Final Call Page 7

  Shannon shrugged. “Depending on time of death, we may have to detain them all.”

  “Not necessary. Some of my ladies were in here at least an hour before any of our guests arrived, so it must have happened before. Our guests have nothing to do with this. This murder had to have been accomplished this afternoon when we left rehearsal for an early dinner.” His nostrils flared in distress. “If this gets out, it’s going to ruin us. Simply ruin us!”

  I stifled an urge to roll my eyes. “Think of it this way,” I said. “You’ll probably be more packed than ever once people hear a real live murder happened here. Do you have any murder mysteries in your repertoire? Maybe you could start a murder dinner theater.”

  Walsh glared at me. “Are you still here?”

  “Where else would I be? I’m a witness now. Besides, I still don’t have any clue where Rosemary might be.”

  “Believe me—I want you to find her. With Cheyenne gone, I don’t have anyone else to play Juliet.”

  “Look,” Shannon asked, “did any of your actors not show up tonight—or leave early? Someone was prowling around a short time ago in your prop room.”

  “Everyone showed up on time—except for Cheyenne.” Walsh’s brow furrowed. “And everyone is still here and accounted for. I gave one of your officers a full list, including my director and the janitor.”

  “So you said Cheyenne was here for your afternoon rehearsal. Did she leave with everyone else?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see when everyone left. I told them they could go and then went to my office to get my keys. But I already told this to your officers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my duties. Can’t have any actors missing their cues. Erica, come with me. You’re on soon.”

  Erica reluctantly followed him, her eyes lingering on Shannon. “I gave a statement to one of your detectives, but I’ll be back, if you want to talk to me yourself.” Gone was the woman with the attitude I’d met before. This woman was from another time—warm, compliant, soft. Must be the costume, I decided.

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  Erica frowned and left the room, the ma’am title apparently not falling well on her shoulders. I stifled a laugh, though she was a beautiful woman, with or without the wig, and if she decided to pursue Shannon, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. He might even appreciate the attention in light of all the trouble I gave him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the unnamed blonde actress also hurried from the room.

  The coroner arose from the body, shaking his shaggy dark head. “I believe the cause of death is poisoning. There’s no other apparent trauma, and with her skin still so pink and that bitter almond smell, it’s almost a given for cyanide.”

  “I didn’t notice any smell,” I said.

  The coroner pushed up his glasses and gave me a flat stare. “The ability to smell cyanide is genetic. I am particularly sensitive, and I know what to look for.”

  “Autumn, this is Paul Carter. Paul, I think you’ve heard of Autumn Rain.”

  Paul nodded. “Nice to finally meet you,” he said without real feeling, though his gaze was intent.

  I could think of a whole lot of things I’d rather be doing. “You, too,” I said, though I was feeling a bit dissected with the way he was staring at me. Probably the scientific part of him wondering what made me tick.

  “So no wound on the back of her head?” Shannon said.

  Paul’s gaze shifted back to Shannon. “Not a thing. She’s been dead at least three hours, which puts the time of death around five. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  “When you’re ready, move her out.” Shannon turned to his other men. “None of the theater personnel can leave until you get a full statement and contact info from everyone. I want prints, alibis, and whatever else you think is necessary.”

  “So the patrons can leave?”

  “Yes, but we’ll need to make sure they’re really patrons. Inform the suits outside to keep an eye out for anyone who looks suspicious.” Shannon looked at me. “You’re sure none of the patrons were here when you arrived?”

  “There were no cars out front at all. Only those in the back.” I frowned. “But that means the guy in black, the one in the prop room, was likely not responsible for the murder. His car wasn’t down the street when we arrived.”

  “Maybe he came back, thinking to move the body while everyone was busy with the play.”

  “But if he killed her when no one was here, he should have taken care of it then when no one was around. It doesn’t make sense to return or to hang around until the body is discovered.” My mind was racing. “Maybe he’s not connected to the murder at all. Maybe he has something to do with Rosemary’s disappearance instead.”

  “Could be.” Shannon looked skeptical.

  “I don’t see how he could be involved with Rosemary,” Jake said. “She was barely here a day.”

  “Are you actually agreeing with each other?” Oops. I’d said that aloud.

  “I believe the poison was administered somewhere besides this room,” Paul said as though there had been no interruption in his report. “We didn’t find anything related in the closet or garbage bin. But given the signs, death was quick, so the poisoning likely took place in this theater.”

  I sighed. “Cyanide basically doesn’t allow the body to use oxygen, right?” You learn the oddest things as the child of hippie parents who owned an herb shop. “Are you saying she smothered to death while her killer watched? And then he moved her here?”

  “Her heart probably gave out before she suffocated.” Paul gave me an apologetic smile, which made me like him a tiny bit more. I guess you had to develop a cold outer shell when you worked that kind of job. I knew Shannon had. “She probably went into a coma and then was moved here so time could finish the job.”

  “We need to tear this place apart looking for any signs of poison,” Shannon said. “We’ll also have to check the homes of the entire acting company. Look for any possible cyanide connection.”

