Just in Time Read online

  He wasn’t too keen on this co-production enterprise.

  “You’re right. Walter hates this co-pro stuff.”

  Penny was still in my head. How did she do that? “Maybe next year you’ll do Shakespeare in the park. You know, like Central Park in New York,” I said.

  “O’Dell, you crack me up.” She checked her watch. “Time to round up the troops.”

  “10-4.”

  She blasted her whistle, and the sound waves reverberated off the walls of the Etonville Little Theatre. The cast and crew were holding their ears. Lola and Dale, sitting in the back of the theatre, their heads together, were oblivious. Yowza. She had it bad. Penny prodded and threatened and, gradually, the cast gathered in the first rows of seats. Walter lectured them on the challenges of performing outside—gnawing mosquitos and humidity doing a number on their make-up. The ELT crowd was used to Walter’s eccentric tutorials, but the Creston actors displayed a collective “Huh?”

  “Lola? Lola, could you come up here?” Walter called out plaintively, eyeing the two leads in the midst of their cozy tête-à-tête. “I need your opinion.”

  Lola and Dale moved down a side aisle of the theater. Lola was smashing in a snug, black, knit top, her blond hair flowing gently around her face. You’d never know she had a daughter in college. Dale was dressed in a blue knit shirt that accentuated his muscular physique. Lola squeezed her leading man’s hand as he joined some actors in the first row, and she made her way to Walter’s side. I couldn’t help but notice Dale’s straight jet-black hair—a toupee all right. Looking at Dale’s hair reminded me that my own auburn waves were due for a trim. I needed to call Snippets in the morning.

  A hacking cough interrupted my train of thought. It was Ruby, the rehearsal accompanist. She was one of Creston’s contributions to the co-production. Word was she’d been working with the Players for a number of years. Mid-seventies, wizened, with close-cropped gray hair, Ruby was an inveterate smoker who had to decamp to the loading dock for a cigarette during breaks. Always in the same uniform—sneakers, rumpled trousers, and an over-sized button down shirt— she was also something of a musical savant. She could scan a score and then play it by heart. “Hi Ruby. How did it go in the park last night?” Lola mentioned that Ruby, Walter, and some crew set musical cues in preparation for the “all frisky” tech tomorrow.

  She coughed. “That Walter’s a horse’s patoot.”

  She’d hit the nail decisively on the head. “Hard to take sometimes?”

  She hacked again, letting out puffs of breath smelling of alcohol. Ruby carried a hip flask in her bag and usually had a few nips during her smoke breaks. “I’ve worked with the best of ’em and the worst of ’em,” she said, her voice raspy. “Him? They broke the mold.”

  “Well…as long as the show gets up.” I was channeling Penny.

  “Hah. I told the Players this two-theater thing would be a disaster. Bunch of amateurs and no-talents.”

  Was she referring to Etonville or Creston actors—or both? Might as well shift to more pleasant territory. “Lola said you’re a terrific accompanist.”

  Ruby studied me. “What’s your name?”

  “Dodie. I manage the Windjammer next door,” I said, nudging her memory.

  Ruby’s watery eyes glimmered. Then narrowed. “Oh. That crummy restaurant. Tried to eat the food. Made me sick.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said politely.

  “Well. At my age lotta stuff makes you sick,” Ruby said. “Getting older’s not for sissies.”

  Out of nowhere, I felt for her. Maybe her life wasn’t so easy. “I guess not.”

  “You’re young but some day you’ll see it.”

  See what? Walter motioned to Ruby to join the musical combo sitting in the pit below the stage. “It was nice to talk—”

  “You married?” Ruby asked.

  “Me? No! Not yet.” I said awkwardly.

  “Good. Lemme give you some advice.”

  Over her shoulder, Walter was anxious to get the rehearsal underway. Penny signaled the actors, and Lola gazed into Dale’s rugged face.

  “Stay single. You can’t trust anyone. They only get you in the end. I know from experience,” she said emphatically, easing the flask out of her bag to take a sip.

  “I guess that’s true sometimes. You think you know a person…”

  Ruby brought her face close to mine. “It’s not what you know about ’em. It’s what you don’t know.”

