Some Like It Hot-Buttered (28 page)

“Better not be,” he’d answered. “You don’t want to drive away my business.”

“Yeah. You could go to one of the
other
all-comedy theatres in this area.” Leo had given me a look that indicated I might want to switch to decaf, and started to take his business inside the auditorium. I’d stopped him.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” I’d told him. “It’s been a rough few weeks.”

“You don’t know rough,” he’d answered with great compassion. “This one time in Bulgaria, we almost had to throw our cargo overboard to right the boat. We were in a storm that had come out of nowhere . . .” I’d stopped paying attention, and had made a mental note never to apologize to Leo again.

Instead, I’d reached into my pocket and pulled out a photograph of Christie Dunbar that I’d printed out from her website. I passed it to Leo, who’d looked at it, then looked back at me.

“So?”

“
So
, is that the woman you saw with Vincent Ansella the night he died?”

Leo’s eyes had practically crossed. “Are you kidding?” he’d asked. “I told you that was the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen. This one’s a
babe
!” He wouldn’t leave until I agreed to let him keep the picture. I don’t like to think about what he wanted to do with it.

If the truth shall set you free, innuendos, assumptions, and apologies will give you a sinus headache.

The rest of the audience was comprised of parents and children. None of the glittering hoi polloi who had graced the old barn on the night of our “reopening” had become regular customers, and on a Thursday night, you were lucky to get drop-ins. The weekend is where you make your money.

I had just done a reel change and was walking downstairs to the lobby, replacing the velvet rope to indicate the balcony was closed. Sophie looked more bored than usual, since not much ticket or snack business was being done an hour and ten minutes into our first film. Maybe a straggler or two would come in just to see
Too Many Kids
, but it was a little early for them, anyway. The movie was advertised for almost an hour from now.

When I was foolish enough to enter her orbit, Sophie looked at me, cracked some gum in her mouth (I’ve talked to her about that), and said, “When are we going to get a
real
movie here?”

“These looked real enough when I threaded them up,” I said.

“This is just Hollywood’s attempt to keep us all quiet and happy,” she moaned. “It’s not a depiction of the
real
human condition, like
Final Destination
.”

“Cheer up, Sophie. I promise to get more death movies for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. For Halloween, I’m getting
Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein
.”

Sophie scowled at me and cracked her gum again. I walked away, making a mental note to book
Beetlejuice
just for her. I’m such a soft touch.

I’d have to decide, based on the weather and how tired I was, whether to change the marquee tonight or come in early tomorrow to do it. It’s not hard work, but it takes time, and you have to stand on a ladder, which I prefer to avoid whenever possible. I’d probably end up leaving it until the sun was out.

Sergeant O’Donnell opened the front door and walked in, surveying the place as if it was his name on the deed. And tonight, for fifty dollars and a ride to the airport, I’d have been happy to turn it over to him. The fight was knocked out of me.

It was worse when I saw that he’d brought Leslie with him. We didn’t look at each other as she followed him in.

He walked right past me and made a beeline for Sophie, who didn’t seem to recognize him (she’d spent most of the night Ansella died and the following day staring at her shoes, possibly in the belief that they held the secret to the
real
human condition) and was reaching for the roll of tickets under the counter. O’Donnell waved his hand to get her to stop, and I moved toward Sophie. As her employer and a really nosy person, I felt I had every right to listen in on the conversation. Besides, it would get me to the other side of Leslie, where we wouldn’t have to make eye contact. It’s hard being a grown-up. Or so I’m told.

“Miss Beringer, I want to know what you know about Anthony Pagliarulo,” O’Donnell was saying as I approached. Sophie looked up to meet his eyes, but hers were not comprehending.

“You don’t want a ticket?” she asked.

“No, I don’t want a ticket!”

I nudged my way into the conversation with my trademark grace and tact. “Back off, O’Donnell,” I said. “She didn’t recognize you, okay? And keep your voice down. I’ve got a full house in there.” In my world, “full” was a relative term. I was showing off. I’m not sure for whom.

