Theater Nights Are Murder Read online

  Neil looked nervously at Piglet. His expression clouded over.

  Piglet was punching keys on his tablet.

  Mrs. Davis slow walked toward Royce. “Let me see. I was a nurse.” She inspected the back of Royce’s head for a couple of minutes and blotted the wound with a handkerchief. “You’ll have a heck of a headache for the rest of the day, but I don’t think you need stitches.”

  Neil breathed a huge sigh of relief, and he and Aunt Ginny helped Royce to his feet just as Bebe returned with the ice pack.

  Fiona took her brother’s hand. “Are you all right, Boodaloo? I told you this play was a bad idea.”

  Royce was pale and shaken. “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “This wouldn’t have happened in my play.” Duke crossed his arms and shook his head. “No way.”

  Blanche jabbed Duke in the shoulder. “You’re the one who hit him! What difference does it make whose play it is?”

  Duke held out his palms. “That was supposed to be a foam prop! My play doesn’t have any dangerous weapons.”

  Fiona was rubbing Royce’s back. “How about the guns?”

  Duke shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah, but that’s it. Besides, cops know how to properly handle firearms so they aren’t dangerous.”

  Mother Gibson tucked the wooden oar under her arm and shot Duke a look of her own. “Mm-hmm. I got some relatives would disagree with you.” She spun around and took the oar offstage.

  Even Mr. Ricardo was incensed for Royce’s sake. “You just couldn’t stand it that we weren’t doing your cop drama, so you had to attack one of the stars. Was I next?”

  Duke took a step back from everyone. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I found it with the other props, so I figured it was one of those trick props like a glass bottle. How was I supposed to know it would hurt him?”

  Neil helped Royce sit on the dock. “Take a few good breaths and let me know if you’re dizzy at all.”

  “I think . . . I think I’m okay. The show must go on.”

  Fiona and Aunt Ginny started to protest, but Neil cut them off. “No, I think we’re going to call it a day. I want everyone to go home and get some rest tonight and come back refreshed tomorrow. Let’s start thirty minutes earlier and go through some trust exercises.”

  Everyone agreed and started to leave the stage. The little man in the third row stood to his feet and applauded. “Bravo, Royce. Great job, as always.”

  Mother Gibson returned and with the other biddies went to Aunt Ginny’s side and huddled up. I ambled over and inserted myself just as Mother Gibson was giving the others her report. “His name is Ernie Frick and his driver’s license says he’s from New York.”

  Mrs. Dodson nodded along. “What’s he doing down here?”

  “Well, he had a laminated card like the ones you get at Mr. Chow’s Winghouse, says he was with the Actors’ Equity Association. Poppy, what is that?”

  “I don’t know.” I pulled out my phone and Googled it. “Apparently, it’s a union for Broadway actors.”

  Aunt Ginny screwed up her face. “So, he’s an actor?”

  We unhuddled and watched Royce and Ernie. Mrs. Davis whispered, “Is he one of those little people?”

  Aunt Ginny, who was only a couple of inches taller than Ernie, stood a little straighter. “No, I think he’s just short.”

  Royce saw Aunt Ginny looking in his direction and waved her over. “Ginny, come meet my agent.”

  Fiona scowled at Aunt Ginny. She clutched Royce’s arm tighter. “Careful, Boodaloo. You don’t want your head to start bleeding again.”

  Royce tenderly placed the ice pack back on the top of his head.

  Aunt Ginny went to join Royce. The biddies and I followed her in a tight group. I felt like we should be snapping.

  Royce patted his agent on the back. “Can you believe Ernie went to high school just up the road from us?”

  Ernie took Aunt Ginny’s hand in his and smiled. At least I think he smiled; his face was kind of always smiling. Maybe it was stuck. “It’s true. I grew up in Margate, right here in South Jersey. I got my first job in Atlantic City representing the exotic dancer Lola Giamecco.”

  They need representing?

  “How about that,” Aunt Ginny said. “What a small world.” Aunt Ginny grabbed Duke and Mr. Ricardo on their way up the aisle. “Have you all met Royce’s agent, Ernie Frick?”

