Untimely Death (9 page)

As the meteorologist had predicted on the evening news, the next morning did indeed bring lower temperatures. In fact, it was one of those cold days that remind those who live in northern climates that winter always rallies for one last blast. Just when you think it’s safe to put away your boots and heavy coat, you find yourself scurrying to the closet for the wooly things you hoped you wouldn’t need again until fall.

Charlotte awoke to hard, driving rain pelting against her bedroom window. On days like this, she wished she could give the dog walking a miss, and although she pulled the blankets more tightly around her, there was no escaping it. Time to get up.

She took a croissant from the freezer and left it on the counter to thaw while she dressed warmly, put Rupert on his leash, and headed outside. Twenty minutes later—both of them wet, cold, and miserable—they entered
the bungalow. While Rupert ate his breakfast, Charlotte had her morning shower. And then, sipping a warming mug of coffee and munching the croissant slathered with strawberry jam, she watched the morning news. The lead story was the weather, with images of discarded umbrellas, their ribs broken from having been blown inside out once too often, tossed into Wall Street trash bins. In times of severe weather like this, her walk to work seemed pretty good.

She mulled over last night’s conversation with Ray and his suggestion that the police thought Aaron was involved. She was certain he wasn’t. She thought Simon had said something that excluded Aaron but couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was.
Oh well
, she told herself.
Leave it alone and it’ll come to you.

She set her dishes in the sink, got dressed, and rooted around in her closet for an umbrella. Since she was British, everyone assumed she was used to cold, rainy days (which she was), but she didn’t like them nearly as much as everyone seemed to think she should. Rain and wind assaulted her as soon as she closed the door, and after slogging through puddles in her high rubber boots, she was relieved to reach the hotel. She shook the rain off her umbrella and opened the door to find Aaron just inside.

“Morning, Aaron. What are you doing here? Are you waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yeah, sort of. We’ve got a full day of costume fittings, and since it’s going to be so busy, I wanted to make sure I had a chance to talk to you before the actors arrive.”

“Right. Let’s stop off in the canteen and treat ourselves to some coffee. Then we’ll talk.”

Once they had their mugs of coffee, Charlotte handed hers to Aaron while she unlocked the door to her wardrobe department. As soon as the door was open, he slipped past her with the coffees and set them down on her desk. She opened her umbrella and propped it up in the hall to dry and then followed him in.

“Now then, young sir. We’re pressed for time to get set up, so let’s get right to it,” she said to Aaron. “What’s bothering you?”

“It’s about my uncle.”

She took a sip of coffee, waited, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Aaron. Just tell me.”

“After you called last night, he asked if I could find someone to update the website.”

“Good. Nothing wrong with that. It hasn’t been updated since last year. It needs it.”

“He said bookings were starting to come in because of the publicity around the murder. And then he said something like, ‘If I’d known murder would be this good for business, I would have . . .’ And then he stopped short and talked about redecorating the lobby.”

“Which, God knows, it could use. Anyway, you were thinking he was going to say something like . . . ?”

“Well, it seemed to me he was going to say something like, ‘I would have done it years ago.’”

“Well, even if that’s what he was going to say, that’s not a confession! That’s the same as saying something like, ‘I could have killed her,’ when you’re mad at someone. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Aaron frowned and said nothing.

“Surely you don’t think your uncle killed Lauren?” When Aaron didn’t reply, she gently touched his arm. “Do you?”

“Well, I’ve been telling him for a long time that he needs a gimmick. He needs to do something different to bring in more customers. Guests. Theatergoers. Whatever you want to call them. Anyway, you should have seen his face when I told him that Leah—Lauren—was the girl who’d bullied my cousin to death. When she died, my aunt died, too, in a way. She was never the same. The light and the life went out of her, that’s how my mother described it. And my aunt and my uncle were very close. He always used to say he wished he could share her pain, to lighten her load. And now, maybe he found a way to do something.”

“I hope not. But I can see why you’d be worried. Listen, I wouldn’t mention this to the police, if I were you. Let them investigate and go where the evidence leads
them. But you don’t want to put any daft ideas in their heads.”

