Director's Cut (20 page)

“It's very competitive. Sometimes it's cutthroat. What about fingerprints? Wasn't he going to check for fingerprints?”

“Yes. He found ours, of course, but he also found several others. That's one reason he is asking for prints from the others. He told me he ran the prints he had through the computer databases and there were no hits.”

“So there were no listening devices in my home, and the fingerprints have been a dead end. We're nowhere.”

“West is just starting the investigation. Give him some time.”

“I hope I have time to give.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. She returned her gaze to the slow-moving traffic.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just forget it.”

Chapter 19

I
dropped Catherine off at the theater at four. That gave me enough time to run by the office and check my messages. Tess was walking out as I was walking in.

“Hey, Tess,” I said. “Did you get my message?”

“About the stop sign and the child in the hospital? I got it. We're not dealing with a practical joker anymore.” Her tone was dark. “We have two people in the hospital, both in grave condition. One of them just a child. We have serious problems.”

“I assume you let Fred know.” I started toward my office. Tess stayed at my side. More meetings are conducted in hallways than offices.

“I did. He's anticipating what legal actions we may face and doing the preliminary work to protect the city. You know, some would try to get the family to sign a hold-harmless agreement or try to buy the family off by promising to cover all medical expenses.”

“We're not doing anything underhanded,” I said. “Everything must be aboveboard.”

“I know and I agree. Let me say aloud what we've both been thinking. The city stands to lose a great deal of money.”

“We're insured.” We crossed the threshold into the outer office and said “hi” to Floyd who was putting files away.

“I know we're insured. Let's just hope we can get insurance this time next year.”

I motioned for her to take a seat and glanced at my desk. Very few calls. That was good.

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” I took a seat in my office chair.

“That's easy for you to say, Mayor. Next year you may be in Washington, D.C. I and the rest of the council will be left with the problem.”

She had a point. “What do you think we should do?”

“We're not in the driver's seat. At this point, all we can do is try and find the perpetrators and prosecute them. We should also work out contingency plans.”

“Maybe we should go public,” I said. “Ask the public for help.”

“I'd clear that with Chief Webb first. He has a man working on the problem. If we get ahead of them and make things more difficult, then he's going to be impossible to live with.”

“He's already impossible to live with.”

“It can be worse.” Tess stood. “I wish I had better news.”

“I appreciate what you're doing, Tess.”

She left and Floyd flowed in a moment later. “How'd it go?” he asked.

“It went. Anything I need to know about?”

“No. Just the same ol' same ol'. You going to the play tonight?”

“Yes. Catherine arranged for me, a date, and my parents to attend opening night. She got balcony seats.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“Jerry is going to meet me there, but I've got a problem.”

“Problem?”

“My parents are out of town. That means I have two extra tickets. Got any ideas who might like to go to a dinner theater tonight?”

His eyes widened. “Yes. Me!”

“And . . .”

“And? Oh, and Celeste.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Give her a call. This is your chance to make things up to her. It's short notice, but she might like an impromptu date.”

“I'll call right away.” He turned to leave.

“Oh, Floyd?”

“Yes.”

“If you spend the evening telling Celeste how wonderful Catherine is, I will throw you off the balcony. Understood?”

He smiled, embarrassed. “Understood.”

I
have never been much for the theater. Most of my entertainment comes over CNN. It's sad, I know, but it is what I've become. Sitting in a balcony room of the Curtain Call dinner theater was changing that. The theater was divided into three seating areas. Long rows of tables filled the floor area closest to the stage. People in padded chairs lined the sides and talked freely as they ate. Farther from the stage, but still at floor level, were two banks of booths. Those seats cost more but provided a slightly better view of the stage and more elbow room.

The balcony rooms were a level above the first floor and were comprised of three walls and a wood rail. Two tables were in each room, situated near the rail overlooking the floor below and the stage. Dark green wallpaper, reminiscent of turn-of-the-century fine homes, covered the walls. A pale beige carpet blanketed the floor. The lighting was dimmed to a warm romantic glow, and the conversations of patrons below wafted up in a murmur.

Rather than sit at separate tables, Jerry and I pushed the tables together. Jerry sat to my right, Floyd to my left, and Celeste anchored the end opposite Jerry. Although still young, Celeste was showing signs that she was crossing the threshold from youth to womanhood. Her cheeks were a little rounder than last year, and her conversation a little more fluid and less encumbered with teenage baggage. Her blond hair was shorter, hovering two inches above her shoulder. She smiled easily, engaged in the conversation, but I caught her casting odd glances at Floyd. Apparently, the stress between them was still there.

We enjoyed light conversation and told a few jokes. A waiter brought an assortment of bread, butter, salads, and finally the main course. On my plate was a nice slice of medium-well beef with a blue cheese sauce, mixed vegetables, and wild rice. I made short work of it.

After the meal, the waiter bussed four empty plates, refilled our drinks, and took dessert orders, which would be fulfilled during intermission. As we chatted, I studied the program that had been given to us when we arrived. Normally a detail person, I felt a little embarrassed that I didn't even know the title of the play.
Too many
thoughts and too few brain cells
. I made up for my oversight. The first thing I noticed surprised me.

TAKE MY HEART

A Comedic Murder Mystery

Written and Directed by Harold Young

Harold Young, the high school drama teacher I had met when I came to the Curtain Call to meet Catherine.
Teacher, writer, actor,
director.
He's a busy man.

The program included pictures of the actors and a brief biography of each. Leading the list was Catherine Anderson. Her picture was a professional headshot and her smile gave color to the black-and- white photo.

“She is lovely,” Celeste said.

I took a quick look at Floyd. His mouth opened, then closed again.
Good boy.

