Bright sunshine spread across Cait’s face early Friday morning. She was out of bed by seven, showered, and dressed in jeans and T-shirt and downstairs twenty minutes later. By the time everyone arrived for breakfast, the aroma of cheese, peppers, and sausage omelets drifted throughout the kitchen.
Cait filled coffee mugs and set one in front of everyone gathered around the black speckled granite counter. “I dare anyone to tell me I can’t cook.”
“Not me. I like my job,” Marcus said. “Besides, this is delicious.”
“To good food and fine friends,” Jim said, raising his steaming mug of coffee.
There was a loud knock on the back door.
Cait turned to look and saw Ray through the window.
Marcus got up to let him in.
Ray hesitated in the doorway. “Okay if I come in?”
Marcus moved aside to allow Ray to enter.
“The theaters are locked,” he grumbled.
Cait slid off her stool. “Of course they are, Ray. I’ll give you a remote for each theater so you can come and go. Just let me know when everyone leaves so I can reset the alarms. Are you hungry?”
Ray stepped into the kitchen and sniffed the air. “Do I smell sausage and peppers?”
“Yep. I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Can’t stay,” he said. “Got people waiting to get in the theaters, but I could take it with me.”
“You can take some for Jay, too.”
Ray stroked his chin. “If there’s enough—”
“There’s plenty.” Cait opened a drawer and took out a couple of heavy-duty paper plates and a tray. While she prepared the plates, she was wondering whether it was time to let Ray know someone had tried to break into the house and about the halberd found outside the door. “Ray, was anything missing from those boxes in the loft, like a weapon?”
Ray scowled, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. “What do you know about that?”
“Jay said tape had been ripped off a box in the loft. I was wondering how someone would know to search the loft for a weapon.”
“How the hell—uh, heck should I know? It’s your theater.”
Cait turned with two plates of food in her hands. “I have remotes to open the theaters.” She glanced at Marcus. “Would you get one for Ray, please?”
Marcus went to the office. When he handed one to Ray, he said, “Don’t leave it lying around.”
Ray slipped it into his shirt pocket. “You realize, don’t you, that all of us will be in and out all weekend? They shouldn’t have to track me down every time they need to go inside. I want them to remain open until the last person leaves for the day.”
Cait covered the plates with foil, placed them on a tray, and handed the tray to Ray. “I’m aware of that, but there’s something you need to know.” She told him about the break-in attempt and the halberd. “Someone is stalking me. Goes back a couple of years to the time I was a cop. I don’t like it any more than you, but I’m dealing with it. My concern is keeping everyone safe.”
Ray stared at her as if she had two heads. “I do not f . . . freaking believe this!”
“That makes two of us,” Cait said. “June identified the halberd on the Web and it’s now in the hands of the police. There was also a knife. Detective Rook promised officers would be here this weekend.” She paused to let the information sink in. “It’s possible the suspect could disguise himself in a period costume, so pay attention and be sure you recognize each actor and crew member.”
“How come trouble follows you?” Ray asked. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Tasha’s probably up there shaking her head and asking herself if she made a mistake putting her estate into your hands.”
Cait looked at Ray and wished she could tell him the whole story. Instead, she said, “I’m handling it, okay? Do you check IDs when everyone arrives on a set?”
“No, after years in the business most of us know each other.” He glanced at June. “Isn’t that right?”
June nodded.
“But do it here,” Cait said.
“This little gig you got going normally wouldn’t draw troubles like yours,” he said, “but if it will make you happy I’ll look everyone in the face twice.”
Cait grinned. “Thank you. That would make me very happy.”
“Don’t be a fool and go get yourself killed,” Ray warned.
“Better a witty fool than a foolish wit,” June responded.
Ray looked puzzled. “Who said?”
June grinned. “Shakespeare, you silly oaf. You should recognize Twelfth Night.”
Cait had never seen Ray blush. She thought back to when she’d first met him and how he’d treated her as hired help until he’d learned who she was. “Jim Hart and I will be armed and our cells will be on. Give me your cell number so we can call if there’s an emergency.” She pulled her phone from her waistband.
