The War Against Miss Winter (26 page)

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” I wiped my face and imagined it disordering itself into a Cubist painting. If my eyes were where my nose should be, would this start to make sense? “All we had to do was find a man who deliberately kept himself hidden and ask him the magic question and he’d let us into Oz? Now why didn’t I think of that to begin with?” I clocked myself on the head. “I’ll tell you right now: The show’s over. Your curtain just went down.”

Detmire ran his tongue over his teeth. “It can’t be over yet, Miss Winter. There’s still a murderer loose and a mystery to solve.”

“I’ll leave that to the police, thank you. Once they get wind of what’s really going on, I’m sure they’ll be happy to take over.”

Detmire crossed to the fireplace and rubbed his hands before the dying flames. “Will they? If you repeat any of what I’ve told you, I’ll tell the police you’re lying. You know as well as I do what they thought of Jim. Any assistant of his would be viewed as similarly suspect.” He paused and buttoned his jacket. “No, the show isn’t over yet. You must let it play out to its natural end, just as Raymond wanted.”

Jayne released me and stepped forward. “We’ll tell everyone. This can’t continue if everyone knows what’s going on.”

Detmire removed a brass poker from a stand on the hearth and encouraged the logs to burn. “Who would believe you, Miss Hamilton? What sort of evidence could you have to prove something never existed? It’s a dilemma, isn’t it? I know because I’ve pondered it many, many nights.” He replaced the poker in its stand and stared into the rising flames. “Even if there were clear, irrefutable evidence, how would you propose making people aware of it? A letter-writing campaign? Radio time? Newspaper ads? It would take something of that magnitude. You have no idea how large this production is. You two have met a handful of people who are involved, but that doesn’t mean they’re the only ones—just the ones your characters would have access to. What if you were to tell everyone you think should know only to find out months later that the one person you didn’t inform continues to live this fiction? If someone else dies—maybe a total stranger this time—you would have failed.” Never had I been so cold. I wrapped my arms about myself and struggled to keep my teeth from, chattering. “You can’t walk off the stage now. There’s a second act to finish, and if you two aren’t present, I have a feeling a third act will develop, then a fourth, and a fifth, until Raymond and Jim and Edgar are joined by a chorus of corpses. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

Jayne shook, as I did, and rubbed her hands on her upper arms. “We wouldn’t be responsible. It wouldn’t be our fault.”

Detmire looked at her and cocked his head. “Wouldn’t it, Miss Hamilton? You’re in the know now, and that means you’re complicit. A moment ago you indicted me for failing to stop things after Raymond died. I tried to find a way to do so, believe me, just as you’ll try the minute you walk out of this room. But what I learned, as you will learn, is that art takes on a life of its own.”

Defeated, we left Detmire. As we waited for the train home, Jayne and
I stared at each other, stumbling to start sentences that didn’t seem to want to come. How could we make sense of the insensible? Jim and Edgar were dead because they had been looking for a play that never existed to begin with. Raymond Fielding was dead because he was so obsessed with his art that he would do anything keep a fictional drama in motion. If all of that wasn’t bad enough, whoever had killed the three of them still believed that a play was missing and that it revealed something so devastating about the killer that they would be willing to kill again just to make sure it didn’t emerge.

We gave up trying to talk. In silence we rode back to the city and in silence we returned to the Shaw House. Once in our room we simultaneously sank onto our beds and wrapped our arms about our legs. For a long time we stayed that way, until the gnawing cold forced us to shift positions in tandem.

Bad things keep happening and we just have to accept them.

I cleared my throat. “On the bright side, the play’s no longer missing.”

“And here I thought there was no silver lining.” Jayne wiped at her face and turned her head away from me. “By the way—thanks for bringing me along.”

“Don’t blame me; act two, scene four said you were supposed to accompany me.”

She turned back to me and smiled for the first time since we’d left Detmire. “Tell me that one again tomorrow. Maybe by then it will be funny.” She sighed and looked at her feet. “You know what I miss? I miss genuinely believing there’s nothing I can’t survive. Edgar Fielding stole that from me and I think Alan Detmire guaranteed I’ll never get it back.” She sighed and propped her head on her hands. Churchill leaped to the end of her bed and stared at her as though the conversation were directed at him. “What are we going to do?”

