Sucker Punch (28 page)

But the fact that I considered for one minute digging through his things so I could see his ex-wife just proves that I was in the grip of a major bout of insanity. Fueled, I’m sure, by all the hearts and romance talk I’d been forced to endure for the past few days. Believe me, it would have driven anyone over the edge.

I scanned the bookcase on the first floor and found only three rows of paperbacks with words like
Ops
and
Conspiracy
and
Prey
in the titles. I was halfway to the second when my cell phone chirped. I dug it out of my pocket, checked the caller ID, and froze. I waited so long to answer, I thought I might have missed the call, but I finally flipped the phone open and croaked, “Hello?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Jawarski’s voice sounded warm and intimate, and I felt about an inch tall.

I turned around and sank onto a step, confusing Max in the process. He nudged past me and found his way to the bathroom where the seat was up. I could tell, even from a distance.

“Thanks.” My throat was tight with embarrassment, but I managed, I think, to sound almost normal. “Same to you.”

“Miss me?”

I thought about saying no, but I was in his house, digging through his stuff, looking for a photo that would either set my mind at ease or make me even crazier. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I do.”

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry I can’t be there tonight. I really wanted to do something great, just the two of us.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said, and the honesty made my stomach hurt. “But you’re there with the kids. That should be fun if Cheyenne’s feeling better.” You have to understand that I’m not against honesty. I’m just against opening myself up for heartache. And lowering my defenses for this guy would open me up in a big way. I’d been fighting it for almost two years, and look where that had gotten me.

“She’s a lot better,” he said. “I should be able to leave soon.”

Soon.
I closed my eyes, hoping that not looking at his apartment would let me pretend to be somewhere else. “That’s good to hear.”

“So what are you doing tonight without me?”

“I’m . . . uh. I’m at your place, actually. Bringing in the mail.”

“Really? So what are you wearing?”

I laughed in spite of my discomfort. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’s been a rough few days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you going out with friends . . . or anything?”

I nearly swallowed my tongue. It almost sounded as if
he
was jealous. “No, I picked up a burger and fries on the way here. When I leave, I’m going home. Max and I will probably catch some TV before bed. How’s that for exciting?”

“You’re disappointed.”

“About what?”

“I should be there. We should be heading out somewhere romantic. Seeing what the evening brings. Maybe even talking about a romantic breakfast in the morning.”

I’d been railing against the whole Valentine’s Day idea for days, but suddenly the thought of a romantic dinner didn’t sound so bad. Of course, I’m also a notorious chicken, so the idea of dinner
and
breakfast was a lot less scary when he was nine hundred miles away.

“It’s fine,” I told him. “I’m not disappointed. You’re where you need to be.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

And I was. When we hung up a few minutes later, I walked down the stairs and out the door. My insecurities might rise up to bite me again one of these days, but at least for tonight they were under control.

 

 

I gave Karen the day after Valentine’s Day off. She’d worked hard, and she deserved a day to recuperate. While Liberty restocked shelves, I spent the day gleefully pulling down hearts from the walls and ceilings, paying bills, and planning candy production for the next few days.

The call-board at the Playhouse had me scheduled for a run-through of the script with the entire cast that evening, so whenever Liberty wasn’t chattering about her romantic evening with Rutger—dinner at Gigi, drinks and dancing afterward—I thought about the murder. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with anything useful. Alexander’s rivalry with Laurence hadn’t produced anything interesting. I believed Colleen’s story. And Serena’s. Uncle Whit backed up Doyle’s alibi, and I was convinced that Richie was innocent.

That left Vonetta. And a cast of about twenty people. And a stage crew of at least that many, none of whom had any reason I knew of to want Laurence out of the way. I wondered if the police had anything more concrete than I did, and wished Jawarski was home so I could ask. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason I wished Jawarski home, but that’s enough about
that
.

Business was so slow, I let Liberty go home early, and then locked up promptly at seven. Max and I set off a few minutes later. We took the stairs that cut through the middle of the block downhill to Ski Jump and grabbed two Philly steak sandwiches and coffee at the deli. With food in hand, we cut through the narrow slip of land between Walgreens and the travel agency on our way to the Playhouse.

After settling Max in the box office with one sandwich and a bowl of water, I hurried to the rehearsal hall where the rest of the cast was already gathered. I’d expected to walk in late, so I was surprised to find that the read-through hadn’t started. A few people milled about the room aimlessly. Others sat on folding chairs in a loose semicircle, contributing to the low buzz of conversation.

Richie sat on a seat at one of the tables, talking quietly to Rachel. I nodded to Paisley and Serena, who were both on the other side of the room, and slid onto an empty chair between Rachel and Richie. “I can’t believe I made it in time,” I said as I shook off my jacket. “I was sure you’d have started already.”

Richie looked pretty scaled down that night in black jeans, black T-shirt, a short white denim jacket, and classic black and white Chucks. I was so glad to see him up and dressed, my heart did a little skip-hop. But Rachel was ready for her close-up in black slacks, a black turtleneck, a plum leather jacket, and stiletto boots. Sitting between them, I felt like a plate of yesterday’s leftovers. It’s a good thing I like them both so much, or I’d have to find other friends.

Rachel rolled her head toward Alexander, who was answering questions for a couple of cast members. “He’s so pissed. We should have started at least fifteen minutes ago, but Colleen’s not here yet.”

Considering everything that had happened around the Playhouse lately, the news made me uneasy. “Has anyone heard from her?”

“She’s here somewhere,” Richie said. “She came in right behind me. She’s just not
here
.”

That made me feel a little better, but it didn’t completely erase my concern. “Has anyone gone to look for her?”

Rachel shook her head. “Alexander goes ballistic when anyone tries to leave the room. He says we all have to be here when she finally decides to join us.”

