Authors: Cynthia Riggs
Shooting Star (11 page)
“Don’t bother,” said Victoria, quickly. “Let me see what the newspapers have to say.” She opened up the Cape Cod paper and stared at the front page.
“What is it?” Elizabeth pushed her chair back.
Victoria handed her the paper.
“Ohmygod!” cried Elizabeth.
The headline read, “Comedy Ends in Tragedy.”
“Comedy!” exclaimed Victoria.
“Tragedy?” Elizabeth leaned over her shoulder. “Want me to read it?”
“I wish you would.”
Elizabeth sat down and spread out the paper. “The subhead says, ‘Actor dies of apparent heart attack.’”
“Good heavens!”
“‘During the opening performance last night of
Frankenstein Unbound
at the Island Players, Robert F. Scott, 48, who was performing two roles …’”
Frankenstein Unbound
at the Island Players, Robert F. Scott, 48, who was performing two roles …’”
“Robert Scott!” exclaimed Victoria. “He was reading Bruce Duncan’s part as Frankenstein’s friend.”
Elizabeth looked over the top of the paper. “Yeah?”
“Bruce had been cast in the part of Henry Clerval.”
“Oh?” said Elizabeth, lowering the paper.
“Henry Clerval is murdered by Frankenstein’s monster.”
“Bruce Duncan is the guy who … ?”
“Yes,” said Victoria. “Bruce was almost hysterical when he learned about Peg’s death. He was convinced he was next.”
“In order of appearance?” said Elizabeth.
“Go on reading,” said Victoria. “Heart attack?”
“‘ … performing two roles, collapsed after reading the part of Frankenstein’s friend, Henry Clerval. Mr. Scott was found backstage by the cleaning woman, Maria Gallante, and was taken to the Martha’s Vineyard Hospital, where he was pronounced dead on arrival of an apparent heart attack.’” Elizabeth
glanced up. “The article goes on from there. Do you want to hear it?”
glanced up. “The article goes on from there. Do you want to hear it?”
“The headline said comedy?”
“Let me find that part.” Elizabeth ran her finger down the page. “Here we go. ’The play, adapted by the poet Victoria Trumbull from Mary Shelley’s book
Frankenstein
and directed by Dearborn Hill, was produced despite objections from some of the cast. Peg Storm, who played the part of the Frankensteins’ housekeeper, had been found dead the night before, and Teddy Vanderhoop, eight, who played the part of the five-year-old William Frankenstein, was still missing as of press time.”
Frankenstein
and directed by Dearborn Hill, was produced despite objections from some of the cast. Peg Storm, who played the part of the Frankensteins’ housekeeper, had been found dead the night before, and Teddy Vanderhoop, eight, who played the part of the five-year-old William Frankenstein, was still missing as of press time.”
“Comedy?” said Victoria.
“I’m coming to it. ‘Last night’s production of the play, which deals with weighty social issues, was staged as a farce, much to the delight of the standing-room-only crowd.”
“Standing room only? Farce? The idea,” said Victoria. “The very idea!”
“Want to hear more?”
“I don’t think so,” said Victoria, picking up the phone.
George Byron was reading the same article to his mother at their breakfast table when the phone rang.
“I was about to call you, Victoria,” Ruth said. “Have you read past the farce bit?”
“That’s when I decided to call.”
“You’ll never guess who acted Frankenstein’s bride, the part the paper refers to,” said Ruth.
“Dearborn?”
“Guess again.”
“His nephew?”
“Rebecca,” Ruth cried. “My beloved sister!”
“Rebecca?” Victoria repeated.
“My sister played the part of Elizabeth Lavenza, the bride of Frankenstein!”
“There’s nothing farcical about the bride’s role.”
“Rebecca adores acting. She loves to emote. Did you read the passage in the paper about ‘high camp’?”
“I don’t think I want to,” said Victoria. “The first I knew about Robert Scott’s death was when we read about it in the paper just now. Forty-eight is young to have a heart attack.”
“George went to the performance last night, Victoria.”
“Did George tell you what scene Robert was playing when he collapsed?”
“The monster had strangled him.”
