Cherringham--Playing Dead (5 page)

Julie leaned down. “Glad you’re enjoying it, and…” She turned to Sarah.

“The chicken is fantastic as well,” Sarah said.

“Brilliant!”

Julie topped up both their glasses with a bit more Picpoul, and then moved on to other tables.

“I mean it,” Jack said “This place, in Manhattan? You wouldn’t be able to get a table.”

On their first meal here — when was that, a year ago? — she and Jack had had a discussion about who was to pay. Sarah convinced him it had to be fifty-fifty, despite his protestations that he’d love to treat.

And though it was a splurge on her budget, getting out for a meal like this was indeed something special. And never a disappointment. Julie always gave them a corner table tucked away out of sight of prying eyes — and ears.

“So, looks like we’re both part of the theatre company.”

Sarah reached down to her purse and pulled out a folded stack of paper.

“Here’s my part. I said ‘maybe’, but Kramer has me locked in already.”

She watched Jack slip on his glasses to take a look at the pages. “Hmm, not a lot of lines.”

“Good thing too.”

He flipped through some more pages. “And seems that you’re on stage when someone tries to shoot Henry Collins.”

“Played by our good friend Kramer.”

“The dashing young lover…” Jacks said, doing nothing to hide his sarcasm.

Then for a moment, he was quiet.

She prompted him: “What’s up?”

Jack kept looking at the pages. “Dunno. Gunplay on stage.”

“Just blanks, surely?”

Jack folded the pages back and handed them to Sarah. “Course. That would be the plan. Still — a little worrisome.”

He sliced some more of the lamb, both of them trying to savour the phenomenally good meal, even though it would be easy to finish their dishes in minutes.

“So — good thing we’ll be there, in the theatre.”

Jack smiled. “Ah, so you are taking the part then?”

“Now they’ve dragooned you into helping too, it wouldn’t be fair to refuse.”

“After my little …
recce
… of the theatre, feel I know it pretty well. Could give Todd a hand, no problem. Long as Kramer doesn’t try to cast me as the butler or the bobby.”

“Bobby yes,” Sarah said laughing. “But butler?”

“I know — a bit of a stretch.”

“What do you think of what we’ve found out so far?”

“Not a lot to think on. Goode dislikes Kramer, to put it mildly. Andy Parkes is essentially waiting in the wings for the theatre to fail. As for Kramer, it would seem, with the state of his career that this has to go well, right?”

“I imagine so.”

“If nothing else happens, then a pair of accidents would have led us into becoming part of the Cherringham Players. Worse fates I imagine.”

“Yes. You think—” She stopped.

Lately it seemed like her mind kept looking at events in different ways. She realised that when it came to bad things happening, she immediately became suspicious.

Probably because too often that suspicion has turned out to be justified.

Jack took another sip of the wine. “Go on.”

“You think we should talk to Andy Parkes?”

“Maybe. Eventually. I think right now he might be taken aback. Though he certainly knew what he was doing with that lease. You know, I kind of felt bad for Goode. A bad deal — but I’m guessing he thought it was the only one he could get for the company.”

“As I said, a sweet man. Had a wife years ago, and I think there are kids somewhere. But pretty much, these plays have been his life.”

“And along comes the big-shot outsider.”

“
Exactly
.”

She saw the door open across the restaurant and Jez Kramer himself entered as if on cue, with another man.

“Speak of the devil,” she said, touching Jack’s arm. When he looked up, she nodded towards the newcomer.

“Hottest table in town, I guess,” he said. “Who’s his date?”

Sarah watched discreetly as Julie took their coats and the two sat down. They hadn’t seen her — but she now recognised Jez’s guest.

“Pete Brooker,” she said. “Stringer for the
Oxford Echo
.”

“Theatre critic, huh?” said Jack.

“No,” said Sarah. “And there’s the interesting thing. He’s News. Politics. Crime.”

“Now that is interesting,” said Jack. “Maybe we should stick around?”

“You think I need persuading? There’s a pudding back there that already has my name on it.”

Sarah knew, when it came to The Old Pig, passing on dessert simply wasn’t an option.

“Gobos? Banjos? Tabs?” said Jack, laughing as he took off his heavy gloves and grabbing the offered mug of tea. “What kind of fiend invented all these crazy names for things?”

