A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare (15 page)

“I should say I’m sorry. But I’m not.”

Elizabeth assumed a very businesslike air. “Well, it seems like it has to be someone we know. This is such a close community. In spite of all the tourists, any lurking outsider would be noticed hanging around the company.” She thought in silence as she ate another bit of omelet.

“As far as means and opportunity, Gregg certainly seemed like the prime suspect for Sally. But then, he couldn’t have abducted Erin, and I think we have to assume the two acts are connected. Gregg’s police record looks bad, but he seems so sincerely penitent over his past. I just can’t think he’s guilty.

“Dirk, with so much of his time unaccounted for, seems like the best suspect. But I can’t see any reason for him to do any of that stuff. I mean, look at the little things—why would anyone put ground glass in his girlfriend’s makeup? Unless we’re dealing with a lunatic, of course.”

“What do you think about Larry?” Richard prompted.

“Larry bothers me. He seems sneaky—always showing up in surprising places looking vaguely guilty. But then, maybe it’s not guilt. Maybe it’s just nearsightedness.”

“And Trevor?”

“Ah, now Trevor interests me. We could be onto something with his potential links to Erin’s past. Do you think it’s possible that Erin’s kidnapper didn’t leave her tied up alone on the mountain in order to go send a ransom demand, but rather because he had to return to a performance? Trevor did direct
Measure
, after all.”

“Possible, I suppose. But do you think it could have been anyone Erin knew? Even in a ski mask, wouldn’t she have recognized their walk or gestures or something?”

“Before this week I would have thought so, but after the complete changes I’ve seen with the repertory casting, I’d say anything was possible. Think of Gregg as Othello, then as Orsino, and last night as that hopeless muddle of a constable—I’d say anything was possible with the people around here.”

Richard agreed, “Possible, but. . .”

“Exactly. Everyone seems to have means and opportunity for about anything, but no motive.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is a motive out there somewhere. We just haven’t found it.”

Elizabeth pushed the tray to the foot of the bed. “Which means we need to get digging. This is our last day—unless the police detain us. We can’t just fly home to Colorado Springs and leave Tori and Erin in all this.”

“Right. Where shall we start?”

“Trevor, I think. How do we approach him?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Richard said. “At least, if he’s innocent he shouldn’t mind talking. Tori has his number. Why don’t I call him and ask if we can take him to coffee. I’ll do my English professor routine—want to share his insights with our students—something like that.”

While Richard was busy on the phone Elizabeth took a quick shower, brushed her bouncy dark hair, and slipped into a white twill skirt and yellow-and-white striped blouse.

Less than an hour later she and Richard were walking down the quaint street curving its way alongside the meandering creek, looking in the various shop windows at displays of local crafts. One window showed handmade jewelry, pottery and carvings of the beautiful myrtle wood that was native to Oregon. The next held antique books and paintings. Elizabeth stood for a long time before a tiny book of watercolor illustrations of the flowers of Shakespeare. “Wait here. I’ll buy it for you,” Richard said.

Elizabeth started to protest, then stopped. Why not? She really wanted the book, and Richard really wanted to get it for her. It would be a perfect memento of their honeymoon.

While he went in she moved to the next window to examine the beadwork displayed there. A reflection in the glass caught her attention. She looked more closely, then turned just in time to watch the jeans-clad figure enter the hardware store carrying a box.

She started to dash across the street, then checked herself. She was getting too suspicious. What could possibly be more natural than Larry, the electrician, going into a hardware store? And she could hardly race off after every tall male in jeans she saw just because that was the description of Erin’s abductor.

Richard returned and presented her with a tiny package wrapped in white tissue paper. “‘There’s rosemary; that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies; that’s for thoughts.’”

She laughed. “As if I’d ever forget.”

They walked on arm-in-arm to the Coffee Mill. Trevor Stevens was right behind them. He smiled, and Elizabeth was reminded why she always thought that men with intelligent eyes should wear beards—it highlighted them so. Then she wondered, would the ski mask Erin’s abductor wore have covered the beard fully?