  Mr. Ricardo shook Ernie’s hand, but Duke just stared at the little guy. “Have we met?”

  Ernie chuckled. “I don’t think so. Do you get to New York City very often?”

  Duke shook his head. “I thought you looked familiar. My mistake.”

  Ernie chuckled again and looked around at each of us. He held his hand out to me. “We didn’t get properly introduced earlier.”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  Ernie laughed. “Okay, I deserve that. I’ve just arrived in town this afternoon to see how my number one client is settling in.”

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  “I’m at the Queen Victoria; beautiful place.” Ernie grabbed Royce’s arm. “In fact, I’m here because I have great news, Royce. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. I have a contract to bring you back for a one-man show. Of course, it would be a limited engagement, depending on how long you want the run to be.”

  Fiona narrowed her eyes at Ernie and I was afraid she was preparing to lunge at his throat.

  Royce chuckled. “No, no. I’m retired now. Just doing this community theater for a bit of fun and to raise some money for charity.”

  Charity? What charity?

  Ernie patted Royce on the back of the arm. “Come now, Royce. You can’t give up the theater for this little . . . well . . . it’s not exactly Broadway, now is it?” Ernie chuckled to himself. “Besides, it’s exactly the kind of script you like. You’re the lead and you have all the lines.”

  Royce’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Neil rushed into the conversation. “Royce is irreplaceable. We couldn’t possibly do our show without him.”

  Fiona yanked Royce’s arm. “Now, Royce, you said you were home to stay, remember? You can’t go back on your word. Besides . . .”

  Royce looked into Fiona’s eyes and words were left unspoken, but their meaning passed between them. Royce rolled back on his heels and looked at the carpet. “Fee’s right. I couldn’t possibly return.”

  Fiona grinned, as Aunt Ginny would say, like the cat that got the cream.

  Aunt Ginny grunted on one side of me and Blanche grunted on the other. Blanche muttered under her breath, “Are you afraid he’ll evaporate if you take your hands off him?”

  Fiona shot her a threatening look. With her heavy makeup and garishly pink-red hair, she looked like the nightmare clown that waited under your bed to kill you in the middle of the night. Blanche took a protective step back. Fiona turned and started to pull Royce’s arm. “Come, big brother. We need to get you home to rest. If today proves anything, it’s that you may not be safe here.”

  Ernie sputtered off a couple more “buts” that went ignored as Royce patted Fiona on the arm.

  Blanche took a step toward Royce and put a hand on his back. “Why don’t you come to my house tonight to run lines? Just the two of us?”

  Aunt Ginny gritted her teeth. “Aren’t most of your scenes musical numbers?”

  Blanche craned her neck to scowl back at Aunt Ginny. “So, we’ll sing them.” She turned an angelic smile on Royce. “What do you say?”

  Fiona swatted at Blanche’s hand. “Get off him. You’re the reason he was gone for sixty years!”

  Royce, oblivious to the tension in the room, looked around the quarrel to grin at Aunt Ginny. “Hey, Ginger, how about I take you to dinner tomorrow night, for old times’ sake?”

  Aunt Ginny gave Royce a flirtatious smile. “Old times’ sake would be necking at the Point.”

  Royce wiggled his eyebrows. “Then let’s ma
ke it an early dinner.”

  Aunt Ginny giggled, then cleared her throat when she saw the biddies grinning at her with raised eyebrows.

  Fiona practically dragged Royce out of the theater, purring that she would take care of him and he was safe with her. He never spoke a word to contradict her. Iggy followed without so much as a look back.

  Ernie Frick cocked his head and furrowed his caterpillars. “Hm.” He shrugged and grinned. “She certainly does have the upper hand, doesn’t she?” He giggled. “I guess I’ll be back tomorrow. Good night, everyone.”

  When we were alone, I turned to Aunt Ginny. “What do you think that’s all about? Royce and Fiona?”

  Aunt Ginny pursed her lips to the side of her mouth. “I don’t know. She has a lot of control over him for some reason. She won’t let him make one move without her approval.”

  “But why is he letting her? That’s the question.”

  Aunt Ginny shook her head. “It’s not the Royce I remember. He would never have let Fiona order him around like that.”

