Untimely Death (6 page)

As Simon Dyer was about to call an end to the day’s rehearsal, Charlotte Fairfax peered around the edge of a black velour curtain.

“Right,” said Simon, catching sight of her. “That’s it for today. We’ll meet tomorrow morning and continue where we left off. Work on your lines tonight. Thanks, everybody.”

The cast members gathered up their belongings and, chatting to one another, left the stage as Charlotte stepped onto it. Although there was a rehearsal room Simon could have used, for a variety of reasons he preferred to rehearse on an actual stage. He set his script on the prop table one of the actors had moved downstage to get out of the way during a fight scene.

“Hoped I’d find you still here,” Charlotte said. “In case you haven’t heard, Lauren has returned. I saw her arrive a few minutes ago.”

Simon frowned. “Why wasn’t I told? Christ, no one tells me anything around here. I’d better have a chat with her and see if she’s going to be at rehearsal in the morning. Where is she now, do you know?”

“I just saw her going into the star bungalow.”

Simon groaned and pointed at the front row of audience seating. “Let’s sit down.” He led the way down the short set of stairs that led from the stage to the floor of the theater, and then he turned around and held up a gentlemanly hand to help Charlotte down the steps.

“You know, Charlotte, sometimes I think you and I are the only grown-ups in the whole place. What the hell is Brian Prentice thinking?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear the carpeting you gave him this morning about his drinking. When I knew him, he did drink too much, but in those days everyone just thought, ‘Oh, that’s an actor for you.’ I mean, there was Peter O’Toole and Richard Burton. People took very little notice of it, really, but for him to think he can have an affair with Lauren under his wife’s nose is just absurd. She’s bound to find out, if she doesn’t know already.”

“Of course she knows. This can’t be the first time. He’s probably had so many of these little flings over the years, she must be well aware of the signs by now.”

“Why would she settle for being treated like that, I wonder?” Charlotte said. “And from the likes of him,
too. It’s not as if he’s fabulously wealthy. Or fabulously anything.”

Simon laughed. “You could say the same thing about Lauren. What’s in it for her? But she’s probably flattered by the attentions of an older man. A few years from now, she’ll look back on this and shudder. She’s one of the most ambitious young actresses I’ve ever seen, but unfortunately for her, Brian’s in no position to advance her career. He has no star power, no influence. No one’s taken his phone calls for years. I hear that in London, people cross the street to avoid him. He still has lunch at the Ivy every now and then, and they always seat him at the back, out of the way. Sad, really.”

“Oh, stop!” said Charlotte. “Keep that up and you’ll have me feeling sorry for him. Still, in this business, there’s a huge expectation for actors to keep up appearances. You know that. You have to appear to be successful and in demand if you want to get hired. You have to look young. It’s part of the illusion. And as for Brian, he’s behaving like such an idiot. The best thing he’s got going for himself is an aristocratic wife—gives him a cachet that no else has—and why he would risk losing that I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t either. I wonder why she even came to New York with him. And this,” he made an airy gesture taking in their surroundings, “doesn’t really seem like the place for her. You’d think she’d be
more at home in a suite at the Pierre than in a, let’s face it, shabby bungalow in the grounds of a down-at-heel Catskills resort.”

“I wondered about that, too. It makes no sense.”

Simon took a sip from his water bottle.

“Simon, there’s something else I’ve been wondering about this afternoon. About Lauren. Did you know she’d taken an overdose of Tylenol?”

“No, I hadn’t heard that.”

“Well,” continued Charlotte, “here’s what I’m wondering. What if she didn’t take it herself but was somehow given it? And the thing is, I’ve been reading about Tylenol poisoning on the Internet, and it damages the liver. So if your liver is already damaged, from heavy drinking, say, the results can be fatal. So what if the Tylenol wasn’t meant for her?”

“But it was meant for . . .”

“Brian,” they chorused.

They were silent for a moment as the implication sunk in, and then Simon spoke. “Wow. That’s heavy.”

*

“Time you weren’t here, darling.” Brian Prentice buttoned his shirt and poured himself a drink. “First one today,” he said. “I’d offer you one, but it’s really time you were off.” Lauren snuggled against him, but when he didn’t respond, she stood up. “I’ll miss you, love,” he
said. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow? I’ve got a late call.”

