Killing Time Page 2

  It had been a sunny, brisk day, the temperature hovering in the high fifties. A gentle breeze had rustled some fallen leaves from the red oak tree outside the Etonville Little Theatre, sending them into a whorl of activity. I inhaled the scents of autumn—fireplace smoke and crisp air. My second favorite time of year after spring. I walked to the entrance of the theater, next door to the restaurant.

  “Hey, wait up!” Bill yelled as I yanked on the door handle.

  “Where’ve you been all day? I texted a few times but no answer,” I said and joined him on the sidewalk.

  Bill grabbed my hand and tucked it into his, his thumb toying with my engagement ring, and scanned the street. He kissed me quickly. One side of his mouth ticked upward in a recognizable quirky grin. “I’m on duty.”

  And still skittish about public displays of affection, even though we’d gotten engaged last month. Our love life being the topic of conversation at the Snippets gossip vortex continued to rattle Bill. “Thought you were stopping by for lunch?” Though we’d been a couple for over two years, his former NFL running back physique still caused my heart to flutter.

  “Kind of a busy day. Got a call from the NJSACOP.”

  “The what?”

  “New Jersey State Association of Chiefs of Police.” He shuffled his feet shyly. “I’ve been invited to join the New Chiefs Mentoring Program.”

  I did a double take. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I threw my arms around his neck and planted a big one on his lips. Unlike Bill, I didn’t care who saw our public displays of affection. “So, does this mean you’ll be teaching the new guys how it’s done?” I teased.

  “Hardly. It will mean meetings around the state and some trips to Trenton this year.”

  “More responsibility for Suki? She is the deputy chief, after all.”

  “And a damned good cop,” he added.

  I knew that was true from personal experience. As a Buddhist, her calm, om-like presence belied the fact that she was a seventh-degree black belt in karate. “We need to celebrate. I was headed to the theater. I could skip it and model my Wonder Woman costume again…” I said suggestively.

  He grinned. “I’ve got some paperwork to do. Let’s meet at eight thirty.”

  “It’s a deal.” I hugged Bill goodbye.

  We parted and I marched into the building, my agenda clear. Watch a little bit of tech rehearsal, demonstrate my support to Lola, encourage her to laugh off the haunted theater thing, then beat a hasty retreat home to Bill.

  Inside the theater, I expected the customary chaos to be running rampant: Walter tormenting actors, Lola twisting her hair, JC struggling with the technical side of things, Penny tooting her whistle, the cast chatting, lounging, faces in cell phones. Instead, I was greeted by a wall of silence. Everybody sat in the first row of the darkened house, subdued, as if waiting for something to happen. Lola and Walter stood downstage center staring up into the fly space where light fixtures were attached to parallel rows of battens. JC tinkered with a trick bookcase in the stage left wall of the set, adjusting the hinges and handle, before he moved to a trick chair stage right. Penny fingered her whistle, ready to blast it the moment Walter signaled Go.

  “It’s as quiet as a church in here,” Carol muttered behind me, her salt-and-pepper, curly head bouncing for emphasis.

  “I’ll say. What’s going on?”

  Carol whispered conspiratorially, “Carlos.”

  “What about him?” I scanned the row of actors. “I don’t see him with the rest of the cast.”

  She nudged me gently in the ribs and pointed as Carlos slipped onto the stage by way of the trick bookcase that JC had been adjusting a minute before. The only one in full costume, he wore evening dress and a swirling, black, full-length cape. His dark hair brushed off his forehead, his makeup had an eerie green tinge. The atmosphere in the theater shifted. As if a chill wind had swept in with Carlos. Could Lola be right? Stop, I told myself. Though I had to admit his appearance was disconcerting.

  “Costumes for the tech rehearsal? Usually it’s only shoes and hats.” I was learning theater practices.

  “Not supposed to be. Carlos insisted he needed his costume to ‘feel the part.’ Even during tech. So Chrystal gave in.” Chrystal was the long-suffering costumer of the ELT. Carol shrugged, as if to say, “Actors...what can you do?”

