Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 7

  “That’s good. Keep it up. But remember,” he leaned forward and looked directly into my eyes, “if I learn that you have broken our . . . pact, Amelia, there will be consequences, ones that will not make you happy.” He articulated each word crisply. “Do we understand each other?”

  My mouth was dry. I blinked rapidly. Again I was glad that the big desk stood between us. I nodded once more.

  “All right.” He sat back and turned his gaze on one of the posters. “Here it is: You’ve probably heard that I’ve worked in the City—New York City—for the past few years.”

  “Pat showed us your trunk with all the pictures and things. It was amazing!” I said in a breathless voice. I wanted him to smile, to seem less threatening.

  My little ploy worked. He managed a faint smile. “Yes, well, she is my cheering section. Anyway, I made some friends when I first got there, and one of them was Eileen’s father.”

  “You said you owe him. Why?”

  His dark frown returned. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Where had I heard it? “In the, uh, tire department. You know.”

  “Look, Amelia, I told you I’d explain, because I need your cooperation, but not everything is fair game.”

  “You said lives are at stake. What did you mean?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to tell me.

  “You said she would be safe ‘out there.’ ” I crooked my fingers in quotes, the way my English teacher always hated. “Where’s out there? What did you mean? Where would she be safe?”

  “Keep your voice down!” he snapped, then whispered angrily, “She testified at a trial. Until the other day she was living out west. To get away from . . . the people she testified against. She should have stayed there. Instead she came here.”

  “She’s hiding out?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He sighed. “The government has a program to protect witnesses, Witness Security, nicknamed WitSec. It’s supposed to be very effective. Eileen left the program, and now she’s become my responsibility.”

  “You mean s-somebody might kill her? Like gangsters or something?”

  He was silent.

  “But why—” I began.

  I wanted to ask if this was such a secret, why was he allowing her to be onstage, even giving her a starring role, but I quickly realized that then he’d definitely suspect eavesdropping. “Never mind. Of course, I’ll keep it a secret.”

  It was kind of thrilling. I was dealing with stuff Nancy Drew never even dreamed about!

  “I’m counting on you, Amelia.” He stood and tapped his watch. “Time for rehearsal. Let’s go.”

  I complied without another word, allowing him to open the doors for me. Terence was always a gentleman.

  I found a seat in the auditorium, but the rehearsal didn’t begin right away. As I munched the last of my crackers, a small true-life drama played out in a kind of pantomime before me.

  Terence laid his hand on Janey’s shoulder, whispered in her ear and handed her a script. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, turned and waved a greeting at Dierdre, who frowned and bent over a script of her own.

  I was so absorbed watching them that I only noticed Lily standing beside me when I smelled the ghost of cigarettes past. I waved my hand.

  “Whew, smoke! You stink!”

  “Well, you have crumbs all over your blouse, so there. Come on, they’re starting up again in a minute.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have slightly reworked the casting,” Terence announced once we were all gathered in the front rows of the auditorium. “The part of Johnsie will be now played by Janey Johnson.”

  Everyone exchanged puzzled glances.

  Terence cleared his throat loudly. “Dierdre will sing all the soprano solos in the choral sections. And three and a half weeks from now, Dierdre will star as the young Duchess in The Merry Marinade.”

  Dierdre nodded graciously, as though already taking her bows.

  He clapped his hands once and barked, “All right, business taken care of. Scene three, people. Get up there, now!”

  Obediently, we allowed ourselves to be arranged in appropriate groups.

  Next to me Lily whispered, “What the heck is going on around here?”

  “Shhhh! Stay in character, people!” Terence ordered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Let’s take that one more time.” Irene Chavez brought her long fingers down on the keyboard in a chord that took in all our opening notes. “Altos, remember that the descant comes in two beats after the melody.”

  She nodded, our signal to begin. Obediently we chimed in on the surprisingly complex choral parts that formed a musical background for the main characters’ singing.

  I’m doing this for you—ooo—ahhh—ooo—see you through, see you through . . .