“I’ll have to see what Simon has in mind for me. He doesn’t know I’m back yet.”

Having come straight from the hospital with no coat, she left wearing only the jeans and cheerful coral-colored sweater Charlotte had chosen for her. The late-afternoon sun was starting to slip behind the hills, sending a scattering of slanted rays through the skeleton branches of the trees as she strode down the path to the road that led to the hotel. Lauren crossed her arms and hugged herself in a warming gesture against the wind. As she crossed the road, the hum of a car’s engine motoring up the drive urged her on. A moment later, she opened the back door, relieved to step into the welcoming warmth of the hotel.

Lady Deborah steered the car into the parking spot in front of the bungalow and switched off the ignition. She remained where she was for a moment before reaching for her handbag.

That was a little too close for comfort
, thought Brian Prentice as his wife’s footsteps on the stairs signaled her approach. He topped up his glass to calm his nerves.

“Come in darling. It’s open.”

*

Lauren unlocked the door to her bedroom and entered. After a quick look around, her first impression was that
the place had been cleaned and tidied, and apparently someone had gone to the trouble to change the bedding. The ugly, dusty rose candlewick bedspread had been replaced with a new, pale yellow one. But she felt no gratitude toward whoever had done this for her. It was the least they could do for someone who’d been so sick.

Now that she was back, she had a lot to think about. That policeman’s questions were troubling her, and she couldn’t get them out of her head. Where had she been and what had she been doing in the forty-eight hours before she got sick? Who could have made her so sick that she’d almost died?

She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the narrow bed.
Let’s see
. There’d been that argument, she’d gone for a costume fitting, she’d spoken to Brian backstage, had her meals in the staff canteen as usual . . . nothing out of the ordinary. But if someone had given her an overdose of Tylenol—and apparently someone had—she couldn’t work out how or when it had happened.

She turned on her side and yawned. A dull, heavy feeling was tugging at her eyelids, and she felt dangerously overcome with fatigue. Maybe a little nap before dinner . . . she’d just close her eyes for a minute or two. It had probably been a mistake to go and see Brian when she’d just been released from hospital. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea getting involved with him. It had to end sometime, and now might be a good time
to dump him, so she could concentrate on preparing for the upcoming season. Maybe try a little harder on the publicity side. She’d got all she was going to get out of poor old Brian anyway—some good acting tips and a nice ring.

Her eyes flew open. How could she have forgotten about the ring? She raised herself to a sitting position and yanked the bedspread off the pillow. She lifted the pillow. Nothing. She placed her hand between the top and bottom sheet, smoothing them. She sank back. Of course. The bedding had been changed, so whoever changed the bed must have found the little red box with the ring in it. Maybe it was on the dresser. She got up and examined every surface in the room. Nothing. She pulled out drawers and rooted around but didn’t find it. With a furiously pounding heart, she sat down on the bed to think.

*

Dinner in the canteen was a low-key affair. People who always ate together had staked out specific tables, while others liked to seek out different companions to vary the conversation. Still others, happy with the quiet company of a book or magazine, preferred to keep to themselves. And there was a clear, unspoken understanding that anyone reading a script or a Shakespeare text was to be left strictly alone.

For those with bungalow accommodation—Brian Prentice and Lady Deborah, Charlotte, and Simon Dyer—canteen meals were optional. When she was too tired to cook or hadn’t done her grocery shopping, Charlotte ate there, although she found the food oversalted and on the stodgy side. You could pile on a lot of weight in no time in a place like that, if you weren’t careful.

The staff canteen had been roped off so only a small seating section was open in the off season. It operated in the usual institutional cafeteria style, with a straight serving line incorporating both self-serve for salads and desserts and a woman in a white uniform dishing up the hot entrees. The choice was always limited to a vegetarian meal or a home-style dinner.

The company was well into their meatloaf with mashed potatoes and corn or vegetarian pizzas when Lauren made her entrance. She paused in the doorway long enough for everyone to see her and the effect of her presence to register. Heads swiveled in her direction as conversations tailed off and the room became silent. Simon Dyer stood up and began to clap, and some of the company joined in with a smattering of halfhearted, polite applause. Simon walked over to her, gave her a perfunctory hug, and then spoke to her.

