A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare (7 page)

“Is she in that?”

“No, I think she was just backstage watching the rehearsal. Apparently one of the electricians working on the catwalk dropped something and a whole pile went over. Sort of a dominoes thing, I guess.”

Elizabeth watched the crew carrying the sets about. “But these things don’t look very heavy.”

“Most of them aren’t. That’s why no one was hurt. It just spooked Erin.” Tori waved a hand at another stack of props all set to transform the world onstage. “It’s all sleight-of-hand and make-believe.”

“Part of the magic,” Elizabeth said

Tori nodded. “A dream in progress, some call it. Everyone around here is an absolute addict. Not just the actors and directors, but every carpenter, seamstress, props person—even the college kids who come here and do nothing but carry a banner in
Henry
all summer. Most of them have degrees in technical theatre or design, and they come from all over the country to work here. I can’t imagine anywhere you could get wider experience in just one summer.”

Their guide moved them on to the sound engineer’s area where two technicians were testing the sound levels on various bird calls. Everything had to be reset after the mighty clash of armies at Agincourt last night. It was all fascinating, but Elizabeth’s mind was still back on Tori’s earlier comment. “Victoria, I know this probably isn’t the time or place, but we do need to talk. What you said about actors and all being absolute addicts. Gregg’s an actor. I mean, this is a fascinating world, but it
is
make-believe, like you said. And it can attract people that aren’t necessarily stable.” It was all too easy for Elizabeth to recall her own near-disaster in a similar fantasy setting. And she was the mature, levelheaded one.

Tori’s frown was formidable, but Elizabeth soldiered on. “I mean, is this the world you want to live in for the rest of your life? Have you thought at all about the future? About a family?”

Tori blinked at her behind her big, round glasses, bit her lip, then turned sharply. “This is one of our lighting consoles. We have a master electrician and five console operators—like Larry. We tease them about being part monkey.”

They were now in the vast semi-dark space backstage of the Bowmer. Tori swung an arm upward to the open area above the Angus Bowmer stage, as high again as the proscenium arch, where an entire set could be flown between scenes. All around and crisscrossing it was a black iron catwalk from which protruded heavy iron rails and swinging bars supporting a jungle of lights. “The technicians spend almost as much time swinging upside down from those bars or leaning at 90 degree angles over the railings changing bulbs or adjusting a focus as they do at the consoles or in the follow spot booth.”

Elizabeth nodded. She got the message loud and clear. It didn’t take a lecture of that length to tell her that her question had hit a sore spot with her sister. But it would have to wait. For the moment she concentrated on the jungle gym world high overhead and the opportunities it presented for mayhem. If someone had meant to drop something on Erin the possibilities seemed limitless. She wondered how much one of those lighting cans hanging from various steel beams weighed. And anyone could hide in the darkness up there. Anyone with a head for heights, that is.

“Now, I’ve saved the best for last,” Tori broke in on her reverie. She led them through the green room, the actor’s prep area which is called the green room in every theatre in the world, no matter what color it is. Here, however, it was painted an appropriate light green. Paperback books, empty soda cans and an abandoned knitting bag littered tables and chairs. Tori led on down some stairs and opened the door on a huge, brightly lit room. Long cutting tables filled the center, sewing machines lined one wall, shelves and cupboards filled another, and costumes of every description bulged from lead pipe racks everywhere.

Tori explained how the cutters took the designer’s drawing and transformed it into a pattern, then cut the fabric, and supervised the fitting and shaping of the costume as it became a final work of art through the finishing stages with first hands and seamstresses. “I’m just a seamstress since it’s my first year, but I’d love to work all the way up to designer.”

Elizabeth longed to ask if Tori was sure about making a long-range commitment to the theatre, but she knew the query wouldn’t be welcomed. So she just listened as the lecture continued. “This season we built costumes for 257 characters. Here, let me show you Prospero’s cape.” She led into the wardrobe where several of the running crew were checking costumes for rips or stains. The cape she held out to them was stunning: metallic gold and copper weave, over-painted in a black, red and green swirling pattern. Then the paint was embossed with metallic embroidery threat. “I worked on this for three days—about 18 hours a day.” With a final look of pride she hung the glittering masterpiece back on its rack.

