A Midsummer Night's Scream (19 page)

When they finished their talk, Jane went to her front hall closet, the staging area for her most recent dry cleaning. She was appalled at how many things were in there. She broke down and hauled them all upstairs, ripped off the flimsy plastic, and put them in her bedroom closet, pulling out a pair of good black slacks, a matching jacket, and a pink-and-white-striped shirt. Then she went to her jewelry case to rummage. There was a pinkish opal pin surrounded by silver filigree that needed polishing. And a matching ring. These would look good if they were clean, but she didn't want to waste time polishing them up. She'd just wear her best watch.

She went to the computer station she'd set up on a secondhand small desk that she'd actually refinished herself — almost competently. She wrote up her bio and figured out how to do a word count and was shocked to discover that the bio was 427 words long. There wasn't anything she wanted to cut. And it wasn't as witty and charming as she'd expected it to be. She didn't even save the file. She'd have to start over.

As she rose from the desk to pace around the bedroom while she mentally composed a better bio, she spotted Max, her black, white, and gray cat — the equal-opportunity shedder — washing his paws while reclining on her black trousers. At least he hadn't started to sharpen his claws on the fabric.

* * *

Mel called the Roths' hotel number and said, "I have a court order from a judge to open your son's safety-deposit box. I'm sorry it took me a while, but it was the only way to do it. Neither you nor your wife are signers on the box, so I have to use the document and key. Would you like to meet me at the bank around the corner from the college campus?"

This question flummoxed Harry Roth. He had to write the directions down to the last detail. "I suppose we should be there. I can't imagine what was so important to Denny to hide it away like this. But Aggie and I would like to know. And close out the box so we're not billed."

Mel was surprised that the cost of the box was as great a concern as what was in it. For people who could take month-long vacations, the price of a safety-deposit box shouldn't have mattered.

The bank employee put in her key and turned it. Mel did the same with one that had been found in Denny's billfold. The bank employee left the room.

Mel pulled a bag of latex gloves out of his briefcase and cut it open.

"What are you doing that for?" Mrs. Roth asked.

"Fingerprints. We have no idea what documents are in here. I'll have to look at them first, if that's all right with you." His tone made it clearthat this was the way it would be done no matter what their answer was.

Harry said, "It's okay with me."

Mel pulled out the small box, took one of the enclosures, opened it, and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. He opened the smaller one with a pair of tweezers he'd pulled out of his pocket. He turned to the Roths. "It's his original birth certificate with names of his birth parents. Do you want to read it?"

Harry was firm. "No. We didn't want to know that when we adopted him and we still don't want to know."

Mrs. Roth hesitated, looking at her husband for a long moment. Then said, "I agree. But what is the other paper?"

"It's a photocopy of the same thing. Without the seal. I'll need to keep both of these. If you change your minds sometime, I can provide them to you." He put the documents in a large envelope.

There was another packet at the back of the box — a fat unsealed envelope — which Mel gingerly opened with the tweezers. It was full of cash. He also put this in his envelope. "There's quite a bit of cash," Mel told the Roths. "I'll need to have it fingerprinted before turning it over to you.

"How much cash?" Mrs. Roth asked.

"After it's fingerprinted, I'll have it counted in the presence of myself and two other witnesses

and let you know how much it is as soon as I can. Would you like it converted into a cashier's check and sent to you via FedEx with copies of the witnesses' signatures?"

"How will we know that some of it hasn't gone missing before being counted?" Mrs. Roth asked.

"You'll know because I'm not going to steal it. I'm an honorable person."

Mel removed his gloves and threw them in a handy wastebasket. He put the box back into the slot and turned the key, handing it to Mr. Roth.

"You can take this back to the woman waiting outside the room and I'll sign off on the box."

As it turned out, Denny had already paid for a six-month rental and had only opened the account a month earlier, so the woman in charge gave him a refund check, which he made a copy of and signed over to the Roths.

"I'll be back in touch with you as soon as these are processed."

"Processed? What do you mean?" Mrs. Roth asked curtly.

"Studied for fingerprints, as I already told you," Mel replied just as sharply.

He walked out of the bank, already on his cell phone, and left them to find their way back to their hotel.

Shelley drove her minivan to the dress rehearsal because she wanted to see that the cocktail snacks

were being set up well before anyone else arrived. She was immediately impressed with this caterer. There were half a dozen workers, all in clean pressed white shirts, black trousers, and red bow ties. They all wore clean white gloves. They had set up several steel containers over Sterno candles. The containers were all lidded.

Plates of cold food covered with plastic wrap were also put out on the serving tables they'd set up, which were draped in the same red as their ties. There was no seating for the guests. But small trash cans were set up all around the perimeter of the lobby. The forks and spoons laid out were of sturdy silver-colored plastic. The head chef was wandering around supervising, reminding all his employees to smile.

Shelley greeted him and asked if she could look behind the tables. The owner himself lifted the draping to show her the shelves below holding extra containers of food.

There were small canapés with smoked salmon, tuna salad, or seared vegetables, topped with tiny blobs of caviar, and an equal number without the caviar for those who didn't like it. Attendees weren't allowed to serve themselves the caviar. There were servings of delicious-smelling sausages with parsley, and several sauces for them in small white dishes with little spoons.

Several of the heated dishes were mixed vegetables cut cleverly, and there was one of Jane's

favorite dishes — scalloped potatoes, with a dusting of paprika. In addition, there was a vast assortment of rolls. Some with salt, some with caraway seeds, some with celery seed, and many plain. The desserts were still in the trucks, being kept hot or cold as needed, the owner explained.

The napkins were generously sized and looked almost like real cloth. They were stamped with red stars. Shelley was impressed.