  Yikes. Some history there. Ruby toddled off.

  * * * *

  The first act of Bye, Bye, Birdie was in progress. Lola and Dale were the starry-eyed couple Rosie and Albert, all cooing and cuddly, with Rosie lamenting Albert’s songwriting career and Albert promising to give up the music business. The ELT hotshot, we all called him “Romeo,” swaggered around the stage as the rock-and-roll superstar Conrad Birdie. He pretty much played himself. Janice, a lovely young girl from Creston High played the ingénue Kim, a member of Conrad’s fan club in Sweet Apple, Ohio. Vernon, the narrator from Eton Town, and Edna, the Etonville police department dispatcher, were Kim’s parents. Abby, manager of the Valley View Shooting Range, was Albert’s overbearing, aggravating mother—typecasting according to some. The actor playing Hugo was a tall athlete from Creston, cute but gawky…I figured basketball. He flirted with Janice, which annoyed Pauli, my teenage tech guru, who hung around the theater as the ELT photographer and had designs on Janice himself. He was crushing on her badly. Finally, there were the Etonville citizens in the chorus—Vernon’s wife Mildred, a church choir director; the stars-in-their-aging-eyes Banger sisters; and Imogen, the shampoo girl from Snippets, making her first appearance on the stage. Bill, who didn’t have an entrance until the end of Act Two, would be missing the run-through.

  Things moved smoothly through the first half, the high school kids having fun with “The Telephone Hour,” sashaying in and around old-fashioned telephones on pedestals while Romeo strutted across the stage in way-too-tight gold lamé pants and greasy hair.

  “I thought there were no costumes until later this week,” I whispered to Carol, who sat next to me. She was the owner of Snippets salon, the moderator of rumor central, and Pauli’s mother. Carol was my other BFF. She did hair and make-up for the theater.

  Carol sighed. “We tried to keep those pants off Romeo, but he stuck out his crotch and said ‘Hand ’em over.’ Said he needed to do some method acting tonight. Chrystal gave in.”

  He wiggled and jiggled the lower half of his body, his arms around the teenagers from Sweet Apple. Romeo was in his element…method acting, all right. “Hey, can you have Edna take Bill’s costume to the municipal building tomorrow? He doesn’t understand why he can’t wear his own uniform.”

  Carol chuckled, her salt-and-pepper curly hair springing around her face. “That’s cute. I’ll tell Chrystal. Hey, have you made arrangements for your birthday?” She raised an expectant eyebrow. “It’ll be here before you know it.”

  “Nothing definite yet.”

  Conrad Birdie sang “One Last Kiss,” at the end of Act One. Carol dragged herself out of the theater seat. “I’ve got to get backstage to give notes on hair and make-up.”

  “Can I pop into the shop in the morning? I need a trim,” I said. Carol was good about accommodating my last-minute appointments.

  “Sure.” She scurried off.

  The curtain fell on the last notes of the Act One finale, with the company reprising “A Normal, American Boy.” The theater lights rose along with the noise of the usual backstage hubbub. The crew set the scene for Act Two. Actors dashed around. Some of them wandered into the house, and Walter admonished Penny about taking charge of the production. She blew her whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Take fifteen for intermission. Performance conditions!”

  Alex Milken, the musical director, and other members of the Cre
ston Players, winced at the detonation of Penny’s whistle from their seats. I’d met Alex when he stopped by the Windjammer for a meal. He was a recent addition to the Players staff. Ruby stole out of the orchestra pit, bag in hand, and made a beeline backstage—no doubt for a rendezvous with the loading dock.

  Dale intercepted Ruby. He drew her into an alcove on the left side of the stage. With the usual intermission turmoil in the house, no one paid attention to the two of them. He snatched Ruby’s arm and bent down, talking rapidly. She flung her head back, yanking herself away from him. Dale glanced around the theater, smoothed his hair, and said one final thing to her before she traipsed away. Some squabble. More than likely, Dale was giving Ruby a tongue-lashing about a musical cue. He certainly was a stickler when it came to his performance.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi Pauli. Getting some good rehearsal shots?” His digital camera hung on a cord around his neck. Since enrolling in a photography class at Etonville High, Pauli had served as the ELT production photographer—a role he accepted with great pride.