They’ve already got enough ideas about you
, she thought. And then something else occurred to her. What if Aaron was making all this up to throw suspicion on someone else and away from himself?

She gave him a shrewd look and then checked her watch. The first actors would be here any moment for their fittings, and time was going to be tight. They had to stick to the schedule.

“We’ve got to get set up for the fittings now,” she said. “But we’ll continue this chat, if you like. Maybe over lunch.

“Now here’s what I want you to do. To save a lot of running back and forth, take the morning fitting schedule into the wardrobe room, get an empty clothes rack, and pull the costumes we’ll need and wheel ’em out. Then we’ll open the door and bring in the actors and get on with it.”

*

The morning flew by. They measured, adjusted, cajoled, explained, and helped actors in and out of costumes.

“Aaron here will give you a hand with that. We don’t have the luxury of a dresser, unless, of course, you count Aaron.”

They listened to complaints: “I’m a size twelve.”

“Well, maybe you used to be a size twelve, but according to this tape measure, you’re a size sixteen. Try this costume on, and if it’s too big, we’ll take it in or find you something else.”

And because several of the actors were fresh out of drama school and their only experience was college productions, Charlotte answered questions: “I really want to get into the part. What kind of underwear should I wear?”

“Well, if you want to be true to the Elizabethans, then you’d wear a smock, stockings, and a corset that hadn’t been washed for ages. But do us all a favor, love. Your basic Fruit of the Looms will work just fine.”

And then it was lunchtime. When the last actor had left, Charlotte hung up the last pair of breeches and sighed.

“Well, there’s your afternoon’s work cut out for you. You’ll have to get started on the adjustments. And when you’ve done that, put one of these tags on each garment”—she held up a green tag to slip over the hanger—“so we’ll know it’s done. Then we have to get everyone back in here to try on the costumes again to make sure the alterations are right. They have to look good and be comfortable so the actor can walk easily in them and turn in all directions.” Aaron lifted his tape measure off his neck, rolled it up, and placed in on the desk. “In most small, regional theaters like ours, costumes only come in two sizes: too big or too small. But
we can do better than that and give our actors that little extra boost of confidence that comes from knowing they look the part and they feel right in their apparel. When the costume doesn’t feel like a costume, our work is done.”

He did not reply.

“Aaron! I don’t think you’ve heard a word I said. What is it now?”

“I can’t stop thinking about my uncle.” He looked at her with earnest, pleading eyes. “You know him as well as anyone. Do you think he could have done it?”

“I think anyone, under the right circumstances, is capable of murder. We like to think it’s something we couldn’t possibly do, but really, until we’re tested, how can we know?”

He jumped down off her desk. “I’m not hungry. I think I’ll get some air.”

“Are you working with Simon this afternoon or coming back here?”

“Simon’s gone into the city to meet with a friend of his at one of the drama schools. He needs to find a replacement for . . . her . . . as soon as possible.”

“Who have we got booked in this afternoon? We must have seen almost everyone.”

“Brian Prentice is the only one booked. We’re doing all his costumes for all three of his plays today.”

“Are we now?”

“When I set up his costume fitting, he said that’s how he wanted it done, so I booked him in by himself and gave him extra time.”

Charlotte’s throat went a little dry at the mention of his name. This was the encounter she knew was coming but had been absolutely dreading. But now, it seemed that it couldn’t be put off any longer.

“Ah, Aaron, I think it would be better if I looked after Brian on my own. For the first, let’s say, half hour, anyway.”

For the first time that morning, Aaron looked interested.

“Oh? And are you going to tell me why that is?”

“No, Aaron, I’m not. So if Simon isn’t here to keep you busy, you should speak to your uncle. I’m sure he’ll find something for you to do. Maybe you could do a few sketches on what you think the lobby should look like. Or—what about this? If he wants to smarten the place up, what about designing some new uniforms for the summer staff? Start with the reception desk. You know how important first impressions are. And if he’s getting a new lobby, he can’t have someone on reception in the same old shabby clothes.”

