Speak Now (18 page)

Two of our regulars, actors we’d cast in several productions in the past, played the parts of the parents. Olivia Hamilton was the mother. Hearing her voice come belting across the stage, I figured she would need to have her standard direction reiterated. Tone it down, Olivia. Not quite so far over the top, Olivia. But she learned her lines quickly, and was generous with the other actors.

Victor Swartz would play the father. Victor, I knew, was capable of brilliant moments on the stage, but he wasn’t the most dependable of performers. He had a hard time getting his lines, and tended to blame those actors around him for his inadequacies. Once he got it, he’d be letter-perfect. But getting him to that point, I knew, would take patience and hard work.

The tomboy little sister was played by Sally Carter. At twelve, she already had more experience than some actors get in a lifetime. She’d danced in a Gap ad, played with a golden retriever for an allergy medicine, and eaten french fries for a major fast food chain. Knowing her mother, I felt confident Sally would cause no serious problems during the production and, honestly, that’s about all you can hope for in a twelve-year-old.

I noticed with a flicker of annoyance that Paul Collins, the “dishy” Paul, hadn’t shown up yet. Although he didn’t have any lines until the second act, everyone was expected to participate in the full read-through. I didn’t care how fabulous Simon thought the guy looked in tight clothes, he wouldn’t be exempted from the rules. There was a stand-in waiting in the proverbial wings, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use him if I had to.

I looked around. Paris and his master carpenter were going over some drawings at the far rear of the stage. In the shadows of the wings stage left, Martha was murmuring quietly to her head stitcher and tailor, the three of them looking with professional, critical eyes at the bodies they’d be dressing over the next few weeks. I tried to refrain from thinking they looked like a trio of witches, muttering incantations.

Chip was with his serious-looking assistant in the first row of the orchestra seats. They were talking intently, presumably about her new duties as stage manager. If she was half as capable as Chip, things would be fine.

Looking at her closely, I realized she was older than Chip—at least in her late thirties. Her sleeveless shirt revealed the kind of defined arms I would have killed for. This woman was no stranger to the gym. She looked up suddenly, directly at me. I jumped as if I were guilty of something other than over-burdening her boss. Then she gave me a confident smile.

Chip followed her gaze and waved me over. “Charley, come meet Lisa.”

I went to the edge of the stage and crouched down to shake hands with the woman. “I hope Chip’s letting you know the full range of insanity you’ll be dealing with as stage manager.”

She grinned. “I live for insanity.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Charley. I won’t let you down.”

The only other person I had expected to show up was the play’s author, Nancy Tyler. I was surprised she hadn’t arrived yet. I imagined it would be pretty exciting for an author to see her work come to life for the first time. I also wanted to meet her for my own sake. I’d worked on so many plays whose authors had been dead for several hundred years, I was looking forward to collaborating with a live one on this production.

I was catching up with Olivia and keeping an eye on the stage door when I saw Simon come in. He looked like he hadn’t slept since I’d seen him five days before. He glanced around the stage wildly, saw me, and headed straight over.

“Olivia, darling, how nice to see you again,” he said automatically. Then, “Charley, a word if I may.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the stairs that led up to the office.

“Simon,” I gasped as he dashed up the stairway, still holding my arm, “didn’t we play this scene before? If you’re going to tell me that another of my ex-lovers is about to walk through the door, I really don’t think I can take it.”

He remained tight-lipped until we got to the office, where he closed the door, released me onto the battered couch, and stood, hands on hips, towering over me.

“Charley, what’s going on?”

I was completely baffled. “Well, for one thing, we’re about to be late starting the read-through.”

He let his breath out impatiently, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “Don’t kid me, Charley. When you left the pub the other night Eileen was manic with worry. I thought she’d gone mad until she told me about your cousin being kidnapped and you and Brenda chasing after her and getting caught, and Jack getting shot and…bloody hell, Charley!”

“Oh, look, Simon, I would have told you about all that, but—”

At that moment the door burst off its hinges and Flank filled the doorway, then filled the room as he grabbed Simon and threw him against the brick wall, holding his arms behind him.

Simon, understandably, screamed. I screamed. Flank hollered something unintelligible and held Simon’s arms tighter.

