Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play Page 2

  It was obvious from her absolute stillness.

  I looked down at her and shook my head.

  Scarlet had been beautiful, probably in her mid-twenties with a slim build and flawless skin. She wore colorful striped socks and black shoes with curled toes. Part of her costume? I didn’t know. Based on the expensive looking highlights in her hair, her French tipped fingernails, and the sparkling ring on her finger, I imagined her as the type to always go out wearing her best.

  The only blood I saw trickled from the corner of her nose. I didn’t see any gunshot wounds. There were no visible bruises. Her clothes didn’t look especially tousled.

  What had happened to her?

  I glanced around, trying to use my time quickly and wisely. As soon as the police arrived, I’d be whisked away from the crime scene. This was my only chance to gather any clues.

  Behind me, there were two chairs, still upright and facing the stage. There was a table with some empty water bottles and a couple of copies of what was probably the script.

  Nothing appeared out of place.

  I glanced up. The catwalk was directly above me.

  And part of the railing dangled.

  Scarlet had fallen from up there, I realized. But why in the world would she have been on the catwalk? In heels, at that.

  I still had a million questions, but just then I heard voices in the auditorium. I stepped from behind the stage and saw Paulette leading two uniformed cops toward me. Her skin still looked pale and her hands trembled as she pointed toward me.

  “We found Scarlet back there,” she whispered.

  The cops took one look at Scarlet and called the homicide squad. While the two officers secured the scene, I pulled Paulette away to ask her some questions.

  “When was the last time you saw Scarlet?” I asked.

  “Last night at rehearsal.”

  “Was that what she was wearing?”

  She blinked several times. “What was she wearing last night? I—I don’t … I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Sweatpants? A sweatshirt?” I prompted her. “Striped, multicolored socks with strange-looking black heels?”

  Her eyes manically darted back and forth. “No. No. Scarlet wasn’t that type. She was wearing a gray Ralph Lauren sweater and some 7 jeans.”

  Paulette had always known fashion.

  “Good. That’s what I needed to know. That means she changed clothes sometime between practice and the time she died. Paulette, were you the last one to leave after rehearsal?”

  “I was. I always am. I didn’t want to chance anything happening … and now look what’s happened.” She muffled her cry with hands over her face.

  I placed a hand on her arm. “Paulette, I want to help. Stick with me here for a minute, though, okay?”

  She pulled her hands down. Her action may have been affirmative, but her gaze was still riddled with uncertainty. “Whatever I can do.”

  “Okay, think carefully. What time did you leave?” I kept my voice even and calm, trying not to upset her even more.

  “Around eleven.” She dipped her head down in a slow nod as if to confirm her words.

  “Anyone leave with you?”

  “I walked out with Anthony. He’s the stage manager.”

  “Does anyone else have a key to the place?” I asked.

  “Yes, Anthony has a key. So does the manager of the entire Cultural Arts Center. Her name is Ms. Maggie. Oh … and Mrs. Baker has a key, also.” She looked at me with worry in her gaze. “Was I too trusting? Did I give too many people keys? What’s my father going to think?”

  I laid a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Paulette. You did just fine. I’m just trying to ascertain how Scarlet may have gotten in here after hours.”

  “I have no idea,” she whispered. “I know I locked up behind myself. If there’s one thing I’m careful about it’s safety. I had a break in at my house a few months ago, and I’ve been paranoid ever since.”

  I had more questions, but before I could say anything, I heard a voice in the distance.

  “If it isn’t Gabby St. Claire.”

  I turned and spotted Detective Charlie Henderson walking down the center aisle toward the stage. She wore a grey pants suit that emphasized her long legs, and I could see the edge of her gun peeking out from beneath her jacket. Her honey blonde hair was swept up in a neat bun

  My, my, my. Wasn’t this a grand reunion? And not just of the middle school variety.

  Charlie was my ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend. The one he’d essentially started dating while I was dating him. Despite what might seem like bad blood, I’d always liked Charlie, and I thought she and Parker were good for each other. Not many people could put up with someone as arrogant as my ex.

  “I see you’re back to work,” I said.

  Charlie had had a baby not terribly long ago. Maybe five months? I couldn’t remember for sure. As the distance between us lessened, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

  She frowned ever-so-slightly. “My mom moved to the area, just to help me take care of George. She’s been a big help. I don’t think I could have gone back to work if she hadn’t moved here.”

  “I know your schedule and Parker’s are both full.”

  She scowled. “I guess you haven’t talked to Parker in a while.”

  I didn’t even want to ask. But I did. “What’s going on?”

  “We split. He split, I should say. He warned me he wasn’t the settling down type. I thought I’d reformed him.” She shrugged stiffly. “You know the story.”

  Yeah, I knew the story. And I knew Parker. I’d really hoped that he’d grown up. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought he was different, too.”

  She let out a sigh and evened her features into a professional expression. “Anyway, I hear there’s a dead body?”

  I nodded. “Let me show you where.”

