Untimely Death (16 page)

The sugar maple trees on the grounds of Jacobs Grand Hotel, warmed by an increasingly bright sun and nourished by recent rains, had unfurled their brilliant green leaves of another year. The ground was firmer; gone was the boggy springiness of late winter. The lovely carpet of purple crocuses and white snowdrops had bloomed and faded, and now, as the last week of April approached, spring, with its joyful sense of wondrous renewal, was well established.

And as the days grew longer, so did Charlotte and Rupert’s walks. Another of the great benefits of living with a dog, Charlotte often thought, was that if you live in the right place, the daily walks keep you in touch with nature. You get to know your area and see the changes that may not be noticeable from one day to the next but do become noticeable week by week, month by month, and year by year.

Charlotte thought again, as she did at this time every year, how much more welcome the return of spring was because of winter. Without the dreary, cold, short days that preceded them, the longer, warmer days of spring would have no special meaning. And just as spring marked the beginning of a new season for nature, it also meant the beginning of a new season for the members of the Catskills Shakespeare Theater Company. And the prelude to that was dress-rehearsal week.

“Oh, Aaron, what a lovely job you did on the Juliet costume!” The finished garment was artfully displayed on a mannequin when Charlotte entered the workroom that morning. “And with dress rehearsals coming up, we’ll be able to see it in action, as it were.” She rubbed her hands together. “You’ll find the dress will really come to life when you see it on Mattie. Has she seen it yet? Has she been in for her final fitting?”

Grinning widely, Aaron ran a hand down the front of the undershift as if to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle and then tugged at the sleeve to straighten it.

“She hasn’t been in for the final fitting, and she hasn’t seen it. I hope she likes it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will.” Charlotte walked around it, taking in the pale pink undershift and the softly draped sleeveless outercoat, gathered gently at the waist. “The gold braid on the bodice is a nice touch,” she said, noting that it had been hand stitched without so much as one pucker, “and so is the tiny train. Just enough.” She sent
an approving smile in Aaron’s direction. “And is there a headpiece to go with this?”

“I’m still thinking about that,” he said. “It needs something to finish it off. Not sure yet what kind of hat. I thought maybe a little pillbox out of the brocade. Oh, and by the way, when is the dress rehearsal?”

“The run-through for the cast is Thursday morning, and we’ll do last-minute adjustments throughout the day. Final dress rehearsal is Friday evening, and we’ll both go. I’ll have a word with Simon so you can see the play from front of house. You really must see the costumes on the actors, under the lights, to get a sense of whether they work. You can also tell if the costumes are right by how comfortable and confident the actor seems in them. The actor can’t be fussing or worrying about his clothes. They have to support him and stay out of his way.”

“That’s a good way to describe what a director needs to do, too,” said Simon, who had entered just in time to hear Charlotte’s last remark.

“Oh, hello!” said Charlotte warmly. “Haven’t seen you for a while. I expect you’ve been very busy. Everything all right?”

“I think so,” Simon said. “All the plays are in a pretty good place. A lot of final details to see to, but that’s what dress rehearsals are for. Just came by to make sure you’re ready for
Romeo and Juliet
on Friday.”

“We were just talking about that,” said Charlotte, “and we are.”

“Well, we’re not really,” said Aaron, “but almost. And we will be.”

“Exactly. Someone still has a hat to make.”

No one spoke for a moment, and Aaron, sensing an opportunity, cleared his throat. “I think I’ll just go find Mattie and see when she’s available for her final fitting.”

“Fine with me,” said Charlotte, turning to Simon for his approval.

“They’re all on a break, so this is a good time,” agreed Simon. “And while you’re there, Aaron, check the props against your list to make sure everything’s in place.”

When he was gone, Simon turned to Charlotte.

“I’ve had another update from Brian,” he said. “He’s doing much better, and he’ll definitely be back for the season. Begged me to keep his job open for him. Don’t know if he’ll be here for dress rehearsal, but at least I don’t have to replace him. He was very lucky that this misadventure turned out as well for him as it did.”

