Max was the only one home when I got there. I gave him a little more dry food and finished putting away the few things I’d brought that afternoon. I put the bag of coffee I’d bought right next to the coffeemaker. I took out my shopping list and added to it. Harry had little aside from protein powder and crackers in the cupboards. No junk food whatsoever. That would not do, not if I was going to stay here for a few more days.
I went to bed, intending to add a new note about the evening, but sleep thwarted me. At some point I must have taken off my glasses and turned off the light. Or Harry did it for me. The next thing I knew it was seven o’clock in the morning and Max was standing on my chest, requesting his breakfast. I pushed him off and spent a moment acclimating myself to the room before stumbling into the bathroom.
My room was on the alley side of the building, which meant that buildings blocked the low sun this early. One of the downsides of living on a hill. On the other hand, I couldn’t see into other people’s windows since the floors were staggered. I leaned forward. Change that. You couldn’t see unless you tried. I made a mental note that I needed to close my blinds tonight.
I went to the kitchen and put on the coffee. I fired up my laptop. While it was booting up, I reached into my purse and took out the bottle of Advil. Burger or no, two glasses of wine and a martini took their toll. My father had always warned me not to mix the grape and the grain. I should have taken heed.
I opened up Boston.com and almost did a spit take when I saw the “breaking news” headline: “Identity of Public Garden murder victim rumored to be Mimi Cunningham. Press conference to be held soon.”
Wait—what? Mimi Cunningham? A murder victim? I’d just seen her. Was that what the police car went in for? I shook the cobwebs out of my head and read the entire story. Not that there was much. Just a series of bulletins. Body discovered. White, middle-aged. Robbery suspected. Strangled. Identity pending informing next of kin.
Robbery and strangulation? Not likely, I thought. At least not in that order. Strangulation was a crime of passion. And hard to do. Overkill for a robbery. It left trace evidence. No, at night, in a park, a robbery would have been simply a bash and grab. Not to say that a victim couldn’t end up dead, but still.
Death is always hard; murder just made it infinitely harder. Of course, I was making leaps. Educated leaps, but leaps nonetheless. Maybe it was an accident? Perhaps Mimi’s scarf or necklace got caught in the robber’s bike as he road away? If the robber had a bike. Or maybe he tried to grab her necklace and she got strangled in the process? I shook my head. The ghost of Isadora Duncan wasn’t likely to show up here.
I was doing a Google search for any other information when I heard my cell phone ring. I went over to my coat and found it in my pocket. Down to twenty-five percent. I’d forgotten to charge it last night. Now where had I put the charger?
“Sully, did you hear about Mimi?” Emma asked as soon as I answered the phone.
“Reading about it on the web as we speak.”
“Coffee made?”
“Of course.”
“I’m on my way down.”
She must have been on her way the minute I picked up, because a second later she was at the door. I hurried into my room and grabbed a fleece to put over my pajamas. I also checked to make sure Harry’s door was tightly shut before I let her in. Emma had on yoga pants and a T-shirt, with a light jacket on top. She was wearing fleece slippers and had brought a coffee cake with her. Bless her.
“I was on the treadmill and had the TV on, and heard the news.” She went into the kitchen and helped herself to a cup of coffee while I dished up the cake. “Can you believe it?”
“Remember when we were leaving the bar? The police cars? I thought something must be up, but I had no idea.”
“That means it must have happened right around when we were having dinner.” Emma shuddered. “How horrible.”
“It really is.” I was more concerned for Emma than anything. She’d been through so much in the past few months. But another murder? Too much for most to take. Emma was of tough Yankee stock, but still.
“Should we tell someone? About the timing?” she asked.
“I’m sure they’ll be checking guest lists at nearby restaurants and will be in touch. I’m not even sure who we would talk to.” That was a bit of a lie. I hadn’t left the police department on the best of terms, and I didn’t relish the idea of contacting old friends turned foes. “Tell you what, give Gus a call. He can reach out to them.”
“Great idea.” She took out her phone and hit one of the speed dial buttons.
“I hope you don’t wake up Kate,” I said.
Emma made a face and spoke into the phone. “Gus, it’s Emma. Did you hear about Mimi? I think we should go to the police, don’t you think? Help however we can? Get ahead of this. Call me.”
“Get ahead of what, Emma?”
“Sully, another murder? And I’m close by? Again? It’s only a matter of time before the press catches on and starts chasing me.”
“You were with me at the Bristol. The whole time.”
“Doesn’t matter. The press is going to eat this up. And now is not the time.” She sipped her coffee and sighed. “Sorry, I know that sounds harsh. But you know what it was like over the holidays. And there we were protected by the gates at the house. Here we’re out in the open.”