Ray set the tray of food on the counter and reached into his pants pocket for his phone.
After they exchanged numbers and Ray left, Cait sat back down to eat. “Ray doesn’t need to know about the incident at the school, but should it come up when you’re talking with him, go ahead and tell him. No reason not to.”
“Believe me, he’ll pick up on it sooner or later,” June said. “My knowing the actors will give me an excuse to hang out backstage, like going undercover.”
Jim smiled. “You go, woman. And Marcus and I can look busy setting up picnic tables and benches. There’s always something that needs fixing.”
Cait glanced at Marcus, his clean white shirt unbuttoned part way to his fancy belt buckle, crisp blue jeans, and polished tan cowboy boots. His daily uniform—except today his spiked, sun-bleached hair was relaxed without the mousse he normally used. She liked the softer touch and wondered if there was a girl he wanted to impress.
“I brought my horse and trailer over this morning,” Marcus said.
Cait raised her eyebrow. “Really?”
Marcus shrugged. “In case I get a chance to lasso a bad guy.”
Cait laughed, almost choking on her coffee. “Lasso?”
“You bet.”
“When I’m not working in the gift shop, Ilia and I could hang out at the theaters, too,” Fumié said. “I’m probably the last person anyone would take seriously as a watchdog. And I can shoot with the best.”
Petite Fumié could fool anyone. “You’re a one-person army, Fumié.You’ll make a terrific park ranger, but don’t bring a gun here. And no heroics. Call me or tell a police officer if there’s a problem.”
Cait was clearing the dishes after everyone left when her cell beeped. She checked the display. “Good morning, Detective Rook. Where’s the officer you promised?”
“I’m all you’re going to get this morning. See you soon.”
Cait glanced at the wall clock—9:15—and then at the leftover sausages on the griddle. “I know babysitting me is not your responsibility, but perhaps some leftovers from breakfast will help ease the pain.”
He laughed and hung up.
Cait went upstairs to collect her gun and was about to go back down when she heard a chirp from her laptop. She went over to the desk, clicked on a key, and Shep’s face popped up on Skype.
“You there, Cait?”
She sat on the edge of the chair. “I’m here, Shep. You got news?”
“A little about the Dillon boys. Hank belonged to a gang that would kill for hubcaps. Wally is in a gang I’m way too familiar with. The usual stuff: gun battles between gangs, kids shot. Hank was ten when he first got involved in one of those battles, but he was already a juvenile delinquent at eight. His mother, a single parent, was afraid his little brother Wally would turn out the same if she didn’t do something about it. That’s how Calder Manning’s parents got involved. Both parents went to the same church. The Mannings offered to adopt Hank because they thought a home environment with more love and attention than his mother had time to give him would have a good effect on him. They thought it did, for awhile.”
“I get the picture.” She watched frown lines crease Shep’s forehead and knew he sensed her disappointment. “It’s something to think about, but keep me posted if you find out anything that might affect my situation.” She put her finger up to his face, not ready to let him go. He’d helped her through plenty of tough times—her parents’ plane crash, her divorce. They were close friends but never lovers as some thought.
“One more thing. I met Manning’s three-year-old daughter. His mom takes care of her when he’s out of town.”
Cait nodded, always sensitive when it came to children. “He should be home caring for her,” she said.
“We do what we have to, Cait, to make a living,” said Shep, who’d lost his fiancée to a brain tumor several years ago.
“I know.”
“Have faith and be safe.”
Cait watched the screen go blank before she closed her laptop. She tucked her Glock at the small of her back, picked up her keys, and went downstairs. Outside, she wondered how anything bad could happen on a sunny day like today. The intense heat had turned the hills from green to the color of wheat. Yellow roses spilled over the rim of half wine barrels flanking the back door. She took the shaded brick path between the tall cypress trees and thought about the Dillon brothers and Manning’s little girl. Cait was unable to have children, and it always depressed her to hear of parents not having the time or money to devote to their own kids and having to depend on others to care for them. Powerless to shake this sudden despair, she paused at the gate beneath the trellis to smell the trailing ivory-colored roses.