  ***

  Three hours later, the crime scene was finally cleared, Scarlet’s body was carried away to the Medical Examiner’s Office, and Paulette and I stood alone in the auditorium.

  The standing part didn’t last long.

  As soon as the door closed and the authorities left, she sank into one of the wooden chairs carved with “Mitch Hearts Laura” and uncountable pieces of ABC gum stuck around the arms.

  “I can’t believe Scarlet is dead. She was so young. She had so much potential.” Paulette ran a tissue under her eyes, wiping away the moisture there.

  I sat down beside her and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, Paulette. I know this must be hard for you, not only because you lost a friend, but because you put so much work into the play.”

  She sucked in a quick breath and her wide eyes fixated on me. “What do you mean?”

  I chomped down, trying to figure out how I’d just put my foot in my mouth without even realizing it. Certainly she realized the implications of a dead lead actress … right?

  I softened my voice. “I mean, your lead is dead. Unless you have an understudy, I’m guessing you’ll pull the plug on The Spector.”

  She moaned. “I didn’t even think about that! We’ve put thousands of dollars into this auditorium. I can’t just cancel everything.”

  “At least it looks like her death was an accident,” I tried to offer some comforting words. But even as the consolation left my lips, I doubted its truth. There was more to this story, and I wanted to know what.

  Charlie and a couple of crime scene techs had gone up to the catwalk and essentially proven my original theory: that was the place from where Scarlet had fallen. According to them, there were no signs of foul play. They were still going to do some tests and run the evidence. I imagined they’d talk to Scarlet’s friends and family. They’d try to figure out why she came back to the school, if she was meeting anyone, and all the normal stuff.

  In the meantime, no one was allowed to go on the catwalk or stage until it was determined if any safety protocols had been broken.

  “Accident
s like that will make it so no one wants to go near this place. It was bad enough with all the small incidents of vandalism. But someone dying?” She moaned. “What am I going to do? All those people who said I’d never be anything more than a spoiled rich girl with rocks for brains? They’re going to be right.”

  Oh no. I couldn’t let my friend go here.

  “Paulette, you and I both know that isn’t true.”

  She looked at me and sniffled. “Did you hear about that new dinner cruise ship that was all set to depart from Norfolk, Destiny’s Edge?”

  I nodded slowly. “I vaguely remember something.”

  “It was a multi-million dollar project. State of the art, luxurious, small but spacious. It was going to revolutionize the dinner cruise industry.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  She frowned. “Then everything went wrong. There wasn’t enough staff, everyone got food poisoning, the entertainment backed out at the last minute. Destiny’s Edge made its maiden voyage and that was it. The whole company was sunk. Sure, it held on for three more months, but it was a disaster of Titanic proportions—only no one died.”

  “That sounds awful.” But why was she telling me this?

  Her gaze met mine. “I was in charge of that project. It was the first big thing that Daddy trusted me with.”

  Ouch! “That stinks.”

  “It took me four years to convince him to let me take on this project. And now look! It’s like a replay of Destiny’s Edge.” She let out a sob.

  I patted her shoulder again, trying to think of something compassionate, sensitive, and true to say. “We’re going to figure this out. One way or another.”

  She looked up at me and sniffled. “Oh, Gabby. You were always a lifesaver. Some things never change.”

  “I’ll help you figure out what happened.”

  “I know the perfect way you can do it!” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “You can take Scarlet’s part in the play! You can be Elsa McGoverness!”

  A mix of horror and elation rushed through me with enough force to make me dizzy.

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright again. “You’ve always been a great actress. You’d be perfect!”

  I swallowed hard, uncertainty making my stomach flutter. “I don’t know …”

  “There’s nothing to know. You’re in!”

  I sucked on my bottom lip a moment, unsure how to break the news to her that I wasn’t exactly lead performer material. Looking at Paulette’s hopeful eyes now, I wasn’t sure she could even handle the news.

  Instead, I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to our newest cast member,” Paulette started, looking amazingly pulled together considering what we’d discovered only five hours earlier. “This is Gabby St. Claire.”

  Everyone stared at me. I hadn’t expected a rousing round of applause. After all, one of their own had just died. Paulette had announced the news, the cast had spent about an hour crying and mourning—as they should—and now she was addressing the practical side of the loss.

  We all sat in the chorus room, which had three elevated levels with chairs. Paulette stood at the front, where a teacher might have given instruction, while the rest of the cast sat in a semi-circle on the risers, sniffling with tissues in hand and an unwelcoming air about them.

  She called me up to the front with her. The reception, not surprisingly, seemed a little cold. I would have probably handled things differently myself, if I’d had a choice in the matter. But Paulette had gotten the crazy idea in her head that I would take the lead part, and there was no changing her mind.

  I wished Mrs. Baker could have been here. My former teacher had a way of smoothing over bad situations. Things might have gone better if I’d had her in my corner, but apparently she had an awards ceremony to attend with her daughter.

  I couldn’t wait to see her.

  I realized Paulette was staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I cleared my throat, trying to figure out the best approach to take in the midst of the glares from the cast. There really wasn’t one, I decided.

