Cherringham--Playing Dead (8 page)

There was nothing there, save the velvet nest for the pearl.

“My God! It’s been
stolen
!” Goode — the thunder-struck Lord Blake — said.

The stage lights flashed as if a lightning bolt had exploded over the room.

Once … twice…

Then the lights cut out completely, and Jack quickly lowered the curtain.

The act, and the rehearsal was over.

And nobody got killed…,
Jack thought.

*

Ellie had walked into her usual place behind the bar of the Ploughman’s and suddenly the soon-to-be-married Clarissa vanished to be replaced by the familiar cheery barmaid.

Todd stood next to Jack.

“What can I get you, Todd?”

“Hmm — think … I’ll have a Stella.”

Jack turned back to Ellie. “Make that two pints of Stella please,
Clarissa
.”

It almost felt that — with the rehearsal ended — people just continued in their parts as they walked over to the pub.

Sarah sat with Tony Standish whose broad American accent in the show would be sure to get laughs — even for the lines that weren’t actually funny.

And Sarah’s mum had come to the pub, sitting at table with Ambrose Goode — maybe doing some damage repair on the guy’s ego.

Kramer had passed on the pub gathering.

Probably wanted to preserve his aloof status as the artistic “visionary” of the show.

Also Laura — aka the tipsy divorcee in the show — begged off, saying she had a long drive home. And Ben Ferris, who didn’t say much save for the lines in his script, simply vanished.

Ellie put down the two pints.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

That first sip …
not bad.

“So Jack,” said Todd. “You enjoying it so far?”

“Sure. Fun to see the thing come together.”

“And the fight refereeing?”

Jack shook his head at that. “Let’s hope that’s done with.”

“Dunno. That Kramer — he’s got under everyone’s skin. Good thing I just work backstage or we might — as they say — ‘have problems’.”

“Hear you on that.”

The pub wasn’t crowded; the actors making up about half the patrons. Quiet night.

Not a bad time to talk and ask some questions.

“Todd, the things that have happened. That light falling, the food poisoning, the trap door—”

“Close one that! Our girl Ellie here could have really hurt herself.”

“Yeah. That’s what I mean. What … do you make of it all?”

Jack looked at the electrician, someone who seemed solid as a rock. But Jack had said to Sarah that really anyone can go on the suspect list, suspicious, that is, if these weren’t all a string of strange accidents.

But Todd?

It would be a giant leap to think he had anything to do with the things that have happened.

“Okay. Here’s the thing Jack. I helped set up the stage lighting. I mean, I’m a bloody competent electrician, aren’t I?”

Jack smiled. “So I’ve heard.”

“Right. And I can tell you, they were secure, all properly bolted, the rigging perfect. And then — one falls…”

“People talk to you about it?”

“A few. Natural, that, isn’t it — wanting to blame someone. I mean, they
know
I set them up. But—”

He turned to Jack, pausing for a moment to make sure that his next words were out of earshot of anyone but Jack.

“Someone must have tampered with that light, Jack. It was no accident.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Those things were locked in. I’d put my own mother under any one of them. Someone
did
something.”

“No accident?”

Todd hesitated. “Could someone have gone up there to take a look at the lights, maybe knocked one loose? S’pose, it’s not impossible. But the question is…”

“Yeah?”

“Who? And why?

“Classic questions,” Jack said, “Least in my line of work.”

So Todd was as suspicious as he was. But that prompted an additional question.

“If you thought someone tampered, weren’t you worried?”

Todd nodded. “Sure. Maybe someone wanted to hurt the theatre now that it’s back in full swing. Maybe — they didn’t want to really hurt anyone — just scare them. But Jack … see, these are my people, my village.”

Todd looked away. This was a side to him that Jack hadn’t expected to see.

Then he looked back. “If someone’s out to hurt one of our own, I can do more good being there than not.”

“Feel the same way myself. Even though this isn’t exactly my village, my people.”

Todd’s smile returned. “They sure the hell are, Jack. You kidding? You’re practically our NYC Mascot.”