“That’s a terrific idea, Charlotte. I’ll tell him.” As he gathered up his belongings, Charlotte went to the storage cupboard.

“I think I have a brand new sketchbook here just for you. Always start a new project with a new sketchbook.”

Aaron looked a little uncomfortable. “That’s all right, Charlotte. Thanks just the same, but we don’t use sketchbooks anymore. We have apps on our iPads. Well, see you.”

Oh, God. I feel about as old as Brian Prentice looks
, Charlotte thought.

*

At a few minutes to one, Charlotte opened the door to her costume and wardrobe department and positioned herself just inside it, her hands clasped in front of her. She’d thought about being seated at her desk with her back to the door and then turning around with a casual, “Oh, hello, Brian,” when he walked in. But she wasn’t sure she could pull it off in a nonchalant, uncaring way.

She hoped to God he wouldn’t want to hug her when he arrived.
No
, she reassured herself.
He’s British. He hasn’t been in the States long enough to pick up that awful habit. So familiar and intrusive, touching someone you’ve only just met.

Her hands felt a little clammy, and she ran them down the side of her skirt. And then checked her watch. Five past. A moment later, the sound of footsteps in the hall signaled his arrival. She put on her best professional smile and, hoping her nervousness didn’t show, prepared to meet him.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

“Oh! Ray! Gosh, what are you doing here?” she stammered. “You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I had a few minutes, so thought I’d drop in and see how you’re doing.” He frowned slightly. “Who were you expecting?”

“Ah, well, actually, an actor was due at one for a fitting. Brian Prentice, actually.” She glanced at the door and cleared her throat.

“You just said ‘actually’ twice. You seem a little twitchy. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, just fine.” She gave herself a silent kick.
What is it about us Brits that no matter how dire things are, if someone asks if everything’s all right, it absolutely is? And not only that, we smile when we say it. Why can’t we be honest and say, “No, everything is not all right. It’s never been worse.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Really, Ray, I think it would best if you . . . we could meet up later, perhaps . . .”

A shape loomed in the doorway, immediately followed by Brian’s booming voice.

“Well, if it isn’t our little Charlotte. I’ve caught glimpses of you here and there, and I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you again and catching up on old times.” He entered the room and, catching sight of Ray in his blue uniform, held out his hand. “And you must be working on the murder case.” He shook his hand. “I’m Brian Prentice. Pleasure to meet you.”

Ray looked from one to the other, at Charlotte’s drawn, anxious face and Brian’s florid, sallow one, with the deep lines of a heavy drinker and smoker. With a last, questioning look at Charlotte, he left, leaving the door open.

Alone with Brian, Charlotte decided to let him speak first.

“Well, Charlotte, it’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. A lot of water under the bridge.” She took a step backward. “Now, I’ve pulled all your costumes here, so we’d best get started.” And then, in a moment of blind panic, she realized she didn’t want to get too close to him, let alone touch him. The sight of his distended alcoholic belly and sagging skin repulsed her.

She should have made sure that Aaron would be here. She checked her watch in a way that she hoped didn’t show. She’d have to get through about twenty minutes. Hopefully Aaron would arrive early. If not, she’d have to find an excuse to ring him.

“Aaron will be here in a few minutes, and he’ll take your measurements and do the actual fittings,” she said. “My plan was to show you the costumes I’ve chosen for each play, and you can tell me if you like them, or if you have any special requests, we can try to accommodate them, although we don’t have the budget to make new ones for you. Now,” she pulled a cloak from the rack, “here’s the Montague color. The costumes are
designed so the Capulets and Montagues each have their own color.”

Brian guffawed. “Teams, as it were.”

“Yes, exactly. It helps the audience keep track of who’s who. So the Montagues are in the blues. Royal blue, navy blue, dark blues. And the Capulets will be in burgundies, reds . . . those colors.” She fingered the end of the tape measure that always hung around her neck.

Brian put his hand on top of the cloak and leaned on it. “You know, Charlotte, you have never been far from my thoughts.”