Untimely Death (10 page)

Oh, God
, she thought.
Here we go
. Why couldn’t he have just been professional?

“Brian, please, I’d rather not talk about it. It was a long time ago, and a lot’s happened since then. We aren’t the same people.”

“Oh, I agree. A lot of water under the bridge, as you said. I thought of contacting you many times but didn’t know where you were. I knew you’d stayed behind in America, and I just sort of assumed you were in New York, but I didn’t expect you’d be in a place like this.”

“You mean the Catskills?”

“Yes.”

She decided not to respond. She didn’t need to justify her life to him. Over the past few days, she’d realized that she’d given him far too much power over her happiness. She’d spent all those years cherishing the memory
of someone who had disappeared long ago. He was now an aging alcoholic, barely able to hold down a last-chance job. He could have been so much, and this is what became of him. Would this have been her life if she’d stayed with him? Looking after this husk of someone who’d shown so much promise and then thrown it all away? And in that moment, as the memories flooded back, she realized she was grateful beyond words to Lady Deborah for sparing her this burden.

“Look, let’s be professional about this, shall we, Brian? I’ve got to show you these clothes, and you need to tell me what you think about them. That’s all.”

“I made a terrible mistake, you know, Charlotte. I wonder what might have been if only I’d . . .” Brian said, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Well, we’ll never know, will we?”

Her face lit up with relief and her knees started to wobble as Aaron walked into the room. “Thought you could use a cup of tea, Charlotte,” he said, and then glancing at Brian, he added, “Oh, sorry, I should have remembered you’d be here and brought an extra one. I’ll go get one. Won’t be a moment.”

“No, no. He can have that one,” said Charlotte at the same time as Brian said, “That’s all right, lad. Never touch the stuff. Thanks just the same.”

“Well, Aaron,” said Charlotte briskly, not really caring if the relief showed in her voice, “now that you’re here, I’m going to leave the rest of the fitting in your
more-than-capable hands.” With a polite smile at Brian and a sunny, grateful one in Aaron’s direction, she left to find Ray.

But what she really wanted to do was go home and have a shower.

She found Ray leaving the rehearsal room, which the state police had set up as an incident room. She tried to peer around him to get a glimpse at what was going on inside, but he moved slightly to block her view.

“It’s operational and filled with confidential material,” he said. “Sorry. Not for your eyes.”

“Where are you going?”

“They don’t need me here anymore, so I’m heading back to the office,” he said. “Got a lot of reports to catch up on. And those parking tickets don’t give themselves out.”

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you, then,” she said. “I’ll walk out with you.”

They strolled in silence to the back door and then entered the parking lot. The rain had just about stopped, and the air smelled fresh and new, lightly laced with the scent of damp earth and wet bark. Large raindrops
dripped from the trees onto the sodden ground, washing away the last traces of dirty snow.

“Why don’t you ride into town with me, and we’ll get a coffee at Bentley’s?” Ray suggested.

“Yeah, good idea. I’d like that.” She walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. As they drove past the community swimming pool and fitness center, Charlotte made a note to herself that she’d missed too many aquafit classes lately and she should call in and sign up for the spring session.

A few minutes later, Ray parked in front of Bentley’s, the café on Main Street once known for its homey comfort meals, like ham and scalloped potatoes, fried chicken and home fries, macaroni and cheese, and old-fashioned pies. Now it was catering to the increasingly sophisticated demands of younger diners with menu items like goat cheese and pear salad or turkey, brie, and green apple on ciabatta bread, with cappuccinos and cupcakes.

Warm air, fragrant with the aroma of freshly ground coffee, greeted them. The busy lunch period was over, and only a few tables were occupied.

The café, formerly a blue-plate-type diner, had been given a makeover a few years ago when the previous owner hung up his apron and sold the business to a transplanted gay couple from New York. Gone were the 1970s dark wood paneling, broken ceiling fan, tattered red leather banquettes, lace curtains, and kitschy things the owner’s wife didn’t want in their home. Now the space was sleek
and modern with stainless steel, muted colors, and flat-screen menu displays.

They chose a table by the window; Ray liked to sit there so he could keep a watchful eye on the street, and Charlotte liked it because she sought out natural light whenever and wherever she could.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Ray asked.

“Just a latte, please.”

“Nothing from the bakery? Cupcake? You love cupcakes.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I mustn’t. The scales are telling me it’s time to get back to the aquafit class.”

After the server took their order and left, Ray cleared his throat.

“That Brian guy. He seemed to make you uncomfortable.”

“I knew him a long time ago. We had a thing. The awful truth is that I was in love with him, and I thought he was in love with me. He was different back then and looked a whole lot better. But he dumped me, to marry Lady Deborah. I’ve been such an idiot for all these years.”