  I remembered last spring, when Romeo, who played Conrad Birdie, demanded to wear his gold lamé pants during the tech rehearsals for Bye, Bye, Birdie, thrusting crotch and all, to pump up his ego and impress the young girls in the cast. What was Carlos’s demand about? I wasn’t certain.

  Penny’s whistle screeched, yanking me out of my musing. Carol patted my arm and headed backstage; the actors came alive and moved into position for the opening of the play. Besides Carlos as Dracula, Romeo played the romantic male lead, Harker; Janice, a high school senior from Creston—and the current girlfriend of my personal tech guru, Pauli—was Lucy, the beautiful young girl swept up by Dracula’s bloodthirsty attention; Vernon, a stalwart, ELT regular, played Dr. Seward, Lucy’s father. Walter was doing double duty as director and Van Helsing, the vampire hunter. He’d done this before, and though Lola had begged him not to wear two hats during this production, Walter was adamant that there was no one else to play the role. I was skeptical. Lola yielded to his artistic decision and smartly inserted herself as assistant director. Edna, dispatcher for the Etonville Police Department and blooming thespian, was the maid. She wasn’t the “attractive young girl” called for in the script, though she was enthusiastic and had mastered the British accent.

  Renfield, the bug-eating, maniacal patient at the sanatorium, was new to me and to the Etonville Little Theatre. A slight young man in his twenties, I’d heard he lived in Bernridge and that his name was Gabriel Quincey. He was doing a good job, in my limited theatrical estimation. Wild and physically agile, he hopped and ran and mimed eating flies with passion. Finally, in a bit of nontraditional casting, Walter had given the part of the Attendant, normally played by a young male, to Abby, a middle-aged, female character actor. She’d been in a huff ever since the show was announced when she realized there wasn’t a substantial part for her. She’d lobbied Walter to make Van Helsing female. Nope. Or Renfield. No way. Nada. He eventually assigned Abby the role of the Attendant to keep her happy. And off his back. I had to admit it wasn’t such a bad choice. Abby was intimidating and bigger than Renfield. I had no trouble believing she might pick him up and toss him out a window.

  The tech rehearsal began. Penny shouted “Go” and “Hold,” Walter dashed from playing his character to playing director, lights changed from cue to cue, actors moved on- and offstage, sometimes murmuring to one another. Only Carlos stayed silent and aloof. Separated from the rest of the cast and, thanks to his immense cape, literally wrapped up in his own world. I stayed in my seat for twenty minutes until the statute of limitations for a BFF restaurant manager in a tech rehearsal was up. I slipped down a side aisle and scooted into the row of seats behind Lola.

  “Looking good. JC did terrific work on the set. Walter’s not too crazed.” Not too crazed.

  “True,” Lola said softly.

  “Carlos looks scary.” I regretted the comment the moment the words slipped out of my mouth.

  Lola turned to me, eyes wide. “See what I mean? Creepy.”

  I did see, but there was no way I was going to reinforce Lola’s semi hysteria. Too much riding on the production—the ELT banking on the show to bolster the box office and my theme food inspiration. “He’ll give a knockout performance. Folks are going to be blown away.”

  “If they come,” Lola whispered nervously. “What if the town is too anxious about the show?”

  “You’ve got to let go of this ghosty-vampiry stuff. Carlos is an actor. Plain and simple.”

  Lola sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

 
; “I am.” I mentally crossed my fingers that the rest of the rehearsal would run smoothly and Lola would calm down.

  Penny yelled “Hold.” A crew member rushed onstage to adjust the trick bookcase. Actors fell out of character, Walter motioned to the light booth, and Renfield strode purposefully to Carlos. There was a quick but intense exchange, Renfield pointing in Carlos’s face, Carlos slapping the young man’s hand away. Whoa. I surveyed the rest of the stage to see if anyone else had noticed. Chrystal dashed onto the set to hand out a few accessories. Lola had her head buried in the script.

  “Did you see that?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Renfield and Dracula. I think they almost got into it.”

  Lola looked up. “Carlos isn’t on stage.”

  Renfield was now in conversation with Abby. The two of them chatting amiably. Was I seeing things? It was eight fifteen. Perfect. Enough time to sprint home and change for Bill. “I’m heading out.” I squeezed Lola’s shoulder. “Take it easy, okay? Go home and chill. Drink some chamomile tea.” Lola’s go-to beverage when theater business was too intense.