I got to my feet again. “Well, I’m not just going to sit here. Something could be wrong.” I took off for the door that led to the shop area.

Richie scrambled after me. “I’m coming with you.”

Alexander bellowed as we darted from the room, but we both ignored him. I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing while Colleen was missing.

Richie’s not exactly fighting material, and normally I wouldn’t expect him to be of much use if a vicious killer was lurking somewhere in the bowels of the building. But I was ridiculously glad not to go searching for Colleen on my own, and with his life and his future on the line, he had added incentive to be tough.

As it turned out, it took about thirty seconds to find Colleen—laid out on the floor near her workstation in the shop area. Jason knelt beside her, gently patting her face as he tried to rouse her.

My heart shot straight into my throat when I saw them. “What happened? Is she all right?”

Jason glanced back at me, panic written all over his face. “I don’t know. She’s breathing, but she was like this when I found her.”

Richie dug his cell phone from a pocket. “I’ll call the paramedics.”

“I think she’s coming around. Maybe we should find out what happened first.” Jason focused his attention on Colleen as her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. She answered a few questions, insisted that she was fine, and Jason helped her sit, using a nearby box as support.

I tried to be patient, but I was dying to know what had happened. If she’d been attacked, we were losing precious seconds while her attacker got away. I hunkered down in front of her and said, “We’re going to call an ambulance, but while we’re waiting for them, do you feel up to answering a few questions?”

Colleen started to shake her head, but almost immediately winced in pain and stopped moving. “Don’t call. I’m fine.”

“You could be hurt,” I told her.

“I’m
fine
,” she said again. “If you call the paramedics, Doyle will hear about it, and that will upset him.”

Point taken.
“Okay, but I want you to promise that if you notice any side effects, you’ll have someone take you to a clinic.”

She closed her eyes briefly and inched her head downward. “Of course.”

It wasn’t the ideal situation, but she was sitting up and talking, and she seemed lucid, so I wouldn’t pressure her into anything that might cause problems in her marriage. “Can you tell me what happened?

“I wish I knew.” She touched the back of her head gingerly and glanced at her fingertips as she pulled her hand away. “No blood,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven for small favors.” She shifted to make herself more comfortable. “I came back here to get my prompt script before the meeting. I heard a noise, and before I could turn around to see what it was, somebody hit me. That’s all I know.”

Jason looked outraged. “This is the third attack on someone in this production. What’s going on around here? Is somebody trying to shut us down, or what? Are any of us safe?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” I reassured him. “The attacks do seem random, but I don’t think they are.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just a feeling I have.” In an effort to keep his mind occupied with something more productive, I suggested, “Could you find something for Colleen to drink? There should be water in the green room.”

He stood uncertainly, but he finally grabbed Colleen’s mug from her table and started away. That ought to keep him busy for three or four minutes.

“When you think you can stand, we should probably make sure nothing’s missing,” I told Colleen.

Panic flooded her face. “Is my prompt script there? We can’t do anything without it, and there’s no way I could recreate it.”

Richie hurried toward her makeshift desk. “What does it look like?”

“It’s a three-ring binder, about this thick.” Colleen held up her fingers to illustrate. “It has everything in it—all my notes on blocking, and the cues for lights and sound. If that’s missing, it will be a disaster.”

Richie lunged at something on the table’s far corner and held up a thick binder. “Is this it?”

Colleen looked so relieved, I thought she might cry. “Yes! Thank you.” She held out her hands and cradled it against her chest, but her smile faded quickly. “Who would do something like this? What did
I
do?”

“Good question. Can you think of anything you’ve said or done in the past few days that might make someone want to hurt you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you seen anything that felt unusual to you? Overheard a conversation you weren’t meant to hear?
Anything
?”

She shook her head as Jason loped back into the room with a bottle of water. He held it out to her, and she took it with trembling hands.

His eyes latched onto her hands. “You’re shaking. I think we should call your husband.”

“No!” She must have realized how strident her response sounded because she forced a smile. “My husband is busy. I don’t want to disturb him.”

“But if you’re hurt—”

Colleen uncapped the bottle and sipped, but the look on her face made it clear she wasn’t happy with him for pushing. “Back off, Jason. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

Her response surprised me, but then, she had just been hit on the head, and she was in obvious pain.

“I’m just trying to help,” Jason said.

“Well, I don’t need your help. Frankly, the way you’re always hovering gives me the creeps. Now would you
please
just back off?”

Jason stepped back, hands in the air as if she’d pulled a gun on him. “I just thought—”

“Well,
don’t
think,” Colleen snarled. “You’re a stagehand.
I’m
the stage manager. And I don’t need you to make yourself feel important by sticking your nose into things that are none of your business.”

Jason fell back a step. He looked so wounded, I felt sorry for him.

Richie did, too, I could tell by the look on his face. He took Jason by the shoulders and led him away from the desk. “I know you’re trying to help,” he said quietly, “but she’s really upset. Laurence’s death has us all jumpy. I think maybe you should just, you know, give her some space. Once Abby figures out who really killed Laurence, we’ll all be able to get back to normal.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Jason squeaked.

“It might be,” I admitted. “But what’s the alternative? I can’t just sit back and let someone frame Richie for murder. If this keeps up, Vonetta will have to shut down the production, and then she’ll suffer, too. And sniping at each other isn’t going to help anybody. Let’s just try to hang on for a couple of days, until I can figure out who’s behind this.”

Jason bobbed his head. “I need this job, too, you guys. I don’t want the production shut down.”

Colleen rolled her eyes. “No one wants the production to shut down. And that’s all the more reason not to make a big deal out of what just happened to me. If those people out there find out there’s been another attack, I’m afraid we’ll lose most of them to panic.”