“No, Mr. Rulenski.”
Jo motioned to Charlie with a jerk of her head and started down the sloping aisle, keeping an eye on Rulenski, a trim, fortyish man in a black T-shirt and Levi’s. His thinning hair had been cut close, and, as he turned to consult with a young assistant, Jo saw he sported a day’s growth of beard. She had often seen that look in New York, mostly among actors, and occasionally in her and Mike’s world of artists, and had always puzzled how the beard was maintained at that level. Mike had been either clean shaven or not, with the in-between period fairly limited. How much effort, she wondered, did it take to work out the timing? Did Rulenski, for instance, have to set his alarm for 3 A.M. to get up and shave in order to have a five o’clock shadow by noon? These irrelevant thoughts ended when Rulenski caught sight of her and waved her over with a directorial crook of fingers.
“Mrs. McAllister?”
“Yes. And this is my assistant, Charles Brenner.” Rulenski gave Charlie a cursory glance and graced him with a nod. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be finished here in a minute.”
“That’s fine.” Jo slipped into a row nearby and set her box on the seat beside her. She glanced over at Charlie, who gazed at the stage, openmouthed, as he settled in. The female soloist at the rear seemed to have finally caught on to her song’s melody, since she now kept pace with the accompanist. The song itself, though, hadn’t improved, at least to Jo’s ears.
She listened for a while, then whispered to Charlie, “What is that she’s singing? Is it, ‘She spins, she’s cold,’ or ‘She wins the gold’?”
“I dunno. I thought she was singing in Russian.” Charlie grinned lopsidedly, and Jo stifled a laugh.
The dark-haired girl named Genna finally delivered her lines correctly, and Rulenski clapped, whether encouragingly or with sarcasm, Jo couldn’t say. He dismissed Genna and her fellow actor, then turned to Jo with world-weary eyes.
“Well, thank you for coming by, Ms. McAllister. Let’s see what you have there.”
“Call me Jo.” Jo reached for her box. “I brought several styles, since I wasn’t sure just what direction you were going.”
“At this point, I’m open to suggestions,” Rulenski sighed. “My costumers haven’t come up with anything the least bit interesting so far. Perhaps you can lead the way.”
“Well, I presume, since your story has a king, and the young girl who spins his flax into gold becomes his queen, you’ll want some sort of crown, or tiara. Now I have—”
“Is it okay,” Charlie asked, half-rising, “if I look around? I’ve never been backstage.”
“Go ahead,” Rulenski barely looked over, “just watch your step.”
Charlie wandered off, and Jo pulled out a few items from her box. “Now these would look nice and glittery on stage, and the gold and silver is actually brass and nickel, of course, to keep them affordable. I can add ‘jewels’ of any color, to catch even more light, and we could go with one color theme for your king—say, the deeper colors of ruby and sapphire—and maybe keep to the lighter hues for your miller’s-daughter-raised-to-queen, to symbolize her newness to royalty, her innocence and naiveté.”
“Hmm, yes, that might work.”
Jo pulled out a few chains and demonstrated how they could be variously wrapped around the waist or hung from the neck, then reached for her sketch pad and drew out a few more ideas. Rulenski seemed receptive, especially as she emphasized the low cost of the items, and how easily they could be retooled for future productions. If the Abbotsville Playhouse was like all other small theatrical groups, it operated on a shoestring and had to cut corners mercilessly in order to survive.
Jo reeled him in further by saying, “Since I’m anxious to establish my new shop, I’d be happy to reduce my usual fees substantially for a prominent mention in your play-bill.” Rulenski scratched his bristly cheek, as if weighing the thought carefully, but Jo had caught the flash of interest in his eyes.
They went on to discuss possible set decorations that Jo could contribute, including flowers and greenery—now that Rulenski knew her services would come cheaply his needs had suddenly expanded—until the young female assistant Jo had seen earlier scurried up. “Mr. Rulenski, the accompanist wants to know if you got Kyle’s copy of the score back yet.”
“Tell him, yes. I’ve already passed it on to Doug, who’s been studying it.”
As the girl hurried off, Jo asked, “Kyle Sandborn?”
“Mmm. He was to be our male lead. Most unfortunate.”