  Poison. What a terrible way to go. “Wait,” I said, remembering something from earlier. “Could the cyanide have been administered in a glass of lemonade?”

  Shannon, Paul, and Jake’s eyes were all on me now. Paul nodded. “The addition of the acid in the juice would help it work even faster.”

  “There was a glass,” I said, “in the prop room that had an imprint. I saw freshly poured lemonade and someone stirring in a white powder. I thought it came from a play.” I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the imprint, but I remembered the fear beating in the actor’s heart and impending triumph as he or she mixed the liquid. Of course, the imprint had ceased after being set down, so I hadn’t witnessed the result, and since a similar imprint had repeated several times afterward, as though it had taken place during a rehearsal, I’d assumed it was fake, though the more recent imprint had felt real. Perhaps the murderer had simply acted out his plan several times before finally committing the deed. Then again, it could be completely unrelated.

  “Show me,” Shannon said.

  We hurried down the hall, accompanied by Jake, but when we reached the prop room and the table where I’d seen the glass, it wasn’t there.

  “I remember the glass,” Jake said. “Autumn looked, well, involved in reading it.” Which meant I’d freaked him out, something I’d done a lot of this past year.

  “The guy in black,” I said. “He must have taken it.”

  “Could be.” Shannon looked thoughtful. “Or someone else already here could have taken it when you found the body. That means it may still be here. I’ll get everyone looking.”

  “What about Rosemary?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t yet seem to be connected to the murder.”

  “She received a threatening note, and there was something else
weird in one of her imprints.” I explained about the hairbrush and how the scene had shut off so abruptly.

  Shannon studied me in silence for a minute. “What does Rosemary look like?”

  “Narrow face, wide forehead. Green eyes. Long brown hair.” I felt the color drain from my face, though neither of the men could possibly see my reaction in the dim light. I took a deep breath before adding, “Her hair was long enough that she could have been the woman I saw hit with the hammer.”

  If so, given how hard she’d been hit in that imprint, we might not be looking for Rosemary but her body.

  Chapter 6

  Everyone looked for the drinking glass. That is, the officers and detectives searched while Jake and I waited. At least they’d taken away the body and most of the theatergoers had cleared out. The police had even begun allowing the actors to leave. I hadn’t been permitted to touch anything on the body, but they had allowed me to test the closet for imprints. There was nothing. Cheyenne had definitely been unconscious when she was carried there.

  Jake yawned. “This could take all night.”

  “You’re right. We should go home. They can contact me later if they find the glass.” I was convinced my attacker had taken it, but even if he hadn’t, I didn’t know what more I could see if I read it again. Maybe looking at the person’s hand as he or she held the glass would tell me if it was a man or a woman.

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.”

  “Wait. I need to talk to Erica. I still don’t have any clue about where to keep searching for Rosemary, and with the murder on their hands, finding her isn’t going to be a priority for the police. Didn’t Erica say something about Cheyenne knowing Rosemary and that was how she came to be here?”

  “Something like that.” Jake stifled another yawn. “There’s Erica now. While you talk to her, I’ll go tell Shannon we’re leaving.”

  “Good idea. I’ll meet you out front.”

  I cornered Erica by the door to the women’s dressing room. She’d removed her wig, but the heavy makeup she still wore contrasted sharply with her casual jeans. “Leaving?” she asked.

  “Yeah. But I wanted to ask you a question first.”

  “Shoot. Though maybe I shouldn’t answer. You brought a lot of trouble down on us tonight.”

  “Better now than when the trail was cold. Or when the body started stinking.”

  Erica grimaced. “Thanks for that vivid picture. What do you want to know?”

  “You said Rosemary was someone Cheyenne knew. How close were they?”

  “I heard them talking about Rosemary sleeping on her couch. Maybe she let her stay a few nights. I really don’t know. Rosemary showed up for tryouts, but Cheyenne wasn’t happy when she got the Juliet role.”

  “So who’s going to do it now?”

  She snorted. “Not me.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in a role being cursed.”

  “No use tempting fate. Why don’t you do it? You could investigate us all better that way. You might find out what happened to Rosemary.”

  “What’s so important about that play?”

  Erica rolled her eyes. “Walsh has a connection on Broadway, an aunt, and every year she and her friends come to visit and to watch one of his plays. Several times in the past they’ve offered actors jobs, and it makes their career. Except they haven’t chosen anyone in the past five years, and Walsh is getting desperate. The chance of being chosen is the only reason most of us still work here.” She laughed at my expression. “What, you didn’t think we stayed for the great working conditions and the excellent directing, did you? Our actors are good, though, far better than this company merits. But if there isn’t a real chance of actors being chosen to star in New York, no one is going to work for Walsh, and his business goes under.”

  “So why the new play?”

  “He heard it’s a favorite of the aunt.”

  “Did anyone else try out for the part beside Rosemary and Cheyenne?”