Voices penetrated the funk Cait had found herself in. She opened the gate and saw a man and a woman standing in the middle of the courtyard. They glanced her way and then continued their conversation. Instead of going around to the back door that would take her directly into the green room at the Elizabethan theater, she entered at the side door.
The sun spread across the empty seats in the open-air theater. She went up the side aisle so she could stand at the rear of the theater and look down upon the stage as if seeing it through the eyes of an audience. The curtains had been drawn back, and different scenery lowered from overhead, creating an expectant feeling that the actors might appear on stage at any moment.
Cait’s heart overflowed with pride. Without realizing it, she had stopped thinking of her inheritance as an anchor around her neck and started appreciating her legacy as a gift. Who would have thought my English lit degree would be so useful?
It took her a few moments to notice movement next to the orchestra pit.
She stared at the man, his back to her, and wondered how long he’d been there. Slowly, she started down the aisle. “May I help you?” she asked as she drew closer to him.
He ignored her and continued to stare at the stage. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Who are you?”
In profile, his sharp, well-chiseled features reminded Cait of someone, but she couldn’t recall who it could be. She studied his six-foot frame, heavy eyebrows, and auburn hair streaked with gray. Definitely not the man she’d seen at Trader Joe’s. “I could ask you the same thing. Are you an actor?”
He tossed his head back and laughed, a dry humorless laugh that provoked Cait. He rubbed his hand over his chin hair. “Scholar, actor, director, mentor, teacher. All the above.”
Cait stepped closer. Intrigued by the intensity of his dark brown eyes and formal speech, she asked, “What’s your name?”
He eyed her, from her head to her old tennis shoes, taking his time before he spoke. “Kenneth Alt. And you are—”
“Cait Pepper.” She held out her hand as she recognized the name. “We spoke on the phone last month.”
He reached out to shake her hand. “So we did. I apologize. I should have known it was you, but I was caught up in my own thoughts.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I only decided a couple of days ago.” He glanced around the theater. “This is a nice setup, much better than I’d imagined. But then, Tasha always liked nice things. She was the consummate Shakespearean actress. What a shame she isn’t here to appreciate the performances she took pride in scheduling for her little festival.” He looked back at Cait. “Since you’re here, I assume you’re planning on staying and carrying out her longtime dream.”
“I’ve given up a job I loved,” Cait said. “So yes, I’m staying.”
He frowned. “Right. I believe you said you worked in law enforcement. I wasn’t totally clear what it was you did in law enforcement.”
Cait didn’t know how much Detective Rook had told him when Alt called him in April to verify her identity. “I was a police officer and later became a crime analyst.”
He nodded, his eyes glued to Cait. “I see. Has anyone ever told you how much you look like Tasha? Astonishing, considering she was your aunt.” He stroked his chin again. “How old are you, Cait?”
“Why, Mr. Alt, you know better than to ask a woman her age.”
The curtain was pushed back and June walked on stage. “I thought I heard a familiar voice.” She stared down at Alt. “What are you doing here, Kenneth?”
He looked up at her. “June Hart? What the dickens are you doing here?”
She trotted down the steps to greet him. “It’s not my ghost. Jim and I retired. We’re living in our RV now and helping Cait with the festival. Aren’t you supposed to be in Ashland directing the next Hamlet? Or did you come here looking for tips on how it’s done?”
Cait squirmed, hoping she wouldn’t have to stand between them to ward off blows.
Alt frowned. “June and I go way back, Cait. When I heard Chip Fallon was appearing at Tasha’s festival, I had to see for myself if his acting skills had improved.”
“Don’t you dare cause trouble, Kenneth,” June snapped. “You know damn well Chip is a fine actor, and he’d make a fine artistic director if given the chance.”
Cait watched Alt’s face turn red and his hands clench at his sides.
“He’s not on the short list,” Alt said.
“Of course he isn’t. You removed his name!” From out of nowhere, their cordial conversation turned dark.
Alt stormed off until he reached the door, then he looked back. “He isn’t ready to direct. He may never be ready.”
My problems continue to multiply.