Speak Now (23 page)

She opened a door on the back wall, behind an enormous padded table. I followed her into a large closet.

“Wow,” I said when Martha flicked on the light. “This is a lot of costumes.”

“It’s everything we’ve done for the past three seasons, sorted by period and gender.” She sounded proud and I could see why.

“It’s so clean,” I said. “And organized.”

Martha smiled. “Remember before you went to London when I asked you for budget to have it fitted out?” I didn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter. “We covered the walls with moisture-repellant materials and had the dehumidifiers installed. It’s temperature-controlled, which is more than I can say for the workroom. We were also able to get some shelving and a cedar floor. The only weaknesses are the doors.”

“Doors?” I looked around but could only see one.

“This one down here leads to an electrical room.” She pushed some Elizabethan dresses aside to reveal a painted metal door. “I think you’ll like the takeoffs on the bowling shirt that we did for Paul.” She rolled a rack of costumes toward me. “Here’s everything for this production, sorted by actor.”

We looked through the clothes, and, although I had a few suggestions, the overall impression was that Martha was a genius.

***

Across the hall in Paris’ realm, it was harder to figure out what was going on. Everything was stacked on top of everything else, with furniture, kitchen fixtures, and trees thrown into the mix seemingly at random.

The actual sets had been constructed off-site, then loaded into the theater. In the onsite workshop, Paris’ crew built the furniture and other props to be used in the sets.

The bits and pieces scattered across the properties shop looked like something from news footage of a tornado’s aftermath. Paris picked out a kitchen chair and began to describe how it integrated into the overall artistic vision. I looked around at the rest of the collection.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

***

I didn’t stop talking all through dinner. Jack took me to Moose’s in North Beach, which was sort of a shame because I love Moose’s and I was so caught up in telling Jack about the sets and costumes that I didn’t even notice my fig and goat cheese salad or my steak with horseradish mashed potatoes. But by the time the blueberry tart with homemade marshmallows arrived, perhaps because that coincided with finishing the bottle of wine, I had slowed down enough to ask Jack if he’d made any progress on the hunt for the killer.

His lips tightened slightly. “It’s possible.”

I dropped my fork. “Are you serious? And you let me just go on like that about the stupid show?”

“It isn’t stupid and I couldn’t have stopped you if I’d tried.”

“Well, that’s true.” I dipped my finger into the creamy marshmallow. Jack sighed and gave me his fork. “Thank you. Now tell me everything.”

“It may not be anything,” he frowned. “But Mike may have traced something to a bank in the Cayman Islands.”

“He followed the money,” I said sagely.

“He did.”

“What money?”

“The money Macbeth used to pay the actors.”

I almost dropped Jack’s fork. “So it’s true? Macbeth set everything in motion before he was killed?”

Jack ran a hand across his face. “Working with someone on the outside, yes.”

I let it sink in. “Brian? Refrigerated Brian? Do you think he was Macbeth’s contact?”

“We know he used Brian to find the actors.” Jack paused. “But I don’t believe Brian and Macbeth were full-fledged partners. Brian was probably useful at first because Macbeth was looking around for your weak spots, and the Rep was an obvious place to start. The fact that Brian had lied about his background might have made him easy for Macbeth to manipulate, and his list of actors who’d do just about anything without asking questions was an added bonus. But from what Yahata’s been able to find, Brian wasn’t a killer.”

I pushed the remains of the tart away. Something about Macbeth having looked for my weak spots took my appetite away.

Jack went on. “It worked for a while. Brian was able to report on what was happening at the Rep. That’s how Macbeth would have found out about Nancy. She was single and local, and perfect for what he had in mind.”

Okay, it was possible I’d never have an appetite again.

“But eventually Brian got cold feet. You told me Chip and Paris were skeptical about him. He probably knew he’d be found out eventually.”

“And when he tried to back out of his deal with Macbeth…”

“He’d outlived his usefulness.”

I tried not to think of the body tumbling slowly out of the refrigerator. “So, with Brian gone, Macbeth needed someone else to infiltrate the Rep.”

“Right.” Jack waited for me to make the next logical leap.

Which only took a moment. “That bloody blond bitch!”

Jack signaled for the check. “If that’s your way of referring to the lovely Regan—”

“Has Mike been able to find out anything about her? Why she’s dating Rix, for example?”

“As a matter of fact, he has found something,” Jack grinned.

“Are you going to tell me?”

The grin got wider. “Pumpkin, how do you feel about porn?”

“That’s not a very smooth way of changing the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject.” He gave me raised eyebrows.