“She’s not cooperating, and I’m tired of getting jerked around.” O’Donnell seemed to be taking the argument to me now, and Sophie, staring as if it were happening on a television screen in front of her, seemed less interested than simply transfixed, watching something really awful, but being unable to change the channel.

Leslie started to say, “Why don’t we take this out—” O’Donnell cut her off with a look that said “I’m in charge.” She stopped talking, and the angry look I would have expected on her face never materialized. This was more one of resignation.

“What makes you think Sophie knows anything about Anthony?” I asked him. It seemed a little late in the game for him to be going all bad cop on us out of the blue.

“Her cell phone records,” he said. “Miss Beringer here has been getting calls from Anthony Pagliarulo’s apartment at least once a day since he supposedly disappeared.”

Well, that didn’t make a lick of sense. I knew Anthony was in Utah, but I couldn’t tell O’Donnell that. If Dutton hadn’t made the information available to the county,
I
certainly wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

“Sophie?”

She looked up, startled, as if the TV had begun to address her directly. Sophie looked at me, but didn’t say anything.

“Have you heard from Anthony?” I asked.

“You mean, like, today?” Wow. Those iPod ear things must really do something awful to a person’s brain. I’m usually a big fan of Apple products, but there was definitely some erosion going on, and I rarely saw Sophie without those buds hanging out of her ears.

“No. I mean, like, since he left.” Now she had me talking like that. “Since we saw him sleeping in the theatre the day after Mr. Ansella died.”

“Mr. who?” Maybe she was playing dumb. Yeah, that was it. And she was doing a really professional job.

“Mr. Ansella,”
O’Donnell seethed. “The guy who croaked in your theatre a few weeks ago.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sophie took on a sad expression, thinking she was supposed to be sorry Ansella was dead. We all stood there, looking at each other. Finally, O’Donnell couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So?”

“So, what?” Honestly, Lisa Kudrow at the top of her game couldn’t play clueless this well.

“Sophie,” I said in my best fatherly tone, “
Sergeant
O’Donnell here, the
county investigator
, says you’ve been getting phone calls on your cell from the phone in Anthony’s apartment.”

“Oh. Yeah.” And what was your question?

“So, you have?”

“Uh-huh. I’m dating one of his roommates. But don’t tell my folks, okay? They don’t like me going out with college guys.” So
that
was it! That was what she and Anthony had been discussing the night he vanished. Sophie looked from me to O’Donnell, worried only that her parents would be upset with her.

O’Donnell looked suspicious, and frankly, given Sophie’s performance, I couldn’t blame him. “You’re dating one of Pagliarulo’s roommates?” he reiterated.

“Yeah. This guy Danton? Although I’m not sure if that’s his first name or his last. We never talked about it.”

I turned toward O’Donnell. “He does have a roommate named Danton,” I said. “I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. Nice enough kid.”

“Yeah,” Sophie said. “He has a Harley. Anthony made him come here to watch the movies a few times,” she continued. “I gave him free popcorn, and he asked me out.”

“I talked to Danton,” Leslie said. “Didn’t seem to know anything.”

I gave Sophie a glare. “You gave him
free popcorn
?”

Sergeant O’Donnell’s eyes might have been rotating in their sockets. “Miss Beringer,” he said, “I think we’re going to have to go somewhere where I can question you a little more privately.”

“I don’t think my folks would like that,” she said.

“I can’t say I’m crazy about it, either,” I told O’Donnell honestly. “Plus, she’s a minor, so you can’t do a thing without her parents’ consent, can you?”

“If you don’t want an obstruction charge hanging over your head, Freed, you’re going to stay out of the way. This is a criminal investigation, and I’m the investigator in charge. Don’t worry, there will be a female officer present every step of the way.”

Something clicked in my head. “Officer Levant?” I asked. Could
O’Donnell
be involved? Nah. That was too stupid.

Leslie, in fact, looked like she’d rather be anywhere than in a car with Sophie and O’Donnell discussing Anthony’s whereabouts. She looked like she was trying to disappear, and doing a very bad job of it.