  Despite having to compete with the din of pounding hammers onstage, I was beginning to get the hang of the harmony once I heard it several times.

  This was starting to be really fun. We sound like the Broadway album, I thought.

  Irene agreed with me. “Good!” she said. “That was just fine! I think you guys have got it down pat now.”

  “And how are my townspeople doing?” Terence emerged from behind the stage right curtain, clasping the Mighty Clipboard to his chest. He peered down at us, shading his eyes from the blindingly bright spotlights. The lighting crew had been noisily experimenting with various effects, which had added to the challenge of our task.

  Irene smiled benignly at her charges. “Not bad at all. They’ll be ready.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Terence sat down on the front edge of the stage. I reminded myself that it was called the apron. He swung his gaze along our group. “Where’s my sister?”

  With an evasive expression and a shrug, Irene said, “She’s not here. I think I saw her leave with Danny.” She glanced at her watch. “It was about a half-hour ago.”

  Terence scowled and muttered, “We’ll see about that.” He hopped down into the orchestra pit and proceeded up the center aisle.

  Irene called after him, “When you find her, tell her I need to go over her solos as soon as possible.” She returned her attention to us. “That’s all for now. Next music practice is at seven tonight. And remember, from tonight on, no books.”

  The group dispersed in various directions.

  “Let’s go, Amelia. Pat said we’re supposed to be working up in the costume department right now, remember?”

  “But how can we memorize all this by tonight, Lily?” I leafed through the pages of the musical score.

  “We can practice up there, while we’re doing other stuff. C’mon.” As Lily walked, she hummed the part we had just sung.

  I chimed in, “oo—ahhh—ooo.” We trudged up the steps to the rhythm of the song, pausing at the lingering last note.

  “I think you’re a bit flat, there at the end,” Lily observed as we entered the sewing room.

  “No, Lily, you’re too sharp.” I didn’t mean it, but she got on my nerves.

  Danny DiNicco emerged suddenly from behind the changing screen. “Maybe you balance each other out.” He sauntered jauntily out of the room, running a hand through his hair, which was a little bit mussed.

  It must have been at least a full minute that Lily and I stared at the empty door frame where he had passed. “I don’t know,” Lily said at last, “if there was a contest between him and Neil for dreaminess—um—”

  “A tie, for sure.” I sighed.

  Lily moved to the work table and sat down. A pile of skirts, ironed and pinned, awaited her stitching. I took my place at the ironing board where I was becoming ever more proficient at pressing hems for the more proficient seamstresses to sew.

  There was something comfortable and calming about the sewing room. Though music could be heard as well as the occasional thumps and shouts of the technical crew, the sounds were muffled.

  “I gotta admit, I’m enjoying this. Even this costume stuff is kind
of fun. I mean, it’s theatre, but it’s different, you know? What I mean is, it’s different from Shakespeare, like Julius Caesar or MacBeth or one of those—”

  “Stop!” said a voice from the direction of the changing screen. “Shut up! Never say . . . that name!”

  The screen was shoved back roughly, and Dierdre Jamison stood there, her head tilted to one side, her fists parked at her waist. She waved her index finger at me.

  “Are you crazy? Never, never say that name! It’s bad luck! You always say ‘the Scottish play.’ ” Walking briskly to the door, she gave each one of us a challenging glare before she exited.

  We stared after her for a moment, then the two of us collapsed into giggles.

  “What on earth was all that about?” I asked as I came up for air.

  “Well, she was right about . . . um, that Shakespeare play. It is bad luck,” Lily said between gasps. “Didn’t I tell you? Theatre people are very superstitious.”

  “Oh, pooh, I don’t believe in that stuff. What was she doing back there?”

  “I’d say it was pretty obvious. Danny just left. Didn’t you notice her blouse? It was buttoned crooked.”

  I was shocked. “What do you mean? That’s the changing screen. She was just trying on her costume.” I walked over to where Dierdre’s exquisite Alice-blue puffed-sleeve dress was hanging behind the screen and brought it around as proof. “See? She wouldn’t . . . I mean, Danny wouldn’t—” I was floundering.

