Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) (16 page)

“I’m a Henderson too, but cut off the ‘son’ because I wanted to be different. You have noticed I’m a little different, haven’t you?”

I gave him another awkward “short person to tall person” hug. “I just know you’re marvelous. Thanks again for everything.”

He motioned that it was nothing, and got back to work.

I returned to George. “What should we do first?”

He grinned.

“Later, my love,” I said in reply to his grin.

“Right now, I don’t think it matters what we do.”

“Well, then,” I said, “let’s just cut the cake so people can eat something, then we can start the dancing. Okay with you?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. I just want to get to the ‘later’ part.” Another kiss followed his statement.

So we cut the cake, and cut a cinnamon roll for good measure, then went through the food line. Besides the planned for sandwiches, chips, fruit, potato salad, and cole slaw, there sat an array of chippy things, dips, rolls, cheese platter, lunch meat platter, candy, doughnuts, bagels, and more. An amazing, impromptu feast.

“This is much more like us,” I said to George as we picked our way through.

He nodded, stuffing an olive in his mouth.

We ate what we’d chosen and sat at a table where we could see everyone. Since it was to be mostly family, we’d decided against a head table and said folks could sit where they wanted to. We were joined by my son and daughter, her boyfriend, and Gus and Georgianne. My sisters and brother Ed were with their spouses and children, and Rob sat with Pete in the midst of them. Naturally Clancy was by my side.

I gobbled the cake, glad I didn’t have to settle for any of the substitutes. Then impulsively I stood and announced, “Even though we’d only planned for a small wedding, we are so grateful that you all attended.”

George stood and added, “I just hope there’s enough food for everyone.” Everyone laughed in response. “We don’t have a program planned, since this is informal, so just start dancing when the music starts. Don’t worry about waiting for us to have our first dance. We’ll manage that even if the dance floor is full.”

At that he nodded to Ed, who’d brought a stereo system. When the music started, the young ones immediately got up to dance. George and I sat for a few minutes, watching and smiling.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“Yes, it is. It’s lovely.” Then I looked at him and saw he was looking at me. “Oh, you meant me.”

“Of course I did.” We kissed again. Then he stood and offered me his hand.

The song was a beautiful “golden oldie”—The Way You Look Tonight. One of my favorites.

As we danced, it was as if there was no one else in the room. I was the happiest I’d been since the birth of my children. We held each other and knew we’d never let the other one go.

Laughter interrupted us and I looked around in surprise. Apparently the music had stopped and we were still dancing. George released me from the clinch and we laughed with the others.

Another song started and we began to go back to our table. Before we got there, a voice said, “May I have this dance, Sam?”

I turned to see a handsome Michael O’Dear. “Of course.” I turned back to George and said, “See you in a minute.”

This song was slow-ish. Some people were dancing apart and some were dancing together. Michael chose together.

After I few moments of silence, I mustered some gumption and asked, “I’ve been wondering something…”

“Yes?” he said, encouraging me.

“This is kind of embarrassing, especially on my wedding day, but,” I took a deep breath, “why didn’t you pursue me?” I really wanted to ask why he only kissed me on the cheek or the head.

“There’s something I probably should have told you before,” he said quietly, so no one else would hear.

I pulled back a little to look at his face, and it was my turn to say, “Yes?”

He pulled me close again, so he could whisper in my ear. “I’m gay.”

“You’re what?” I practically yelled.

He pulled me to him again. “No need to shout. I said, ‘I’m gay.’ Now please don’t yell.”

“I’m so happy,” I said. “Now I know why you didn’t ‘really’ kiss me.” I was relieved that it wasn’t because of me.

“Not shocked?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Well,” he said, “some people might be shocked. Quincy is kind of small, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just tell George and no one else. I haven’t come out here yet.”

“No problem.” Both George and I could keep secrets. Both of us did it as part of our job requirements, so I could turn on my filter when it came to Michael. However, I couldn’t wait to tell George.

As the song ended, I said, “You are a great flirter though.”

He whispered again, “You were fun to flirt with, even though you’re not my type.” We both laughed as he walked me back to my husband.

Husband. What a great word. Even though I’d had a bad experience with my ex-husband, I knew that my marriage to George would be different. I couldn’t wait to go on my next adventure with him. Even if there were no more murders, each day would be an adventure, married to the man I loved.

As I approached him, he looked up at me and said my favorite words.

“Hi ya, Sam.”

I smiled, took his hand, and said, “Now, where are we going to live?”

“I must insist.” The loud, brittle voice was demanding something. It wasn’t clear if it belonged to woman, man, or child. The voice did sound as though it was used to getting its own way.

“Of course, Wes. Of course. Let me sit down with the stage manager and we’ll see what we can do about your dressing room.” That voice I did recognize from seeing—and hearing—its owner on the local TV station. It belonged to Branson Barkley, the director of the play I was about to audition for.

And he had called the other person Wes. Suddenly I knew who our high-pitched friend was.

“That must be Wes Friday,” I practically giggled to my friend Cynthia. “He’s come all the way from New York City to star in our show.”

“Oh, really. That’s who he is?” Cynthia could match me for sarcasm more easily than most. “You’ve only been talking about this guy for two months. Ever since the paper announced that he was coming to town, you’ve been nagging me to audition with you. So here I am.” She elbowed me good-naturedly.

“But just think, Cindy, he starred in
Boxers or Briefs
and
Give My Regards to Nowhere
. I can’t believe he’s here in Quincy.” I listened some more. “His voice sounds different than when he’s on stage.”

“And from the sound of it,” Cindy said, “Wes is quite the diva.”