“Let him go!” I shouted, banging on Flank’s arm with my fist. “Let go of him! He wasn’t hurting me!”

Flank released Simon with evident reluctance. I think he said “Sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “Look, I should have given you some signal that it was all right for him to pull me away like that.”

Flank grunted in agreement.

“In the future I’ll wave at you if I need your assistance, okay?”

Another grunt, possibly in assent.

“Now please put the door back on its hinges and wait outside, all right?”

He gave Simon one last look, then picked up the door and, from the hallway, propped it back into position.

Simon was rubbing his elbows eloquently. “What,” he asked, sitting cautiously on the couch, “the bloody hell—” he winced as I sat next to him— “is going on?”

“Oh, sweetie.” I reached out to touch his arm, but thought better of it when I saw the look in his eye. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Jack, after the whole thing with Cece, got worried about me.”

Simon looked pointedly at the door, then back at me.

I nodded. “So he hired that guy to watch after me until we find the person who kidnapped Cece.”

It was an abbreviated version of the truth, at best, but I though Simon deserved more than the “oh, he’s my personal trainer” line I’d prepared.

Simon closed his eyes and leaned back into the cushions. “You’re so buying me a massage after rehearsal tonight.”

“I promise,” I said. “At your favorite spa.”

I waited a moment in silence.

“Do you think we should go downstairs now? I think everyone is here except for Paul—”

Simon’s eyes flew open and he jumped back to his feet. “Seriously? Is she here? Nancy? Did she show up?”

Nancy? Had we cast a Nancy? “Oh!” I got it. “The author!”

His head bobbed impatiently. “She’s here?”

“No.”

He sagged down into the chair.

“Simon, what’s the matter? Did you talk to her this weekend? Did she have a conflict—”

“She wasn’t home,” he said dismally. “I left her a message.”

That didn’t seem to warrant his current level of depression. “Well, maybe she got the dates confused, or something came up, or—”

“That’s not what the police think.”

“Police? What police?”

“The ones who showed up on my doorstep this morning.” He ran his hand through his hair again, not without some signs of stiffness from his experience with Flank. “They’re investigating her disappearance. They heard my message and thought I might be able to shed some light.”

The word “disappearance” seemed to echo in the room. Or maybe it was in my head.

“Disappearance?”

He nodded. “Her sister called the police after she hadn’t heard from Nancy in a week. Gave them a story about Nancy having met the man of her dreams and apparently run off with him.”

I gulped.

“So after what Eileen had said about Cece running off with some guy and winding up held hostage…” Simon looked at me mournfully. “Charley, what’s going on?”

“Charley?” We heard Chip’s voice through the door. “What’s going on?”

It seemed to be the question of the day.

“This guy won’t let me in,” Chip said, sounding more than a little irritated.

“Flank, let him in!” I shouted.

Beefy hands appeared on each side of the door, which was lifted away long enough to let Chip slide in.

“What are you two doing up here? Everyone’s onstage and ready. It’s quarter past.” He looked at us in exasperation.

“Has the author shown up?” I asked, with a faint flicker of hope.

“Not yet. We don’t have to wait for her, do we?”

I looked at Simon. “We’d better not.”

Chapter 20

I went down to the stage with Chip, after telling Flank to stay the hell up in the balcony unless I waved at him. Chip gave Flank a “who are you?” stare, but didn’t ask.

Paul had shown up at the last possible moment, earning a frozen smile from his stand-in, and Simon joined us at the table onstage after a few minutes. He’d changed his shirt, brushed his hair, and splashed cold water in his face. “Hello, darlings!” he called in a general greeting and, for all the world knew, he was as exuberant as ever.

After air-kisses all around and a bout of introductions, we opened our manuscripts and the actors began to read.

I have to say my attention was divided. Now and then someone would make a statement or raise a point that would involve the whole group, and I’d find myself listening with interest, arguing for or against something, or telling them to move on. But more often I was turning the news about our playwright’s disappearance over in my mind, exchanging furtive worried looks with Simon, and counting the minutes until I could tell Jack what I’d learned. On the bright side, Chip was off and running as my assistant director. At least someone was giving the script and cast his full, feverish attention.