“You’ll get used to it mate,” said Todd, the stage manager, as he sat next to Jack on the props box. “Week’s time, it’ll all be second nature.”

Jack looked around and very much doubted that. The morning had been a steep learning curve. One minute painting scenery, the next replacing electrical fuses, then working with Todd on cue sheets and rehearsal schedules.

Assistant stage manager. Definitely Jack of all trades,
he thought.

But he loved the energy and sheer busyness of the place. Through the wings he could see out into the auditorium. The whole cast had been called this evening for rehearsal and he could see them now, dotted along the front row, chatting away.

Some he recognised from the village — some he knew well. There was the long-suffering Ambrose Goode, and a farmer called Phil Nailor who’d come in to replace Graham as the local bobby.

Sarah’s mum Helen was chatting to an estate agent called Laura who worked in the agency below Sarah’s office. Jack looked at his cast list — Laura had the role of the drunken divorcee, Emily Cowell.

Next to them was his old friend Tony Standish — playing American millionaire suitor Ephraim Goldblum.

Ha! Now that is a performance I would pay double to see,
thought Jack. Tony — Oxford-educated country lawyer portraying a white-suited swain from upstate New York….

Backstage other figures moved around, all caught up in mysterious tasks and chores, delivering props, dropping off paint, working on the big flats that were somehow going to be wheeled in and out when the scenes changed.

He hadn’t realised it took so many people to put on a production like this.

“Hobnob?” said Todd, interrupting his thoughts.

Jack watched the stage manager reach deep into his overalls, pull out a small foil wrapper and open it to reveal a stash of biscuits.

Hobnob! Might as well be French.

“Very kind of you Todd, but I won’t,” said Jack. “Pushed the boat out last night at dinner and these days — you know — gotta watch the calories.” He patted his stomach.

“Tell me about it,” said Sarah. Jack looked up as his detective partner passed by on her way to the stage to begin rehearsing.

“You wait till they deliver that maid’s outfit, Sarah,” called Jack after her. “I hear it doesn’t take prisoners…”

He watched her laugh and stride confidently over to the small group of actors he could just see through the curtains hanging at the side of the stage. He recognised Ellie from the pub — or ‘The Honourable Clarissa’ as he now should know her, since she got the part of Lord and Lady Blake’s daughter.

Standing behind them with a hangdog expression was a morose-looking man with a bright green shirt and tatty jeans. Jack recognised him but couldn’t quite place him.

He turned to Todd. “Who’s the guy, looks like he’d rather be back home watching TV?”

“Oh that’s Ben Ferris,” said Todd. “Ha, I’ll tell him you said that. He says people always tell him to cheer up and it drives him absolutely mad.”

“He a regular?”

“Been doing this longer than I have,” said Todd. “Works at Costco’s packing shelves. He’s playing Hobbs, the butler.”

“You know, one thing I am glad of — being back here with you and not out there in front of an audience.”

Todd grinned at that. “Me too! You never acted at school then?”

“Third grade was the very last time,” said Jack. “Opening night of the Christmas play, I totally forgot my lines. Froze. Deer in the headlights. Nobody helped me out — so I just walked.”

Todd laughed. “What, you mean — you actually left the stage?”

“Yep. Didn’t stop. Walked right past the other kids. Into the wings. Along the school corridor. Out of the fire exit. And straight home.”

“Well, you won’t need to do that here,” said Todd. “When they finish rehearsing, I’ll take you through all the cues again, give you some homework.”

“Appreciate it, Todd. And thanks for the tea.”

Jack handed his mug to Todd — but instead he watched Todd hand his own back to him.

“I made ’em,” said Todd with a grin. “You wash ’em up. House rules.”

“Gotcha,” said Jack, smiling back.

“See you over at the lighting board, all right?”

“Be right with you.”

Jack watched him turn and go. He was going to like working with Todd — about as straightforward as they came.

He picked up the mugs and headed through the wings, and down the little flight of steps into the corridor.

But as he turned towards the kitchen door he felt a sharp jab in his ribs–

“Stick ’em up, pardner and turn round nice and slow.” said a male voice in a cartoonish American accent.