“Regan?” I got it. “The princess is a porn star?”

“Which I’m sure she doesn’t want you or anyone else to know.”

“And which would explain why she used a sugar daddy instead of an agent to get cast in the play.” I wondered if Rix knew.

“And which also would have made her a fairly ripe candidate for blackmail by Macbeth.”

Our eyes locked, and I said it again. “That bloody blond bitch.”

***

When we got back to the hotel there was a wrapped gift on the bed.

“What’s this?” I’m ashamed to say my first thought was to send for the bomb squad.

“Open it,” Jack said. “It’s not ticking.”

It’s possible he was getting to know me too well.

I pulled off the ribbon and paper. It was a book.
The Collected Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
.

“Jack! When did you get this?”

“Today,” he said as he vanished into the closet. “There are a lot of bookstores in Palo Alto.”

“I didn’t think you were even paying attention…” I opened the cover and saw that Jack had written something on the first page.

Charley, you idiot, you give grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream.

I looked over at the closet. “Like hell I married the wrong guy.”

Chapter 26

We were thirteen for dinner. I should have known better.

The week had passed in a blur of activity. Rehearsals had gone on for at least eight hours a day, followed by production meetings and endless discussions that lasted into the night. We had done some tricky scheduling around Sally because of child labor laws, but everyone else had worked until they were ready to drop.

The schedule was taking a toll on Paul. I’d had a hard time trying to get into the dressing room he shared with Victor, because the two of them were rarely onstage at the same time. But eventually I managed it, and looked behind mirrors and under drawers and everywhere else that Gordon had suggested I search for evidence of drug use. In spite of the fact that Paul’s erratic behavior had gotten worse, I had found no proof of a drug problem.

I did find half a dozen empty vodka bottles in Victor’s closet, which explained a lot.

But despite the miscellaneous substance abuse among the actors, things were going well. I was convinced I’d heard Olivia say the words “pot roast” for the last time, which in itself was enough to keep me going.

Regan just got better and better, damn her.

And then she brought Rix to dinner.

***

I had invited her, Paul, Victor, and Olivia. I had explicitly not said “and guest.” Along with Harry, Cece, Brenda, Eileen, Simon, Mike, Jack, and myself, we were supposed to be twelve. A nice even number. Some suspects, some spies, and a few friends just to make things go smoothly. No bastard ex-boyfriends on the list.

They were the last to arrive. The rest of us were assembled in Harry’s great room. Because of the party, the household ban on alcohol had been lifted for the night, although I noticed Harry continued to stick to club soda.

I was shocked when I saw my cousin Cece. She was a different woman. She’d put on enough weight to fill out the hollows under her eyes, and for the first time since she was about fifteen, she looked healthy. She’d gotten a sleek blond bob of a haircut, and kept her use of black eyeliner to a minimum. She was wearing a powder blue strapless dress made out of a filmy, wispy fabric that made her look like a latter-day ex-junkie Grace Kelly.

“Hey, Charley,” she greeted me. “Who the fuck are all the losers?”

Some things didn’t change.

“You look fabulous, Cece. Really good.” I was determined not to let her pull me into a childish argument.

She plucked at her skirt. “It’s a Jasper Conran. Brenda picked it out.”

“Well, it’s just great to see you doing so well.”

“A lot of good it’ll do me with this crowd. You could have at least invited one good-looking man besides your husband.”

That’s when the doorbell rang and Regan arrived. With Rix. Harry brought them into the room, his face wearing a look somewhere between get-me-a-knife-and-I’ll-cut-this-bastard’s-heart-out and I’m-playing-it-cool-because-this-may-be-part-of-a-plan. He was about to go into spasms.

“Shit, Charley, this may turn out to be a fun party after all,” Cece said. Then, “Hi, Rix. Long time no see.” She gave me the kind of look she used to save for the moment just before she’d set fire to my bed or pour honey in my underwear drawer. Then she slid her arm into Rix’ and pulled him away from Regan, saying, “I don’t think you’ve met Charley’s husband, Jack.”

“Regan, sweetie.” My smile probably looked something like my uncle’s. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing your boyfriend. How—”

“Nice.” Brenda stepped quickly beside me. “How nice he was able to come. I’m Brenda Gee, I’m a friend of Charley’s. And this is Eileen Scotto.”

Eileen magically appeared on my other side. “Pleased to meet you. Charley’s told us so much about you.”

It’s good to have friends. Regan probably never knew how close she had come to being decked by her director on Harry’s hardwood floor.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Fairfax.” Gordon came out of nowhere to tap me on the shoulder. “If I may have a word with you about the glazed oysters?”