I shrugged. “We’ll keep going to rehearsal and in a few days, I’ll open as an understudy in a crappy play. Maybe somebody tries to kill somebody, or maybe this is like war and it goes on much too long and makes very little sense in the end.”

I left the bed and went to the window. The dimout had brought the stars back to the city, filling the night sky with the hazy lights of other atmospheres. “It seems unfair that whoever killed Fielding, Jim, and Edgar was manipulated into doing it. If Fielding never had this lousy idea, the murderer never would’ve felt threatened enough to commit a crime. It’s like the strawberry hankie.”

“The what?” asked Jayne.

“In
Othello
. Othello kills Desdemona because he’s led to believe she’s been unfaithful, his one piece of evidence being her strawberry hankie. His jealousy is his tragic flaw and so when Iago deceives him, his downfall begins.”

“I think it begins before then.”

“Fine, this isn’t dramatic lit class. My point is, it doesn’t seem fair that whoever our murderer is became a murderer in the first place. Who knows what might’ve become of them if Fielding never began this stupid experiment.”

Jayne shifted and her bed groaned. “But isn’t a tragedy a tragedy because it’s destined to happen? I thought tragic heroes did what they did because of fate not flaws.”

“Fate?” I turned away from the window and leaned on the radiator.

“Sure. Whoever our murderer is wasn’t made that way because of what Fielding did. He or she was destined to kill.”

I
ARRIVED LATE TO REHEARSAL
the next day. They’d already begun act one, and while I should’ve been relieved that my delay went unnoticed, I wallowed in how insignificant I’d become to the production. The return of Ruby meant I had little to do other than sit at the rear of the auditorium and dwell on the events of the day before, and, frankly, that’s the last thing I needed.

If we really couldn’t stop what had already started, was there any way to speed things up? The end of the “play” had to be the revelation of the murderer and there were only two ways that was going to happen: a confession or somebody else got zotzed with one of us standing by. Since I could no longer be certain how many suspects there were, it would be almost impossible to get a confession. The pattern of homicide had been to kill anyone who may have knowledge of the play’s whereabouts. So if I wanted to prompt another attack, all I had to do was convince the “cast” that the play…

“Rosie, why don’t you take over for act two?”

I snapped to attention at the sound of my name and found Peter staring at me from the stage apron. “What?”

“I’d like you to do act two.”

I disentangled myself from my seat and tripped over my pocketbook. Ruby scowled from upstage, but her scorn wasn’t directed at me; she was staring daggers at Peter. Had I missed something? Last time I’d looked everything had been proceeding normally.

Ruby climbed offstage, muttering something indecipherable under her breath while rolling her peepers. I took her place and for the next delicious hour, pretended I was a real actress. By 7:00 I was back to being a civilian.

“Are you walking?” asked Ruby as I gathered my things from the back of the house.

“Home? Yes, I think so.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” Ruby asked.

I wanted time to clear my thoughts, but I was curious about why I’d been given the chance to take over the show when Ruby was there and available. I decided I could think all I wanted at the house; I deserved a little harmless gossip.

We left through the main doors and took the path she preferred home. The meandering series of illogical turns she followed were clearly designed to avoid running into other cast members.

“Why’d he make you take a powder tonight?” I was feeling brave. What was Ruby’s scorn in the face of murder?

Ruby sighed and picked a cat hair from her coat. “Peter’s mad at me.”

“What did you do?”

She looked aghast and put her hand over her heart. “I didn’t do anything. I merely responded to what he did.
I’m
the victim.”

“So what did
he
do?”

She raised an eyebrow and waited for further kowtowing to establish victim and offender. When none came, she rolled her eyes and sighed a second time. “It’s this ridiculous advertising policy of his. Did you see the posters?” I shook my head. “They’re all black with no title, no author, no mention of
me
. All they have is some ridiculous teaser that suggests if you want to know anything about the play, you need to come see it.”