Jack laughed.

It was good to know that there was an extra pair of watchful eyes on the stage. Especially with the big dress rehearsal to come. Anything could happen.

He saw Tony Standish stand up and fire off a “goodnight” wave to everyone, leaving Sarah on her own.

Exit Stage Left,
Jack thought.

“Think I’m going to catch up with Sarah a bit.”

“Yup, and my missus will be wondering where I am anyway, Jack. See you tomorrow.”

Jack nodded and walked over to the back table.

*

“Seat free?”

“Been saving it for you,” Sarah said with a smile.

Jack sat down. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom down here at the Ploughman’s.”

“I
know
! Doesn’t seem quite right, does it?”

“Lady Blake with a half of lager. Now that’s what I call fitting right in.”

Which brought them to the topic of the rehearsal.

“Jack — sorry you had to get between those two. Can you believe it?”

“Good thing that they were more bluster than muscle. Still, no love lost between them.”

He nodded at Ambrose still embroiled in a deep conversation with Helen Edwards.

“Ambrose there, and Kramer.”

“Still — we got through the rehearsal, the pearl being ‘purloined’ and all. Maybe we’re over-reacting. Could be they are all accidents, and—”

Jack stopped her with a nod.

He told her what Todd had said about the lights.

And he himself had found a way it could have been triggered.

“So,” he said. “No accidents. Least Todd’s on our side. Watching things.”

“Not a suspect?”

“Was he ever?”

“Which leaves…”

“Pretty much everyone else. Not that we have anything. Really, as we get closer to performance, I’ll be worried.”

That stopped Sarah, her eyes on Jack’s.

“What do you mean?”

“Whoever is doing these things — why would they stop? And what better time to strike than just when the show is coming together?”

“The first performance?”

“Or maybe even sooner, when everything is in place, all the actors, the props…”

“Final dress rehearsal… Jack — you’re scaring me.”

He was tempted to tell her not to worry.

It’s all going to be okay.

But Jack was anything but sure of that.

“We need to find out more. And we’re running out of time.”

“There is one thing, Jack,” said Sarah. “Maybe it’s not important.”

“Everything’s important.”

“Well — you know the estate agents down the stairs from my office?”

“Sure — the one Laura works in, no?”

“Yes. Grace remembered that last year — when there was all the fuss about the theatre being turned into flats — Andy Parkes was in there nearly every day.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“Maybe Laura knows something,” Sarah said. “How about I speak to her?”

“Okay, except —
I’ll
talk to her. Let Parkes come after me if he gets upset again.”

“You’re right. In which case — I’ll take on Ben Ferris.”

“Our butler?”

“Yes. So quiet, but he’s been with the company for a while. If nothing else a chat might eliminate them both as possibilities.”

“And otherwise, we …
you
… need to be careful, on that stage.”

Sarah nodded. Then he saw her look away. “Mum’s done, looks like. I’m her ride home.”

Jack turned. He saw Ambrose Goode navigate his round body out of a wooden chair that he had been barely able to fit in, and walk gingerly to the pub door.

Guess it’s been a few years since
he
was in a punch-up,
thought Jack.
If ever.

Helen walked over.

“Ready, Sarah?”

“Sure.” She turned back to Jack. “I’ll call Ben tomorrow morning.”

She was aware her mother was listening. But Sarah knew Helen, more than anyone, wanted to find out what was happening.

“Great, and I will pay a visit on our ‘divorcee’. See what her connection to Andy Parkes may be—”

“Oooh, he’s a nasty one,” Sarah’s mother said. “Unscrupulous as they come.”

“And in my country,” Jack said, “they come pretty unscrupulous.” Then, to Sarah: “Catch up tomorrow? Before the dress rehearsal?”

Jack felt that Helen wanted to ask questions — but she held back, letting them go through their process.

“Goodnight, Jack,” Helen said.

“Goodnight.”

And Jack stayed sitting there.

Thinking … that just as the play builds to a climax, could these events be building to something?

Something deadly.

Could he and Sarah figure out what that was in time? Who might be behind it?

