No More Time Page 14

  “Did you run here?” I asked.

  “Just about. Emergencies at the Sandbar. A waiter dropped a tray of glasses and my bartender cut himself trying to clean up and then a customer slipped on some liquid on the floor and threw out his back. We had to call the EMTs.”

  Yikes! “No problem. We were fine here. Sam was pleased.”

  “Did you talk with him?” Grody inspected the remains of the hors d’oeuvres.

  “No, but he seemed generally happy,” I said.

  “Wonderful, because he’s going to get a whopper of an invoice. Hey, where’s Bill?”

  Where, indeed? “He said he’d meet me here… must have gotten waylaid with the state police. Or at the car rental.” Neither of those missions should have taken him all day.

  “Why don’t you go in? I’ll take over here.” Grody motioned to one of his servers to clean up. “I owe you one, kiddo.”

  “If you see Bill, tell him I’m sitting in the back of the house on the left aisle.”

  “Got it.”

  Lights dimmed as I crept in and parked myself in the second to last row. True to his promise, Sam had the air conditioning repaired and running full steam. The house was almost sold out; nice to have that kind of attendance for an opening, though the festival was scheduled to run two more nights. After each performance, audience members would vote for their favorite scenes, and the winning theater would be honored on the final night. I had high hopes for Arsenic and Old Lace, but it would need some oomph to recover from the chaotic dress rehearsal with Jackson standing in for Romeo.

  A spotlight hit the center of the curtained stage, and Arlene Baldwin moved boldly into her light. She smiled graciously, welcomed the audience, congratulated the finalist theaters, and introduced the president of the New Jersey Community Theater Association, the genial, attractive man from Westfield whom Lola had engaged in conversation two days ago. His name was Graham, and he welcomed everyone a second time and provided a brief history of the community theater association—its expanded membership now one hundred fourteen strong—which information earned applause from the spectators.

  “The festival was on hiatus after Hurricane Sandy,” Graham said. “This is the first year we are back. We dedicate this week’s performances to the people of the Jersey Shore. Resilient and irrepressible.”

  A soft hum from spectators and sustained applause demonstrated their appreciation.

  Then Graham announced the plan for the evening: the performance of the scenes followed by viewers expressing their preferences on feedback cards. He was a handsome devil. Easy to see why Lola glommed on to him… Thinking of handsome men reminded me that Bill was still AWOL. I’d switched off my cell so even if he tried to text me I wouldn’t get the message.

  Graham wrapped up his speech, wishing every theater best of luck, and escorted Arlene off the stage. They descended the set of stairs into the house, where Graham left Arlene seated between Sam and John. I never did ask John what his mission with the Baldwin enterprises was…other than serving as the “welcoming committee” for the NJCTF.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Bill slid into his seat as the house went dark and silence descended over the audience.

  “Where were you?” I hissed.

  “It’s a long story—”

  “It had better be a good one. I was worried all day—”

  A woman in front of us twisted in her seat and politely smiled. The universal gesture for “pipe down.”

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets, avoiding Bill’s hand, which crept from the arm of his seat into my lap. Now that I knew he was safe, I could afford to be a little chippy. At least until intermission. I focused on the stage. Cinderella was a great opening…everyone loved the singing and dancing, Prince Charming, the mean stepsisters, and the transformation of the cinder wench into the princess by way of onstage sleight-of-hand and carefully placed screens. Even the glass slippers behaved. If applause meant anything, Cinderella had the prize in the bag. The Mousetrap was decently acted but ho hum. I, as well as the audience, had seen too many Agatha Christie stories on DVDs and in the movies. I’d pass on it.

  Penny was correct about Noises Off. It was a funny spoof on backstage bedlam with characters running on and off the “stage.” Unfortunately, the crucial moment was the pratfall down some stairs. Difficult to produce giggles with the black boxes instead of actual stairs. Still, the actor gamely hopped and leapt over the stacked cubes. The first act ended with Death of a Salesman. Not an upbeat way to close out the half, witnessing Willy Loman and his two sons slog through their battle with family dysfunction. But the cast was talented and, to my amazement, sucked me into the collage of scenes about deception and the American Dream. By the time the curtain came down, I was dabbing at my damp eyes. Penny might be correct about this play too—so far it was the one to beat, in my opinion.