Next was the hairdressers’ and wigmakers’ department where the theatre’s stock of 200 wigs were maintained and special effects created for each character. “Every actor does his own makeup—it’s supposed to be an important part of getting into character. Some do their own beards and mustaches, too, but this department does the rest of it.”

And finally the armory. “We order our swords, halbreds and battle-axes from Spain. But do our own ‘metalworking’ for shields, armor, crowns and such here.”

Richard picked up a massive gold crown. “It’s so light.”

“That’s
mouage
, a molding plastic. With metallic paint and antiquing it looks more like metal under the lights than real metal—and it’s pounds lighter for the actors. Lots fewer headaches that way.” Full plate armor, chain mail, leather armor—indeed, enough to equip a small army was arranged at one end of the room.

“Oh, I said this was last. I forgot about props.” Tori led to another area immediately behind the Elizabethan stage where a long-haired young woman in jeans and a cotton blouse was carefully arranging a handful of letters on a table strewn with goblets, fans and assorted items that looked as if they would have done very well at a garage sale.

“Hi, Hilary,” Tori greeted the woman, then turned back to her tourees. “Our props crew is amazing. They can make absolutely anything out of a box of ping pong balls, Styrofoam cups, a few feet of wooden doweling and some chicken wire. I think they must be the most creative people in the whole company.”

Elizabeth turned to Hilary who was checking every item on the table against a list on her clipboard. “Do you do props for all the plays?”

“There are seven in our crew. We work together making everything, but once the plays are in production we have specific assignments. Mine is to arrange props for every performance of
Twelfth Night
and
Othello
.”

Bingo!
That was exactly what Elizabeth wanted. She went straight to her point. “The goblet Desdemona drinks from, do you wash it after every performance?”

“Always the next morning, yes. Both goblets and carafe. Trevor wants them shiny under the lights. The apple juice residue would get disgusting.”

“So the one from two nights ago has been done?”

“Oh, yes. I cleared my things out as soon as the police let us get in, and Juju set up for
Henry
. That’s the way we always do it.”

Elizabeth nodded. That was what she expected. At least she had persuaded Richard to call Dr. Hilliard before they left the Bard’s Haven. Richard had been reluctant to seem interfering by telling the authorities how to do their job, but the medical examiner was happy to talk about her work since there was no official murder investigation underway. No, she had reported, sodium chloride levels were sometimes tested to establish time of death—although it wasn’t a very reliable method—but since several hundred people had apparently witnessed the death there didn’t seem to be any question about the time.

Yes, it was an easy test, one she’d be glad to perform on the blood samples in the refrigerator when she had time to get to it—the body had been sent on to Sally’s family in New Jersey as soon as the coroner ruled natural causes.

Yes, she had reported the tests on Erin’s pills to the police, but they hadn’t seemed overly concerned. Rushed off their feet they were, like all public servants—herself included. But, yes, she could see the possible connection, so she would put the first available person on it.

The others moved on and left Elizabeth alone, staring at the carefully arranged props table. In her mind she saw the gleaming goblets and carafe, purportedly of finest Venetian glass, brushed with gold. Was it like this backstage two days ago?

Hilary’s work done, the tours completed, all dim and silent behind the reset stage? How easy it would be for a shadowy figure to slip in, lift the stopper from the beaker of apple juice, tip in the white powder collected from Erin’s capsules, give it a few shakes to dissolve the powder, and slip out again.

A matter of two minutes. But it had meant the rest of Sally’s life.

If it had happened at all. Perhaps Elizabeth had succumbed to the very allure of the fanciful atmosphere around her that she had tried to warn her sister against.

Chapter 10

ELIZABETH WAS STILL THINKING about all that and trying to decide where it would leave them if her suspicions were borne out when they left the theatre and met Gregg at the box office as Tori had arranged. The two couples walked on up the street to Ariel’s Antiques and French Bakery where they had planned to have afternoon tea.

