Never Thwart a Thespian: Volume 8 (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series) (9 page)

Ethan grinned sheepishly. “Oops.”

“We really can’t add one more thing to this trash pile,” Lenna said with authority, coming to her cousin’s defense. “It’s too big. Everything just slides back down again. And we’re running out of room.”

“We should just start hauling the trash outside ourselves,” Mathias suggested, flexing his still-negligible adolescent biceps. “It’s not that hard.”

“The dumpsters are already overflowing,” Leigh informed, looking hopefully at her watch. She was starving, and Warren had promised to bring them all some of his famous enchiladas for dinner. The Pack had worked all day Saturday, half of Sunday, and now most of Monday as well, and they were all weary of delivered pizza. She couldn’t wait to dig her teeth into some warm tortillas — and to get this whole wretched project over with.

Unfortunately, they had already filled up not one but two rented trash containers, and Bess was unable to get another delivered until Tuesday. So while the kids continued to sort and pile, the hired men had been pulled away to help with the sprucing up of the former sanctuary. According to Bess, this alteration to the plan was just as well, because the director of the Society’s upcoming production was absolutely adamant that the cast be allowed to rehearse in their actual performance space… starting tonight.

“We’ll have to start a second trash pile further from the steps,” Leigh ordered. “Just make sure you can walk between them and that it doesn’t block anything.”

Ethan immediately flung a chipped vinyl record like a Frisbee, sending it skidding into an area they had only just managed to clear that morning. “How about there?” he suggested.

Leigh frowned. “The spot is fine, but surprising as this may sound, trash does not strictly
need
to be airborne. Carry it, please. Before somebody gets whacked in the face with half a coffin lid.”

Ethan gave a sigh and started back to work, but Lenna froze in her tracks. “Nobody really found a coffin in here, did they?”

“Yes, Len,” Mathias answered sarcastically. “We found coffins. And bodies, too. Dozens of them. Where were you?”

As Lenna’s inevitable shriek hit the basement’s stale air, followed by a whine of complaint at her brother’s mistreatment, Leigh headed for the steps. “I think it’s time for a break. Dinner should be arriving any minute; I’m going outside to keep a lookout. Why don’t you guys go wait in the annex kitchen? Get yourselves some drinks and we’ll bring the food in there.”

Leigh did not have to dismiss the Pack twice. They flowed around her like galloping mustangs and were out of sight within seconds. She walked the rest of the way up the stairs and through the annex toward the door to the parking lot. Her heart leapt to see her husband through the window, approaching the door with a foil-covered tray in one hand and a gorgeous bouquet of spring flowers in the other.

Her lips curved into a smile. Oh, but she did love this man!

She hurried forward to unlock the door. They had been keeping all the doors locked after the handymen had left for the day and were no longer trooping in and out, but the security measure did nothing to soothe Leigh’s ever-present angst, since she was certain that she and the kids would be safer on the opposite side of the doors.

She let her husband in and greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss on the lips. “I was happy enough with the enchiladas,” she teased, reaching for the bouquet. “Here, let me take these off your hands.”

Warren released the flowers and shifted the tray of food into a more comfortable two-handed grip. “Um… I really wish I didn’t have to admit this, seeing how fabulous a greeting they just earned me, but the flowers aren’t for you.”

Leigh’s cheer deflated. “Seriously?” she whined, burying her nose in the bouquet and inhaling the first pleasant scent she had experienced all day. “What if I take them anyway?”

He leaned over to plant an apologetic kiss on her cheek. “I’ll buy you another one later if you like. I’ll buy you five of them. But this one I need. It’s an emergency. Trust me.”

She looked up at him curiously. “Emergency flowers? For who?”

His reply was interrupted by the sound of a slamming door in the parking lot. Leigh looked out the glass panel to see a chauffeur closing the door of a limousine behind a small, white-haired man in a tailored suit.

“Oh, no,” Warren lamented, snatching the bouquet back from Leigh and placing the tray of food into her hands instead. “He’s early.”

“Who’s early?” she asked, confused. “Is that—”

“Gordon Applegate,” he answered tersely. “Come to make even more trouble for me, I’m sure. Would you mind carrying the food inside? You and the Pack go ahead and eat. Looks like I’m going to be tied up for a while here…”

As Warren opened the door to admit his client, Leigh slipped away down the hall. She felt no particular compulsion to impress Mr. Applegate, but given that the man was dressed so impeccably, she would at least like to remove any shards of ceiling tile from her hair before their first introduction.