  A buzz reverberated around the house the minute the lights came up.

  “I’ll be back,” Bill said and stood.

  “That’s what you said this morning,” I reminded him.

  “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you the entire saga. Right now, I’m hungry. Didn’t have a chance to eat all day,” he complained.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “The refreshment stand.”

  “What refreshment stand?”

  “It’s a theater. There’re always refreshments. At least the ELT always has food in the lobby.”

  “Too late. You missed great hors d’oeuvres at the reception. Crabmeat, scallops in bacon, shrimp cocktail, prosciutto crostini…”

  Bill groaned. “Stop. You’re killing me.”

  “Hang on and we’ll find something after the show.” Bill was satisfied for the moment and hurried to the men’s room.

  I had a hunch about Jackson. He could ignore my texts knowing that I was gunning for him. However, if Lola contacted him to join her for a drink after the show, he might be more receptive. I switched on my cell. Lola had texted: J will meet me at Bottom Feeder at ten…

  Yes! It worked.

  Then she added: Walter crazed Romeo complaining. Need that drink.

  Just an average, frenzied night for the ELT. I dropped my cell in my bag.

  Bill plopped back into his seat. “Ran into Prince Charming in the men’s room. Nice guy.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I said sweetly.

  This time when Bill reached for my hand as the curtain rose, I surrendered it willingly. I could play hard to get only so long. By now I was feeling sorry for him…poor guy had to run around between the state police and the car rental and had nothing to eat all day. The least I could do was offer him a little TLC.

  The curtain ascended very fast, the batten to which it was attached smacking something in the ceiling resulting in a loud thud. We all sat motionless, feverish to know what had happened. A whispering campaign of speculation zoomed around the house like a swarm of insects. In blue light, Maddy marched onstage and gestured to someone in the fly space above the playing area. The curtain descended halfway, then zipped back up. The stage went black.

  In the darkness, the Prelude to The Sound of Music trickled from the piano. The Von Trapp kids, nuns, and Maria harmonized beautifully. The Sound of Music was a sedative, playful and easy on the brain. Cotton candy had enveloped me. By the time we arrived at “So Long, Farewell,” I was ready to snooze. It had been a long day. The audience erupted in applause, and a shout of “bravo” echoed off the walls. Now there were three genuine contenders.

  People nattered on when the lights dimmed for Arsenic and Old Lace. I wished Lola and crew a silent “break a leg.” Aside from the curtain mishap, the evening had gone smoothly. I prayed the ELT was not the first real disaster of the night. Abby and Edna were in full nutty-old-lady mode when the lights brightened and their postures as they swayed back and forth on the black boxes elicited giggles. Most
likely Mildred, Carol, and the Banger sisters. No matter. Laughter is contagious and soon a rising tide of chuckles flowed toward the stage as they schooled their nephew Romeo on true empathy—dispatching lonely old men with poison! Romeo’s sunburn—only slightly masked by his makeup—made him look boyish, as if he was blushing nonstop when he announced his intention to marry his love interest, Lola, who made her entrance and romanced him. Their scene was honest, even if Lola was robbing the cradle. Never mind, they breezed through the play calamity-free and earned a respectable, if subdued, ovation.

  “Yay!” I clapped till my hands were red.

  “Not bad,” murmured Bill.

  Whew. One down, two performances to go.

  Closing the evening, King Lear was uneventful, his confrontation with the two ungrateful daughters appropriately tragic while his rejection of the one who truly loved him, sad. According to my high school English lit teacher: There’s trouble even in the best of families…

  We hung around the theater to congratulate the cast. Bill pecked Edna on the cheek—she was tickled by the kiss from her police chief boss—and I hugged Romeo, who usually got on my nerves. Tonight everyone deserved to celebrate.