“You could head back up to Trevorton,” I said, though I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave town. “Maybe Gus could suggest a PR firm to help? Or Hal could? Though Hal will be pretty upset, I’d imagine—”
“Sully, you’re a brick, you know that?” That was a phrase my mother had used as well. It meant strong, steady, and immovable. It also meant thick, but I deferred to context. “Does anything ever freak you out?”
“A lot freaks me out, but panic serves no purpose. And this doesn’t come close to freaking me out. I don’t know much about managing the press, but it seems to me that you’d only be a story for half a second. The Cunninghams have enough of their own story going on to keep the spotlight. Right?”
“Right. Right.” But she didn’t sound convinced, and as if to emphasize the point she hit redial. “Gus? Call me.” She hung up and dialed another number. “Kate, it’s Emma Whitehall. Call me when you get this.” She hung up again and started to fidget. She started sending what I assumed were follow-up texts. “Would you mind if I check my email on your computer? So much easier than on my phone and I’m too lazy to go upstairs.”
“Sure, of course.” I turned the computer toward her. While Emma clicked away, I went back in my room and found my charger and my notebook. I brought them both back to the kitchen, and plugged my phone in. I sat down with my book and started to write down notes.
“What are you writing, Sully?”
“Notes from last night, while they’re still somewhat fresh. Just in case. Old habit, but you’d be surprised what details you forget, and how quickly.”
“I do the same thing after meetings. Someone else takes the minutes. But I always write a meeting memo for my own files. I notice if someone seemed out of sorts, or nervous. Or was a particular jackass. Gives context to the official notes.”
“Exactly.” My notes were just that. Notes. Timelines. Some questions. Nothing too detailed, or reflecting too much concern. Just old habit.
Emma headed back upstairs to get ready for work. She tried to call Jerry Cunningham before she left. She got his voicemail and left a message telling him how sorry she was, and that she was available any time for anything he needed. I was surprised that Jerry’s voicemail wasn’t full. He either had a better phone plan than I did or he was keeping up with his messages.
Harry woke up at nine, and looked ragged. “I’m inviting Stewart up for breakfast, is that okay?”
“That’s fine.” And it was. But it also meant I was getting dressed. Women and gay men could see me in my flannel poodle PJs, but ex-boyfriends? Not so much. I took a quick shower and got dressed. My day’s outfit looked much like Emma’s morning ensemble—workout pants, a T-shirt, and a warm fleece. A little makeup in honor of Stewart’s presence and I went out to meet my public.
The boys were sitting around the table, scripts splayed and coffee cake demolished in front of them. They were deep in discussion, so I grabbed the coffeepot and brought it back into the kitchen to make another pot. Third of the day. I needed to buy more coffee, but then again, I might not be staying after all. Not much point, since I wouldn’t be able to see Jerry Cunningham to talk about the grant. And hopefully Dimitri and the gang had things under control. I’d find out soon enough.
“More coffee, gents?” I asked. “Harry, you still caffeine-free?”
“Not since rehearsals started. Fill her up, Sully.”
I poured Harry’s, black, and then Stewart’s. I handed him the cream. “How goes it?” I asked.
“Shh, Sully. We went out after rehearsal. For a couple of drinks. Then a couple more.”
I grabbed the Advil and brought it back to the table. “I went out with Emma and had a bit of a headache myself this morning. Then I saw the news.” I told them about the murder. I skipped the part about Babs being out of control at the reception. They were working with her, and I thought she deserved a little privacy, at least from me. They both murmured concern and then went back to their scripts.
“What time is your call?” I asked after a while.
“Not till noon. Thank God. Dimitri is doing some table work with Juliet and the Nurse this morning. Trying to undo some of the damage from Pierre,” Harry said.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“How’s it going … how do you think it’s going, Stewart? From an outside perspective.”
Stewart looked over at Harry and shrugged. He turned toward me. “We’re behind, of course. But it’s a great group. They’ve worked together for a long time. Such are the benefits of a repertory company. I’ve worked with a couple of the actors before.”
“A few of the Bay Rep actors—Ruth, Stephanie, Ray, Tina, Bob—they’ve worked up at the Cliffside several times when Bay Rep is closed for the summer. Are they all in this production?” I asked.
“Yes, Ruth is playing the Nurse. Stephanie is Lady Capulet. Ray is Tybalt. Is that right? Or is he Benvolio now? There were a couple more switches yesterday based on which roles they’d played before. Anyway, having a full cast is great. And Dimitri has rediscovered his footing, despite the set. Still …”
“Still?” I looked at both men. “Still what?”
“Still, I’m surprised they aren’t doing more to accommodate Dimitri regarding the designs,” Harry said. “I sort of get the set issues. But costumes? There should be some give with costumes. I know that budgets are tight, but still.”