She delivered the warm tray to the waiting Pack, threatened all manner of unrealistic punishments if all the enchiladas were eaten before she returned, and rushed into the bathroom to make herself as presentable as possible, which was not very. But her appearance would have to do. She was undeniably curious about the richer-than-God and — to quote her Aunt Bess — “randy as a sailor” Gordon Applegate. She also wanted to know why in hell her most-certainly heterosexual husband was buying flowers for another man.

She emerged into the annex corridor and followed the sound of the men’s voices to the curved hallway behind the sanctuary. She stopped just short of being seen.

“She’s got to know something I don’t,” Gordon Applegate’s thin tenor said insistently. “Damn woman’s hounding me like a pit bull over this ridiculous old fire trap. She thinks the property’s worth something and she’s looking to turn a quick buck. I’d bet anything she’s deluded about its worth, but the fact remains: whether or not she could turn a profit on this place, there’s no question that I could, just by unloading it on her right now.”

Leigh did a double take. At first she assumed the “damn woman” Gordon was cursing in hushed tones must be Bess, given her aunt’s natural association with the verb “hounding.” But now she realized he must be talking about the real estate attorney Sonia Crane, who had evidently confronted him after Leigh’s encounter with her on Saturday. Was Gordon seriously considering selling the building out from underneath the Society, mere days before their first opening night?

“You could certainly profit from a sale at that price,” Warren said smoothly. “But haven’t you been insisting all along that financial gain is not your goal here?”

Gordon Applegate’s only response was a gruff exhale. The men were quiet for a moment, and Leigh decided to show herself. She backtracked a few steps, quietly, then walked on into the hallway. But when she got to the place where the men had been standing, she found they had already moved into the sanctuary.

“Gordon!” she heard her Aunt Bess exclaim. “Oh, how wonderful that you’re here! Come in, come in. You have to see!”

Leigh hustled forward and entered the sanctuary a few paces behind the men. She watched as Gordon Applegate stepped out into the auditorium and was immediately pounced upon by her exuberant aunt. “Well?” Bess cooed, taking his arm and leading him out into the room’s center. “Not bad for less than a week’s work, hmm?”

As Gordon studied the transformed room around him, Leigh studied Gordon. He was a slight figure, on a level with Bess and considerably slimmer, but his bearing was that of a confident man who knew what he was about and brooked no dissent. He appeared to be somewhere around seventy, with snow-white hair on each side of his head and nothing whatsoever on top. His light blue eyes were piercing, set far back under prominent brows and narrowly on either side of a long, thin nose. To say that the man was handsome would be pushing it; to say that he reeked with the aura of wealth would not.

Gordon surveyed the room for quite some time, and Leigh could imagine the differences he must be seeing. The worn carpet had vanished to reveal original hardwood of a rich oak that, while permanently marred in any number of ways, shone with cleanliness and a fresh coat of varnish. The walls looked equally bright and clean, still wet in places with the latest coat of a warm, peachy rose color. The clear glass windows sparkled. Aside from the painter’s scaffolding and supplies, the room was still perfectly empty. Yet the same space that had seemed hollow and foreboding mere days ago now pulsed with new life and invitation.

“Well?” Bess repeated, her merry eyes twinkling as she held Gordon’s skinny arm close to her side. “Tell me I’m a miracle worker.”

Gordon drew in a long breath, then let it out with a smile. “My dear, you are indeed. This place is unrecognizable.” He took her hand in both of his own and favored her with a lusty look. “Bravo,” he whispered.

“I agree,” Warren said, his own surprise obvious in his voice. “You’ve done a fabulous job here, Bess.”

To Leigh’s surprise, Bess’s eyes ceased their fawning over Gordon and turned to Warren with a look of practiced disdain.
“Mr. Harmon,”
she said coolly.

Warren’s face fell. “Now, Bess—” he began.

“Gordon, dear,” Bess crooned, cutting Warren off and pulling her benefactor toward Leigh. “You must meet my niece. Gordon, this is Leigh Koslow; she and her children have been helping out with the project downstairs. Leigh, this is Mr. Gordon Applegate, the most generous man in the world. Discuss!”