It took some time for the four of them to sort through the temptations of eclairs, Napoleons, cream horns, fruit tarts and chocolate tortes. Finally they took seats on Victorian chairs around a small table and relaxed to the recorded music of James Galway’s golden flute. Richard held Elizabeth’s hand under the table, and she smiled at him.

“You enjoyed
Henry
last night?” Gregg asked.

“It was great.” “Loved it.” Elizabeth and Richard answered together.

Gregg set his teacup down. “Sure glad it went well. It would be awful to get the story that we have an unlucky season going here. Theatre people are notoriously superstitious. Once you get people spooked, a rumor like that can be self-fulfilling. They’ll see bad luck in the simplest thing, then their own nervousness will cause more accidents.”

“Is that all you think it is? Superstition, nerves and accidents?” Elizabeth asked.

Gregg shrugged. “Seems most likely. This many people working in close quarters under pressure, you’re bound to have accidents.”

Elizabeth licked a dollop of French pastry cream off her fork before she answered. “And so we talk and do nothing, but methinks, ‘tis shame to stand still.’” She paraphrased King Henry’s Irish captain. “You two have talked a lot about searching for truth. I think we need to search further for the truth here. I think something
is
going on, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.”

Gregg frowned, and his blue eyes clouded, but he didn’t say anything.

“Will you help?” She watched closely for Gregg’s reaction, but he didn’t betray anything.

“Yeah. Sure. But what can I do?”

“First, tell us about the people who seem to be the most involved—Sally, Larry, Dirk. . .”

Since Gregg was in the midst of a large bite of eclair, Tori spoke first. “Funny, isn’t it, how much we see of Dirk, and how little we know about him? I’ve asked Erin general stuff about him—where he’s from, what he does, if he has a family—she never really tells me anything.”

“Sally’s bio is in the season program. She has—had a degree in theatre arts from some college back East, had done rep with a couple of new England companies. Seems I remember Emily in
Our Town
and Juliet in
Romeo and Juliet
were a couple of her favorite roles. It was her first time with OSF,” Gregg answered, his eclair finished. “We visited a little on the set of
Othello
, but I didn’t know her well. She seemed like a really nice kid.”

“What else was she doing here? Just understudy?”

“Oh, no. Everyone does tons of things here—that’s what repertory theatre is all about,” Tori said. “Let’s see, she was an extra in
Henry
and
An Enemy of the People,
and in something at the Black Swan, I don’t remember which one. Her best part, though, was Juliet in
Measure for Measure
.” Everyone was silent for a moment, then Tori added. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her. It just doesn’t seem possible.”

But Richard had taken on the deeply-furrowed-brow look that Elizabeth called his thinking face. “Hmm, that’s an interesting idea,” he said at last. “Juliet—the young woman who was to bear Claudio’s child. How close were she and Larry? Is it possible she was pregnant?”

“Wouldn’t the autopsy have shown that?”

“Do we know that it didn’t?”

“But why kill her even if she were? Blackmail?”

“Is Larry married?”

Tori shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he isn’t.”

That seemed to end that line of thought.

“Back to Dirk.” Elizabeth tried to focus the conversation as she refilled the teacups from the china pot the waitress had set in front of her. “Would he have any reason to kill Sally?”

Tori frowned. “I don’t think he even knew her.”

But Elizabeth wouldn’t leave it alone. “Could she have been an old girlfriend? Maybe she was threatening to tell Erin something.”

Richard shook his head and grinned. “Another elaborate blackmail plot? I’ve always told my darling wife she reads far too many murder mysteries.” Now he clasped her hand where it lay on the table beside her teacup. “Let’s leave Sally out of this unless we find out her death
wasn’t
natural. For now, let’s focus on the earlier stuff. The flats falling could have been an accident, I assume?”

Tori and Gregg both nodded. “Right. And Erin could be imagining she’s being followed?” Everyone nodded. “But she didn’t imagine the glass in her face powder, did she?”

“Definitely not. I saw the scratches on her face.” Tori licked the last bit of chocolate off her fingers. “One of them was really deep. Didn’t need stitches, but looked awful for a few days. She complained a lot about how tricky it was to put on her makeup over it.”