“People are curious animals. I’m willing to bet it will be a very successful campaign.”

The wind picked up, sending her hat askew. “Sure, for the
fringe
.” She said the word like it burned her tongue. “But there are plenty of people in this city who are unwilling to leave their homes unless there’s a guarantee of reputability.”

“I wasn’t aware you could guarantee such a thing.”

She removed her hatpin and wielded it before her. “This is nothing to joke about, Rosie. Known playwrights and performers legitimize a
production. Otherwise, why would they come see us instead of a production of
Hedda Gabler
at a garage in Hoboken?”

“People’s Theatre does have a reputation. They’ve been around for a while.”

She looked heavenward. “God—you sound like
him
.”

I fought a smile at the thought that my words matched Peter’s. “So did you talk to him about his advertising policy?”

She refastened her hat and flipped her scarf about her neck with the sort of flare one reserved for a feather boa. “Somebody had to. It’s going to be the ruin of this production.”

My temples throbbed. Why couldn’t Ruby just tell me what happened without editorializing? “And what did you say to him?”

“Well…” She steeled herself as though she were about to perform a monologue about her terrifying escape from the Nazis. “I didn’t have time to talk to him before rehearsal, so I decided to do it during Beverly Dwyer’s scene. I mean, let’s face it, everything she’s in is a yawner.” I nodded. Beverly was nice enough, but she took the concept of naturalism in acting too far. Everything she did conveyed a slothlike world-weariness that made you wish she were on film so you could make the reel go faster. “I told him that if he expected to sell this show, he had better take drastic actions in the next few days. I also told him I was extremely disappointed my name was not being sold in conjunction with the production and that the fact that I didn’t appear on the posters may be a contractual violation.”

If I could figure out how to harness Ruby’s hot air, gas rationing could be a thing of the past. “And what did he say?”

“He told me that ticket sales were brisk and there was no need to worry about something that wasn’t my concern to begin with.” She gulped air and her hands fluttered through the air as though she were a conductor directing this opera to its crescendo. “And if I didn’t like the way he was promoting his show, I was welcome to leave. Naturally, I told him that while he may not be using me to get people into the theater, I was going to be the only reason they stayed, and if he thought for a moment an understudy could achieve the same effect, he was even more
deluded than I thought.” Ruby paused and noted the look on my face. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Obviously he didn’t take things well, since he asked you to perform the second act.” I waited for her to explain how ludicrous a decision that had been, but for once Ruby showed restraint. “Frankly, I don’t know if I want to be part of a show that won’t even make an effort to promote itself.”

It took everything in me to keep from yelling,
Then quit!
“He’s not not promoting it,” I said. “He’s using Raymond Fielding’s methods as a way of marketing the show. It’s a pretty clever plan.”

“That’s all well and good, Rosie, but it doesn’t put people in seats. A few posters won’t entice the
important
people. I’m not against the creativity of leaving the title and author unknown, but the man hasn’t even sent out a press release. What are we, heathens?” She stopped walking and tapped the air with her index finger. “If I had half a mind…”
Don’t tempt me
, I begged. “I’d promote the thing myself.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so aghast. I’m not talking about ruining his stupid surprise. I just mean contacting the people who should be in the know that an important play is about to be performed”—she tapped her chest with her hands and smiled at the sky—“by me.”

I was about to tell her why this was the stupidest idea I’d ever heard of when something stopped me. Nussbaum was intrigued by the play the minute I said I wasn’t allowed to talk about it. What if Ruby got word out that a new play, never before produced, and terribly shocking and important was about to open? Wouldn’t that bring everyone out of the woodwork?

“You should do it,” I said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But make sure no one knows the information came from you, you know, so Peter doesn’t get upset. And don’t tell them too much. Just that it’s important and shocking and rumored to be an unproduced play by an important writer. Oh, and mention yourself being in it.”

“Hmmm.” Ruby tapped her teeth with her nail. “I could do that.”

“You’ll have to do it fast, though. We open in two days.”