  Some folks ambled to the diner for food; Bill wanted to join them but I argued for drinks and he agreed to the Bottom Feeder. Walter was pouting because Lola didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with him so he marched off to the hotel. By ten thirty, Lola, Bill, Penny, Abby, and I were seated at a circular table facing a round of drinks. I had to think fast. I hadn’t anticipated Penny and Abby; I’d intended to have Lola distract Bill while I lassoed Jackson, hopefully catching him off-guard with what I’d learned about Sam and Vinnie. At least that was my intention.

  Food was ordered, a second round of drinks delivered, toasts on the success of the ELT proposed…and no Jackson. Outwardly, I hooted and chitchatted. Inwardly, I fumed. How like him to ditch Lola after agreeing to their meeting. She peeked at her watch, uncertain as she took a nip of her Creamsicle Crush. I’d gotten her hooked on them too.

  “How can you drink those things?” asked Abby, who was sipping a second Scotch and water.

  Thank goodness the cast had the day off tomorrow.

  “They’re delicious once you develop a taste for them.” Lola hiccupped.

  Bill snickered. He was pretty loose considering the day he’d had. “I told Dodie they sound like a kid’s drink.”

  “I’m getting addicted,” I said serenely. Where was Jackson?

  Penny chortled. “I’m sticking with my martini.”

  “Somehow I never pegged you as a martini person,” I said.

  “O’Dell, you can tell a book by its cover, but you can’t make it drink.”

  The table was stunned into absolute silence. Then Abby guffawed, and Lola, Bill, and I joined in. Even Penny laughed at herself. A first. I was ready to throw in the towel and forget about Jackson, enjoy the rest of the evening, and live to pursue him another day, when Lola’s eyes grew round. She cocked her head slightly in the direction of the bar—at my back—and put on a dazzling smile. Showtime!

  “Whoa! It’s a party.” Jackson waggled a beer over his head. He inspected the occupants of the table, stopping in mid-waggle when he spotted Bill and me. His face fell.

  “Pull up a chair,” Bill said and scooted over, making room for Jackson beside me.

  Jackson hesitated, getting a glimpse of Lola. “Nah. Don’t like to be a gatecrasher.”

  As if.

  “Nonsense,” Lola said and motioned Abby and Penny to shift their locations.

  Jackson had no choice. He took hold of a chair, wedged between Bill and me. Now if I could only keep him in place until I had a chance to grill him. We all took a drink.

  “Jackson, I wish you had seen the show tonight. It went well, right?” Lola scanned the group for confirmation.

  “Yep.” Abby.

  “Uh-huh.” Bill.

  “Really great.” Me.

  “All good. Except for that crash before the start of Act Two.” Penny.

  “What was that?” Me.

  “The curtain went up to the ceiling.” Penny.

  “The stage crew could be more efficient.” Abby.

  Everyone agreed.

  The lighthearted atmosphere had melted away. Was it Jackson’s arrival or simply that people were getting tired as well as tipsy? I had to act fast. “I’m going to the bar. Anyone need anything?”

  “I’ll have another.” Lola picked up on my subtext, she wasn’t a diva for nothing—I needed an excuse to leave the table, with Jackson in tow.

  “What the hay. I’m not driving. Make it another martini for me.” Penny chewed her olive.

  “Bill?” I asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Jackson, can you give me a hand?” I asked sweetly.

  “Well…I…uh…” Jackson hesitated.

  “I’ll come.” Bill got to his feet.

  “Jackson will help me.” I waited for him to stand and move away from the table. Penny and Abby were oblivious, Lola knew what was happening. Bill gave me a strange look.

  I gently nudged Jackson ahead of me. When we were two tables away from ours, I turned on him. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you all day. And what were you doing in the arcade? I was intercepted by this brute of a guy I think they call Tiny. He works for Sam.”

  “Slow down. You were following me again?” Jackson exhaled. “You gotta let me go.”