Jo searched Rulenski’s face but was unable to tell if he meant unfortunate for Kyle or unfortunate for Rulenski to have lost one of his actors in the midst of rehearsals.
“I understand Kyle was really into the theater, that he aimed to make a career of it.”
Rulenski sighed. “They all think it’s so easy. Just show up in New York or L.A. and the jobs will be waiting for them. They assume playing the lead in a place like Abbotsville means they are star material.”
“Kyle wasn’t?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t bad. And he had the drive. Who knows, perhaps if he’d enrolled in some good acting classes, along with a lot of luck, maybe . . .”
“Did you direct him in all the plays he did here?”
“Lord, Who knows?” Rulenski rubbed at his eyes with long-suffering patience. “Yes, probably. I do remember him auditioning that first time. What was it? I think we were attempting to do Tennessee Williams that year. A disaster. Anyway, I gave him a small part then, a walk-on. After that, like most of our troupe, he worked his way up to the bigger roles but rotated into small ones if that’s what fit him best in a particular play.”
“So he cooperated well, you’d say? Got along with everyone?”
“Far as I know. At least I never witnessed any fistfights,” Rulenski said, grinning. “What happens between these people offstage is the least of my concerns. Now, about some of those designs we talked about, how soon do you think you can get them to me?”
Jo took the hint and got back to business. Since the soloist had returned to practicing her nerve-grating song, she was just as happy to finish up and move out of hearing range, although Jo couldn’t help but feel disappointed at gleaning so little from Rulenski. That feeling, however, disappeared when she reunited with Charlie.
“How did you learn all this, Charlie?” They were back in the car, and Charlie had filled her in as she pulled away from the playhouse.
Charlie shrugged. “Nobody notices kids like me. They think we’re part of the scenery or something, and they talk as if there’s nobody around.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Jo said. She slowed at the intersection and signaled a left heading toward Charlie’s house. She had promised Carrie she’d drop him off in time to study hard for tomorrow’s Spanish test. “A blond girl named Kerry asked Genna, the one who has trouble with names, if things were better between Genna and Pete now that Doug was Genna’s leading man.”
“Uh-huh. And Genna said yes, but that it still felt weird doing a love scene with her cousin, even though he’s her second cousin. Plus he’s a lot older than her.”
“And cousin Doug is playing the part that had been Kyle’s.”
“I guess.”
“That I know, since Rafe Rulenski said he gave Kyle’s copy of the score to Doug to study.” Jo’s voice grew excited. “It sounds like jealousy on boyfriend Pete’s part to me. Does it to you?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Then that’s great information and deserves a high-five!” Jo held up her hand to slap Charlie’s, who looked surprised but pleased as he returned the congratulatory slap.
“Charlie, you may have learned something very important, something I didn’t get even a hint of by spending all that time trying to pump the show’s director. If Genna’s boyfriend was jealous of Kyle doing love scenes with Genna, that’s the first hint of danger in Kyle’s life we’ve found so far. And you dug it up!”
“So you think it’s important?”
“It could be. We won’t go jumping to any conclusions, but it bears further investigation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I knew it was a good thing to bring you along.”
“It was better than studying Spanish anyway.” Charlie paused, then admitted, “Actually, it was pretty neat looking around that theater. I wouldn’t mind going back. If you want me to.”
Jo looked over at Charlie, seeing something new in his eyes.
“To find out more about Kyle, or about the theater?”
“Both,” Charlie replied. “I’d just like hanging out there. Maybe I could get some kind of job. Then while I’m around, I might, you know, hear things, like today.”
“That might be a good idea, Charlie. Let’s run it by your folks and see what they say.” Jo turned back to her driving, thinking she could pretty well predict what Carrie would say. Dan, though, might be another thing altogether. Well, they’d have to wait and see. Jo crossed her fingers for Charlie that it would work out the way he hoped.
Chapter 9
Jo pulled up to Charlie’s house, the fixer-upper Carrie and Dan had bought when they first moved to Abbotsville more than fifteen years ago to set up Dan’s home improvement business. The house looked fine from the curb, but every time Jo walked through it she was reminded of the saying “the cobbler’s children go without shoes.” The essential renovations in the house had been done over time—the kitchen and bathrooms, and finally the family room. But Carrie’s living room sat as it had from day one, looking as if a crew were expected the next day to work on the floor, replace moldings, and paint walls.