Trevor had an almond croissant with his coffee. Elizabeth ordered a cup of the house special just to be sociable. She couldn’t imagine eating or drinking anything so soon after breakfast, but Richard seemed undaunted by the prospect. They carried their mugs outside to a table on the deck above the babbling creek.

For a while the conversation revolved around Shakespeare and the insights the current interpretations offered into his work. Then they moved on to the season in general. “Most successful in years,” Trevor gestured with his mug of mocha roast. “Do you have any idea how rare it is for any kind of an arts venture to pay its own way in this country? We may be the only solvent festival going. I’d say almost certainly the only one that makes a profit. It’s a shame how many have had to close over the years.”

“What do you attribute your longevity to?”

“Solid planning from the beginning. Angus Bowmer was a true visionary. And we have superb community support. You couldn’t find a better place to work than here. Lots of things like that, but it has to come down finally to theatrical excellence. That’s why the seasons sell out year after year—people always know they’ll see the best here.”

“So tickets are really hard to get?”

“Almost impossible at the last minute, unless you want to stand in line and pray. This year especially, everything’s sold for weeks in advance.”

“Do you have any trouble with scalpers?” Elizabeth asked. She was searching for a motive in anything here. Surely a director wouldn’t want to take a chance on jeopardizing a season by harming cast members. But could there be a financial motive?

Trevor shrugged off her question. “Always a possibility, I suppose. You can count on someone wanting to make a fast buck on a hot item. But the box office watches for anything obvious like people routinely buying up blocks of tickets. Of course, we do a lot of school groups, so something could slip in. Nothing like you have on Broadway, though.”

“Any problems with backstage pilfering?” Richard asked.

“What would they take? Most of our props are made of chicken wire and Styrofoam. We don’t go in for renting expensive antiques for stage sets—although that could happen. Worst problem in theatre is when you’re doing a dressy modern play and a cast member gets attached to his or her costumes. Sometimes things walk out—not Elizabethan, though. What’d be the point?”

Elizabeth found this interesting, but, as Trevor said, what was the point? They weren’t investigating a case of petty thievery. As a matter of fact, that seemed to be about the only thing that hadn’t happened. She tried to steer the conversation to Trevor himself. “Tell us about your teaching—in Dallas, is it?”

“Love it. Great drama department at the university there. Love working with the kids. Some of them don’t have much skill or discipline. It’s my job to instill that, but they’re so fresh, so enthusiastic. I love bringing kids out of themselves—sometimes I think I spend more time on psychology than drama. Closely related fields, you know. Of course, that’s Shakespeare all over—knew all about the human psyche hundreds of years before Freud.”

“Have you always taught?” Elizabeth knew good and well he hadn’t.

Trevor signaled the waitress for a refill on his coffee. “No, no. I guess that’s why I’m so enthusiastic about my job now. I used to be in big business. Did communications and public relations for an international firm based in Dallas. The pressure was incredible. Travel all the time. Hated being away from my family.”

“What company?” Elizabeth held her breath.

“Metroplex Builders.”

Elizabeth let her breath out slowly. “Did you know Wooton Construction?”

“Heard of them, of course. Very big, too. They were competitors of ours. Got some good bids we wanted. Why?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Just wondered. I’d heard of them.”

“Daddy!” Two little boys in denim shorts and a girl in a red sundress came running along the walkway by the creek, waving at Trevor. They bounded across the deck and the girl landed herself in Trevor’s lap.

“My family.” He grinned. They were joined by a pretty, brown-haired woman who looked several years younger than Trevor. “And my wife, Judy.”

Richard stood, and Judy offered her hand.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Judy said, “but the kids are hoping Daddy can come up to the playground with us.” She gestured toward the park.

“Sure.” Trevor took a last sip from his freshly-refilled cup. “We were about finished, weren’t we?”

“Thank you so much for joining us,” Elizabeth said. “You’ve given us a fascinating glimpse of the director’s perspective.”

“It’s a great life—sort of an English professor on wheels.”

“And psychiatrist,” Elizabeth added.

Richard resumed his seat next to Elizabeth when they were gone. “Well?”

