid deeper into his seat. “Her ladyship spent a lot of time backstage with the actors and attended most of the performances. She was always there.”

“Can you think of anyone she spent more time with than the others?”

“You think an actor killed her?”

“I think nothing of the sort.”

“Then why are you asking about who she spent her time with?”

Cameron rubbed at his shoulder. “So I can understand Lady Winthrop better. Given the fact that nothing was stolen from her reticule, I suspect she knew her assailant.”

Felix shook his head. “Lady Winthrop chatted with everyone. No one special stands out, except for Mr. Riordan.”

“Riordan?”

“Her ladyship spent a lot of time in his office.”

“Any idea why?”

“The money, I suspect. I’d heard she helped keep the theater operating.”

“Can you think of anything else about Lady Winthrop’s involvement at the theater?”

“I always wondered about her husband.”

“Why?”

“Never saw him once. Her ladyship would attend the performances either alone or, more likely, with her friends.”

“Male friends?”

“No, she wasn’t that kind of lady.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Cameron rose to his feet, holding out his hand to assist Charlotte to her feet. “I believe I’m done here.”

His abruptness threw her off balance, and she mindlessly took his hand.

After presenting a card to Felix, he said, “If you think of anything else—anything—don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”

Charlotte smiled at Felix. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yes, Mrs. Fielding.”

Pausing at the door, Cameron glanced back at Felix. “Did you ever get an opportunity to celebrate?”

Felix shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, sir.”

Regret burned in Charlotte’s stomach as she made her way to the carriage. How could she have been so insensitive as to not have followed through on Felix’s celebration? It wasn’t like her to be so thoughtless. She sent a sideways glare in Cameron’s direction. He had set her world topsy-turvy once again.

Cameron assisted her into the carriage. Once they got underway, he waited three agonizing minutes to ask the question burning in the air between them.

“What was it about Felix’s costume that had you so…intrigued?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that what she did or didn’t do was none of his concern anymore. But the new information Felix had revealed about his costume disturbed her on a level she still didn’t understand.

“Charley, please tell me you’re not going to try and deny that the red tunic you were holding the other day was Felix’s.”

Then the layers of intrigue began to click into place. Slowly, precisely, devastatingly. Why she hadn’t been able to assimilate all the clues before; she didn’t know. The answer to how two broken red ties wound up at the Augusta on the same day was so obvious, she was embarrassed by her slow-wittedness.

There was only one broken tie, the one from Felix’s costume, and someone had to have planted Felix’s tie in the passageway. But how? Why? When would they have had the opportunity? Did the wardrobe mistress notice it was missing?

“What will it take, Charley?” Cameron’s voice carried a note of anger or frustration, possibly both.

She shook her head, surprised by how deeply entrenched she’d been in her own thoughts. “Pardon?”