“Yes, and I’m glad it served as a good wake-up call about the drinking,” said Charlotte. “I’m very happy for you that you didn’t have to go to all the bother of replacing him.” She gave a little laugh. “Although he may think himself irreplaceable. Do you know, I overheard his wife saying something like they’ll have trouble finding a place to seat them all? As if Brian could possibly be that much of a draw!”

Simon frowned. “She said that? That doesn’t sound like Brian. He’s been very humble with me. In his private,
reflective, sober moments, he knows his career is in big trouble and that he was very lucky to get this job. He also knows he’s struggling to keep it.”

That wasn’t what Charlotte expected to hear. “Well, maybe he’s just been blustering with his wife. Talking himself up to feel better. I don’t imagine she does much for his self-esteem.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “Or maybe I got it wrong. I was coming out of the kitchen and just caught the tail end of what she was saying, but that’s what it sounded like.”

Charlotte found it difficult to concentrate on her work after Simon had gone. She puttered about, tidying up the workroom and checking her e-mail for messages and finally gave up and decided to take Rupert for what she called a “thinking walk.” He walked and she thought.

Charlotte and Rupert walked often in the wooded area that surrounded the three bungalows. Here, sheltered and well away from the road, it was safe for him to ramble off leash, exploring his favorite haunts, running ahead on his short legs, his corgi butt with its little tail wiggling in anticipation of an exciting discovery, but always turning around to make sure that Charlotte was following. Reassured that she was, he’d then continue on.

She tucked her hands in her pockets and followed Rupert along the same path she and Brian had walked a few weeks earlier. A few yards ahead, something rustling in the dead leaves caught Rupert’s attention, and he veered off the path in hot pursuit of a squirrel. The
squirrel ran up a tree and glared at Rupert, shaking its tail angrily at him. As he turned to return to Charlotte, he let out a yelp and limped over to her.

“What’s happened to you?” she said, bending over. She checked the front paw he had favored. “Oh, no!” The soft pad on his paw had a small nick in it. “Oh, I bet that hurts. Let’s get you home and clean it up. But first, let’s pick up that glass.”

Local teenagers occasionally held field parties in the wooded grounds of the hotel. They could walk here from town and, after a night of drinking, didn’t have to worry about someone driving home drunk. In the morning, they’d have left behind the charred remains of a bonfire, empty pizza boxes, squashed beer cans, and sometimes broken liquor bottles. With the snow melted, some of the glass could have been exposed. Charlotte and Rupert weren’t far from where Brian had been found, and she supposed he could even have had a small bottle in his coat that he might have dropped and shattered.

She left Rupert on the path and walked to the tree where he’d chased the squirrel. She reached into her pocket for a bag to put the pieces of glass in and with her boot stirred the leaves under the tree in broad, sweeping strokes. Her boot caught on something, and when she flicked her foot, the silver handles of a pair of scissors appeared.

She bent over and examined them. She had no doubt they were the missing fabric shears from her workshop.
How did they get here? Who could have taken them? She bent over to pick them up and then withdrew her hand and straightened up. Leaving them where they were, she took off her scarf, tied a knot in one end of it, and threw it up into the branches.

“Come on, Rupert,” she said. “Let’s get you home. Can you walk?”

He indicated he could, and the two set off. Half an hour later, as Charlotte and Rupert watched from a distance, Ray and Phil, wearing yellow high-visibility jackets, cordoned off the area around the tree with the red scarf fluttering merrily from a lower branch.

“Well?” Charlotte asked Ray as he approached her with the scissors in an evidence bag.

“Well, they’re scissors all right,” said Ray, holding them up so she could see them. “And you can confirm that these are the scissors from your workshop?”

She fingered them through the bag and nodded.

“No doubt. Yes.”

“You’ll have to stop in at the station so we can take your fingerprints,” Ray said as they walked back to Charlotte’s bungalow. “If your prints are on them, we can establish these are the scissors missing from your workshop. And Aaron, too. We’ll need his prints as well.”

They walked for a few moments in silence, and then Ray said, “The grounds had already been searched, so either they missed the scissors the first time or someone’s put them there since.”