  “Did you see that look on her face when she saw that note?”

  “She was practically gleeful. It was all she talked about over our hoag . . . spinach smoothies.” Aunt Ginny gave me the side-eye.

  “You still smell like salami.”

  “Fiona is obsessed with Royce staying home with her and Iggy.”

  “Do you think she wants him to herself bad enough that she would try to scare him into dropping out?”

  “I don’t know, but if she does to him what she’s done with her son, Royce will cave before opening night.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’d been up since five to work out, check email, bake for Tim, and drink a spinach smoothie. I was in a foul mood and didn’t want to go to the Senior Center for an all-day rehearsal. “Saturday mornings should be for lounging in bed with coffee and a book. Not spending the day watching Mr. Sheinberg pick his teeth with a script. Isn’t that why we survive adolescence? So we can grow up and do whatever the heck we want?”

  Aunt Ginny handed me a shiny pink travel mug. “Hear, hear. That’s why I live my life the way I do. I’ve earned the right to not have anyone boss me around. I come and go as I please and I do what makes me happy.”

  “Maybe I’ve earned that right too. I’m going back to bed for a couple of hours.”

  Aunt Ginny spun me around and pushed me toward the hall. “No, you’re not. You can assert your independence when the play is over. Now go get in the car.”

  I could feel Figaro laughing at me all the way down the hall. Doing the lights for this play was not my idea and I didn’t want to spend the day at the Senior Center. I was like a four-year-old on my second hour of a shoe-shopping spree and I could feel a tantrum building.

  I had just about worked up a powerful whine when the front door flew open and Sawyer whacked me in the shoulder. “I got more roses today!” She held five long-stemmed roses under my nose.

  “Beautiful.” I shoved my injured arm into my coat.

  Sawyer frowned. I obviously wasn’t showing the proper amount of enthusiasm.

  Aunt Ginny patted Sawyer on the arm. “Don’t worry about her. She’s being a grump today.”

  I drooped my shoulders and whimpered. “I’m so tired.”

  Aunt Ginny cooed at me. “I know, honey. And you have spinach in your teeth.”

  Sawyer took out a compact and shone it in my face so I could get myself under control. “That’s twenty-eight roses in seven days.” She giggled. “I wonder how long this is going to go on.”

  Aunt Ginny shook her keys next to my ear. “We have to go.”

  Sawyer’s eyes grew even bigger. “Ooh. What if it’s a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day? How romantic.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I gave her what I hoped was an enthusiastic nod. “Are you sure you want to come with us? It’s going to be a really long rehearsal.”

  Sawyer stroked the velvety petals. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. And I want to talk about your Valentine’s Day plans.”

  “Valentine’s Day?”

  “It’s a week away. Do you know what you’re doing, or . . . who . . . you’re doing it with?”

  “I know I have two different couples booked for romance packages.”

  Sawyer frowned. “That’s not what I meant. Do you have plans with . . . Tim?” She arched an eyebrow.

  I knew that look. “Is this another junior high school do you like him–reconnaissance type of situation?”

  Sawyer blushed. “It is entirely possible that someone has asked me to discreetly find out about your plans, yes.”

  I shook my head. “I am not aware of any Valentine’s Day plans yet. On either side.” I looked at Aunt Ginny, who was jiggling the doorknob and tapping her foot. “Why do you have your keys? Don’t you want me to drive?”

  “No. It’s been a while since I took Bessie out. Come on, who wants to go with me?”

  I heard Sawyer gulp in some air. “I–I wouldn’t want to take that honor away from Poppy.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “But it’s your turn. I want to be fair.”

  Sawyer paled. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  Aunt Ginny yanked the front door open and marched onto the porch. “Come on, you slug-a-bugs. Get the lead out. First one to the car decides who gets to ride shotgun and who has to drive themselves.”

  Sawyer and I took one last look at each other before flying out of the house to save ourselves. She pulled me by the hood of my coat to hold me back on the porch, but I caught up and gave her a hip check into the hydrangeas.

  Aunt Ginny locked the front door and spun her key ring in circles on her finger as she minced her way over the flagstones. “That’s more like it.”

