“I can’t believe I was right about this,” Mitchell says, sitting down on the couch.
“Why? You’re a great detective, Mitchell. I’ve told you all along that you don’t give yourself enough credit on these cases. If I weren’t here, you’d still figure things out.”
“Not nearly as quickly, and some of these cases have been so crazy I’m not sure I would have ever solved them by myself.”
Dad’s gaze volleys between us. He raises his hands to interrupt the conversation. “First I have to referee because you two couldn’t get along. Now I have to stop the onslaught of pats on the backs? I can’t keep up.”
“I need to know who Amelia hung out with. Who her friends were. Who her coworkers were. Everyone,” I say.
“Well, we know she performed at the local theater. Let’s start there,” Mitchell says.
I nod. “Good. That’s good.” I turn to Dad. “Any chance you’re willing to hang back and look more into Amelia’s online presence? This person could have contacted her there and left a trail.” Dad loves research of any kind, so I know he’ll be game.
“Drop me off at the office on the way.”
With a plan in place, we quickly scarf down some crumb cake and the rest of our coffee before heading out.
“Are you positive the Crane’s aren’t involved?” Mitchell asks once we’ve dropped off Dad and are headed to the theater.
“Why does it seem like you want them to be?” I stretch out my legs, happy to be in the passenger seat and not in the back behind those cage-like bars. I was feeling like a jailbird myself back there.
“I don’t. They just struck me as awful people.”
“Well, you’re not wrong there. But my radar isn’t picking up on them being behind this.”
Mitchell finds a parking spot right in front of the theater since it’s early morning and it’s not even open for the day. “What are they odds anyone will be here?” he asks, getting out of the car.
“Let’s go around back,” I say, assuming that anyone in charge probably has an office back there and wouldn’t park up front.
We walk around the side of the building, and I note the basement window. It would be easy enough for someone to hide down there. I’m sure the stage has a trap door for props and such, but neither O’Neil nor the killer hid from Amelia. O’Neil was the decoy, the distraction that made Amelia run right into the killer’s arms.
“Any chance she was dating this guy?” Mitchell asks as if he was just reading my mind. It’s a little freaky how he seems to know what I’m thinking at times. Yet other times he’s so completely oblivious.
“Maybe. Amelia must have been friends with some of her fellow cast members, so if she was dating anyone, they’d know.”
We arrive at a door on the back of the building, and I raise my hand to knock. Mitchell places his hands on his hips. To anyone else, it might seem like he’s impatient for someone to open the door, but I know he’s keeping his hand close to his gun just in case.
A woman with long dark hair peppered with gray streaks answers the door. I hesitate, expecting Mitchell to fall into his obnoxious flirting routine, but he stays silent.
“Hello, I’m Piper Ashwell, and this is Detective Brennan with the Weltunkin PD. We were hoping to speak with whomever is in charge about a former actress named Amelia Crane.”
The woman puts her hand to her chest. “Amelia. I haven’t thought about her in years.” She shakes her head. “I admit I’m confused, though. She died, and her murderer is in prison. What could you possibly be investigating after all this time?”
“Ma’am, we’ve recently uncovered evidence that suggests there were two men involved in Ms. Crane’s murder,” Mitchell says.
“Oh, how dreadful. And what exactly brings you here to my theater?” She still blocking the doorway, not allowing us inside, which makes me suspicious. Yet Amelia told the killer she’d meet him after rehearsal, so I don’t think it was anyone connected to this theater. I’m just hoping someone here knew who he was.
“We just have a few questions for you. May we come inside?” I ask.
She finally steps back, allowing us into her office. “My staff will arrive within the hour, and I really don’t want to start a mass hysteria. Theater types can be…”
“Dramatic?” Mitchell offers.
The woman smiles. “I was going to say theatrical. Much nicer word.” She motions for us to take a seat, and she does the same. It’s not your typical office. Sure, there’s a desk and rolling desk chair, but there’s also a red couch and chaise lounge. The woman actually sprawls out on the lounge chair. Mitchell and I exchange glances and sit on the couch.
My initial reaction to this woman is she’s very theatrical herself. She’s putting on a show and not at all acting how she typically would. She’s playing a role. “Ms….” I pause, waiting for her to supply her name.
“Delila Herschel,” she says.
Fake. Well, that’s interesting. “You use a stage name,” I say.
Mitchell’s head whips in my direction, his pad and pen now in hand. “That’s not her real name?” he asks me as if she’s not sitting directly across from us.
“No. Why don’t you use your real name?” I ask her.
She laughs. “It’s not uncommon for people to use pseudonyms nowadays. Authors, actors…” She waves a hand in the air as if the list goes on and on despite the fact that she only provided two answers.
“I see. Well, since this is a murder investigation, perhaps you could give us your real name.”
Mitchell is ready to scribble it down.
Delila sits up and huffs. “Fine.” Her voice is suddenly two octaves lower than it was. “My first name is Delila, but my last name is Smith. You don’t get more mundane than that, so I’m sure you can see why I opted to change it.”
Makes sense I suppose. “And how well did you know Amelia?” I continue.
“She got the lead in a few plays and was the understudy in a few others. She was talented. Not talented enough to make it in say Hollywood or on Broadway, but for a local girl, she was good.”
“Did you notice her bringing any men around the theater?” Mitchell asks.
Delila laughs. “Amelia brought lots of friends around here. Men and women. But that man that was arrested for her murder…” Delila swallows hard and takes a deep breath before continuing. “He was here for every one of her performances. Even when she was the understudy and never stepped foot on stage, he was front and center.”