Charlotte shot Aaron a glance filled with understanding concern as Simon approached their table with Lauren. She gave Aaron a quick nod and gestured at his plate, and for the benefit of those seated at tables close enough
to hear her, she said, “Aaron, would you mind terribly if you and I moved to another table? I’m sure Simon will need to have a quiet word with Lauren.”

If gratitude had a color, in his eyes she had just turned golden.

“All right, if I could just have everybody gather round,” said Simon a few days later in his authoritative, directorial voice as the cast members waited on stage to start the day’s rehearsal. “Today we continue with
Romeo and Juliet
, act two, scene one. The balcony scene. One of my favorites, and by the time we’re finished with this, I hope it’ll be one of your favorites, too.

“So Peter, let’s have you a little more upstage center,” Simon moved the actor playing Romeo toward the back of the stage, “and Lauren, somewhere we’ve got a little pretend balcony for you that will do for now. In the actual production, you’ll be higher up.”

He stopped speaking to the assembled actors and spoke in a lower voice to Aaron, who was working with him this morning.

“I want you to open the backdrop curtain just enough so we can see Lauren. And then place the little balcony in
the gap for her to stand on. You’ll find it somewhere back there.” He gestured toward the loading dock area. “And when you’ve done all that, come back and stay close to me in case I need you.” Aaron flew off, and a few minutes later, the curtains parted about six feet and a large box with a handrail along the side facing the audience and a couple of steps on the opposite side for mounting was pushed on stage.

“This is an important scene,” Simon said to the cast, “so I’d like everyone except Peter and Lauren to leave the stage. And I don’t want you backstage talking. I want you all to take a seat in the audience anywhere you like and just watch and listen. Spread yourselves out, and let’s have a few of you at the back. Maybe you’ll learn something, and it’ll be helpful for Peter and Lauren to have some live bodies to act for. And as for you, Peter and Lauren, I want projection. Your audience members will hold up their hands if they can’t hear you. You need to start getting a sense of the space and what you need to do to be heard in the back row.

“Right. Here we go. Lauren, use the crossover area to take your position on the balcony before the scene starts. You’ll actually be there, but dark, while Peter says his opening line: ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound.’ Then, we’ll use spotlighting to reveal you. His opening line is your cue.”

Peter remained where he was, while Lauren disappeared into the wings and moments later climbed the
two steps of the balcony platform. She held on to the railing as Peter said his opening line, paused for a moment, and then continued. He did not refer to the script in his left hand but rather recited the well-known words:

He stopped and held up the script. “Simon, I think I’d like to try it off book, but with a prompt available. Can we do it that way?”

“Sure,” said Simon, approaching the stage. “That’s what I like to hear. We’re making progress!” He reached up, took the script from Peter, and handed it to Aaron. “I don’t have a copy of the prompt book here, but you can manage with this.”

He gestured in the direction of the prompt’s seat, a small table with a tiny, bright task light set up behind the curtain closest to the audience. Here, as the play gradually got up on its legs and then into the actual performances, the prompter followed the play’s dialogue and action line by line, ready to assist an actor who forgot where he was supposed to stand or what he was supposed to say, hopefully all without the audience hearing.

Simon touched Aaron lightly on the arm. “Before you get up there, I’m desperate for a bottle of water. Can you get me one from the canteen? A cold one. Just run over and tell her it’s for me and I’ll come by and pay for it later. But make it fast. I don’t want to call a full break until we’ve finished this scene.”

As Aaron sped off, Simon addressed the actors. “Those on stage hold your positions. Those of you in the audience, stay where you are. We’ll be starting again in a couple of minutes, as soon as Aaron gets back. When we’ve finished this scene, we’ll take a twenty-minute break. I’m sure you can all hang on until then.”

Peter sat on the edge of the stage facing the audience, his legs dangling, talking quietly with his new boyfriend, the actor playing Mercutio. Simon paced back and forth across the apron area between the stage and front row of seats, hunched over his phone. He punched the keys for a few minutes and then dropped the phone into his shirt pocket and looked toward the door beside the stage.

Several minutes later, an out-of-breath Aaron thrust a bottle of cold water, dripping with condensation, into Simon’s hand.