***

I staggered out of the theater at nine that night. The read-through had dragged on until six, and then Chip had insisted on a point-by-point review with me. I was too tired to even regret that I hadn’t found the time all day to pull Martha aside and get her opinion on the handwriting of Brian’s purported farewell note.

I’d sent Simon off to the Kabuki Hot Springs in Japantown for a soak and a massage around eight. I felt it was the least I could do to make up for Flank’s enthusiasm.

I was just about to ask that gentleman to hail us a cab when I saw Jack double-parked in front of the theater.

“Hey!” I waved and squeezed between two parked cars to knock on his passenger-side door.

The window slid down. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m looking for someplace nice and quiet to take my girl tonight.”

I grinned. “Lucky girl.”

He peered at me. “Forget her. What are you doing? You want to lose your buddy and run away with me?”

I looked over my shoulder, then back to my husband. “I could do that.” I directed a shooing gesture toward Flank, climbed into the car, wrapped my arms around Jack’s neck, and started to snore.

“Long day?” he guessed. He’s very clever.

“How did you know when I’d be leaving? How long have you been here?”

He pulled out into the traffic with a frown on his face. “I called you.”

“I know I’m tired, but I don’t think I blacked out an entire conversation.”

“I talked to Chip half an hour ago. He said your purse was ringing, so he picked it up.”

“Oh.” I sat back and buckled up.

“Oh?” Jack said frostily.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Charley, why didn’t you hear the phone?”

I was baffled. “I guess I left my purse somewhere.”

He nodded. “And where did you leave your gun?”

Oh.

“Charley, unless you want Flank to stand next to you every minute of the day—which I’d like, by the way—you have to promise to keep your gun within reach.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to give me an I’m-totally-serious look.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?”

“Okay. Where are you taking me for a nice, quiet dinner?”

He sighed in a god-give-me-strength sort of way. “Noodles?”

“Yum.”

He headed for Mifune in Japantown, and it wasn’t until I was steaming my face over a bowl of soba with big pieces of shrimp tempura floating on top that I remembered Simon was probably somewhere nearby.

Simon. “Oh!” I yelped. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you what Simon told me this morning. Jack—”

“Hang on a minute,” Jack said, having slurped a mouthful of noodles in that effortless, completely dignified way that only the truly dedicated noodle-eaters of the world can master. “I need to tell you something, too.”

I hated it when he sounded that serious. So far that tone of voice had only meant danger and disaster. “What?”

“Inspector Yahata called today.”

I stopped swirling my noodles. “They’ve identified the woman? From the tub?”

He nodded.

“Who is it?” I asked. “Is there a connection?”

“Her name didn’t sound familiar to me. I told Yahata I’d ask you. Does the name Nancy Tyler mean anything to you?”

I must have dropped my chopsticks because I heard what sounded like a very loud crash. I looked at Jack with a weird sort of tunnel-vision. Then I didn’t see him at all. I only saw the pale face and lifeless eyes of a woman who’d written a beautiful play.

***

I honestly don’t remember anything else until we were back at the hotel and Jack was pressing a glass of brandy into my hands. I sipped, then registered Jack’s worried face. I gulped.

“Inspector Yahata is on his way,” Jack told me.

I nodded and held out my empty glass. “We should probably call Simon, too.”

***

They arrived within minutes of each other. Jack hadn’t told Simon why he’d called, just that it was an emergency. Although he looked more like himself than when he’d left the theater, and smelled refreshingly of eucalyptus aromatherapy oils, the color drained completely from Simon’s face when Inspector Yahata introduced himself.

“Bloody hell.” He sank into the nearest chair. “What now?”

The detective lasered a look at me, which I took as an invitation to explain things. I told Simon about finding the dead woman on our first day back in town. “And now she’s finally been identified,” I said. “Simon, it was Nancy Tyler.”

Simon let out a sort of strangled cry. He reached blindly for the drink Jack offered. “How?” he asked. “Why?”

The corners of Inspector Yahata’s mouth went down infinitesimally. “How was with a combination of sedatives, first introduced in powder form with red wine—probably to disguise the taste. Following that, the fatal dose was administered by a hypodermic needle into the back of the right thigh.” He held his notebook at the ready, but he didn’t consult it. “Although the body was discovered nude—” he paused long enough for his eyes to flicker toward Simon— “there was no evidence of a sexual aspect to the crime.”