Bless him. We weren’t having glazed oysters. I followed him to the dining room while Brenda and Eileen maneuvered Regan into a corner.

“Take this.” Gordon placed a drink in my hand. I had no idea what it was. “Iced vanilla-infused vodka,” he informed me when I hesitated. “It’s possible you may need more fortification than champagne cocktails can provide.”

I downed the drink just as Mike opened the dining room door and slipped in. “That guy is Rix?”

I nodded. “It was bad enough to invite Regan here. Don’t forget that if she is connected to Macbeth, while we’re watching her she’s watching us. And now she’s in our—”

“Inner sanctum?” Gordon offered.

“Whatever.” I looked at them both. “Which is dangerous enough, but Rix—”

“Is nothing to worry about.” Jack joined us through the kit chen door. “We’ve taken plenty of precautions for Regan, and they’ll work just as well for Rix.”

Mike spoke up. “We’ll sweep the whole house for bugs after everyone’s gone. And they don’t know it, but they’ve already passed through a metal detector to get here.”

“On that subject.” Gordon brought a list out of his pocket. “Flank thought we should know that Victor was carrying a metal hip flask. Olivia had a tin of candies and a metal-handled hairbrush in her purse. Simon had—”

“Hey! We’re not worried about Simon,” I interrupted.

Gordon looked up mildly. “Of course not. I’ll omit the rest of the friends.” He consulted the list. “Regan had nothing. Rix had his own hip flask as well as what looked like a good-sized pocket knife.” He looked at Jack significantly. “But no gun. And Paul—” Gordon folded the list as he finished— “had a zippered case with a hypodermic needle in it.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “Um, Charley, do you think you’re ready to get back out there?”

“That’s some metal detector,” I said. “Are you sure about Paul?”

Gordon’s face was expressionless. “There’s no mistake.”

“Mike, you go first and stick to Regan,” Jack said. “We’ll follow.” Gordon had vanished into the kitchen.

When Mike left, Jack gave me a searching look. “How are you?”

“Peachy. Now that we know Paul is on drugs, we go back to the fact that someone could be exploiting his weakness, right?”

“Right.”

“So Paul the addict, Regan the porn star, and Rix the slimy bastard.”

“We don’t know Rix is anything other than Regan’s—”

“But he is a slimy bastard and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“Granted. So we have three possible leads to Macbeth, and to the person who’s picked up where he left off.”

I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. “Right. Let’s go see which of them will crack first.”

***

We fell into groups. Brenda and Eileen kept Regan occupied until Mike wandered over to them. Harry endured a barrage of what Olivia must have considered to be flirtation while Victor looked on and signaled for continual refills of his glass. Rix and Simon were circling each other with hostility when Jack joined them and somehow smoothed things over. Cece was talking to Paul. That couldn’t be good. I mingled.

Gordon had hired wait staff for the party, so I wasn’t surprised to see a flock of white-coated servers. But when we were summoned to the dining room and I caught sight of the figure to the right of the kitchen doorway, my step faltered a bit. He bulged at every seam and his top collar button was in danger of popping across the room into the centerpiece. Roughly three inches of furry wrist were visible below each cuff. When he saw me looking at him he gave me an enormous wink.

“Flank is undercover?” I muttered to Jack.

“He’s become very attached to you. Should I be jealous?” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning to pull Eileen’s chair out for her.

Harry insisted that Jack sit at one end of the long table, and I at the other. He took a center position, manfully staying with Olivia.

Gordon had outdone himself. He’d prepared five courses, beginning with a seared foie gras served with caramelized red onions and black mission figs, then moving on to the fish, herb-crusted salmon medallions. For the entrée, duck breast with plum compote and a potato-cauliflower puree. Then assorted cheeses accompanied by walnuts and honey, and crème brûlée for dessert. It was not a light meal.

There was wine with every course, and Gordon brought out a bottle of Harry’s 1955 port with the cheese. Cece was right next to me, so I could see that she stuck to water, but Harry broke his resolve when the port went around.

Unfortunately, the food and liquor had the effect of loosening the wrong tongues. Victor dominated the conversation, at least at my end of the table, with tales of his illustrious career. He kept me so occupied I couldn’t overhear what Cece and Paul were talking about. Olivia ignored him to focus on Harry, so I was left as the sole audience for the sloshed old actor.

I kept stealing glances to the far end of the table, where Jack, Simon, and Rix were still in conversation. I wished I knew what they were talking about. Mike and Regan seemed to be getting along, I observed with satisfaction. I know it was petty of me, but if Mike’s goal of monitoring Regan’s activities might result in pissing off Rix as well as ferreting out information, I could live with that.