“In what way?”

Charlotte picked at the paper napkin on the table and gave a little laugh.

“This is actually rather embarrassing. I let him mean more to me than I should have and for much longer than I should have. The funny thing is, seeing him again . . . I used to hate Lady Deborah for marrying him, but all
I can think of now is that she did me a huge favor. Taking him off me and getting lumbered with him herself.”

She looked at Ray and smiled.

“It didn’t surprise me in the least to hear he was having a fling with Lauren. There have been rumors about his infidelities for years. I haven’t worked out yet why Lady Deborah puts up with it.”

“Is it hard, having to work with him this summer?”

“I don’t have to work with him for long. I have to make sure he gets his costumes sorted, but I’m delegating that to Aaron so I don’t have to deal with him. And then I’ll go to the dress rehearsal to see that everything works and that’s about it, really.”

Their conversation stopped as the server approached with their order.

“Latte for the lady, and that’s for me, thanks,” said Ray, with an easy smile.

“So, Ray, tell me. How’s the case going?”

“You know I can’t answer that.” He took a sip of his Americano. “But I might just give you, well, not a warning, I’m not sure what to call it, exactly—a heads up, maybe—but you may not have Aaron as your assistant much longer. The police are building a pretty tight case against him.”

*

Are they indeed
, thought Charlotte as she made her way along Helm Street. She’d declined Ray’s offer of a ride
back to the hotel, reminding him that she liked walking—although she enjoyed it a lot more when Rupert was with her—and needed the exercise. Walking past the shops gave her a chance to see the new window displays and, more importantly, provided a good opportunity to mull things over. As a creative person, she often craved solitude and needed time alone with her thoughts. What Ray had just told her about Aaron coming into focus as a prime suspect troubled her. She walked at a brisk pace, so deep in thought that today she barely took notice of the shop windows. She even strode past the Uptown Silk Shop, her favorite local fabric outlet and usually a magnet for her attention, without so much as a glance at the elaborate display in the bowed window.

By the time she reached the driveway leading to the hotel, vague, foggy thoughts were beginning to creep into her mind. She walked slowly up the drive and then quickened her step and made for the hotel’s front door. Those thoughts were evolving into a plan, but before anything could happen, she needed to speak to Aaron. As she entered the lobby, Aaron, who was crouching in front of a table with his back to her, ignored the sound of the opening door, but Harvey Jacobs looked up from the reception desk. His face started to break into a professional greeting smile, but when he saw who it was, the smile faded.

“Oh, Charlotte, it’s just you.”

“Yes, only me, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that we’re expecting a couple to check in, and I thought that you might be them.” As he finished speaking, the door opened, and the three of them turned toward it. Aaron stood up and greeted the well-dressed couple that entered. They looked around with uncertainty and walked slowly across the lobby, taking in their surroundings. The woman looked up at the man, gave her head a little shake, and clutched at his arm.
There’s no way I’m spending the night here
, the gesture said. Charlotte’s heart sank.

They approached the desk and exchanged a few quiet words with Harvey Jacobs. Charlotte heard them say “sorry” several times, and the couple then turned around and left.

“A nice young Canadian couple,” Harvey said. “Sudden change of plans and they won’t be staying here after all.” He shrugged. “Too bad. They were booked in for three nights.”

“Well, at least they have to pay for the one night,” said Aaron. “You have to cancel by three p.m. to get a refund.” Harvey shuffled from one foot to the other and did not meet his nephew’s reproachful gaze. Aaron groaned. “You didn’t! You did, didn’t you? You agreed to refund them for tonight.”

“Well, I felt I had to,” said Harvey. “They’re just a young couple starting out, and it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“We’ve really got to do something to turn this around, Harvey,” said Charlotte, as Aaron nodded. “This lobby is your guests’ first impression. It’s too dark and old-fashioned. In this light, it looks just awful, and it looks even worse in full daylight. Now, I’ve suggested that Aaron come up with a few inexpensive ideas to lighten things up. A fresh coat of paint in a neutral color will do wonders. We’ve got to get the lobby sorted before the season starts, or there very well may not be a season.”

“Oh, there will be,” said Harvey. “There definitely will be. We’ve seen a big increase in the number of bookings since the, er . . .” he looked to Aaron for support.

“Since Lauren was murdered here,” said Aaron with all the bluntness of youth.

“Yes, well,” said Harvey. “I was looking for a gentler way to say it, but, yes, since, well, the unfortunate incident.”

“Speaking of that,” said Charlotte, “I’ve been thinking that you ought to give a little party for the theater company. The actors and stage crew.”

“Oh, we don’t have the money for parties,” Harvey replied instantly. “They’ll expect things to eat and drink, and we couldn’t possibly afford that.”