“Good Lord,” Simon whispered. “The poor woman. She was…” He turned to me. “I can’t…”

I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“Why, for God’s sake?” Simon finally demanded. “Why would anyone kill her? And why leave her in a hotel bathtub?” His eyes widened. “Your hotel bathtub.” He looked wildly from me to Jack. “You hadn’t even met her yet. What possible reason…”

“Yes,” the detective said, when it became clear Simon was incapable of finishing his sentence. “I was wondering about that myself.” The air around him buzzed with the question.

Jack and I both knew exactly why Nancy had been left in our hotel room. But—given the fact that Jack was under some obligation not to go blabbing to the authorities about whatever clandestine operations he’d once been a part of—helping Inspector Yahata in his investigation was going to be a little tricky. Which is why I let Jack do the talking.

He was taking his time. When he finally spoke, I realized he was leading the detective in the direction I would have taken if I hadn’t known about Jack’s past.

“It appears as though someone is trying to terrify my wife,” he stated. “This woman’s death and Cece’s kidnapping must be related in some way.”

The detective raised his chin. “I’m not generally a believer in coincidences.”

“The way Charley was set up to find the playwright’s body,” Jack continued. “It indicates the killer knew exactly when we were coming home, where we were staying—”

Yahata’s personal electrical field began to crackle. “Who knew your travel plans?”

“Everybody.” Simon sounded surprised that he’d answered. We all looked at him. “The party, remember, darling?” He bit his thumbnail. “Everyone from the Rep knew. Brenda, some people from Eileen’s office…” His eyes wandered, then focused on the detective. “Lots of people.”

Yahata turned briskly to me. “I’ll need a full list.”

I nodded with a sinking feeling. Taking the Inspector’s focus off of Jack was going to be a full-time job.

The detective stayed a while longer, and he and Jack kept talking, but I had trouble focusing on the conversation. When Yahata had gone, and Simon had staggered down into a taxi, I finally let out my breath and gave the tears permission to come. But they didn’t. Maybe I was still in shock.

Jack held me. “It’s all my fault,” I said eventually. “She’s dead because of me.”

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “It’s not your fault.” Then, grimly, “It’s mine.”

***

The next day, early, I called Eileen. I knew, as the person who’d made our travel arrangements, she’d be on the top of Yahata’s interrogation list. I told her all about Nancy Tyler.

It took her a surprisingly short time to start asking questions. “Did you know her?”

“No. I think Simon was the only one who actually met her in person.”

“Really?” she said. “How did the police treat him? Do you think they suspect him?”

“Simon? Why would anyone suspect him?”

“Maybe I’ve just been married to too many lawyers, but I have the impression that it’s not a bad idea to assume you’re a suspect whenever you talk to the police.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “In that case Jack and I are suspects—and you will be too, and so will everyone else who was at the homecoming party you threw for me.”

“Maybe,” Eileen said cautiously. “But Simon knew her, and none of the rest of us did.”

“Oh, come on,” I insisted. “Can you really imagine Simon murdering anyone?”

She thought about it. “Only if they got between him and a marked-down Armani at the Saks men’s sale,” she said. “So did they tell you why it took so long for them to identify the body?”

“Nobody realized she was missing,” I said. “The only family she had was a sister. She thought Nancy had gone off with her new boyfriend, and she only got worried enough to call the police a couple of days ago when she went to Nancy’s place and found her cat nearly starved to death.”

“New boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Cece went off with her new boyfriend, too, and ended up held hostage.”

“I know.”

I heard a quick intake of breath. “Charley,” Eileen said slowly, “when you had all those questions about that guy I was seeing, did you think he was the same one who kidnapped Cece?”

That was the problem with having a smart friend. “Um…”

“You did,” she stated. There was a pause. “He might have been.”

I’ve seen Eileen go through childbirth and four divorces. She doesn’t get hysterical. The worse things get, the more she freezes into a big, calm, block of ice. About this time in the conversation she could have given the Titanic a nasty bump.

“Leenie? Are you all right?”

“Certainly,” she said. “I’m simply taking a moment to absorb the fact that there appears to be a serial criminal, who has killed at least once, roaming freely around the city and targeting women connected to you. That’s all.”

Oh. That’s all.