  Sawyer had climbed out of the bushes and caught up to me. She grabbed me by the waistband of my yoga pants, but I already had my hand on the door of the detached garage. She jumped on my back and hissed in my ear, “I can’t die now, I have a boyfriend.”

  Aunt Ginny’s keys jingled that she was getting closer.

  I hissed back, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to die wearing knockoff Spanx.” My grip on the doorknob slipped for a moment, but I twisted around and shoved Sawyer into the side of the garage. She lost her hold on my neck and slid off. And I threw the door open. I was home free.

  Sawyer hollered out in pain, “Ow! My wrist! I think it snapped!”

  “Yeah, I’m not falling for that.” Not again anyway. Aunt Ginny rumbled the garage bay door open. “Why is Sawyer lying on the ground crying?”

  “What?” Oh my God, maybe I really hurt her. I ran back to the door to help my best friend.

  “Go, Sawyer, go!” Aunt Ginny double-crossed me, and Sawyer ran in through the large bay door and tagged the red-and-white Corvette.

  I spun around to face them. “You both cheated.”

  Sawyer grinned. “I’ll see you up there.”

  I buckled myself in and said a prayer. Aunt Ginny carefully backed out of the garage and down the driveway, then ran up over the curb and knocked the head off the garden gnome that sat by the mailbox. She hit the gas instead of the brake and knocked the Butterfly Wings B&B sign to a forty-five-degree angle. She craned the wheel to the right and pulled onto the street, colliding with three trash cans that I should have taken in last night. They ricocheted into the Dorseys’ yard. The recycle bin got stuck under the bumper, and Aunt Ginny had to throw the car in reverse to dislodge it. It got caught on the license plate, which launched it toward Mr. Winston’s yard and splintered his mailbox that was still being held together with duct tape from our last outing. I took one last mournful look toward the house, where Figaro was sitting in the front window watching us. I could almost swear he lifted a paw and touched the glass pane as Aunt Ginny hurtled through the stop sign, dragging the Sheinbergs’ pink flamingo sparking down the block wedged in the tailpipe.

  Aunt Ginny slapped her thigh. “We should have put the top down.”

  I was white-knuckling
the dashboard as we spun through the blinking red light on Beach Avenue without pause. “It’s forty-five degrees out.”

  “Yeah, but just think of how alive you’d feel when we got there.”

  Aunt Ginny rode up on the curb to avoid a paper bag and nearly sideswiped a row of parking meters. A yellow bicycle wasn’t so lucky. I took out my cell phone to check email and compose a briskly written last will and testament. Maybe if I don’t see death coming, it will soften the blow.

  My stomach bottomed out when I saw an alert from Google. SurferChickNJ had left me a one-star review. She claimed that she stayed with me for a girlfriends’ winter getaway and they all got food poisoning. She’d left the same review on Yelp, Twitter, Facebook, and my website. Who the heck is SurferChickNJ?! Three couples had stayed with us since the disastrous week of local celebrities. No groups of girls. No friends. All married couples. What is going on?! My head hit the side window as Aunt Ginny took a left turn too fast and we sailed past the Angel of the Sea.

  I didn’t have time to reply with a counterassault. Aunt Ginny launched over a speed bump into the Senior Center parking lot and my cell phone flew out of my hands and hit the dashboard, knocking the protective plastic case off. She slingshot the 1958 convertible in a doughnut until it slid to a stop into three parking spots. “Wee, that was fun!”

  I blinked a couple of times until the Grim Reaper disappeared from my line of sight. Someone tapped on my window. I unlocked the door and Smitty opened it and offered me his hand.

  “Heya, boss. I see you’re riding in the death seat today.”

  I tried to focus on the little bald man in the Philadelphia Eagles ball cap and Three Stooges sweatshirt. “Am I alive or dead?”

  Smitty made a face, “Nyaaaaah. You are pretty green around the gills.”

  Aunt Ginny knocked her door shut and came around to the passenger side. “It must be the spinach.”

  Smitty shifted his eyes from me to Aunt Ginny and back again. “Well, don’t get sick now. You’re going to have company soon.”

  Oh no. I should have gone back to bed.

  Aunt Ginny shot upright. “Are you kidding me?! That vain badger was just here.”