“Why didn’t Amelia go to the police if she thought that man was stalking her?” I ask, hoping Delila might have a clue as to who told Amelia not to pursue help from the police.
“I don’t know. One day, she’d come in here all in a huff talking about how scared she was. Then the next, she waved it off as no big deal. I told you. Some of these actors are very theatrical.”
Ironic coming from the woman who just tried to act her way through this questioning. “I see. Was she close with any of the other actors?”
“Male actors?” Delila asks.
“Or female?” I say. Amelia would probably be more inclined to tell a female friend about the guy she was dating.
“Let’s see. There was Anton. He moved away about two years ago. Went to New York City to audition for a few roles. I’d wager he’s waiting tables right about now.”
“Anyone else?” Mitchell asks, continuing to take notes.
“Oh, she was pretty close with Olivia Hill.”
“Hill?” I ask. “Any relation to Theresa Hill at Hilltop House?”
“Yes, Theresa is her mother.”
Theresa can’t be a day over forty-five, and if Olivia was Amelia’s age, that would mean Theresa had Olivia when she was still a teenager.
“I see you doing the math in your head,” Delila says. “Let me help you out. Theresa got herself knocked up at sixteen. Had Olivia at seventeen. Her boyfriend at the time bailed on her. Wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. That’s why Theresa never married.”
“Do you happen to know the boyfriend’s name?” Mitchell asks, and I can tell he’s questioning if that’s our killer. It feels wrong to me, though.
“Yeah, I went to school with them both. His name is Reggie Irving. He skipped town right after Theresa told him she was pregnant, and as far as I know, he’s never come back.”
If that’s true, then Reggie has nothing to do with this. Still, I’ll have Dad look into him. I shoot him a quick text, asking him to do just that.
“Any other friends of Amelia’s that stick out in your memory?” Michell asks.
Delila sighs. “I’m afraid most have long since moved away. Even Olivia doesn’t come around much anymore. Last I heard, she’s married and living in Maryland. Gave up on the idea of acting years ago.”
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I check my texts.
Dad: Reggie Irving died of an overdose when he was twenty-one.
Piper: Then he’s definitely not our guy. Thanks, Dad.
I can’t think of anything else to ask Delila. The theater turned out to be a big dead end. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Herschel,” I say, using her preferred stage name.
Mitchell stands up and produces a card from his shirt pocket. “If you happen to think of anything else that might be helpful to the case, don’t hesitate to call me.”
She nods as she takes the card. “I’ll see you out,” she says.
We follow her to the back door. If so much time hadn’t passed since Amelia’s death, I would have wanted to see the stage, the dressing room, and anywhere Amelia might have been. But I’m sure Amelia’s energy wouldn’t be detectable anymore.
We walk back to the front of the building, noticing more cars in the lot. I watch as a few people, probably in their late teens and early twenties, talk in a group as they walk inside. They must be the latest crew of actors.
The second I’m inside the car, I call Dad. “So, Reggie Irving?” he says.
“Olivia Hill’s biological father,” I say. “Olivia was friends with Amelia, so we figured we’d look into her estranged father.”
“There was no record of Reggie Irving having a daughter,” Dad says.
“That’s because he was a teenager when he got Theresa pregnant. He didn’t want anything to do with a baby, so he left before Olivia was born and never looked back.”
Dad makes a sound of disgust on the other end of the line. I know he doesn’t understand how anyone could walk away from their child like that, but he’s a great dad. I’m sure Mitchell doesn’t have as difficult a time understanding Reggie’s behavior since Mitchell’s father wasn’t much better after his wife died.
“What about Olivia Hill?” Dad asks, and I can hear his fingers clicking away on his laptop.
“According to the theater owner, Olivia lives in Maryland now.”
“I’ll look into her and give her a call,” Dad says. “Her number is probably listed, and we could find out if she knew of anyone who was stalking Amelia.”
“Except this guy wasn’t stalking her. I’m sure of it. It was someone she knew. Someone she went to for help.” I rub my forehead. If Amelia was close to this guy, why can’t I see him in my visions? Probably because I’m reading a damn bird cage. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” both Dad and Mitchell ask.
“I need something else of Amelia’s to read. The killer knew Amelia, talked to her on the phone, but he was never inside her apartment.”
“What makes you say that?” Mitchell says.
“The bird would have seen him.”
“Unless the cage was covered,” Dad says.
“Implying this guy was only ever with Amelia at night.”
Chills run through me at Mitchell’s words. “She was seeing him.”
“You mean he was her boyfriend?” Mitchell asks.
“I don’t know for sure. I’m sensing something off about the relationship.”
Mitchell still hasn’t started the car, probably because we don’t have our next move figured out. He taps the steering wheel as he thinks. “Well, he did wind up killing her, so that sounds about right.”
“No. It’s more than that. I don’t think we’re going to find anyone who can name this guy.”
“Pumpkin, someone had to know who he was,” Dad says through the speakerphone.
“Who he was, yes, but maybe not that he was connected to Amelia.” I’m missing something. Something just outside my senses. “Play the game,” I say, adding, “Dad.”
Mitchell stiffens beside me. He knows I still don’t forgive him for taking advantage of the game earlier.
“Dad, the game,” I insist. “I need to know why no one can name this guy.”
“What did you eat for breakfast?” he begins.
“Crumb cake.”
“Where’s Jezebel?”
“With Mom and Max.”
“What was Amelia’s best friend’s name?”
“Olivia Hill.”
“How did Amelia know her killer?”
“She was sleeping with him.”
“Who knew about their relationship?”
“No one.” My eyes open. “Their relationship was a secret.”