  Lily shrugged and took the dress, which was pinned for hemming. “Have it your own way. It’s just interesting,” she added blandly as she pulled a spool of maroon thread from the wall and settled in her seat. “So why do you think Terence switched the parts around?”

  I had made a promise. No way was I going to tell Lily.

  “Who knows?” I was down on the floor, plugging in the iron. “Janey is talented. She sings better than Dierdre and she’s a pretty good actress.” It was true, but I didn’t like admitting it.

  I jumped a little when Diedre stalked back into the room. I hoped she hadn’t heard what we’d said.

  “Where’s my costume? Did she take over that too?”

  I surmised that she was speaking of Janey.

  “I don’t think so.” Lily pointed her needle toward a rack hung with almost-finished dresses. “Check the tags.”

  “My beautiful blue dress,” Diedre muttered as she slid hangers across the pole. “If she took it, I’ll kill her with my bare hands.”

  She stopped and examined a card pinned to the dress. Her fuming died down.

  “Well, all right, it’s still mine. That skinny witch doesn’t have the curves to wear this anyway.” She held out the dress, admiring it.

  “I love the puffy sleeves,” I said.

  Dierdre nodded. “Makes my waist look tiny.” She hooked the hanger back on the rack and turned back to us. “She got my part and now she’s trying to get Danny, too, you know.”

  I thought the astonished expression Lily feigned was a little over the top. “Really?”

  Dierdre primped a little in the full-length mirror and adjusted a bra strap. “Yep, but she’s not going to, I can promise you that. Danny only has eyes for me. Besides, I could get rid of her like a shot if I really wanted to.” She snapped her fingers. “All it would take would be one little phone call,” she added in a singsong voice, almost under her breath, before turning back to us. “Well, I gotta run.” She was out the door.

  Inwardly, I mulled the thinly-veiled threat in her statement. She probably really could get rid of Janey if she wanted to. She knew what I knew.

  “I don’t know why Dierdre puts up with Janey. She’s the director’s sister, for goodness’ sake. In her shoes, I’d’ve slugged that--I won’t say it, I won’t say that word.” Lily squinted and thrust thread through the eye of a needle. “I might still slug her, though. She’s way too friendly with Neil, in my opinion.” She plunged the needle into the fabric. “Of course, she’s friendly with all the guys around here, I’ve noticed.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. She cozies up to every one of them.”

  “Maybe it’s so they’d protect her. Maybe she’s just kind of, I don’t know, kind of scared or something.” I dampened my finger and tested the iron.

  Lily slid me an impatient look. “Give me a cotton-pickin’ break! She’s not scared; she’s just full of herself. I bet it’s got something to do with money. I always thought Terence was rolling in it. I mean, he inherited that tavern from his father, didn’t he? But maybe he’s not. Maybe she’s got money. Maybe she’s an angel bankrolling the play.”

  “‘Angel?’ You mean those people who put money in a play? Where did you get that idea? Oh, wait a minute. I’ll bet you watched that movie on the oldies channel last night. What was the name of it? With Joan Crawford, I think.”

  “All right, yes. It was Dance Your Heart Out.” Lily shrugged. “It was about the theatre. I thought I could learn something.” She yawned. “What a stupid movie. I didn’t stay awake for all of it.”

  I’d seen the preview for Dance Your Heart Out. It was about show people and gangsters. Maybe I should have watched it. It’s probably closer to reality than we know, I thought, remembering Janey’s predicament.

  “There’s a flaw in your theory, Lily. Didn’t you notice: Janey’s wardrobe seems to consist of a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and that cheap dress from Vickery’s.”

  “Whatever.” She handed me a newly-hemmed skirt. “I’m done with this one. You’ll need to iron it.”

  “There,” I said a half hour later, “all the skirts are ironed and ready to go.” I picked up the musical score. “Let’s go over our parts again.”