And the one question that he kept coming back to…

Why?

Ben Ferris merely mumbled when he answered his phone, as if immobilised by this unexpected call.

Sarah’s mother had all the numbers of the cast in case of an emergency, so it had been easy for Sarah to reach him.

But talking? That was another story…

She had explained what she wanted to talk to him about — and Ferris said that he was “too busy”.

Too busy stocking shelves at the local Costco?
she almost said.

But instead she explained that she and Jack had been talking to everyone.

“And wouldn’t it look odd if he, Ben Ferris, wouldn’t talk?”

When Ferris finally agreed to meet at lunchtime, Sarah thought it would be where he lived — his address … a tiny flat in the village, above the bookshop.

But he quickly said “No.”

Then: “And not at that coffee house,” he said. “Bunch of busybodies work there.”

She thought of the bookshop below his flat that Sarah hadn’t been to in months … with a new owner and new name, “The Book Cottage.”

When she mentioned that possibility, he hesitated.

“Ben — it will just be for a quick chat,” she added.

Then, not hiding his reluctance, he said, “Okay. In ten minutes.”

Now, the call ended and taking a breath, Sarah put her computer to sleep and turned to Grace.

“Going to The Book Cottage,” Sarah said. “Shouldn’t be gone long.”

Grace nodded, carrying on with her work, as Sarah got up from her desk, and headed for the shop.

*

A bell over the door jingled as she entered.

The small shop — specialising in quality used books as well as the newest releases — looked empty.

But then the owner, new to Cherringham, a small, rotund woman — Rosie McHugh — came out of a little room at the back, a smile on her face.

“Hello,” the shopkeeper said. “Can I help you?”

“Could be — I hear the new Archer is a great read, hmm? And—”

“All sold out of that one, I’m afraid,” Rosie said. But then she came out from behind the counter. “Michael Connelly has a new one, getting
great
reviews.”

The woman pointed to a neat line of the Connelly novel on the top shelf of new releases.

“Thanks. Might be just the ticket.” Sarah took a look around at the otherwise empty store. “I’m also,” Sarah said as she slid the novel out, “meeting Ben Ferris here. In minutes, really. You know him?”

A nod, and then, finally a smile. “Do indeed. The upstairs tenant! Haunts this place. Limited funds but always checking out what’s new.”

“Quite the reader, then?”

“Oh, more than that. Quite the
writer
. Always checking out the books about writing, plays, novels. Last week he picked up
The Selected Letters of Elia Kazan
. You know, Mr. Ferris once wrote professionally…”

No … I did not know that,
Sarah thought.

Just thought he was quiet Ben Ferris, working his hourly wage job, struggling to get by.

But a writer?

“No, I didn’t, I—”

And at that moment the bell over the door trilled again, and Ben Ferris walked in, face set, a nod to Rosie McHugh, and just a stolid look for Sarah.

Sarah smiled and went over to him.

*

Ben wasn’t terribly good at eye contact.

He led the way back to where there were shelves devoted to books on writing and writers’ biographies. As Sarah asked him questions, her voice low, Ben would slide out one book … then another.

“Ben, I wanted to know your thoughts about what’s been happening in the theatre.”

He paged though the book in his hands, bent over, and then slid it back in, pulling out another.

“You mean the arguments and stuff?”

“Well, yes.” Sarah paused. “That and the accidents.

“Guess … accidents happen.”

“You mean you think there will be more?” she asked.

He looked up at her.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“You think someone could be doing them on purpose? That they aren’t accidents?”

“Anything’s possible.”

Like pulling teeth here,
Sarah thought.

She moved on.

“And that fight between Jez and Ambrose.”

“Idiots,” Ben said.

“For fighting?”

Another look up. Ben Ferris weighing every word.

Then the tiniest of smiles. “Sure.”

And Sarah wasn’t sure at all.

Ben had been a fixture in the local productions for years. She wondered what he thought of an outsider coming in, so now she asked him.

Ben slid out another book.

Sarah could see the title.
The Trip to Echo Spring
.