  “I’m glad to be here but very sorry for the reason behind my addition,” I started, thinking I sounded rather graceful.

  Of course, a new person getting the lead role might not go over so well with some of the folks here, and I guessed I couldn’t blame them.

  After the cops left and before rehearsal, I’d reviewed the script. The play was such an odd little production—not that I’d told Paulette that. It was a mixture of Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, and The Sound of Music. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around.

  In the play, a nun was sent to star in a musical where mysterious things were happening on set. Meanwhile, a man who’d been wrongly accused of a crime he never committed had escaped prison and now lived between the walls of the old theater, hoping that the detective after him wouldn’t find him until he redeemed his life. People called him the Specter.

  This was the script that Paulette had thought was brilliant? It was practically a knockoff—a parody minus the cleverness. Add to that the fact that the songs were in abnormally high keys, the range was difficult, and the background tracks all sounded synthesized, reminding me slightly of carnival music. It seemed a recipe for disaster, on more than one level.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  Paulette had given me a CD of the songs I needed to learn: Yes, I’d have to sing.

  And, don’t get me wrong—I loved singing. But that didn’t mean I was any good at it.

  My mind jumped back to the present.

  “Even though we don’t have access to the stage right now, we’re going to run through Act One,” Paulette continued. “Everyone in place.”

  Still feeling self conscious because of the veiled hostility of the other actors, I vowed to remain low key. Paulette remained firm that we shouldn’t tell anyone I was investigating this case. She thought I’d do better undercover—as the lead, the most vied for position.

  So now I looked like the girl with connections, the actor who only had this role because of who I knew. Which, in reality, was true.

  I had no idea where to go to “get in place,” so I wandered to the middle of the makeshift stage.

  “You’re over there.” One of the male actors pointed stage left and cast another scowl my way.

  I thanked him, trying not to freeze in panic when I realized all the other actors would take one look at me and realize I was a total and complete amateur. It wouldn’t take a detective to figure that out.

  I comforted myself with the thought that this was community theater; I supposed most of the people up here were officially amateurs. Still, I’d bet they had more experience than me. Based on the daggers some were shooting my way, they may even be rooting for me to fail.

  Just as I reached center stage, a shrill voice cut through the air. “My play is going to be ruined!”

  I glanced over at the door and saw an incredibly tall woman with sleek dark hair push into the room, waving a stack of papers in her hands.

  Paulette shrank back. “Arie. I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight.”

  “Not even a call?” Arie demanded as she reached Paulette. “You didn’t have the courtesy to let me know yourself that the lead actress in my play died?”

  Based on the woman’s histrionics, she should have been an actress. She was certainly dramatic enough.

  “Arie, it’s been a long day.” Paulette tucked a hair behind her ear, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I was going to call you.”

  “I had to get a text from a cast member!” Arie’s nostrils flared and her hand went to her hip.

  Paulette glanced back at the cast. I followed her gaze and noticed a slight smile curled the lips of the actor who’d grumbled at me earlier about where to stand.

  Interesting. If I remembered correctly, he was Jerome—my costar.

  “We’re all i
n shock over this,” Paulette tried to explain.

  My old friend was going to be eaten alive, I realized.

  I felt the need to jump back into my old middle school role—the need to try and protect her. But Paulette was a woman now. Certainly she could stand up for herself … right?

  “I personally handpicked Scarlet to play the role of Elsa McGoverness in this musical. Now, it’s all going to be ruined! And it’s your fault!” Her icy glare temporarily froze Paulette.

  Paulette opened her mouth and then shut it again. She took a step back, her hand fluttering through the air.

  Meanwhile, Arie inched closer. “I trusted you with this script. It was going to be my big break! I’d be smart to pull out now and find a new theater troupe for the production.”

  “But … I—you can’t. We—”

  “I can, and I might!” Arie insisted. “It’s bad enough that a ghost is haunting this auditorium, but now this!”

  “Enough!” I yelled.

  My head was going to explode if I heard any more of this.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  So much for staying low key.

  “Who do you think you are charging in here and insulting the producer who took a chance on you and your work? You’re out of line.” I took a page from her book and overly emphasized all the important words in my sentence. That seemed to be her language.

  Arie stared at me, her gaze cold enough to ice over the sun. “Who are you?”

  I held my chin up, fully aware that I was about to drop a bombshell. “I’m the new Elsa McGoverness.”

  Her mouth gaped open in anger as she turned back to Paulette. “You cast someone new without even consulting with me?”

  “Arie—” I started.

  “It’s not Airie. It’s Arie—pronounced R-E. No rhyming involved! How many times do I have to say that to you people around here?” She spewed before turning back to Paulette. “I’m calling my lawyer. That’s all there is to it! I will not have my name ruined like this.”

  Before anyone could say anything else, Arie stormed out the door.

  I looked at Paulette. The poor girl looked like she might have a breakdown. She did her nervous little tugging her hair behind her ear gesture and offered a feeble smile.