“About time! What took you so long? It doesn’t take ten minutes to get a bottle of water.” As Aaron started to reply, Simon interrupted him. “Never mind. I don’t want to waste any more time. Come on, let’s get going.” Aaron clattered up the stairs, slipped behind the curtain, and took his seat at the prompt desk.

“So, Peter, just repeat the last line starting, ‘That thou her maid,’ and take it from there.” Peter, as Romeo, raised his arm in a sweeping, all-encompassing kind of gesture and turned to address his Juliet.

Lauren was not there. Peter turned and looked out to the audience and then walked to the edge of the stage and bent down to speak to the director in his front-row seat.

“Simon . . .”

“Yes, Peter?” There was just the smallest hint of annoyance in his voice, while the unspoken “What is it now?” hung in the air.

“Simon, Lauren’s not here.” He gestured at the empty stage behind him. “She didn’t say anything to me about going somewhere, and I didn’t see her leave.” He peered at his castmates seated in the audience. “I don’t see her out there, either.”

As the short break stretched out, restless cast members scattered throughout the theater stirred in their seats, and two women, seated together near the back, moved to the front, sliding in to sit beside a friend in the third row. A ripple of whispers spread out from them.

“Peter, check the wings and backstage area,” Simon said.

The actor walked upstage to the balcony and, seeing a splash of turquoise, turned and called out, “I was wrong. She is here. I think she’s collapsed.”

Simon sprinted onstage. After taking a quick look at Lauren, he called to Aaron.

“It’s too dark. I can’t see properly. Have you got a flashlight?”

“No, but I’ll bring the lights up.”

The other actors were now out of their seats and standing at the edge of the stage. They remained silent but turned anxious, concerned eyes to one another as the full house lights came up to reveal Simon crouched over Lauren’s crumpled body. She lay on her side behind the small platform, hidden from the actors’ view, eyes open, with her head turned toward the rear of the theater. Her sweater was stained bright red and her arms were limp.

Simon stood up and approached Aaron. “Call the police,” he said in a low voice, “and tell them we need an ambulance. I just hope we’re not too late.” He then turned to Peter, who a few short minutes before had been praising his Juliet but now hovered nearby, speechless and helpless. “Peter, please get off the stage, join the others, and tell them to sit down. Nobody is to leave, and nobody is to come any closer.”

Peter did as he was told. A moment later, a stifled scream came from the little group, and the actors clustered around a young woman. One of the older women wrapped her arms around her as another led her to a seat. The only sound was her loud, racking sobs.

A slight movement of curtains made Simon look up to see Charlotte about to step onstage.

“Stay where you are, Charlotte. Don’t come any closer,” he shouted at her.

“What’s the matter? I’ve just come to collect”—she checked the piece of paper in her hand—“Mercutio for his costume fitting. He’s late, and I thought he might be here. Benvolio’s due in half an hour. I’m all ready for them.”

Simon took a few steps toward her. “Charlotte, don’t come any closer,” he repeated.

“What is it? Has something happened?”

“It’s Lauren. We thought she’d collapsed, and well, she has, but it’s bad. Very bad. There’s a lot of blood. I think she’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed! . . . is she . . . ?”

Simon nodded. “I think so.”

“What, here? How can that be?” She peered around the curtain at the actors sitting stiffly in the front row, one with his elbow propped on the armrest, his cheek resting on his closed fist, and his eyes closed. Another was on his phone.

She pointed at them. “Were they out front the whole time? How could she have been stabbed in front of all these people? In front of you?”

“She was at the back of the stage and it was pretty dark. I’m not sure how it happened, to be honest, but Aaron’s called for an ambulance and the police, and they should be here any minute. I’ve asked everyone to remain where they are.”

Charlotte took a couple of steps back. “Yes, well, calling the police certainly makes sense. I wonder if I should stay here or go back to the workroom.”

“You need to stay here with us. Whoever did this could still be out there. You’ll be safer here with us.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She took another step backward. “Is there anything I can do?”

Simon shook his head. “We just need to stay calm until the police get here to take charge.”

The police
, Charlotte thought. Ray and Phil? She just couldn’t picture them, well-meaning as they were, investigating a murder. As far as she could remember, nothing this bad had happened around here for at least ten years.