“Dimitri and Cassandra were going to talk to Babs yesterday—”
“But she never came back. Holly told them there was no more money, but they all agreed to talk to Babs together. Holly’s on our side, which is great, but—”
“There are no sides in all of this,” I said. “Babs is just trying to watch the budget, make sure the company takes the least amount of a hit it can. Don’t pit Holly against Babs. That’s not good for anyone.”
“Duly noted,” Harry said. “Thanks for reminding us all we’re on the same team. Holly’s in a spot, and I think she could use some help—”
“Babs is the managing director,” I said.
“She’s been gone a lot,” Harry said. “I think that you could help Holly see the bigger picture.”
“I talked to her yesterday, told her to call me.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not going to do that. You know how it is, Sully. Situations like this, the budget gets blown up a little. We were wondering if you could come in and talk with Holly again,” he said as he poured me more coffee.
“Who’s we? Why?”
“Stewart and I brought it up with the cast after Dimitri left with Connie last night. They agree it might be a good idea, especially if Babs isn’t around today. Holly could use some ‘how to deal with Dimitri’ lessons. She just keeps saying no, or that she can’t, and then he yells.”
“I asked him to be quieter—”
“You might as well ask a bird not to sing,” Stewart said. “He isn’t yelling at her, he’s yelling at the situation. But she’s having trouble parsing that under the circumstances. She goes back to the office and cries. And comes back out and pretends she wasn’t crying and says no again. I feel sorry for the woman.”
Dimitri had gone through a number of general managers at the Cliffside before I came aboard. “So you want me to babysit Dimitri?” I said. I felt bad that Holly was taking it so personally. One of the things that made me a good managing director was that yelling didn’t bother me. I’d dealt with far worse in my previous career.
“The yelling fits get in the way of the rehearsal process. Just when we’re getting somewhere, Holly comes in and it’s gone. If you could be a buffer, just for today? And maybe tomorrow unless Babs comes in?”
“What’s in it for me? Aside from having to hear rehearsals of Romeo and Juliet for hours?”
“Come on, Sully, I know you love it. If you insist, I’ll come up with other ways to make it worth your while.” Stewart raised his eyebrows and smiled lasciviously. But the underlying smile was genuine, as was the tone. Ah Stewart. What was the term? Friends with benefits? Not a bad concept. Maybe.
“Promises, promises.” I said, looking away and catching Harry’s amused eye. “You both owe me. But happily for you, I have a lot of grant writing to do, and I can do it at the theater as easily as I can here.”
“One more thing. Please, can we drive? I’ll pay for parking,” Harry said. “And can we hit Trader Joe’s on the way? We need some rehearsal food and Connie is car-free. We need to do our part to bolster the company.”
Getting Stewart and Harry through Trader Joe’s was like herding cats. Such a great variety of junk food that you can pretend is a little good for you. We ended up with a very full cart. As I bagged the groceries, I tried to sort them. I’d stocked up on soy chips and nuts and coffee and other goodies to bring home. I packed a Dimitri bag, and Harry and Stewart grabbed some food for rehearsals. I made a bag for the office staff. I did a quick calorie count of the food in the car and shook my head. My step count was pitiful these days. I really needed to get a walk in, or better yet, a run. I always left a change of clothes in the car in hopes that I would get a work out in during the day. They’d been in the car since September.
We got to the theater around eleven thirty. I could hear Dimitri’s bellows from the lobby. Both Harry and Stewart waved me into the theater, and Stewart patted my butt as I walked by him. Sure enough, Dimitri was holding court at the foot of the stage, lost in a dramatic tirade. Connie tried to interrupt but it was difficult, to say the least. He’d worked up a full head of steam. Holly was half sitting, half leaning on the armrest of a chair. I had to give her props; she was taking it. But I could also tell that she was struggling, either to get a word in edgewise or not to cry. She was wearing a suit today, but it was a far cry from Babs’s designer piece. More of a Primark or H&M suit. More my kind of suit, frankly.
“I have never, ever had such a lack of support—” Dimitri started.
“Sure you have, Dimitri,” I said, making my way down the aisle. “Remember two summers ago when you wanted to use a trampoline for the set of Twelfth Night? No one thought that was a good idea. We all said no.” I walked over and patted his arm. My version of an embrace. Usually it worked to calm him down.
“Sully, no jokes. This is amateur hour around here, and I’m sick of it.”
“I’m sure Holly is doing her best. Holly, sorry to interrupt. I need Dimitri to look over some grant applications, hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Is Babs in yet? I’d love to say hi.”
“I haven’t seen her yet,” Holly said, standing up.
“Maybe I’ll hang for a bit. Is that okay with you? I’ll just sit in the back.”