“The monster, as played by Roderick?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
“Was Roderick too enthusiastic in his acting?”
“Hard to know, Victoria. Bob was alive when the stage crew dragged him off. So much was going on, no one paid much attention to him.” Ruth paused. “He apparently lay down on the sofa backstage, which is where the cleaning woman found him.”
“No one missed him in Act Three?”
“Dearborn was drunk. The play was not going as expected. The audience was having a ball. The cast went along with the audience and treated the play as a farce. When Bob didn’t appear on cue, Dearborn substituted Nora, who read the part, woodenly, of course. The audience loved it.”
“Now that the play has been reviewed as a farce, I suppose we must continue to treat it as such?”
“We have no choice, Victoria. At the end of the run I’ll fire Dearborn, of course.”
“You may have some dissent from your backers, if you fire him after a commercial success.” Victoria paused again. “This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. Mary Shelley wrote a serious book. Despite all the best intentions of the past two centuries, the public is not interested in the message. They crave sensationalism and grotesquerie. And now we have two deaths associated with the play.”
“The two faces of Janus,” said Ruth. “The Roman god of beginnings and endings.”
“Front page,” said Dearborn to Becca, laying out the Cape Cod, New Bedford, and Falmouth papers. “Even
The Globe
has a front page item. Look here.” He pointed.
The Globe
has a front page item. Look here.” He pointed.
“Ummm.” Becca nuzzled his neck, then picked up
The Globe
and studied the four-inch item below the fold. “Guess that will show dear, sweet sister Ruth. Sell-out crowd, the rafters fairly pealed with laughter. We held them in our hands.” She tossed down the paper and strode across the room. “How dare she dictate behavior to you.” She tapped her chest with her fingers. “To me. How insulting, when you produce an audience pleaser the way you did last night.” She turned. “The way you always do, darling.”
The Globe
and studied the four-inch item below the fold. “Guess that will show dear, sweet sister Ruth. Sell-out crowd, the rafters fairly pealed with laughter. We held them in our hands.” She tossed down the paper and strode across the room. “How dare she dictate behavior to you.” She tapped her chest with her fingers. “To me. How insulting, when you produce an audience pleaser the way you did last night.” She turned. “The way you always do, darling.”
Dearborn cleared his throat. “Helped to have Bob Scott die after he was strangled. Not sure we can duplicate that.”
“I didn’t mean to sound insensitive, darling. Forgive me!” She went back to Dearborn and threw her arms around his neck. “Of course, that was sad. Tragic. As you know.” She cast a lingering look at her husband. “Bob meant a great deal to me at one time.” She took long, sweeping steps across the room, hands clasped under her chin.
“Sometimes I wonder about your taste,” Dearborn muttered.
“But what a noble way to go,” said Becca. “Not exactly on stage, but performing to a full house.” She repeated the two words. “Full house, darling.
Full house.”
Full house.”
“He didn’t die on stage.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m sure he felt no pain,” said Dearborn.
“Did you like the way I handled my role? Sweet, innocent bride, hmmm?” Becca asked.
“The audience loved you,” Dearborn said.
“Do you really think so?”
“You heard the laughter.”
“At all the right places.”
“All the right places,” Dearborn repeated.
“I’m glad he didn’t die until after my death scene,” said Becca. “I’d have resented him, really, for upstaging me.” She went back to her pacing. “The idea of my sister implying that you can’t hold your liquor. Of course you can. You’ve never in your life
had
to take a drink.”
had
to take a drink.”
“Just three drinks all evening,” said Dearborn, looking pleased. “Plus one or two before the performance, of course. Fortification for opening night.”
“How humiliating to make you go to public meetings and confess something that’s not really a problem.” She picked up the New Bedford paper. “My sister has always known how to make a person grovel.”
“She meant well, I suppose,” said Dearborn, sounding unconvinced.
“Darling, it’s sweet to be back together. We’ll show that bitch, won’t we?”
Dearborn slapped the back of his hand on the Cape Cod paper. “We couldn’t have gotten better press than that.”