  “I dunno.” He fiddled with the camera.

  This was not the eager, upbeat kid who’d cheerfully assisted me on a couple of murder investigations—email hacking, digital forensics, and deep Internet searches. “Something wrong?” I asked gently.

  “Like, Janice,” he mumbled, brushing a hank of brown hair off his forehead.

  Aha. Girl trouble. It was a year ago that Carol was fretting he’d never get a date for the junior prom, and here he was, twelve months later, mooning over a female. “The actress playing Kim. Pretty awesome. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s that guy who plays her boyfriend,” he said.

  “The tall kid from Creston High.”

  “That’s the dude.”

  He was feeling the competition. “Pauli, they’re acting. You know, it’s the…method.” I flashed on Romeo parading around in his gold pants. “They have to be convincing.”

  “That dude is too convincing.”

  “Why don’t you ask Janice out after rehearsal?” Pauli was now officially driving the family car. “Maybe you could take her home?”

  His eyes lit up for a moment, then went dull. “That means, like, I’d have to talk to her.”

  I proceeded carefully. “You haven’t spoken to her yet?”

  “Nah. Like she doesn’t know I exist. This love thing…it’s bogus,” Pauli said solemnly.

  I got it.

  * * * *

  I told Lola the show was in great shape, begged off Act Two because I was exhausted and had an early day tomorrow, and moved to the lobby. The door whooshed open behind me. It was Ruby. She stared, blinked, and scanned the expanse of space—empty except for a banquet table and folding chairs stacked in a corner.

  “You seen my bag?” she rasped.

  “Your bag? No,” I said. “Did you leave it somewhere?”

  “Duh. That’s why I’m out here,” Ruby said sarcastically.

  The trill of Penny’s whistle leaked into the lobby. “Guess it’s time for Act Two.”

  Ruby coughed. “They can’t do it without me.” She stomped back into the house.

  What was that about? She left with her bag—which contained the flask—at the end of Act One. How did she have time to misplace it?

  It was nine-fifteen, but felt like midnight. I’d gotten only six hours of sleep last night thanks to a chaotic camping nightmare featuring me being chased by a black bear into dense woods while Bill climbed a tree and hung out with his fishing rod. I had to win the summer vacation argument. I hadn’t been camping since my Girl Scout troop spent a weekend by the Delaware River when I was ten years old. It rained so hard the tents filled with water, all of our clothes got soaked, mold blossomed on our hot dog buns, and no one could get the campfire lit. Wet, cold, and hungry. Some outdoor fun!

  I stepped into the June night air, inhaling deeply. The temperature had risen to eighty today. The summer humidity was like a wet blanket. Walter was right: The outdoor production might dictate that the actors deal with drippy make-up. A light breeze kicked up and it felt good on my face and neck.

  I climbed into my sturdy Metro, flicked the ignition switch, and backed out of my space in front of the Windjammer. Through the window I could see Benny at the bar and Gillian, our twenty-something waitress, serving the last of the dinner customers. I was over the moon to have an early night. A glass of chardonnay, the latest thriller by my favorite mystery author, a speedy check of my Facebook page, and a date with my bed.

  Then I recalled Carol’s reminder. My birthday was creeping up, and though I’d casually mentioned the date and a possible celebration, Bill had not picked up on my hint. Without warning, the hairs on the nape of my neck quivered and I shuddered—my radar whenever something was bothering me. Was it the wind blowing in the driver’s side window? My birthday? Or something else?

  2

  A ping from my cell phone coaxed me awake—and away from a beach where I was luxuriating on warm sand, the sun hot on my back, sea gulls wheeling overhead. Now that should be my summer vacation. My cell pinged again, demanding attention. I reached for the phone and scanned the messages: the first was from Bill, asking if I was up and wanted to meet for breakfast at eight thirty at Coffee Heaven. Of course, I texted back. The second was from Carol asking if nine thirty was too late for my Snippets appointment. Not at all.

