Case of Imagination (3 page)

“I’m going to stay overnight. We can go buy some groceries and a couple of toothbrushes. And we can check on the pageant.”

“You just want another look at Juliet Lovelace.”

“And you probably wouldn’t mind another look at Ted Stacy.”

“What about your séance?”

He looked at his watch. “Oops. I’ll call and say the spirits weren’t aligned. Borrow your phone?”

Jerry called and apologized for missing the big event. Then I took the phone and called to check my messages. There were none.

“This is getting depressing,” I said.

“Can’t get any worse.”

“Don’t say that.”

A knock on the front door made us both jump.

“Must be the Welcome Wagon,” I said.

It was something far from welcoming. Jerry opened the door. There stood a petite platinum blonde, hands on hips.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi, Olivia.”

Olivia Decker is a very pretty young woman, but she’s eternally pissed about something or another. She works for a law firm, so she’s always dressed in beautifully cut suits that show off her figure. Today’s suit was black. So was her mood. Her green eyes narrowed.

“You inherited a house and didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know until today. How did you find out?”

“My associate asked me if I was going to help you with the details. I told him that was the first I’d heard of any property in Celosia. Then a Mrs. Amelia Farnsworth corners me in front of the office to ask why you missed her appointment. Seems she had something important to ask her dear departed husband.”

“I just called and explained things to her.”

“You should have called and explained things to me.”

Jerry held up both hands. “Wait a minute. Skip back a couple of days. Aren’t we over?”

“Not necessarily.” She came in, looking around as if appraising the room. I could see the dollar signs dancing in those green eyes. She glanced my way. “And what’s she doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too, Olivia.”

She ignored me and continued to inspect the room. “This has real possibilities. You are planning to sell it, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m planning to keep it,” Jerry said.

She faced him, eyes wide. “Keep it? You give up the Fairweather Mansion, but you want to keep this rat trap?”

“I’m going to set up shop. Psychic Shop.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. When are you going to stop? You can’t make a living doing séances. Why don’t you take your share of your family’s money? You’re entitled to it.”

Jerry’s voice was cold. “This has nothing to do with my family.”

“Of course it does. I don’t have to be a trained psychiatrist to see what’s going on here.”

“I don’t want to talk about my family. I’ve told you.”

I hoped Olivia would push further into the taboo subject so Jerry would get angry and make her go away, but she realized her mistake and softened her approach.

“Yes, you did, and I apologize. I’m just, well, puzzled about your intentions.”

“I like this house. I want to fix it up.”

I could tell by her expression she’d decided to humor him. “Okay. Let’s talk about what it would cost.”

Olivia can go on for hours about expenses and profits. I didn’t want to look at or listen to her. “Jerry, I’m going to town for groceries.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said, but his eyes were on Olivia.

***

I had another reason for going back into town. Maybe there was something to the pageant sabotage. Maybe Evan James really could use my help. No harm in asking, Besides, did I really want to hang around Uncle Val’s house and watch Jerry and Olivia kiss and make up?

We had passed Baker Auditorium on our way into town, so after a brief stop at the gas station to ask the attendant for directions, I found my way to the large brick building. I parked the VW in the shady parking lot and went inside. I smelled a faintly charred smell, as if there’d been a fire. The auditorium, which looked like it would seat about four hundred, was cool and dark. Soft gray walls and darker chairs blended with the carpets and velvety curtains that framed the stage. On stage, the twelve pageant contestants, dressed in lurid outfits of magenta, pink, and Day-Glo orange, attempted a disorganized dance number, which was set in Venice, complete with cardboard gondolas. A large man in a green caftan shouted instructions.

“No, no, Miss Peace Haven! To your left! Left! The other way! Miss Tri-County, you are two steps behind. Girls, look alive! The pageant is Saturday night!”

A voice near my elbow said, “May I help you?”

I looked down. A small woman with dark eyebrows and overlarge glasses peered up at me like a raccoon from a hole.

“I’d like to speak with Evan James.”

“Are you here about being a judge? We already have our judges.”

“No, I’m here on other business.”

She hurried down the aisle and held a brief conversation with a thin man who stood and walked up the aisle to me. With his blue suit and a yellow polka-dotted scarf folded around his neck like an ascot, he looked ready for tea at the Kentucky Derby. He had a clipboard in one hand and a yellow handkerchief in the other, which he used to wipe his brow and sparse brown hair. When he saw me, he did a double take.

“Madeline Maclin? Miss Parkland, if I’m not mistaken!”

The little raccoon woman followed him. She looked at me with new respect.

“That was some time ago,” I said.

Evan James shook my hand. “But I never forget a queen. We’re delighted to have you.”

“Before you get too delighted, I’ve traded in my tiara. I’m here to investigate your reports of sabotage.”

He blinked as if unable to process this information. “You’re not here as one of our visiting queens?”

God forbid. “I’m a private investigator, Mr. James. I understand you’re having some trouble, and I’d like to help if I can.”

He sighed and perched on the arm of the nearest seat. The little woman sat across the aisle. “This pageant’s been nothing but trouble,” he said. “One disaster after another. You can probably smell the smoke. The other day, one of our curtains caught fire. I just managed to catch it before the whole thing was destroyed. We were sent the wrong outfits for the opening number. Our musical director got sick, so I had to hire Percy.” He indicated the man in the caftan. “He and I do not share the same vision for this pageant, that’s all I can say about that. And now, for the first time in the pageant’s history, we have protesters. I can’t believe it. My pageants are always clean, decent, family entertainment. The girls in this town look forward to being in the show. We give out nice cash prizes and beautiful trophies and crowns. What’s to protest?”