  “Thanks, Dodie. I appreciate you coming.” Lola twisted a strand of blond hair.

  Penny tooted her whistle, the blast ricocheting around the theater. It was the actors’ cue to get back to work. My cue to cut out. I walked swiftly to the lobby, images filling my head: Wonder Woman’s glittery ensemble, some romantic music, Bill’s gourmet snacks, an expensive bottle of red wine…

  My cell buzzed. A text from Benny: help! emergency in kitchen! come back.

  I groaned. Best-laid plans.

  2

  I sprinted next door expecting the worst. I’d only been gone a little over an hour. What could have happened since I left? An explosion in the kitchen? A customer in the throes of the Heimlich maneuver? Henry reading a positive review of the La Famiglia menu?

  I burst into the restaurant. “What happened?” I practically shouted. Luckily, the place was empty except for the elderly Banger sisters, tucked into a booth away from the entrance. Their hearing was suspect anyway. They smiled at me and bobbed their identical, curly gray perms, waving their hands to flag me down.

  “Hello, Dodie,” said one as I walked calmly to the kitchen.

  “We’re ready for the Halloween party tomorrow night,” said the other.

  “Good to hear.” I eased away from their table.

  “We’re going as two peas in a pod.”

  They both beamed.

  Despite Benny’s traumatic text, I stopped in my tracks. “You are?” I visualized two green beach balls.

  One narrowed her eyes and squinted at me. “Unless there’s trouble tomorrow and the celebration is canceled.”

  The other nodded solemnly.

  I had to get to the kitchen, but I couldn’t resist. “What kind of trouble?”

  “We saw a black cat in front of the theater today.” The first sister.

  “The dogs on our street have been wailing at night.” The second sister.

  “We’re keeping our necks covered.” They both tightened the scarves under their chins.

  If I wasn’t so stressed, I would have erupted in giggles.

  “To avoid…”

  “Vampire bites?” I asked.

  They withdrew garlic necklaces from their purses, holding them up for approval. “Would you like to borrow one?”

  “No, thanks.” Geez. The town’s inner daffy was rising to the surface, but their garlic reminded me of the Windjammer menu for the weekend. “You have a good night.”

  I pushed against the swinging door into the kitchen as Benny, on the other side, attempted to push it in the opposite direction. “Oof!” he said, driven backward.

  “Sorry!” I grabbed his arm.

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Check it out.”

  I’d been prepared for a bloody limb, a body on the ground. I was greeted with Benny shaking his head, Enrico’s face and hair covered in a splatter of powdered sugar, pieces of fried doughnuts scattered on the stove and floor, and Henry standing arms akimbo, glowering into the pot of boiling oil.

  “What happened in here?” I stared at the mess.

  “Dodie,” Enrico murmured, “the oil got wet.”

  How did that happen? What did that even mean? “Henry?”

  Slowly, he swiveled, his face dark and threatening. This was all my fault. “I hate Halloween.”

  ’Nuff said.

  It took twenty minutes to clean up and to convince Henry that Enrico and I could manage the frying process, minus the moisture that had mistakenly ended up in the oil and caused the doughnuts to explode. Glad I wasn’t in the Windjammer to see that… Henry agreed to come in early to prepare the spiced apple cider before the Windjammer opened. We ushered him out of the restaurant, then set to work with the hot oil, monitoring the temperature, vigilantly turning the bobbing circles of dough, letting them drain on paper towels before sprinkling them with powdered sugar. It was a slow and tedious process, but two hours later, Enrico and I had produced and packaged two hundred doughnuts.

  Benny had closed the dining room at nine o’clock, wiping down the bar and flicking off the lights. I sent Enrico home at eleven and finished cleaning the stove and swabbing the floor. A manager’s work was never done, I thought ruefully, as I swished the mop back and forth. When I’d called Bill to inform him that I had to cancel our date night, he was sympathetic, said he was sorry to eat the gourmet cheese and drink the cabernet alone, amused when he asked how doughnuts could explode. Did we use gunpowder instead of baking powder? Very funny, I told him.