“As long as Dimitri doesn’t mind,” she said, sidling over to the door.
“No, he doesn’t mind. He loves having me in the room, don’t you, Dimitri?” Dimitri glared at me, but I didn’t break away from his glaze. The group around us dispersed. Connie winked at me and followed Ron backstage.
“Seriously, Dimitri, do you have a sec?” I asked. “I do want to run a couple of grant things by you.”
“Harrumph.”
“I bought you some orange gel sticks from Trader Joe’s. It’s a little early for candy, I know, but they’re orange. Sort of a breakfast flavor.”
“You know I love those,” Dimitri said, following me to the back of the theater. We both sat down and I handed him his bag.
“I know. I bought several boxes,” I said.
“Bless you.” He took the candy out and opened the top of the box. He took a deep inhale, then closed the lid back up. Dimitri was a sensory person and believed firmly in delayed gratification. He’d have to earn a jelly stick. “All right, ask me your grant questions, Sully. Rehearsal starts at noon.”
I handed him a bottle of water. “I also got you some breakfast bars, almonds, a bag of apples, some string cheese, and this water. Fill the bottle up three times today. You have to eat, Dimitri.”
“Don’t mother me, Sully,” he said, rifling through the bag and finding the breakfast bars. He ripped one open with his teeth. “Thank you,” he said, his mouth half full. “Are you here to babysit?”
“Yes and no. Just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, but frustrated. We can make two changes that’ll be all the difference. I want Cassandra to change the costume designs. We need color on stage. She ran a dye test, but we feel that dyeing the white clothes will muddy it even more. She wants to build a few pieces and needs a budget for that.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“Ron thinks he has an idea of what we can do to enable us to paint the set. There’s a place down near the Cape that sells sailcloth. We think if he cuts it, and slaps pieces on the shiny white, he can paint them to add more depth to the set. Sailcloth has more texture than muslin and will stand up to wear and tear.”
“And the problem is?”
“Both of these changes cost money. Not huge money, but more money than Holly feels like she can authorize on her own.”
“So you need Babs to be here.”
“In this situation Holly is fairly useless. Apparently this production has been a money pit, and we can’t add any more money into the budget to cover the costs.”
“I just want to remind you, Dimitri, that Holly is in a tough situation. Since you’re a guest director, she’s trying to toe the company line while helping. You need to cut her some slack.”
“Why should I—”
“I heard you made her cry, Dimitri. More than once.”
“I did not.”
“You did. Probably not on purpose, but I expected better. Remember, you’re representing all of us down here. You want us to be known as the thugs from up on the north shore?”
“I cannot be held responsible for someone’s emotional outbursts.”
“You can when you cause them. Step back, Dimitri. How much can you do without affecting the budget? Are you and Cassandra on the same page?”
“We are. We don’t even want period costumes. Just color. Hoping that from chaos she can create a design. We can pull from stock. Rent from other companies. We just need something to start with.”
“So, start. You’re the director. Get Cassandra to figure out a game plan and start. Don’t look for approval. Just do it. And make sure it doesn’t cost anything. At least not at the beginning. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Unless it’s from me. Then you’d better have permission. Seriously, Dimitri, why so nervous? Bay Rep is a big company. An important company. And they asked you to step in because you’re good. So show ’em. Figure this out. But try not to make people cry. Okay?”
“Cassandra has a lot riding on this as well.”
“Her ability to change mid-stream sounds like a great behind-the-scenes story angle, doesn’t it? Don’t they blog here? We can make her out to be the hero. And if it doesn’t work, or people miss the white on white, so be it. You take the hit. Regarding the set fix, let me go talk to Holly. Maybe there’s a way to make it work and I can help her think creatively. How does that sound?”
“I’m going to take a hit on this no matter what,” Dimitri said.
“Or get the glory. Stewart says it’s a great company of actors. He and Harry are pretty excited.”
“Are they?” Dimitri asked.
“Of course they are. They have faith. So do I, for what that’s worth.”
“It’s worth a great deal, Sully.”
“Then don’t sweat the rest of it. Just tell the story. This is a great team, so let them help you. I’ll talk to Holly.”
“You’ll stick around a bit this afternoon? Let me know what you think?”
“Of course. I wasn’t joking about the grant applications. I can just as easily work here. It will mean that I’ll have a computer in the theater.” Computer and cell phone lights in the house were Dimitri’s pet peeves.
“For this, and for you, I will make an exception.” He stood up and stretched. I reached down and handed him the bag of food. He took it and walked up the aisle to the edge of the stage, where several people were standing over a board that had been painted to demonstrate the solution Ron had come up with. Dimitri turned to me and put down the bag. He pointed to the board and put both hands together as if in prayer.
“I’ll do what I can,” I yelled down the aisle.