“You think someone is sabotaging the pageant?”

“What else could it be? As for hiring an investigator.” He gave me a long considering look. Was he just seeing me as a visiting queen? He surprised me. “Yes. I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Shrieks of outrage came from Percy. His caftan billowed as he raised his arms. “Don’t you girls realize people are going to pay to see this? Do you want to look like idiots? Try it again.”

Evan James spoke to the little woman. “I’d better go smooth some feathers. Ms. Maclin, we’ll discuss the details later, but if you can get started right away, I’d appreciate it. The pageant’s in four days!”

“Of course. I’ll need to have a look around.”

“Certainly. Cindy, will you answer any questions she may have?”

Cindy turned to me with an eager expression. “Where would you like to go first, Ms. Maclin?”

“Madeline, please. I’d like to have a look backstage.”

While Evan James had a tense conversation with Percy about yelling at the contestants, Cindy pulled back the stage left curtain and showed me the charred edge.

“If we keep it pulled back like this, the burned places hardly show. There’s no way we could buy a new curtain in time for the pageant. It was really lucky Evan was working here that evening and smelled smoke.”

“When was this?”

“Last evening.”

“Evan was the only one here?”

“As far as I know.”

The curtain was thick heavy velvet. I picked up the burned end. “Did anyone call the fire department?”

“No. He was able to put the fire out. It was just smoldering, he said. Our insurance will cover the damage, so it’s really more of an annoyance than anything.”

“Do you have any idea what could have caused the fire?”

Cindy shook her head. “I thought maybe a light overheated, but the lights are all there.”

She pointed to the rows of lights above us. I looked around for electric cords or outlets that may have overheated, but the floor under the curtains was bare. “Is there anyone who might be unhappy with Evan about something? Someone with a grudge?”

“Oh, no. He’s a very nice man, just a bit single-minded about pageants. If he had his way, we’d have a pageant every month.”

I repressed a shudder. “What about Ted Stacy and the other protesters?”

She looked surprised. “I don’t know. This looks more like a prank, something kids would do.”

“Are there kids in town who’d set fire to curtains?”

“Not that I know of personally, but Celosia’s a small town. There’s not much for teenagers to do. Maybe some of them snuck in here to smoke and drink and got carried away.”

“Isn’t the theater locked at night?”

“Yes, but it’s an old building, and we don’t have an alarm system. If somebody really wanted to get in, they probably could.”

Evan James called for Cindy to assist him for a minute. I continued my inspection of the backstage area. It was cluttered with candy wrappers, wood shavings, odd pieces of wood and plastic, and a few scraps of duct tape. The smells of wood and paint made my stomach roll. Memories surfaced of my pageant days, huddled in the dark with dozens of other little girls, our stiff dresses keeping us apart, my smile glued on, ready to walk out into that blinding white light, terrified that I’d stand with the wrong foot in front, or forget to turn the correct way and give the judges that one last flash of teeth.

Brrrr! Those days were over! I concentrated on the floor of the stage. Like most backstage floors, it could use a good sweeping. Dust bunnies rolled in the sawdust as I walked behind the back curtain past stacks of lumber, ladders, paint cans, and music stands. Chairs were stacked in one corner, and several loops of rope and electric cords hung from brackets set high in the wall.

Cindy returned, “Are you finished here, Madeline?”

“Has anyone checked those electric cords?”

“They aren’t connected to anything. They’re just up there out of the way. Did you need to see anything else back here? The dressing rooms?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The dressing rooms were small with long counters and lighted mirrors. The contestants had crammed every inch with gowns, shoes, makeup, and beauty utensils. The smell of perfume and hair spray made Cindy wave her hand in front of her nose.

“I don’t know how they stand it.”

I took some deep breaths, too, but for another reason. I was going to have to do something about these pageant flashbacks. “Could you show me the rest of the building?”

Cindy led me back out on stage and down some steps to the auditorium. She pointed to a room high up in the back wall. “That’s our light booth.” We went up the aisle to the lobby where she pointed out another room. “Box office there, restrooms on either side. That’s everything on the first floor. Evan’s office is upstairs. The judges are meeting there.”

“I’d like to meet them.”

Cindy led the way up one flight of stairs to an office on the second floor of the auditorium and introduced me to the judges, Benjy Goins, a local DJ, a weary-looking man with scruffy hair and a full beard; Kimberly Dawn Williams, a former Miss Celosia, a heavily lacquered blonde wearing too much eye shadow and too much perfume; and Chuck Hofsteder, a chubby, good-natured man who’d judged several local beauty pageants.

“I remember when you won Miss Parkland,” Hofsteder said. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maclin. Thought for sure you’d go on to Miss North Carolina. What happened?”

“Change of plans.”

“Well, you sure could’ve taken the crown.”

Cindy passed out some sheets of paper. “Updated agenda. Interviews start today. Tomorrow, we’ll finish interviews and have dinner at the country club. The pageant’s at eight Saturday night. I’ll have a list for each of you.”

“Anyone promising so far?” I asked the judges.

“Miss Celosia High,” Hofsteder said. “She’s got quite a lot of stage presence. Miss Peace Haven looks good, too. I’d say it’s quite a nice crop of girls.”

I never got used to the casual way everyone referred to pageant contestants as “girls.” How’s your girl doing? Is your girl up to standard? Our girl’s not feeling well. That sort of thing. This girl got really tired of the pet shop attitude. Come on, old girl. Let’s go for a run.

“Are you staying at the Wayfarer?” Hofsteder asked.