  She shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Paxton. He and Carl held the auditions. Some of the others watched, but I wasn’t there that day. I suggested doing another play, one that used more of us, but no one listens to me.”

  “With so few roles, you’d think everyone would fight over the parts.”

  “Well, on the whole, we’re a superstitious bunch, and they really haven’t had a lot of luck with this play. If they want a Juliet now, I bet she’ll have to come from the outside.”

  “Could you tell me where Cheyenne lived? Maybe her neighbors know something about Rosemary.”

  “Maybe. Or Cheyenne’s roommates. Six of them rent a house together.” Erica gave me general directions to Cheyenne’s as she walked me to Walsh’s office to write down the exact address. I was glad for the explanation.

  Thankfully, the annoying Walsh wasn’t in the office, though a uniformed policeman on his hands and knees was searching under the couch. “I’ll need these drawers opened,” the detective said, pointing to the desk. “Two are locked.”

  “Walsh usually leaves his keys here.” Erica retrieved a set of keys from a cup on the desk and tossed them to the detective, who nodded his thanks. Then she opened a notebook and began copying Cheyenne’s information onto a sticky note. I’d expected her to bring up an employee file on a computer, but apparently Walsh didn’t have one.

  Cast pictures and posters of their past performances filled the office walls. They seemed to be organized by the year, and as I went back in time, I could identify many of the actresses I’d met today. After a few years, only a couple familiar faces cropped up, and after six, no one I knew. I went back further, just to make sure.

  Wait. Was that a younger Erica? The woman had long black hair and her face was rounder, but the nose and eyes could be the same. I stepped closer for a better look, squinting my eyes. It was hard to tell in a picture.

  Erica came to stand beside me, the sticky note she’d been writing on in her hand. “Is that you?” I asked, pointing.

  She laughed and shook her head. “I wish. I was in college then, studying hard. I didn’t join the cast until two years later. Here.” She pointed to a poster where she was lying on the ground and an actor was trying to pull her to her feet. “That was me six years ago.”

  It looked like her—the heart-shaped face, short hair, small nose, and large eyes. She’d been younger and those brown eyes held a glint of mischievousness that was missing now, but it was her.

  “That was my first real role—out of college, that is.”

  “Didn’t the company try to do the Juliet play that year?”

  She nodded and pointed to a woman in a picture next to the poster. “That was Chloe, the actress who died—cancer, they say. I didn’t know her well.”

  My eyes shifted back to the picture from two years earlier. “So which of these actors were the ones who went missing on the opening night of the play?”

  She shook her head. “I really don’t know. Walsh or Seaver might. Anyway, here is Cheyenne’s address.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked the sticky note into my pocket.

  Erica was still looking at the old picture, a blank expression on her face. I wondered if she was thinking about the girl who resembled her, who perhaps Walsh and Seaver had been trying to replace when they’d hired Erica, or the couple who’d gone missing.

  I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me. “Hey. That cute detective—is he seeing anyone?”

  The officer going through the desk stopped searching and stared at us, as if awaiting the answer himself. I swallowed hard. “Not that I know of.”

  “Good to know.” Turning, she preceded me from the room, her hips moving in an exaggerated swing.

  In the hall, I walked resolutely toward the front of the theater. Unfortunately, the only way I knew to go was thr
ough the stage, where I found the director, Paxton Seaver, in an armchair watching officers comb the seating area. He looked up when I appeared. “What are they looking for?”

  “The murder weapon.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  I shrugged. “Same thing. Ask Detective Martin.”

  “I don’t know if Carl is right about us losing business by Cheyenne’s death, but we need to find a new Juliet.”

  “Before Walsh’s aunt visits?”

  He gave me a tiny grin. “You get around, don’t you?”

  “I hear things. Some I just guess. Right now I’m guessing that you and Cheyenne were more than friends.” I recalled too well his reaction at seeing her body in the dressing room.

  His eyes dropped to his hands, and several heartbeats passed before he looked up again. “She was furious when I gave Rosemary the role of Juliet, but Rosemary was exactly right for the part—sarcastic, witty, and the chemistry with both male actors was great. Cheyenne is more the good fairy type, you know. The sweet character, the one knights fight over and the evil villain tries to conquer, only to have her hero sweep in and save her at the last minute. She didn’t understand. We fought. Now she’s gone, and I’ll never be able to tell her I’m sorry.”

  I wondered if his not choosing Cheyenne had more to do with keeping her in the company than with Rosemary’s talent. “What did Walsh think?”

  “He was thrilled to find Rosemary. That only made Cheyenne more upset. She confronted him several times. With both of them gone, he’s not sure what to do now.”

  “The play is that important?”

  “To Walsh it is.”

  That went with what Erica said and brought up an angle I hadn’t considered before. If Walsh had the most to lose by Rosemary’s disappearance and Cheyenne’s death, someone might be trying to destroy him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “You would be perfect for the role.” Seaver stood and took my hands. “Come back on Monday, okay? We’re having new tryouts. I’ll walk you through it. Think of it as saving the theater.”