Joanie Adams, the animal control officer, showed up ten minutes after Victoria called. She parked her truck in the driveway and slipped into Victoria’s kitchen. Sandy lay where Teddy had left him, huddled and shivering, in a cardboard box lined with an old quilt.
Joanie examined the small, scruffy, filthy dog.
“Peg Storm’s mutt, Sandy. How’d he get here?”
“You heard that Peg died?”
“No! What happened?”
“She was found at the foot of her cellar stairs,” said Victoria, careful not to mention marks of fingers around Peg’s throat.
“How awful! She was much too young.”
“We all are,” said Victoria.
“Did she trip or something?”
“No one’s said.”
“Well, Sandy needs to get to the vet, that’s for sure, and soon. Sandy first. We can talk about Peg later.”
“May I come along?”
“Glad to have the company, Mrs. Trumbull.”
The vet, Doc Atkins, a young man in his mid-fifties with a bushy, black mustache and a thatch of black hair, met them at the door of the clinic and carried Sandy to an examining table.
“What’s Sandy doing with you, Mrs. Trumbull?”
“It’s a long story,” said Victoria.
Doc Atkins moved his hands gently over the dog’s body and legs. “Couple of bad bruises. Must hurt you, pup.” Sandy lifted his head. “Back leg dislocated. How’d you do that, boy?” Sandy laid his head on his paws. “I’ll fix that right now. Put it back in place without anesthesia, less traumatic. Come hold him, Joanie.”
Sandy yelped when Doc Atkins tugged his leg into place, then lay his head down and panted.
“Good boy.” Doc Atkins patted the dog’s head. “That’s all there is to it, Sandy, old pal.” He took Sandy’s temperature and felt around the swollen areas. “No apparent internal damage. No fever. Tell Peg I’m putting Sandy on antibiotics and painkillers. Keep him quiet for a day or two. Let him determine himself how much he can do.”
Victoria twisted her ring. “Peg’s dead.”
He swiveled around. “No!”
She told him about the police finding Peg at the foot of the cellar stairs.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Freakish thing to happen. Don’t worry about Sandy. I’ll keep him overnight, give you a call tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” said Victoria, and she and Joanie drove back to Victoria’s big old house.
Tim Eldredge reported to Sergeant Smalley and saluted smartly. “I’ve located Lennie Vincent.”
Smalley looked up from the papers on his desk and sighed. “Eldredge, relax, will you?”
Tim Eldredge set his feet apart and put his hands behind his back.
“Vincent?” asked Smalley.
“Peg Storm’s ex.”
“Of course.” Smalley tugged off his reading glasses. “Where is he?”
“Building a house in Chilmark.”
“By himself?”
“Pretty much, sir. He’s handy.”
“How’d you track him down?” Smalley waved his glasses at the visitor’s chair. “Have a seat, Tim.”
“I asked the register of deeds, sir, to see if a Leonard Vincent bought property recently.”
“Good thinking.”
“Thank you, sir. He got a fair amount of money in the divorce settlement.”
Smalley nodded. “Is he living at the new house site?”
“No, sir. I followed him when he quit for the day. He’s staying in a camp behind the Animal Rescue League. Belongs to an artist.”
“Good man,” said Smalley.
“Want me to bring him in, sir?”
Smalley swung his glasses by the earpiece and considered. “He’s not likely to go anywhere. We can wait.”
“Yes, sir.” Eldredge stood, saluted, and left, shutting the door behind him.
“You don’t need to salute!” shouted Smalley to the closed door and muttered to himself, “Hot shot.”
After the animal control officer dropped her off at home, Victoria opened the door at the foot of the attic stairs and called up. “Teddy?”
“Ma’am?”
“Everyone’s gone. Sandy’s at the doctor’s and he’ll be fine. Elizabeth made a great quantity of breakfast, and we need to talk. Come downstairs.”
Teddy appeared at the foot of the stairs, disheveled and dirty.
“Bath, first,” said Victoria. “In the bureau near your bed are clean clothes someone left last summer. You can wear them while I put yours in the washing machine.”
Teddy turned slowly and started up the stairs.
“Don’t linger,” said Victoria. “I’ll be in the cookroom.”
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