“Harvey, you can’t afford not to do it,” said Charlotte. “You must realize morale is very low just now. And after what happened, I’m sure several actors are thinking of quitting the company.”

“They are?” said Aaron. “I hadn’t realized—” He was interrupted by Charlotte sliding her foot across the floor and giving his foot a hard enough nudge to bring him up short. He cleared his throat. “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Aaron, “but yes, a reception seems like a very good idea.”

“Does it?” said Harvey. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, the morale is low, you see,” said Aaron, “and er . . .”

“What Aaron’s trying to say,” interjected Charlotte, “is that the season hasn’t even started yet—we’re well into rehearsals—and a cast member has been murdered. Now, she may not have been very popular, disliked even, but nevertheless, the situation is creating instability and fear amongst the company, and it would be too bad if any of the actors decided to leave now. Simon’s already got to recast Lauren’s roles, and if other cast members choose to leave at this late date, well . . .” She let her voice trail off as she raised her hands in a gesture of resignation and defeat.

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said Harvey.

“So I suggest you view the cost of a few bottles of wine and some cheese and crackers as an investment in the goodwill from the actors that you need to make this season happen.” Aaron nodded vigorously as she drove the point home. “Now then, let’s set the date, and the
sooner the better. We can put up notices in the wardrobe room and the backstage area.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Harvey. “I guess I’d have to discuss it with Nancy. See what she thinks.”

“No, you don’t need to talk to Nancy,” said Aaron. “We’ll decide the date right now, and then you tell Nancy when the party will be and she’ll organize it.” Charlotte gave him a quick thumbs-up.

“Er, well, I’m not sure,” said Harvey. “Let me think.”

“Friday evening would be good,” suggested Charlotte.

“But that’s tomorrow!” protested Harvey.

“Exactly,” said Charlotte. “The staff needs encouragement now, not two weeks from now. Aaron will be in to see you first thing in the morning to sort things out. Let me see. He’ll need a complete cast list, oh, and the backstage people, too. You know, the ones who change the sets and see to the lighting.”

“When does Nancy start?” Aaron asked.

“She was supposed to start Monday. I’ve got lots of things lined up for her to do. She needs to get started on the filing and tidying up. But maybe she’d agree to come in tomorrow just to help out with the party.”

“That would be perfect,” agreed Aaron. He shot Charlotte an approval-seeking, raised eyebrow. She pinched her lips in a hint of a conspiratorial smile and gave him a quick nod.

“Well, Harvey, if Aaron’s finished here for now, we’ve got a couple of fittings to do, so we’d best be off.”

In the hallway that led to the hotel’s rear entrance and backstage area, Aaron turned to her.

“What was that party idea all about?”

“I thought it might be interesting to bring everyone together so we can get a good look at them all,” she said. “After all, one of them’s probably our killer.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. And here’s what I think we should do—” She stopped speaking as two of the actors approached.

“Oh, Charlotte, there you are,” one of them said. “We turned up for our fitting, but the door was locked. Did we get the time wrong?”

“No,” she said. “It was us. We apologize. We were having a little chat with Aaron’s uncle and were delayed.” She unlocked the door to the costume department and indicated that the two should enter ahead of her and Aaron.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind when we’re finished here,” she said to him.

“Before we go in, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” Aaron said. He looked at her with earnest eyes. “Our fabric scissors. I can’t find them. I think they’ve gone missing.”

“Oh, no,” said Charlotte. “They’re the best pair I’ve ever had. Been using them for years.” She made an impatient little gesture. “All those people in here after the incident . . . you don’t suppose someone nicked them, do you?”

Aaron shrugged. “I don’t know. Just thought I’d tell you, in case they don’t turn up soon and we need to replace them.”

Charlotte sighed. “Well, come on. We’d better get in there. Can’t keep these two waiting any longer.”

Half an hour later, their measurements taken and fittings completed, the two actors were on their way. Aaron checked his watch. “I’d better not be late. My aunt likes me on time for dinner.”

“I won’t keep you. But I want to give you something to think about.”

“Fire away.”

“You said you were afraid that your uncle might have had something to do with Lauren’s murder. It can be very difficult to admit to ourselves that someone we thought we knew might be capable of something beyond what we . . . well, maybe we didn’t know that person as well as we thought we did.” She peered at him and he acknowledged the truth of what she was saying. “Right.” She crossed her arms. “So here’s what I’m thinking. If you’re afraid the police are going to think your uncle was involved, then the best thing we can do is find out who did kill Lauren. If you’re really sure it wasn’t Harvey, that is.”

She watched carefully for his reaction. His left eye twitched a little. She could hear the wheels grinding in his brain as he processed what she had just said and tried to formulate the best response. But what was the best
response? The truthful one? Or, if the police were right, the one that would point suspicion away from himself?