Ruby tossed her head back and laughed. “Honey, I can make a rumor circle this town twice with ten minutes’ notice.”

By the time we returned to the Shaw House, I was feeling fifty pounds lighter. I climbed the steps two at a time and decided I would spend the rest of the evening reading the pulps and thinking about nothing that could possibly happen in real life.

“Hiya.” Jayne sat on her bed. Her eyes were red-rimmed and a series of well-worn hankies were sprawled around her. Churchill was entertaining himself by batting the wads of cotton between his front paws.

I sank onto the bed beside her and flicked a sodden handkerchief out of Churchill’s reach. I scanned the room for the source of her grief. Had there been a bad radio report? A starred telegram? A visit from an officer who thought we should hear the news firsthand? “What’s the matter?”

“He wants to recast my part.”

“Bentley?”

Jayne wove her fingers together. The hankie rested in the middle of them like an egg in a basket. “Apparently Ruby has expressed interest in joining the cast as well as becoming his girlfriend again.”

“Wait a second—she’s leaving
In the Dark
?” It didn’t make any sense, unless she was using the lack of publicity as her excuse.

“No. He’s decided to push back his opening for her. His funders would prefer someone more known in the lead.” She made no attempt to stop the flood of tears this time. “Things were going so well. Lawrence was always telling me how talented I was. I mean, I know I never would’ve gotten the part without Tony…”

“Jayne—”

“No, it’s okay. I know. I’m not dumb, Rosie. A girl like me doesn’t get a chance like this on her own. It just…it just really stinks to have this taken away. I’ve been working so hard.” She mopped at her face and blew
her nose, but the tears just kept coming. I hadn’t seen her this inconsolable since Carole Lombard had died the previous January. “Look who I’m talking to. She did the same thing to you.”

“You should talk to Tony,” I said.

Her face crumbled again. “He’s done enough. He doesn’t need to know I messed this up.”

I gently slapped her leg. “You didn’t mess up. And Tony’s going to find out one way or another. Better it be now when he can fix the situation than after the show opens and he feels the need for retaliation.”

“I don’t want to tell him.” Her jaw was set, her hands clenched.

“Is this about Edgar Fielding?”

She shrugged.

“Tony didn’t have anything to do with that, Jayne. You know that. If nothing else good came out of meeting Alan Detmire, at least we know whoever killed Edgar was the same nut who took down Jim.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” She wrapped a finger in the satin edge of her blanket. “I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t see Tony anymore. Maybe someone’s trying to tell me something with everything that’s going on.” She twisted the blanket so tightly her finger turned red. “Besides, it’s not fair to make him step in every time I want my way.”

“Do you think Ruby’s playing fair? Yeah, we’d all like to get great parts based on our talent, but you know that doesn’t happen. There’s always going to be a Ruby Priest who relies on her looks or her connections to get what we deserve. And if you want to come out ahead, you have to be willing to do the same.”

Jayne stared at her feet and wiggled her toes. “I’ll think about it.”

“I mean it, Jayne; you can’t take this lying down. If you don’t call him, I will.”

She met my eyes and nodded. “I said I’d think about it.”

I rose from the bed and went to my dresser. “I had a brainstorm today: What if we leak to the press that People’s Theatre is about to do a show that bears a striking resemblance to the missing Fielding play?”

Jayne’s outrage melted away; with it went her posture. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Was it? While luring a potential murderer anywhere may have seemed like a bad idea, I was under the impression that luring him or her to a play rather than a person would be safe. The worst thing that ever happened to me in a theater was being demoted to understudy. “Of course not. All we have to do is sit back and watch to see who shows and how they react. The first move someone makes to block the production and—
pow!
We know we’ve got our man.”

“And then what do we do?”

I was trying very hard not to be irritated at Jayne for making me nail down details. I knew I needed to figure this stuff out before opening night, but there was no reason I had to decide it now. I trusted that I’d know what to do when it really counted.

I locked my eyes on hers. “The walls have ears. Let’s just say I have it worked out.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, though I knew she believed me as much as I believed she’d pick up the phone and call Tony. Which is why I called him the next morning on her behalf.