For a moment, Leigh found herself at a loss. Her aunt’s performance was applause-worthy, as neither of the men seemed to realize what total B.S. she was shoveling at them. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Applegate,” Leigh forced out finally. Then, remembering the conversation in the hallway, “I understand you’ve made a very generous donation to the Thespian Society. I’m sure the entire community will appreciate it.”

Bess’s face gleamed with approval. Gordon’s eyes held Leigh’s without modesty, false or otherwise. “Well, I suppose we’ll see about that,” he said noncommittally. He looked from her to Warren, then back over to Bess. “But I’m a businessman first, you know.”

“Oh, psshaw!” said Bess, trapping his arm at her side again. “You’re as tender-hearted as they come. You just make oodles of money despite yourself!”

Gordon frowned at her, even as his lips twitched toward a smile. “Don’t start up with all that again, Bessie. I told you before the sheriff’s sale, either it flies or it doesn’t. I won’t have my name attached to some slipshod, second rate—”

A phone rang in his pocket with one of the loudest, shrillest, most obnoxious ringtones Leigh had ever heard. It might as well have been a recorded voice shrieking
wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I am more important! Answer me NOW!

And Gordon did. “Excuse me,” he said, pulling the phone from his breast pocket and glancing at the screen. “I have to take this.” He put the phone to his ear and moved off toward the stage area.

“Bess,” Warren said beseechingly as Gordon stepped out of earshot. “Don’t be like this. I told you I was sorry. Look—” he extended the bouquet. “These are for you. And… I brought enchiladas. Even made a couple with sour cream and green onions, just for you.”

He turned his liquid-brown, puppy dog eyes on his aunt-in-law with full force, and Leigh knew that inside, Bess was melting to a puddle. But her outward expression stayed hard. She reached out with a mechanical motion and took the flowers from his hands, her cool stare leaving his face only just long enough to glance down at the bouquet. “Grocery store?” she inquired sharply.

He shook his head with a smile. “Florist.”

The corners of Bess’s lips twitched.

Warren’s smile widened. “Am I forgiven, then?”

Bess’s lips continued to twitch, but she threw her nose in the air and turned around with a flounce. “Forgiveness
pending,”
she said haughtily. “I’m going to go put these in water,” she called to Leigh over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “If Gordon finishes with his call before I get back, send him toward the restrooms, would you? Francie has truly outdone herself on those urinals…”

Bess departed toward the annex muttering, and Leigh turned to face her husband. “What on earth was that all about?” she asked, baffled. Bess, like all the other Morton females, absolutely adored Warren. In their eyes, he was
the man who could do no wrong.
Which, although perfectly lovely now, had been annoying as hell in the years when Leigh had only considered him a friend. How she could have been the last one in the family to succumb to his charms was still hard to figure. “I can’t imagine what you could have done to her,” Leigh mused, her own lips twitching. “I would guess maybe you ran over one of her cats, except if that were the case, you’d be dismembered by now. What gives? What
did
you do?”

Warren let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I gave a paying client sound financial advice, that’s what.”

Leigh followed his tortured gaze out over her shoulder to where Gordon stood hissing into his cell phone.

“Oh,” she said heavily.

“Yes.
Oh,”
Warren agreed. “Gordon asked me about this venture and what it would cost him — not just up front, but over time. Bess keeps telling him that the Society can bring in enough revenue to at least cover the insurance and upkeep, but he doesn’t think that’s realistic. He thinks it will be — to put it poetically — the gift he keeps on giving.”

“And you think so, too,” Leigh surmised.

Warren cocked an eyebrow. “From a financial perspective, this place is the definition of a money pit. He might as well throw suitcases of cash off the side of the Fort Pitt Bridge.”

“That’s not true,” Leigh argued. “Other people will be getting something out of this — the community will be getting a theater. If he really won’t miss the money, it could turn out well. Couldn’t you tell him—”

“Leigh,” Warren said miserably. “I’m not going to lie to a client. But for the record, I didn’t try to talk him out of it, either. I just laid out the reality of the situation in dollars and cents. The irony is that Bess thinks he’s reluctant because of
my
advice, when the truth is he would never have gotten involved in the first place if he weren’t besotted with
her!”