By the time the wait staff came around with coffee and little cookies, I had made a decision. “Excuse me, Victor,” I said, interrupting something about Olivier telling him “Please, I’m not Sir Laurence to you—call me Larry.”

“Why don’t we take our coffee back in the great room?” I suggested. “We’ll be much more comfortable.” And I’d be able to shake off the sodden actor who was now, alarmingly, tearing up.

As the rest of us stood, a large white form appeared behind Victor. Flank grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him to a standing position, then looked at me enquiringly. “Just put him anywhere,” I said. Flank half-carried, half-propelled the actor to a solitary chair under a potted palm tree. Good old Flank.

I looked around the room and saw Simon meandering towards me.

“What were you three talking about?” I said with a bright, fake smile.

“Golf, mainly.” Simon sipped his cappuccino. “Excellent dinner, darling. Lord, that man can cook. Why doesn’t he open a restaurant?”

“What do you mean, golf?”

Simon looked surprised. “You know, the tiny little ball you bash about with a stick. Golf.”

“That’s all?”

“What am I missing, darling? Were they supposed to be fighting over your honor or something?”

“Of course not, but—where are they?” I looked quickly around and saw everyone but Rix and my husband. When had they disappeared?

“Toddled off to the game room, I think. Harry does know how to live, doesn’t he?”

“The game room?”

“I think that’s what they said. Something about a set of clubs Jack wanted to show the swine.” Simon grinned. “You don’t think he’s going to take a whack at old Rix, do you?”

“Well that’s the fun of a party, isn’t it?” I said bitterly. “Any thing can happen.”

I mingled, making small talk until I bumped into Simon again at the bar. Brenda and Eileen joined us. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Mike seems quite taken with the ice queen,” Eileen observed. “Is she—”

“Good Lord,” Simon interrupted. “He’s leaving.”

We followed his stare. Rix was leaving. Jack closed the door behind him and sauntered over with his hands in his pockets and a satisfied look on his face.

“What’s all this, then?” Simon was finding himself very amusing.

“Oh, Rix? He had to go.” Jack smiled innocently. “Pumpkin, can I see you for a minute?”

I followed Jack down the down the stairs to Harry’s office. I waited until he’d closed the door before I pounced. “What the hell is going on? What did you say to him? What did he say to you? Did he admit anything? What happened?”

Jack silenced me effectively but temporarily with a rather dashing kiss. “Something you’d like to know?”

I stamped my foot. I literally stamped my foot. “Cut it out! Tell me what happened!”

Jack, looking more pleased with himself than I’d ever seen him outside of the bedroom, lounged on the arm of the red leather sofa. “Your friend Rix and I had a little chat about golf over dinner.”

“He’s not my friend,” I said through clenched teeth. “And Simon has already told me about your fascinating dinner conversation.”

Jack smiled coolly. “And you know, when you talk about golf, eventually you get to talking about how expensive the good courses are, and how pricey memberships to places like country clubs are.”

That sounded a little more promising. “And?”

“And I happened to mention that it was the sign of a true theatre lover that Rix would donate his money to a risky proposition like the Rep when he could enjoy it so much more in so many different ways.”

“Ah ha!”

“Not quite, but we’re getting there. I hope you noticed that the waiter kept Rix’ glass full at all times?”

I hadn’t, particularly, but I nodded.

“With that much wine and talk of money, eventually, one of us was bound to be indiscreet.” Jack raised his hands helplessly.

“I’ll assume it wasn’t you.” I sat cross-legged on the sofa and looked up at him.

“It wasn’t. After dinner I invited him down to the game room to look at Harry’s new clubs—they’re Ping, by the way, and completely wasted on him—and then I asked Rix for money.”

“You what?” I was horrified.

“An investment. Since he’s a patron of the arts. I told him I was opening a gallery and needed a couple hundred thousand just to tide me over.”

“What did he say?”

Jack slid down the arm of the sofa until he was facing me. “That’s when he got all man-to-man with me. Told me that I should understand, being a guy with no money and being married to yours.”

“To mine?” I said incredulously. “Not to me, but to mine?”

Jack shook his head. “Seriously, Pumpkin, I don’t know how you ever let a prince like that get away.”

“Shut up and tell me what happened.”

Jack grinned. “He confessed. But only to making an ass of himself over Regan. He told me he’d won a huge amount of money playing poker a couple of months ago, and that Regan had been there with some other guy. When her date lost all his money, she left with Rix.”