“You couldn’t blame the search team if they did miss them,” said Charlotte, “with all the dead leaves everywhere. They were buried under them. And there was snow then, too.”

“How is Rupert, by the way?”

“Oh, he’s fine. I cleaned his paw and put some cream on it to prevent infection while I waited for you. Thank goodness the cut wasn’t deep. Could have been worse, but thanks for asking.”

They had arrived at her bungalow and, with Rupert leading the way, climbed the stairs. Ray glanced in the direction of the hotel while she unlocked the door. “Let’s sit down,” she said when they were all inside. “Coffee?”

“Love one.”

When they were settled with their coffees, he leaned toward her. “Tell me,” he said. “If I remember correctly, there’s a stabbing in
Romeo and Juliet
. How does that work?”

“What do you mean, how does it work?”

“Well, the part with the knife.”

Charlotte thought for a moment and then understood what he was asking. “Oh, you mean what kind of knife and where it’s kept and all that?” He nodded. “It’s a prop knife, not a real one. The actor holds it up so the audience can see it’s a knife, then makes a stabbing motion and the blade disappears into the handle. Prop knives are often made out of plastic, and if a real one should be used, someone will make sure the tip has been rounded
and the blade blunted so no one can get hurt by accident.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know me. I like to know all about everything. And now tell me about the scissors. Where were they kept?”

“Just on my worktable. There were two pairs. One for fabric only and for paper only. I’m very strict about that.”

“So on the worktable. Would anyone have access to them?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Did you leave your workroom the morning Lauren was killed?”

“Probably. I can’t really remember, but I might have gone to the cafeteria, or the washroom, or any number of places. Or more likely, that morning, I was in and out of the wardrobe room where the costumes are stored, because we were doing the fittings at that time.”

“Would you have left the door to your rooms open?”

“I usually do. What are you getting at?”

Ray did not reply, so Charlotte continued.

“But something’s occurred to me, and I wonder why I didn’t think of this before. When Rupert stepped on the scissors, he yelped. It was quite high pitched, and it was obvious that he was hurt. So why do you suppose when Lauren was stabbed, no one heard anything? Surely she would have cried out, either in pain or surprise? Or maybe even both.”

“The assailant grabbed her from behind, and she turned to see who it was just as she was stabbed. One of the scissor blades went in deep and nicked her heart. The killer then lowered her body to the little platform she was standing on, pulled the scissors out, and ran for it.”

Charlotte covered her hand with her mouth. Ray continued, “It would have been all over in seconds.”

“Do you think it would have taken a lot of strength?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, “because whoever did it had the element of surprise. It would have been over almost before Lauren knew what was happening. There wasn’t a lot of blood, because the blood didn’t bleed out of her body but rather filled the sac around the heart, and that’s what killed her. It’s called a pericardial tamponade, according to the pathologist. The sac fills up and stops the heart from beating. She would have gone into shock very quickly, which is probably why she didn’t call out. And if she did, she was at the back of the stage and very weak—just too far away for anyone to hear her.”

“Oh, that is so sad. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

Ray set his mug on the coffee table and stood up. “Well, I’ve got to be going. Will I see you later?”

She nodded and checked her watch. “I’m going to Skype with Mum in a few minutes. Call me tonight.”

Charlotte looked forward to her Skype visits with her mother at home in Norfolk. Charlotte missed her and worried about her, living on her own. She was just in her
late sixties and in relatively good health, but Charlotte knew the time would come when her mother wouldn’t be able to cope as well as she used to.

She pressed a few keys on her laptop, and a few seconds later, her mother’s smiling face filled the screen.

“Getting on all right, are you, Mum?”

“Oh, yes, darling. Mustn’t grumble.”

“Tell me all about it.”

So for the next fifteen minutes, her mother was off and running. The awful woman who’d moved into number six across the way who drove her children to school in her pajamas and smoked in the car. The price of a good joint! She doubted she’d ever be able to afford to eat beef again. And all the rubbish on television. The women all seemed to be called Cheryl or Katie, and every one of them had ridiculously large breasts. She couldn’t tell one Cheryl or Katie from the next. And speaking of television, why can’t they make good British drama anymore?