  Sheesh.

  I was beginning to regret my theme food plan for Dracula. I had initially proposed a hearty Eastern European dish that suited the play. “Hungarian goulash!”

  “Dracula’s from Transylvania, not Hungary,” Lola had said.

  I was at a loss. Until I spied an article in the Newark Star-Ledger about a new restaurant in South Jersey that used garlic in every entrée. In appetizers and desserts too. Every single one. Garlic! Bane of a vampire’s existence! I was intrigued and did some research. I came up with a list of recipes Henry could use this week: roasted garlic and anchovies on focaccia bread, garlic roasted baked brie, garlic roasted prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, shrimp in garlic sauce, garlic chicken, pork chops with sweet garlic relish, even garlic ice cream…the list was endless. Perfect theme food. At least it was, until the town took this whole vampire thing to the next level. Was it a good idea to serve garlic-infused specials during the run of the show?

  At eleven thirty I grabbed my jacket and bag, left the restaurant, and locked the front door. The temperature had plummeted during the hours I was in the Windjammer and now there was a nip of frost in the air. Early for fall in New Jersey. A gust of wind sent the streetlight outside the restaurant swinging, casting a yellowish glow on the sidewalk below. A sliver of moon the only light in the sky. A “new moon” my father called this kind of lunar event. I wondered about the weather in Naples, Florida, where my parents now lived after decamping from the Jersey Shore a few years ago. Warmer than here. I strode to my red MINI Cooper, parked in a space beyond the restaurant.

  Somewhere down Main Street a dog barked. A shadow flitted in front of the theater, pausing by the red oak. My skin crawled, the little hairs on the back of my neck trembling. It was my radar system, which activated whenever something was amiss. The theater was dark, its occupants having closed up shop after the tech rehearsal. Although I had known Lola and Walter to hang around well into the night when an opening was imminent—

  “Good evening,” a deep baritone rumbled behind me.

  I whirled to my left, my heart leaping into my mouth. I faced a tall shape draped in black. Even in the dim light he was instantly recognizable.

  “H–hello, Carlos,” I managed to squeak out. “You’re workin
g late.”

  “So are you,” he said, bowing his head slightly. An otherworldly gentleman.

  “Making doughnuts for the kids’ parade tomorrow.” I laughed nervously. Why was I nervous? He’s an actor, not a paranormal monster. “Halloween.”

  “Ah, yes. Halloween. An ancient pagan festival. The Celtic population believed that the dead could walk among the living at this time.”

  I shivered.

  “Did you know that?” he asked.

  “No. I didn’t.”

  Carlos leaned toward me and I shrank back. He reached out and tugged my collar up around my ears. “You look cold.”

  My teeth chattered. And not because the temperature was dropping. “Yes. Guess so.” And then my curiosity got the better of me. “Are you coming to the costume party tomorrow night?”

  He smiled widely, his teeth white and shiny in his ghostly face. “I wouldn’t miss the festivities.”

  “You already have the costume. Dracula,” I said, a fake laugh bubbling out of me.

  “I do.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Bella is reading palms for entertainment. Should be fun,” I added.

  He regarded me for a moment in the sinister half-light. “She is very good at predicting the future.”

  “Everybody will love it. Maybe she can tell if the show will be a hit.”

  “A hit?” He paused. “Yes, I think Dracula will be a hit.”

  I said good night, hopped into my MC. I swear he glided away and disappeared into the night. My hands trembled as I turned the ignition key.

  * * * *

  “So you think he’s what…a supernatural creature?” Bill asked, buttoning his blue uniform shirt and eyeing me, amused, as I pulled on my Wonder Woman miniskirt. He worked hard to keep a grin out of his voice. Not sure if it was due to our discussion of my encounter with Carlos last night or my efforts to cover most of my body. I was into the Halloween costume thing and WW had appeared to be the perfect choice. Still, I had no intention of scaring little kids or sending Windjammer customers into gales of hysteria. I slipped on my leather jacket and zipped up the white go-go boots I’d bought at a vintage clothing store years ago. “I know he’s only a guy acting a role. But if you had seen him…let’s just say he looked a lot like Dracula would have looked if he’d really lived.”