  In the shower, the water was warm on my shoulders as I lathered my hair and rinsed my thick mop. I pulled on lightweight khakis and a pink cotton blouse, which complemented my Irish hair and complexion, and grabbed the car keys. I had settled into the Metro’s front seat when my cell rang. It was Bill. He was eager this morning.

  “Hi there. I’m on my way.” I lowered my voice into my sexy register. “Little impatient today, aren’t we? I mean I know that—”

  “Sorry to cancel. There’s an incident down by the highway. An abandoned car,” he said.

  “Isn’t that something Ralph could take care of?” Ralph Ostrowski was a patrol officer on the Etonville police force—genial, mildly capable, and a regular at the Donut Hole coffee shop. Talk about a walking cliché.

  “He’s directing traffic on Belvidere. A streetlight blew out.” Bill grunted. “I haven’t had my first hit of caffeine yet.”

  “I’ll swing by Coffee Heaven and deliver it to you on the job.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m not sure how long—”

  “No bother. See you soon,” I ended the call. After all, this is what couples did—tended to each other’s needs—right?

  I analyzed our relationship as I cruised down Ames and over Fairfield. Bill and I had had a great couple of months sharing our homes and getting to know each other. Sometimes we binge-watched Netflix while exploring Bill’s latest gastronomic marvel; or sipped wine in front of his fireplace while a sexy Norah Jones serenaded us. Or I modeled new lingerie from Betty’s Boutique, Etonville’s version of Victoria’s Secret. Occasionally, we wandered the streets of Greenwich Village in New York, experimenting with new restaurants. I was getting into the girlfriend routine.

  I pulled into a space in front of Etonville’s old-fashioned diner: a handful of booths and tables, a traditional breakfast menu, and two or three coffee specials in an affirmation of the twenty-first century. My obsession was caramel macchiato.

  The welcome bells above the door jingled as I entered and made my way to the counter.

  “Hiya Dodie? The regular?” asked Jocelyn, the Coffee Heaven waitress.

  “Sure. Make it to go, and add a black coffee.”

  Jocelyn put her hands on her hips. “The chief’s car zipped away a bit ago. Wondered if he’d had his coffee yet.”

  Our relationship had become the go-to topic of conversation around Etonville. Folks asked “how we were” with a wink—as if we were the town mascots. I’d become accustomed to Etonville’
s prying eyes, but Bill was still skittish.

  Jocelyn placed lids on the take-out cups and then leaned over the counter. “Speaking of relationships…”

  I groaned inwardly.

  “Have you seen Walter lately? He’s looking really fine,” Jocelyn murmured.

  Walter? The ELT Walter? The temperamental guy with the crazy warm-up exercises who still had it bad for Lola? “Well…uh…I was at the theater last night to see a rehearsal and Walter was…” How to explain Walter’s demonstration of the difference between a squeal and a swoon? “He was working with the actors. I saw Act One. The show is coming together and—”

  “But what about Walter?” Jocelyn asked optimistically. “I’m inviting him to dinner one night next week.”

  Uh-oh. “Jocelyn, are you and Walter…” Talking? Interested in each other? Did Walter know Jocelyn existed outside of waiting tables at Coffee Heaven?

  “A couple yet? Nah. But I figure with Dale Undershot moving in on Lola, I’d better get ready to claim some territory before Walter decides to play the field again.”

  “Right.” I paid and left in a hurry before I had to listen to more of Jocelyn’s strategies for organizing Walter’s love life. I tried to imagine the two of them. I pointed my red Metro in the direction of State Route 53.

  Within minutes, I had veered onto the access road that ran parallel to the highway. Up ahead, I could see Bill’s black and white cruiser, lights flashing, parked in front of a blue automobile. I eased off the roadway and came to a stop several car lengths behind the blue car, a Toyota Corolla. It was familiar. Where had I seen it before? An ambulance swooped in and ground to a halt in front of me. This was more than an abandoned vehicle.

  Bill’s hand punctuated the air, as he appeared to be speaking rapidly on his two-way radio. I carried the container of coffee to the rear of the Corolla, but an emergency medical technician halted my progress. “Sorry. Can’t let you by.”