Saturday evening, Dylan and I left his car in front of the new Thai restaurant where we’d enjoyed a delicious dinner before walking the few blocks to the library. With so many people attending the play reading, I knew we’d never find a parking space in the library lot. It was a balmy night, and the streets around the Green were filled with pedestrians enjoying the fine weather along with residents lucky to have gotten tickets to the play reading.
We greeted Sally, who stood outside the library’s main entrance checking tickets. Since this was a community event, as Sally put it, I was relieved of guard duty. Whatever the reason, I was glad Dylan and I had seats in the meeting room downstairs. Still, I had every intention of strolling about the main level early on in the performance to make sure the audience sitting there could hear every word. Though Ralph had assured me the temporary system he’d installed was working properly and I hadn’t arranged this particular event, I still considered it my job to see to it that all was running smoothly.
“Happy?” Dylan asked as he squeezed my hand.
“Very,” I answered, and leaned over to give him a quick kiss.
“Me too,” he said.
Downstairs, Marion and Norman Tobin, our new reference librarian, were checking patrons’ names at the door to make sure only those with tickets entered the meeting room. Dylan and I stopped to chat with friends and acquaintances. I was surprised at how many people he knew, though I shouldn’t have been. Dylan had grown up in Clover Ridge.
My mother came over to talk to us, all excited about the upcoming event. And she had good news. Tom had auditioned for a new movie, and they’d just received word that he’d gotten the part. We found seats near John and Sylvia and made plans to go out for coffee after the performance.
A few minutes after eight o’clock, the four actors took their seats at the long table in front of us. Charlie, who was acting as emcee, introduced the other actors and himself, said a few words about the playwright, A. R. Gurney, and the reading began.
Though I’d watched a few of the movie scenes being filmed, I wasn’t prepared for the amazing presence that each of the four actors brought to the reading. Even without scenery and props, their portrayals of a WASP family having cocktails were so powerful, I found myself totally absorbed in the family dynamics. There was a mother, father, brother, and sister. Just like my family, except that these characters weren’t like my family at all. John, the son, had written a play called The Cocktail Hour, and big surprise! It was all about his family—the four people having cocktails together. John wanted his father’s permission to put on the play in New York, but things weren’t going quite as he had hoped.
I was so entranced that several minutes had passed before I remembered my intention to check on the acoustics on the upper level.
“Be right back,” I whispered to Dylan as I slipped out of my seat and left the room.
Upstairs, I walked around the dimly lit reading room and alcoves where patrons were listening to the reading of The Cocktail Hour. The sound system was working beautifully. The voices of the four actors came through clear and resonant. Everyone appeared to be listening with rapt attention.
Satisfied, I headed for the staircase in anticipation of enjoying the rest of the reading in my seat downstairs. As I passed Billy and his mother, Sheila reached out and grabbed my wrist. It was the grip of someone in great distress. I had no choice but to kneel before her.
“It’s her!” she said.
“Who?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“It’s Helen. Helen Stravos!”
“Shh,” someone close by said. Another scowled at her.
Sheila lowered her tone to a whisper. “I know that voice! It’s Helen. You have to call Lieutenant Mathers.”
For a moment, I thought she’d gone crazy. Then, as I listened to the reading, it all came together. The way a jigsaw puzzle does when the last piece is put in its place. Of course! Serena Harris was Helen Stravos.
She’d changed her name. The color of her hair. Her profession.
Hattie’s barrette was a gift from Serena. They were friends. No, they were lovers.
Poor Daphne must have recognized Serena or intuited she was her mother’s friend all those years ago and said she wanted to talk to her. Or Helen/Serena had recognized Daphne because she looked like her mother and decided to tie up loose ends.
But where did Ilana come into the picture?
“Please, Carrie. Call him now!”
I nodded to Sheila, then to Billy, who, I gathered by his expression, understood what his mother wanted me to do.
I realized I’d left my pocketbook with my cell phone on my seat. I asked Billy for his phone, then dashed to the ladies’ room and dialed John’s cell number.
It rang three times. Finally he answered. “Who’s this?” he asked in a gruff whisper.
“John, it’s me. I’m calling from Billy Harper’s phone.”
“Where are you?” John asked. I got the impression he was walking. No doubt exiting the meeting room as fast as he could.
“Upstairs. Sheila identified Helen Stravos. She recognized her voice.”
“She’s in the library?”
“On the stage,” I said. “She’s Serena Harris.”
John muttered a string of curses, so I figured he was in the hall where no one but me could hear him. “Is she sure? I mean, she hasn’t talked to this woman in twenty years.”
“Oh yes, and she’s terribly upset,” I said. “It all makes sense, John. Did you ever check Serena’s history?”
“I did, and I noticed that her early history was sketchy. It didn’t set off any alarms. Damn it, it should have. I should have looked at her bio more closely.”
“At least you have the hairs found in Ilana’s hotel room.”
“There’s that,” he said glumly. “Is an intermission coming up anytime soon?
“At the end of act one, about fifteen minutes from now.”
“I’m calling Danny and ordering him to get some backup. Meanwhile, return to your seat ASAP. Act cool.”
“Right,” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry, Carrie. Everything will turn out fine.”
Somehow I wasn’t reassured. Serena was nobody’s fool. She’d seen John leave his seat when I called him. If he’d as much as glanced at her, Serena would have realized something was in the wind.
Would she stop in the middle of the reading and try to make a run for it? John wasn’t prepared to take down a suspect fleeing past a roomful of people. I hoped Danny showed up very soon, along with a few carloads of state troopers.
I returned to my seat. Dylan wanted to know what had taken me so long.
“Don’t look surprised,” I whispered in his ear, “but the killer is right in front of you. Serena Harris.”
God bless my boyfriend. He absorbed what I’d told him with a smile and leaned over to kiss me.
I tried to concentrate on the performance taking place before me and not stare in horror at Serena Harris aka Helen Stravos. Who would have thought that this beautiful, personable woman had murdered three people and tried to poison a fourth? Reflecting back on our conversations, I realized what a consummate actress she was—both on and off the stage. Twenty years ago she’d murdered Chet Harper for her lover’s sake, or so she’d claimed. He had been a violent man. It might even have been a case of self-defense. But why did she have to kill Daphne and Ilana twenty years later?
Minutes passed. The play reading went on. I began to wonder if Serena knew the game was up as she continued to perform her role as the mother with humor and warmth. I got my answer the moment the lighting on the four actors dimmed. Serena leaped to her feet, sprinted up the aisle farthest from John’s seat, and made a beeline for the door at the back of the room. John raced up his aisle. People turned to watch the two runners. A few stood. Dylan and I scooted out of our row and chased after Serena. We burst up the stairs in time to see Danny Brower snapping handcuffs on her and reading her her rights.
I turned to Dylan. “It’s over.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sound disappointed.”
“I admired Serena. I was hoping it wasn’t her or anyone involved in the movie.”
Dylan laughed. “We can’t pick our murderers, now, can we?”