Jane had eaten at home before dressing and arrived shortly after Shelley. She was followed by members of the cast and crew and the honored guests Evelyn Chance had invited. The servers greeted them with smiles and started serving.

"This whole room smells heavenly," Jane said to Shelley. "I've already eaten but the aroma is making me hungry again."

Mel soon arrived, and Professor Imry came last. The doors were then locked to prevent casual pedestrians from joining the party.

A separate table was set up for drinks. Everyone had been given a chit for one free drink, and a list of the cost for second rounds was posted behind the table. Jane used her chit for a Coke. Shelley opted for white wine.

Mel, apologizing to Jane for cutting her short on the phone earlier, went through the buffet line with her. He kept his conversation bland and cheerful, and so did Jane.

For about a half hour, people mingled and ate,chatting excitedly about the play. Then the serving tables started being cleared, full wastebaskets were replaced with fresh ones, the desserts arrived, and one waiter was dispatched to collect dishes, napkins, and glasses from windowsills where they'd been left. Some of the guests passed on desserts and started going into the theater. The cast and crew had already withdrawn to the back of the theater. The only people left were Jane, Shelley, Ms. Chance and her special guests, and the catering staff. Even Mel had disappeared.

They all sat through the dress rehearsal, except for Shelley, who stayed behind to see to it that the caterers cleaned up, and made sure the yummiest leftovers were put in her minivan.

The play had been promoted as a "whimsical 1930s-style mystery," but the only thing approaching humor, much less whimsy, were the remarks that the butler made to the audience. Everybody found them funny. Imry was furious, of course. The last thing he'd said to the cast was that Cecil, the butler, wasn't to improvise.

The costumes looked fabulous and even Jane felt compelled to tell Tazz what a great job she'd done. It was hard to find her. Tazz had deliberately stayed as far away from Jane and Shelley as she could. She hadn't even turned up for the party in the lobby.

Ms. Bunting was by far the best thing about the play. She played Edina Weston with wry dignity and energy, and was clearly the star. John Buntingactually seemed almost sober. He said all his lines without slurring a single word. He didn't have to put his hand on the back of the sofa or his elbow on the mantel to keep himself upright.

Jane knew Ms. Bunting had to have been responsible for this unusual behavior, and wondered how she'd kept him from drinking.

When the play ended, the small audience seemed surprised. There was some muttering. Jane overheard one of Ms. Chance's contributors saying, "This must be fixed, Evelyn. There's no resolution to the plot. Why did the butler murder the younger son?"

Ms. Chance said, "You should have read the script I sent you early on. There could have been a better ending if supporters of the theater had spoken up sooner."

"She can't wiggle out that easily," Jane whispered to Shelley. "She'll probably never get more funding for anything from him."

"Serves her right," Shelley whispered back. "She could have influenced Imry to fix it. She was the only person he had reason to be afraid of."

The curtain calls were interesting. When the characters, in reverse order of importance, came on the stage, Bill Denk, the butler, was cheered, and the clapping went on for a long time — especially considering he had so few lines.

But when Ms. Bunting, elegant and smiling, came on stage, there was a standing ovation.

Flowers were brought on stage for her. A dozen red roses.

"We should have sent her flowers," Jane said.

"I've already ordered them for the opening night tomorrow. I wonder who these are from?"

"I'd guess they're from her daughter as a special early surprise. At least I hope so," Jane said.

As they followed the limited audience to the lobby, they overheard other complaints about the unsatisfactory ending of the play. The wives of some of the crew had been present. The prop master had brought along his daughter and her small son, who had fallen sound asleep within the first half hour. The scene painters were allowed to be in the audience with their girlfriends.

Before going home, Jane and Shelley went backstage to tell Ms. Bunting how good she'd been.

In the background, they could all hear Ms. Chance berating Professor Imry. "You're going to have a long night, young man. You're going to have to rewrite that ending. The investors who pitched in to help the college fund this are in revolt. Either change the victim and perpetrator, or figure out an explanation for why the butler would kill the younger son. It makes no sense."

Jane, Shelley, and Ms. Bunting were all smiling at this rant.

Jane had to ask, "Who were the roses from?" "My daughter. She always does this. Giving

me something to enjoy before the actual performance, no matter where it is. She's wonderful."

"We have to go home now," Shelley said, still grinning. "My car is full of leftovers from the party, and I need to get them in the fridge soon."

"Will you be back tomorrow?" Ms. Bunting asked.

"Probably just for the last act," Jane said. "To see how it ends the next time."

They all laughed.

Mel hadn't watched the dress rehearsal except for the last scene. He'd been at his office tying up some loose ends on another case that had just cropped up that afternoon. It involved one of those stupid criminals who didn't leave the scene quickly enough.

A skinny, weedy young man had burgled a house and walked out the front door with all the family's silver in a burlap bag. There he was confronted by the burly owner of the house, who had a big loop of rope he was going to use to make a swing in the backyard for his kids. The guy tied the perp up with the rope while his wife called the police to fetch the burglar.

Mel got the call and told one of his assistants to go pick up the bungling burglar. Both of them had a good laugh over this.

He was still chuckling to himself when he arrived backstage after the last scene and heard Ms.

Chance threatening Professor Imry. He waited in the hall until she'd gone, then went into Imry's office.

"I have something important to tell you. You better sit back down," Mel said.

"Okay. I guess it's that you're going to arrest me for murdering Denny, which I did
not
do! That's the way my day's gone. Are prisoners allowed to take their laptops into a jail cell?"

Mel had to suppress a smile. Imry had been inadvertently funny, probably for the first time in his life.

"I'm not arresting you," he said. "But I do have bad news for you."

Imry ran his hands through his hair. "Hit me with it."

"Understand, Imry, this is absolutely confidential. I'm only telling you this because I feel you need to know — but you have to agree not to mention it to anyone, not even obliquely."