Chapter 22

A flurry of gasps sounded from the stage. The dancers and musicians stared at the Connors uneasily.

“What are you talking about?” Martha asked. “Of course it’s Elspeth.”

“That girl we saw is not our daughter,” Mrs. Connor said meekly.

“Well, who is it then, Detective?” Armand asked.

Detective Doyle shook his head. “They’re saying they can’t positively identify her. I tend to believe them, based on the family photos they brought with them from Seattle.”

“Tell them about the contacts,” Mr. Connor said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Doyle crossed his arms tightly, the shoulders of his coat rising a few inches to reach his ears. “It appears our murder victim had her hair dyed red and was wearing emerald green contacts. She’s really a brunette with brown eyes.”

“What is going on?” Penelope whispered to Arlena, who shrugged in response.

“I assure you,” Armand said, “the same person who was in our rehearsals is the same person who auditioned and won a spot in our troupe.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Doyle asked. “You’re willing to swear to that?”

Armand nodded his head, but a look of uncertainty had settled on his face.

“It’s just that…” Martha said cautiously, “we auditioned over three hundred dancers…it’s possible to confuse one with another, Armand, isn’t it? When we meet them for three minutes at a time, most of them unknown to us?”

Armand shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his hands together. “Well, putting it that way, I guess anything is possible.”

“How many faces can you really remember out of all of them?” Martha continued. “Sometimes I’m just looking at their legs, to make sure they’ll match up on the kick line, if they’re strong enough to hold the line all season.”

Armand pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Martha as always is very wise. But from what we knew, she was Elspeth Connor, at least the past few weeks during rehearsal.”

“If anyone here has any information about the identity of the woman found in the alley, we are asking you to come forward now,” Detective Doyle said.

Several of the dancers shook their heads. A couple of them had tears in their eyes.

“Now I want you all to think back,” Doyle urged them. “Did at any point the woman you knew as Elspeth Connor call herself by another name, in passing, or by mistake? Or maybe something she said didn’t line up, or sounded off to you?”

Most of the dancers continued to shake their heads or just stare at him. Mrs. Connor sat down carefully in the nearest audience chair and twisted her handkerchief in her fingers.

One of the violinists in the orchestra pit raised his hand. He was a lanky young man with a dark mop of black hair and thick glasses. “I overheard her on the phone once. She mentioned something about a friend back home in Phoenix. I remember she said she was from Seattle, though. I wasn’t trying to listen, I just overheard by accident.”

Doyle sighed. “That’s great, thank you. Anyone else hear something that might help us identify her?”

“Have you asked Abigail?” Penelope asked. “Her roommate would probably know the most about who she was.”

“She’s home sick today,” Martha said. “Resting in bed.”

“Okay, maybe there’s something in Elspeth’s things…” Doyle paused. “I mean, our victim’s things that can help sort this out.”

“I can go with you, let you in,” Penelope said, then glanced at Arlena. She stood and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.

“You’re leaving?” Arlena asked.

Penelope nodded. “I need some air. And I want to check out the space we’ll be working out of anyway, so I can let them into the building, so Martha and Armand don’t have to. I’ll be back to watch the show with you tonight.”

“Okay,” Arlena said. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Penelope said. “I want to see what it’s like over there.”