Dan had great plans in mind, which included adding hardwood floors, and when he finally got around to it, the living room would look fantastic. But working on his own home had a low priority next to working on other people’s—clients who would pay him for his services, which in turn would keep the family finances in the black, and his children shod. For the time being, therefore, Carrie’s living room remained in the white—white dust sheets over furniture sitting on white drop cloths. It was fortunate her friend had a sense of humor, and was able to joke about changing the colors of the sheets with the seasons, as some people changed their slipcovers, or perhaps stenciling bright designs on them for decoration.
As Charlie climbed out of the car, Carrie appeared at the door, waving Jo to come in.
“I made a big pot of chili,” she called out. “Stay for dinner.”
Jo grinned. Carrie knew her weakness—hot, spicy chili, usually accompanied by Carrie’s homemade biscuits. “If you insist,” she called back, and fairly leaped from the car.
Amanda was already setting an extra place. “Hi Aunt Jo,” she said, clinking down the tableware. Amanda wore her red and black soccer uniform, which reminded Jo that Amanda’s team, which Dan coached, had played that afternoon.
“How was the game?” Jo asked.
Amanda scrunched her face. “We lost. Christy, our best goalie, was out with a sore throat.”
“But Amanda scored the only point, against one of the top teams in the division,” Dan added.
“Hey, Amanda! Way to go!”
Amanda grinned and curtsied, stretching her soccer shorts out like a skirt. “Next time, if Christy’s in, we’ll beat them. Right Dad?”
“Absolutely. Ten to nothing.” Dan pulled the extra chair up to the table. “Well, how did it go at the playhouse?” he asked.
Charlie’s head was in the refrigerator as he searched for something to drink, so Jo answered. “Pretty interesting.” She glanced at Amanda, not sure how much to say about Kyle’s murder in front of her, so she simply said, “They’re putting together a musical version of
Rumpelstiltskin
. Rafe Rulenski, the director, seems to like my ideas for costume accessories and such.”
Carrie brought two steaming bowls of chili to the table, and said, “Sit down, everybody. Amanda, come get the biscuits for me, first.” She dished up more bowls, and said, as Jo and Dan slid their chairs into place, “I don’t imagine this will be terribly lucrative, will it? The playhouse just barely scrapes by as it is. The town council talks about subsidies for them every so often, but nothing ever comes of it.”
“What’s ‘lucrative’ mean?” Amanda asked, setting down the plate of warm biscuits, the sight of which made Jo’s fingers twitch as she resisted the urge to immediately reach out for them.
“What, haven’t you reached the
L
s yet in English?” Charlie asked. Less restrained than Jo, he had already stuffed half a biscuit into his mouth. This turned out to be a bad move when Amanda made a face at him, which produced a snicker followed by a choke on inhaled biscuit crumbs.
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Charlie, and ‘lucrative, ’ Amanda, means well paid.” Carrie joined the four of them at the table.
“I’m working out an arrangement,” Jo said, “to get some free advertising out of it.”
“Well, good. That’s the least they should do,” said Dan. He had helped Jo considerably in understanding the financial end of running a small business.
They all dug into Carrie’s chili, and Amanda shared the highlights of her soccer game for most of the meal, chattering animatedly between spoonfuls. About the time Dan was pouring cups of coffee for the three grown-ups, the phone rang.
Amanda bounced up to answer it, then said, “It’s Lindsey. May I be excused?”
Carrie nodded, and Amanda took the phone out of the room to talk to the girl, who, Jo knew from having heard the name many times, was her current best friend.
Charlie scraped at the last of his rice pudding. As soon as Amanda left the room, he said, “That playhouse today was pretty neat.”
Jo knew what he was leading up to and added, “Charlie was great today, picking up information while I was tied up with the director.”
“Really?” Carrie looked at her son, pleased.
“Yeah, I was kind of wandering around backstage, and people were going every which way, nobody paying attention to anyone else. It was like I was invisible. I could have held a tape recorder under their faces and they wouldn’t have stopped yakking.”