She shook her head. “So much for the idea that he’s working for Daddy Warbucks. Unless he’s lying, of course. And I can’t see any reason he would want to sabotage his own productions.” As a reflex she took a sip of the coffee in front of her, then wished she hadn’t. She was still full and it was cold. She pushed it aside. “And he seems so solid. I can’t imagine him playing around with his actresses.”

“But if he did, he’d have a strong motive for wanting to keep it quiet.”

Elizabeth watched as the little girl in a red sundress holding her father’s hand skipped out of sight up the path. “I’ve lived a sheltered life. It’s hard for me to imagine anything sordid.”

Richard took her hand. “Thank God.”

“I do.” She squeezed his hand. “It makes for a lovely life, but it’s not very helpful when you really need to see the evil lurking in men’s hearts.”

Chapter 20

THEN ELIZABETH LOOKED AT her watch. “But speaking of sordid things: We’ve got exactly 24 hours to solve a murder and a kidnapping. The police don’t seem to be making much progress. We can’t leave these two here with a murderer and kidnapper running loose—a villain who may well be one of their boyfriends.”

“You don’t really think it’s Gregg, do you?”

“I desperately hope it isn’t. And yet. . .” She sighed.

“I know.” He paused. “And I just can’t figure Dirk out. Well, what shall we try next?”

“Larry, I guess. He’s probably back at the theatre by now. I saw him headed toward the hardware store again just before we came in here.”

“Okay, let’s give it a try. Larry may be harder than Trevor. He’s so slippery. Maybe we can hang out backstage and see what turns up.” He led the way across the deck.

“The English professor excuse again?”

“The truth is always the best disguise. And I do have the Shakespeare seminar this fall. Unless my department head decides to teach it herself.”

“Not a chance. But I’d like to sit in on a few sessions. And I could give my ‘Shakespeare on Grace’ speech with all those wonderful lines from Isabella and Portia. . .”

“Yes. And we could do the scene from
Taming of the Shrew
where Katherine tells the townswomen ‘what duty they do owe their lords and husbands.’”

“‘Love, Fair looks, and true obedience. . . Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband.’” Elizabeth made a deep curtsey, laughing. “Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Richard grinned and put his arm around her. “Well, the ‘Come on, and kiss me, Kate’ would be fun.”

“Almost as much fun as the next line?” She gave him a saucy smile with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, that’s the best. ‘Come, Kate, we’ll to bed.’ And wouldn’t our students just love it.”

They laughed the rest of the way to the theatre, then fell silent as they slipped through the technicians’ door and into the black cavern of the backstage. A light was on at one of the consoles, and a metallic tapping noise came from that side of the stage. They moved forward quietly, hoping to observe unseen, in the off-chance they could learn anything about Larry’s activities before they talked to him.

The clatter of a dropped tool rang through the silent theatre. They heard Larry’s voice swearing, but couldn’t see anything. Elizabeth edged forward. Then stopped at the sound of an angry voice. A voice all the more familiar because they had heard it so recently. Trevor Stevens was supposed to be in the playground in Lithia Park with his children, not backstage yelling at his lighting technician. “Be careful with those pliers! Would a surgeon throw his tools around? This equipment is just as delicate—and just as expensive.”

Larry muttered an apology and a promise to be more careful.

“Well, see that you are. This is the only department that’s gone over budget this season. I was just telling some folks how economically we operate here. I want lighting to live up to that as well.”

The metallic tapping resumed, and the sound of footsteps faded off toward the stage door. Presumably Trevor had gone back to the park. Unsure what to do next, Elizabeth took another step forward. Her leg brushed against a rolled carpet. She glanced aside at Richard. He seemed to be planning to stand there for a while yet, so she sat down on the carpet roll. There was a strange crunching noise under her as if she had sat down on a nest of glass eggs. She looked up guiltily, but apparently no one else had heard.

In another minute Larry must have finished whatever he was working on because the tapping stopped. He stepped aside, full into Elizabeth’s view. In the brief moment he was there she saw him look around, then slip his pliers into his pocket. A moment later the stage door slammed shut.