“Stop it.” I put a finger over her lips. “Don’t talk like that. He has a right to a certain level of deference and accommodation. He’s a real star.”

Cindy knew when not to respond.

After a moment I went on, “You know, it’s a wonder you put up with me, Cindy. I do get a little giddy about things sometimes. I think I’m living the teen years I never really got to enjoy.”

She smiled, “Well, you certainly enjoyed high school. You, George, Vic, and I had a great time.” Then her smile faded. “It was only in college, when your parents died, that you had to grow up too fast.”

“I never resented having to take care of my five siblings. But I wonder if that’s why I’m having so much fun now.” I smiled at Cindy. “Finally, I don’t have to take care of anyone else. My kids are all grown up. My husband and my dog are pretty self-sufficient, so it’s a chance to enjoy my own life.”

Cynthia changed the subject, “I was a little scared to come with you.” At my quizzical look she went on. “You know—there’s murder wherever you go.”

My expression must have given her the payoff she was after. She burst out in laughter. “Gotcha!”

I couldn’t help but smile back, but then said, “That’s not really true. I know there seem to be more murders since I’ve been helping George with his work, but I bet if you did some research on it, you’d find out it’s not true.”

My husband was Chief of Detectives at the Quincy Police Department and occasionally allowed me to accompany him on some of the murder investigations. Well, maybe not allowed, so much as couldn’t stop me.

By then we had joined the queue waiting to audition for a part in
The Murderous Rogue
. I spoke quietly to Cindy while we looked at the others in line. “I do kind of wish this was a musical, but really I’d want to be in anything Wes Friday was in. I just want to hang around him.”

“Omigod,” Cynthia exploded, none too quietly. “You’re a groupie, Sam. You’re a stalker. You have a crush on him!”

“Shh! First, no; second, definitely not; and third, yes. Just a little crush; but don’t tell George. I’d never do anything to betray him. I just kind of like Wes, or maybe I should call him Mr. Friday.” I turned back to look at how far the line had moved. “It doesn’t matter. You know I’m happily—and recently—married.”

“Have you decided what part you want?” Cindy asked.

“I was thinking Giselle, but—”

“His love interest?” Cindy started laughing again.

“I don’t think that’s so funny.”

After knowing me since high school, Cindy was immune to my glares, and was normally amused by them. This one didn’t faze her.

“No, really,” I repeated, “I don’t think it’s so funny that I want to audition for the female lead, who just happens to be the male lead’s love interest.”

“You’re 45, you just had your birthday a few days ago. He’s younger than you.”

“Actually, I’ve been investigating this—” I said, and was interrupted by Cindy’s snort.

“I’ve been investigating this,” I said again, with emphasis, “and I think he’s older than his official biography.” I pulled some folded papers out of my pocket. “See, here it says he was born in 1976—”

“Which would make him—” Cynthia tried in vain to beat me to the punch on figuring out his age.

“Thirty-nine,” I said triumphantly. “However,” I continued, more humbly, “Wikipedia says he’s 43, and—”

“And we know we can trust Wikipedia,” Cindy said, interrupting me again.

“And, the birth records in Brimstone, Missouri state that—”

“Brimstone, Missouri?” Cindy and I hardly ever allowed each other to finish a sentence, just like my family. “That’s funny. His publicity says he was born in Manhattan and lived on the Upper East Side as a kid.”

“Yeah, Brimstone, Missouri. I told you I’ve been investigating this for a while, and the trail led to Brimstone, Missouri. The funny thing is that it’s a stone’s throw from Crackertown—you remember—the little town where George asked me to marry him.”

Another snort, “And where your dog found a human femur and you helped George investigate a murder. There’s a pattern here, Sam.”

“Shup,” was all I said.

The young woman in front of me told the guy at the registration desk that she was auditioning for the role of Giselle and handed him her headshot.

“I don’t have a headshot,” I whispered to Cindy.

“It community theater, Sam,” she whispered back. “You don’t need a headshot.”

It was my turn. I gave the man the audition form I’d completed.

He looked at me. And looked again. “So this is your first show?”

“Well, since high school, yes.”

“And you’re auditioning for Giselle?”

I stood as tall as my five foot two frame would let me. “Yes, I am.”

Before he could say anything else, I added, “But I’ll take any role. Anything at all. I just really want to be in a show with Mr. Friday.”

He motioned with his head. “Go into the green room and wait until you’re called.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and I practically curtsied.

I heard Cindy chuckle again before she spoke to the guy at the desk. She was as pragmatic as I was idealistic. I poked my head through the green room door while I waited for her. It was full of people, mostly women, looking over scripts. Dozens of eyes looked at me, but then looked away immediately, sensing I wasn’t a threat to the part they wanted. I imagined most of them wanted Giselle, as I did, because it would involve a lot of one-on-one time with Wes.

I felt Cindy touch my shoulder as she said, “Move.” So I did.

We found two seats together, joining a young man on the couch. Cindy’s eyes made a circuit of the room, deliberately looking at each person individually and for what seemed like a long time.

“What in the world are you doing?” I asked. “Why are you staring at everyone?”

Cindy focused her eyes on me.

“I’m wondering which one of the people in this room is going to be murdered.”

WHO KILLED MY BOSS?

(Sam Darling mystery #1)

Moments after hiring Samantha Darling as a therapist, Dr. Burns is murdered. Stunned by his sudden death and desperate to keep the job she just got, Sam vows to find the killer.

She has two things going for her. The first is that her brother Rob is a cop, and she figures the crime-solving thing has to be genetic. The second is that Sam is a little bit psychic—so finding the culprit should be a snap for her. If only she could tell the difference between her psychic vibes and indigestion….