  Lily sang with me as she stitched: “ . . . doing this for you, oo, oo, ah!” into a soaring crescendo. “Wait! Is it oo-oo—ah or oo—ah—ah?”

  I consulted the music. “The first one. Okay, let’s do it again. We need to have this down by tonight’s rehearsal.” I paced as we sang.

  Over and over, we crooned the parts, sounding better all the time, at least in our opinion. “Oo—ah—doing this, doing this, doing this for yoooooo—”

  A male voice sharply broke into our concert, “Okay, who took my wire strippers?”

  My back was to the door. I whirled.

  “I beg your par—”

  The cumbersome musical score I was carrying bumped the ironing board, knocking the iron to the floor, where it bounced off my sandal, leaving a small burn on my toe. I yelped, and in the ensuing chaos, landed unceremoniously on my rear end.

  “Well, gee, you didn’t have to jump like that.” The intruder was Gilly Dickensen. “You hurt?” he added belatedly. He knelt down and stared at my foot.

  Lily hurried to my aid. “What does it look like, you idiot?” Scowling furiously, she retrieved the iron, unplugged it, and replaced it on the ironing board.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

  I picked up the music book and dusted it off carefully. The urge to burst into tears at the sudden unexpected pain was strong, but I fought it and only winced.

  “My toe is burned a little bit, though.” It didn’t look all that bad, but it was starting to really hurt.

  “Hold on—” Gilly jumped up and shot out of the room, returning immediately with a small tin box, which he handed to Lily. “There’s Band-Aids and ointment and stuff in there.” He glanced around. “I don’t suppose my wire strippers are in here after all.”

  “Who would want your old tools anyway?” Lily snapped.

  Gilly backed out of the room, shaking his head. “Sorry about, um, that.” He was gone.

  “Rotten kid.”

  I was in too much pain to remind Lily that the “kid” was a year older than she was. She proved to be a fair nurse, and in ten minutes I was back at my post, pressing hems and trying to ignore the pain and embarrassment of a kumquat-sized bandage around my big toe.

  “Does it hurt much?”

  “Not as badly now.
That goo from Gilly’s first aid kit seems to help.” I held up my foot.

  “It was the least he could do after causing it all,” Lily said.

  ~~~

  “I remember that. I felt really bad about it.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You hid your remorse quite well, as I recall.”

  He scratched his head. “Well, you know, a guy’s gotta be macho and all that. At least, that’s what I used to think,” he added, tenderly pushing a lock of hair off my forehead.

  ~~~

  “What’s going on here? Help me with this, please.” It was Pat Jamison, carrying a half-dozen bolts of cloth.

  Lily hastened to her aid. “She dropped the iron on her toe.”

  “My toe isn’t too bad, though.” I shrugged apologetically.

  “She’s not very good at this sewing stuff.”

  Lily was right.

  Pat sighed. “I’m beginning to realize that. I’m glad you’re okay, but please watch yourselves. We don’t have insurance for this sort of thing.”

  She pulled several paper patterns from a store sack hanging on her elbow. “We’re making the Lover’s vest out of that striped fabric and putting this around here as trim. And Amelia, here are some patterns that need ironing. And that bolt of cloth too.”

  I got to work, making an earnest effort to ignore the pain in my toe. It wasn’t easy. I’d been putting on a brave face.

  Pat cut out pattern pieces on the big table, and Lily sat at one of the machines and stitched some more.

  We worked quietly until finally Pat glanced at her watch. “Finish pinning and cutting those last three dresses, then you two be on stage in an hour for blocking rehearsal. I’ll take it from there.”

  When I had run the iron over the lengths of fabric that were needed, Lily set me to ironing more of the pattern pieces, which was pretty delicate work. If you pressed too hard, the tissue paper tore, and if the iron was too hot, it singed. Alternately, if the iron was too cool, my efforts did no good at all on the crumpled paper. It was an extended lesson in patience.

  “Where did everybody go?” I grumbled as a drop of perspiration landed on the tissue and hissed under the iron. “Janey’s a good seamstress. Wasn’t she supposed to help us in here?”