“I can’t go,” Sophie said. I think she was trying to fight off tears, as the reality of the situation was starting to set in. “Who’ll sell the popcorn?” Well, reality means different things to different people.

O’Donnell responded by trying to take Sophie’s arm, and she pulled away. “Don’t worry about the popcorn, honey,” he said. “Mr. Freed can handle it.”

“Elliot . . .” she pleaded.

"O’Donnell, I’m not letting this girl out of my sight until you get in touch with her parents. Frankly, I think it’s a little weird that you have to bring her in all of a sudden.” I didn’t really think O’Donnell was a child molester, but I needed something to stall with.

“What do you think, Freed? That I’m a danger to this girl?” He was genuinely offended.

“I’ll be there the whole time, Elliot,” Leslie said, but her voice betrayed her lack of enthusiasm. She coughed. “Mr. Freed.”

“I don’t know what to think,” I told O’Donnell. “You stomp in here in the middle of a showing, after weeks of investigation, and the only thing you can think to do is drag Sophie out of here? You’re really grasping at straws, O’Donnell.”

He looked like he was about to remind me of his rank, then settled for, “She’s been getting calls from Pagliarulo’s apartment.”

“And she explained that. Go talk to Danton if you want to check the story out.”

O’Donnell’s face was red. “I don’t need to justify my methods to you, Freed. This girl is a lead to Anthony Pagliarulo. The only way I’m walking out of here without her is if you produce Anthony Pagliarulo
right now
.”

By the Ritz Brothers and all that is holy, I swear that is the exact moment the front door opened and Anthony walked in.

The four of us—O’Donnell, Leslie, Sophie, and me— stood there absolutely immobile, mouths open, staring straight ahead at him.

Anthony strode in with a sense of purpose I’d never seen in him before, and an expression on his face I honestly can’t say I could remember seeing since I’d met him.

Anger.

“What did you do?” he shouted at me. “What did you
do
?”

I wasn’t sure what I had done, so I didn’t answer. Anthony walked straight past O’Donnell without giving him a glance, and got so close to me I could tell what he’d had for dinner. Airline food: could have been a corn muffin or chicken dinner; it all smells the same.

“Anthony,” I croaked when speech became possible. “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Freed! I talk to you for two minutes and my funding gets pulled! We had two more days left to shoot! Steve Buscemi’s big scene was coming up!
What did you do?
”

“Anthony,” I said as calmly as possible. “Do you see who’s here?” I gestured with my eyes toward O’Donnell, but Anthony wasn’t buying.

“Hello, Sophie,” he said, icicles forming on his voice. “Now tell me, Mr. Freed. What . . .”

“Remain silent!”
Leslie shouted suddenly, as if calling for one of the Miranda warning’s greatest hits. I stared at her for a moment.

“Anthony Pagliarulo, you are wanted for questioning in association with violations of copyright laws,” O’Donnell said. He produced handcuffs from somewhere under his coat, and grabbed Anthony’s right wrist. It was only at that point that Anthony realized there was another person present in the lobby.

“Wait a minute!” I yelled at him. “Chief Dutton said he wouldn’t be arrested!”

“Chief Dutton isn’t in charge of this investigation,” O’Donnell said, “and Mr. Pagliarulo is
not
being arrested. I’m taking him in for questioning.”

“Then what are the bracelets for?” I asked, but O’Donnell ignored me and started to read Anthony his rights.

As Anthony was cuffed and Sophie began to cry, O’Donnell continued to recite the Miranda warnings to his prisoner, and eventually, to lead him out the front door. Leslie Levant followed placidly, looking like she was being taken to the principal’s office. I saw a few people walk out of the auditorium, stop dead in their tracks, and stare as the young man was more or less dragged from the lobby. This would probably send tomorrow’s box office skyrocketing. Two movies
and
live theatre!

And all the way out, Anthony’s gaze never left my face. At least four other times as he was being moved out of the lobby, he said to me, with ever-increasing volume,
“What did you do?”
Finally, the front door closed, and all I could hear was Sophie sobbing.

It was a damned good question. What
did
I do?

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