“The joke in my family is that all the genes for good looks migrated to her,” I said.

“You're very beautiful, Maddy,” Celeste said. “Don't sell yourself short.”

“That's what I've been saying,” Jerry added.

“All right you two,” I quipped, “I'll give you thirty minutes to stop that kind of talk.”

“Just thirty minutes?” Jerry said.

“I don't want to be too dictatorial.”

“Maybe I should be an actor,” Floyd said with a whiplash change of subjects.

I bit back a smile. Floyd was a chameleon, always wanting “to be” whatever was in front of him. Now in a theater, he was considering a life upon the boards.

“How come you never want to be a doctor, Floyd?” Jerry asked.

“You have to do yucky stuff,” he replied with simple innocence.

“It's true. I look at lots of yucky stuff. In fact, just the other day, Maddy was cooking dinner—”

“Careful, Dr. Thomas. Your future is flashing before my eyes.”

“An actor?” Celeste said. “Floyd, you get nervous talking to new people. What would you do with a roomful of them every night?”

“I might get used to it.” He was becoming defensive.

Celeste pressed a little more. “Why do you keep changing your mind about things? One day, you want to be a preacher like your father, the next day you want to be a teacher, the next a businessman. Why do you do that?”

“I don't want to miss my calling. I'm just trying to be open to possibilities.” There was a bite in his words.

“You're afraid of making a mistake,” Celeste said.

“That's right, I am. I don't want to waste my life.”

The conversation was headed down a slippery hill. I was about to shift the topic when the lights dimmed and a statuesque woman with red hair, high cheekbones, and a clear voice stepped onstage. She wore a gray pantsuit; subdued, but quietly elegant. A string of pearls hung from her neck and were matched with earrings.

“Good evening,” she said. The theater's acoustics and electronics augmented her voice. People around the tables turned to face her, and she waited while they repositioned their chairs, her smile as permanent and inflexible as the stage she stood upon.

The mumbling quieted, parents reined children in, glasses and coffee cups were set down. All eyes were upon her.

“My name is Neena Lasko, and I want to welcome you to my theater and the premiere production of
Take My Heart
, an original work by Santa Rita's own Harold Young. The cast and crew have been working very hard to make this play memorable and enjoyable. To make certain that we all enjoy the play to its fullest, please mute or turn off your cell phones and pagers. The play will begin in a few moments. Our servers will be around to fill coffee cups and other drink orders. No drinks will be served during the play, but don't fear. They'll be around again during intermission. Again, allow me to thank you for your patronage. And now, for the first time anywhere,
Take My Heart
, starring Catherine Anderson.”

Polite applause rose, servers scurried, and then the lights dimmed.

Catherine walked onstage and delivered the first line, and for the next forty-five minutes, I forgot about dead men in pools, reporters in hospitals, missing stop signs, and a congressional campaign.

I am proud of every member of my family, from my parents to the last uncle and cousin, but had never felt such a swelling of pride as when Catherine walked offstage at the end of act two. She moved in an effortless fashion as if gravity had no sway with her; her voice clarion; her expressions believable. She and the remaining cast had seized us by the lapels and dragged us into the pretend world of the play. I was sad when the first half of the play was finished and comforted myself with the knowledge that there was more to come.

The curtains closed and the lights came up. Several hundred patrons began to talk at once. They were as impressed as I had been.

“I owe you an apology, Floyd,” Celeste said. “She is more beautiful than you described.” She reached across the table and took his hand. Floyd gave it a squeeze. The evening was turning out all right after all.

Our waiter returned, served coffee and ice cream. I was just two bites into the vanilla bean when the door opened and the woman I had seen on the stage entered. She introduced herself to us. Jerry stood, and so did Floyd—five seconds later.

“Sit, sit,” Neena Lasko said. “Catherine told me you were up here. It's not every day that I have both the mayor and a candidate for congress in my place.”

“I'm just one person,” I said. I introduced the others.

“I know, but it sounds better my way.” She laughed, then asked, “Is this your first time here?”

“It is, but it won't be my last. I'm having a wonderful time and the meal was great.” She looked older in person than onstage. I guessed that she had left the fifty-five mark behind.

“We have an excellent chef and a superb support staff. I don't think you can find a better meal.”

“And a great play,” Jerry said.

“Yes,” Neena agreed. “Harold has been working on this script for over a decade. I've seen more plays than I can count and this is one of the strongest performances. I wouldn't be surprised if we see it on Broadway in a few years. All Harold needs is the right break.”

“Can that really happen?” I asked.

“Sure. Why not? Producers don't care where good ideas come from, only that they make money. It's one reason he wanted Catherine to play the part. He knew she could pull off the part and get the needed attention.”

“It's like he wrote the play just for her,” Jerry said.

“He did. He told me that he had been working on the play for a few years when she walked into his high school theater class. It wasn't long before he realized that she exemplified the kind of actress needed to make the play work. He began tweaking the script to suit her. Of course, by the time he finished, she had already graduated and gone off to New York. He's been trying to get her to do the play for the last two years.”

“I'm glad he succeeded,” Floyd said. He was holding hands with Celeste again.

“Me too,” Neena said. “I've got a feeling we're going to get great box office out of this. I just wish we could keep her for the full run. That movie deal is good for Catherine but bad for us.” She shrugged. “Such is life. I'll take her for as long as I can get her.”

“What do the actors do during intermission?” Floyd asked.

“Floyd is wondering about life in the theater,” I added.

“Ah,” Neena said. “Right now, they're taking a break while the stage crew sets up for the next scene. Some actors review the script; some walk in circles and mumble their lines; others play video games.”

“Video games? Really?” Floyd said.