  “I’d love to let you go, but now I’m trapped. I spoke with Maxine, Vinnie’s girlfriend.”

  “What’d ya do that for?” Jackson frowned.

  We reached the bar and I ordered the drinks. “Jackson, there’re too many loose ends with Vinnie’s death. For instance, Sam was your third silent partner on the JV,” I said.

  “No way. If it was Sam, he’d have told me when we talked about a job.”

  “Jackson, Sam was also Vinnie’s partner on The Bounty. He must know something about Vinnie’s murder.” Did I believe that? It was the first time I’d allowed myself to say it out loud.

  “Whoa. Now you’re going too far. Vinnie’s murder?” Jackson backed away from me.

  “You can’t go to work for him. He’s too shady,” I said urgently.

  “Sam’s a great guy,” Jackson argued. “The theater festival and Sandy relief and all the people he helps down here.”

  Jackson had a point. So did I. “Why did you cut through the arcade today? And then escape out the back door? Were you hiding from someone?”

  “Dodie, can’t you let me alone?” he whined.

  Suddenly I had an instinctive reaction. “If you’re in trouble, we can help you.”

  “We?”

  “Bill and I.” Including Bill’s name in this conversation was a mistake. He wanted no part of Jackson’s antics. He’d made that clear.

  “Yeah, right. Like, your new boyfriend is going to come to the aid of your old boyfriend.”

  I leaned into him. “Do you need someone to come to your aid?” I asked.

  Jackson’s eyes darted wildly. “No. I don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry, but I accidentally found the money in your jacket pocket. And Vinnie’s IOU.”

  “Now you’re messing with my personal stuff? That’s it. I’m collecting my things and cutting out.” Jackson picked up two glasses.

  “Where will you go?”

  “Let’s get the drinks back to the table,” he said.

  “If you need help—”

  “Everything okay?” Bill put an arm around my waist.

  “Here, man.” Jackson handed Penny’s martini and Lola’s Creamsicle Crush to Bill. “Gotta hook up with some other dudes. Later, bro.” He sauntered off as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “What was that about?” Bill asked.

&nbs
p; “I’ll tell you later, bro,” I teased and walked back to the table.

  11

  By the time Bill and I reached our rental house, Jackson, true to his word, had packed up his belongings and hit the road. Bill gazed at Jackson’s corner of the screened-in porch, his mouth ticking up on one end in his quirky grin. “Our guest has moved out. I don’t suppose it had anything to do with that exchange between the two of you at the bar?”

  I ignored Bill’s implication that Jackson and I had had “words.” “He said he had another place to stay.” Sort of.

  “Dodie, what are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Why was I hesitant to share what I’d discovered about Sam Baldwin and my trip to the arcade with Bill? Because I knew he wouldn’t approve of my digging into Sam’s life and traipsing after Jackson. And bumping into Tiny. I was too tired to argue about my investigative instincts tonight. “Anyway, you ghosted me today.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you. Just…busy.” Bill unlocked the front door and moved into the bungalow.

  “Now who’s hiding something?” I smiled.

  “Are you hiding something?” he asked.

  “Don’t change the subject. It took you all day to sign a statement and get a rental car?”

  “It got complicated. The Auto Unit had some intel on the car theft ring and I wanted to get an update. After I picked up the rental, I went to Philly.” He busied himself locking the front door, switching off lights, filling a glass with water.

  “You went to Philadelphia today?” I asked in disbelief.

  “What? It’s only an hour and a half from here. But traffic was bad coming back…sorry I missed lunch.”

  “And dinner.” Was there something Bill wasn’t telling me? It would have to wait until morning. I dragged my weary body to bed and was asleep in minutes.

  * * * *

  The Cinderella tiara fell off my head as I hopped over a series of black boxes. I stooped to pick it up, stumbling out of my glass slipper, which shattered into a hundred pieces. I hastily scraped up the shards of glass and deposited them into my traveling salesman suitcase while a dozen kids ran around singing “The hills are alive, the hills are alive, the hills are alive.”