Words that would have given him pause on a New York City street.

But here, Jack turned and smiled. Facing him, grinning and holding a large revolver which Jack had to believe was a prop — was the director — Jez Kramer.

“You’re not from around here, are ya
fella
?” said Kramer.

“Hello,” said Jack. He could see that Kramer was disappointed that his little game was going to end.

“You see what I did there?” said the director, letting the gun dangle from his hand. “Not from around here? Because — well, you’re not, are you?”

“That’s true,” said Jack. “And also obvious.”

Kramer stuck out a hand, and pumped Jack’s. “Jez Kramer.” Kramer kept inspecting Jack, his eyes slow like a lizard’s. “Jack, right? Ambrose told me he’d got you on board to help out,” the director said, accent banished.

“He said you’d be happy with the arrangement,” said Jack. “I hope you are?”

“‘S’pose so,” said Kramer. “So yeah, of course — very happy, good to have you aboard. All hands needed on deck for this creaky barge of a play!”

Kramer looked around for someplace to put the gun. And Jack reached out for it.

“D’you mind?”

Kramer handed the gun over for Jack to examine.

“Smith and Wesson .38,” said Jack, releasing the cylinder then clicking it back into place. “Real thing, huh?”

“So, I’m told,” said the director. “Little memento of one of my …
dramatic successes.
Given to me by a grateful cast and crew. Re-tooled so it can only fire blanks, of course.”

“Really?” said Jack.

“You’re the expert.”

“Not any more.”

“I imagine you used to carry one of these.”

“Long time ago … and far away.”

“We must have a drink sometime. Share experiences of the Big Apple. Love the place.”

“Sure,” said Jack, not meaning it. He handed the gun back.

“Anyway — I’d better get on with things here. We’re rehearsing the big scene where I declare my undying love for the Honourable Clarissa,” said Kramer.

He leaned in with a smirk and Jack could smell whiskey on his breath: “Though in real life I’m not sure how, er …
honourable …
our Clarissa is, if you know what I mean.”

Jack didn’t respond. He decided to let the snide comment about Ellie ride — for now.

But he made a mental note not to forget it.

Kramer frowned, then turned to head back to the stage area. As he did, Jack placed his hand on his arm.

Firm but friendly,
Jack thought.
Enough to make him think.

“Just one thing, Jez,” he said, smiling. “Appreciate it if you never point that thing at me again — okay?”

Kramer looked confused and blinked nervously — then his bluster returned.

“Sure thing,
pardner
. Accidents happen. No more gunplay, hmm? You have a nice day, now.”

Jack watched him go. No wonder Kramer had put everyone’s back up. The guy was a grade-A asshole, no mistake.

He picked up the two mugs and headed down the corridor. But just as he reached the small kitchen area in the back, he heard a piercing scream from the main auditorium.

He put down the mugs, turned — and ran back towards the stage.

*

Sarah clambered down the steps of the trap and into the space below the stage.

In the darkness she could see Ellie lying motionless on her back.

She kneeled down next to the young woman then placed her hand on the floor so she could lean forward to check her pulse. She felt her palm slide through a sticky wet pool.

Oh, God
, she thought.
Not blood, please…

Then she realised it was just the tea from Ellie’s shattered mug which lay next to her.

“Hey, Sarah,” said Ellie, suddenly opening her eyes and starting to get up.

“Whoa! Don’t move Ellie, you might have broken something,” said Sarah, reaching out for Ellie’s hand.

“God! That was some fall,” said Ellie brightly. “But you know what? I do believe I got away with it.”

Sarah could now see Ellie’s face clearly, grinning.

“Okay, but don’t try to get up quite yet — let’s check first.”

“Hey Sarah — you all right?” came Jack’s voice from behind her.

Sarah turned in the cramped space and saw Jack scrambling down the ladder from the stage down to join her, a big torch in one hand. Up above him, she could see the faces of the rest of the cast crowded round the trapdoor, peering down.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It was Ellie who fell.”

“You think you broke anything, Ellie?” said Jack. “How did you land?”

“On my backside if you must know, Jack,” said Ellie, laughing. “And fortunately I’ve got a lot of padding.”

“Nothing hurts?” said Sarah.