Cait and the Harts were on their way to the theaters when someone called Cait’s name. Detective Rook and Sergeant McCloud caught up and handed them copies of Wally Dillon’s mug shot. “Memorize his face and make sure everyone sees this,” Rook said.
Cait stared at the hairline scar zigzagging from Wally’s left eye to his jaw. “Looks like he got caught on the wrong end of a blade.” She folded the page into a neat square and tucked it into a pocket of her jeans. “Someone should have seen something or heard something.” She glanced off in the distance but didn’t find an answer.
“It was dark and late, and only the actors and a couple of crew members were left, but we may have something better,” McCloud said.
She noticed McCloud had left his drab clothing and bland demeanor behind. Today he wore khakis, black sports shirt, and running shoes. “What?”
“A gum wrapper, like the one found in Ray Stoltz’s truck.”
She shrugged. “Prints become illegible over time, particularly on a small piece of paper.”
“Not when there’s a wad of gum inside the wrapper.”
She grinned. “The guy’s a neat freak? Go figure.”
McCloud nodded. “We handed it over to an officer to take back to HQ. He’ll see that it’s sent to the county crime lab for DNA. I think we have good cause to get it moved to the head of the line.”
“That would be helpful. I don’t think Wally’s mug shot matches the guy I saw at Trader Joe’s,” Cait said.
“The guy you saw could be his accomplice,” Rook said. “Wally probably networked and put out the word he needed an AK-47 or whatever.”
Tormenting fear and anger raced down Cait’s spine. “I should be so popular.”
“We’ll know for sure when the results of the DNA on that wad of gum are back.”
“Can’t be soon enough,” Cait said. “I have to see Ray.”
She didn’t have far to look for Ray. When Cait and the Harts walked into the courtyard, they saw Ray pacing the bricks. “Where’s Kenneth Alt?” he snapped.
“Calm down, Ray,” Cait said. “You’re the stage manager, not me. If you’ve misplaced one of your actors, find him.”
“Alt is not one of my actors.”
“Well, he is now, unless you can play Hamlet.”
Ray looked to the sky, as if searching for an answer. “Good grief! This is one hell of a mess.”
“Yes, it is,” Cait said, “but we have to deal with it. Any suggestions where Alt might be staying?”
“How would I know? He isn’t even supposed to be here.”
“True, but be grateful he is. Without him, all those patrons who bought tickets for this afternoon’s matinee will be disappointed,” Cait said. “So let’s find him.”
“Wait,” June said. “I overheard Kenneth telling someone about a fancy B and B in the vineyards.”
“Rook should know where it is,” Cait said. She pulled her phone from a pocket and called him.
“What is it?” he answered. “No more bodies, I hope.”
“We need to find Kenneth Alt right away. He may be staying at a B and B. Where’s the closest one?”
“The Purple Orchid Inn on Cross Road,” Rook said, “but now it’s a resort and spa.”
“Any others?”
“White Crane Winery. Not far. It’s out Greenville Road. It was a B and B, but I heard they specialize in weddings now.”
“Neither sounds like something Alt would—”
“What the hell happened now?” someone yelled.
Cait turned. She never thought she’d be so happy to see Kenneth Alt, yet there he was running toward them, arms flailing as if in a panic.
“Who’s that?” Rook asked over the phone.
“That would be Alt,” Cait said. “He must have seen your crime scene tape, because he’s freaking out. I would appreciate it if you’d come to the courtyard and tell him what happened before he has a heart attack. We need him healthy so he can take over for Chip.”
His face flushed, Alt said, “That yellow tape could only mean one thing. Whatever happened, I had nothing to do with it.”
Cait rolled her eyes. I hope you didn’t. “Calm down, Kenneth. Detective Rook will be here in a minute.”
“Was someone shot?”
She reflected on the earlier gunshot, but was saved from replying when Jim said, “Here comes Detective Rook.”
Alt rushed to meet Rook. “What’s happened now?”
“One of your colleagues was murdered,” Rook bluntly said.
Alt looked at Cait, his face ashen. “Who?”
“Chip Fallon.”
“Oh, my God!” Alt staggered and grabbed hold of the gate for support. He stumbled over to the brick wall around the courtyard and sat on the edge. “You’re wrong. It can’t be Chip.” He bowed his head. “I talked to him last night. I apologized for being an ass.”
“You accused him of messing up his role,” Cait said.
His head jerked up. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”
“Hold on,” Rook said. “No one is accusing you of anything. But I have to ask what you and Fallon talked about. You may have been the last person to see him alive. Except for the killer.”
“Alive, yes,” Alt said. “We always argued, but he was alive when we parted. He wanted to know why I was here.”
“What did you tell him?” Rook asked.
“That it was none of his business.”
“Well, it’s my business now,” Rook said, “so tell me.”
His eye flicked on Cait. “It’s personal.”
Warning bells went off in her head. Personal? He’s here because of me?
“Where are you staying?” Rook asked.
“The Hilton, other side of the freeway.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on leaving town,” Cait said. “Without Hamlet, there’s no matinee,” she said as she checked the time on her cell, “which starts in four hours. Will you take Chip’s place?” So much for subtlety.
Alt dropped his head into his hands. When he looked up again, he nodded. “Of course. I’ve played the part enough times to do it in my sleep.”
Relieved, Cait let out her breath. “Thank you, Kenneth. I appreciate how difficult it will be for you.”
June went over to Alt and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Kenneth, I don’t think you killed Chip, but you can understand how the constant arguing between the two of you makes you appear suspect.”
Alt nodded and stared down at his folded hands. “This is terrible. I admit I was jealous of Chip, his age, his looks. I know he was a good actor, maybe even a great one.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “I didn’t kill him. You have to believe me.”
“I totally understand the age thing, Kenneth,” June said, “but that’s no excuse to yell at and belittle your colleague and make the rest of us uncomfortable.”
Cait shook her head as if she hadn’t heard right. Did Alt just admit he was jealous of Chip? She didn’t believe he killed Chip. He didn’t have the backbone. She looked at Detective Rook. “Could you remove the crime tape before it turns people away? They’ve paid good money to come here to be entertained, not be part of a murder scene.”
Rook nodded. “I’ll see to it.” He stared hard at Alt. “We’re not done. Don’t leave town.”
“How was Chip murdered?”
Rook hesitated. “He was strangled.”
“Strangled with what?” Cait asked.
“A bolo tie.”
Cait gasped. She flashed on the drunken rodeo guy who tried to get in the Elizabethan theater. Was it possible he’d returned after the police escorted him out?