About five minutes later, Ray and Phil, followed by a paramedic, entered the backstage area.

“Over here,” Simon called from behind the balcony riser where he had remained beside Lauren Richmond. The paramedic stepped onto the stage, crouched over the body, applied his stethoscope, stood up, and shook his head. He returned to Ray, Phil, Charlotte, and Simon, who waited offstage. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

“Is there someplace we can start to interview everyone?” Ray asked.

“Charlotte’s wardrobe room, perhaps?” said Simon, looking to her for approval. “It’s big enough for everyone, and I doubt you’ll be doing any fittings this afternoon.”

“That’ll be fine,” she replied and then turned to Ray. “Are you going to . . . ?” She tipped her head in the direction of the stage. “You know. Investigate this?”

“No,” said Ray. “We’re way out of our depth here. As soon as Aaron called, we notified the BCI. They should be here soon to start processing the scene. We don’t have the expertise or equipment for that. In the meantime, the best thing we can do is keep everyone away so we don’t contaminate the scene any further.”

“BCI?” asked Simon.

“Bureau of Criminal Investigation, New York State Police. They handle major crime for small towns like ours. They’ll do the forensics and investigating, and we’ll leave everything to them. Now, what’s the best way out of here? We don’t want anyone traipsing across the stage.”

“Aaron will show you,” said Charlotte. “There’s an exit at the back of the theater that leads to the hotel lobby.”

Charlotte hurried back to her workroom, and a few minutes later, the actors, led by Aaron and accompanied by Ray, trooped in. Phil remained in the theater to secure the scene.

“Coffee, hot and strong, I think, Aaron,” she said. “Ask for it in a large carafe, not individual cups. And when you’ve done that, you’d better let your uncle know what’s happened.”

“There’s something else,” said Ray. “The BCI will be here soon, and they’re going to need an incident room.
Is there a private and secure space they can use? They’ll want a room they can lock.”

“Well, that’s up to Harvey, of course, but perhaps the rehearsal room could be available to them. Simon seems to be holding all his rehearsals onstage. Aaron, can you sort that out with your uncle when you’re talking to him?”

“Is there anything else you need me to do?” Aaron asked.

“No,” said Charlotte. “That’s all I can think of right now. Just bring the coffee, quick as you can, then go see your uncle.”

“There’s something else we can do to get ready for the BCI,” said Ray. “We can eliminate everybody who was in full view of everyone during the time Lauren was last seen and when her body was found.”

“Simon’s the best one to tell you that.” She looked at the little group of actors, clustered together near the wall that contained the bolts of fabric. “I thought Simon came in with the actors, but I guess not. I wonder where he . . .”

The door opened and Simon entered, took in what was happening, and joined Charlotte and Ray.

“Simon, I wonder if you could tell me who was in the theater at the time of the incident, and where they were. We want to eliminate everyone we can,” said Ray.

“Sure. Well, there’s me, of course. I was down in front. Oh! I sent some texts. You can check my phone, if you
want. Then there’s Peter, who was rehearsing Romeo. He was on the stage, sitting with his back to Lauren. He was talking to Brent, who’s playing Mercutio. I hear they’ve become, er, close. They were with each other the whole time.”

He paused. Ray looked up from his notebook. “There weren’t that many there, actually,” Simon continued. “The only actors present were the ones involved in the scene we were rehearsing and one or two others.” He named the young male actor playing Benvolio, the middle-aged woman playing the nurse, and the middle-aged man playing Friar Lawrence, who appeared in scene 3.

“I can vouch for several more,” said Charlotte. “The members of the Capulet household all came at the same time for their fittings, so if one costume didn’t suit someone, we could try it immediately on someone else. There were six of them. They didn’t require much. They just wear generic costumes. Breeches, shirts, big dresses, and such.”

“And their fitting was at the same time as the rehearsal was going on?”

Simon and Charlotte exchanged a quick confirming glance. “Yes,” said Charlotte.

Ray turned his attention to Simon. “I’d like to see those texts you sent. The time stamp will tell us exactly what time you called the break.” Simon showed him his
phone, and Ray noted the time on his notepad. “So ten twenty a.m.”