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What an interesting thing to say, Sandra thought. She had assumed it was an accident. Hadn’t everyone? She’d only had second thoughts when she saw the hammer, and no one else—that she knew of, anyway—had seen the hammer. She climbed the last few steps and looked down at the pile of tools. Sure enough: no hammer.
She looked up at Frank. “I don’t know if it was an accident. How many times has Treasure been up and down these stairs? This is like a second home to her. Maybe someone pushed her.” Frank gasped, and Sandra felt guilty for being so dramatic. But then she looked down at Treasure’s lifeless body and didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “Maybe it was an accident, but I doubt it.”
Frank abruptly grabbed her arm. “Not a word!”
“What?” She yanked her arm out of his grasp.
“Don’t say a word about your suspicions. I don’t want everyone panicking, and I don’t want rumors starting about this theater.”
She nodded. “Deal.” She would stay as quiet as possible, but not because she was worried about the theater’s reputation. If there was a murderer sneaking about, she didn’t want to tip her hand. Sandra’s eyes surveyed the rest of the landing, looking for other clues. She leaned toward the decrepit handrail for a closer look.
“Stop that,” Frank hissed.
A chill went down Sandra’s spine. Frank had been in the bathroom when Treasure had fallen, right? So he couldn’t have been here, right? So why was he so adamant that she be willfully ignorant about the situation they were in?
He answered the question she hadn’t asked aloud: “If you look suspicious, others will catch the suspicion.”
“Then go distract them,” she said quickly. “I’ll just be a minute.” She wasn’t giving up that spot. There could be clues that someone could easily remove if given a chance.
“Fine.” He took a big breath. “Everyone,” he called out with a clear, strong voice, “return to the auditorium, please! Use the front stairs.”
Frank disappeared, and Sandra resumed her study of the small area. It didn’t take long for her to see a narrow, bright red mark on the dingy white wall inside of the handrail. Her stomach turned. That sure looked like Mrs. Walton’s shade. She slipped back down the stairs and bent to look at Treasure’s right hand, taking care not to touch it. Sure enough, a nail was broken. For the first time, fear made an appearance in Sandra’s mind, and she didn’t like it. She was going to need some help. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently prayed, “Please, God, send Bob quick.” Her eyes popped open as she said amen, and she took another look. Treasure must have grabbed the hammer, right? How else could it have gotten down the stairs and under the register? She could’ve knocked it off the ledge, but it wasn’t likely. The bag of nails was closer to the edge, as was the electric drill, and those things remained unmoved, despite the drill’s cord dangling down and begging to be yanked. So, she’d grabbed the hammer, but why? Who breaks their nail on a wall and then reaches for a hammer before plunging backward to her death?
Someone who was pushed—that’s who.
Sandra needed Bob. Right now.
While she waited, without confidence that he would ever show up, she continued to examine the landing and the stairs, but didn’t see anything else interesting.
“Sandra!”
She recognized that voice. Jan, the stage manager. The woman was a shrew, an utter control freak, and Sandra was finding it difficult to love her.
“Sandra! Come out here!” she called again.
Giving one last glance around, and hoping Bob was on his way, Sandra stepped back out into the main room to find everyone seated and silent. Corina still cried. Billy looked to be on the verge. She’d known he was a big softie. Peter looked scared, and Sandra quickly went to him, sat down beside him, and put her arm around his shoulders, relieved that he let her.
“We’ve decided we all need to stay together until the police get here,” Jan announced.
Sandra wondered who “we” was. Frank didn’t look to be in agreement. In fact, he looked like he was in a colonoscopy waiting room.
“I’ve gone around the entire perimeter of the building,” Billy said softly. “And there are no tire tracks or footprints. So that means one of us is a murderer.”
That explained Frank’s expression. So much for pretending there’d been an accident.
Jan held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Those stairs are treacherous. I am certain that she simply fell.” She glared over her glasses at Billy. “But neither you nor Sandra are police officers, so stop pretending you are.” She moved her glare to Sandra. “We will wait here for the police, who will, no doubt, declare that this was an unfortunate accident.”
For a moment, everyone was silent, looking around the room to see if anyone was wearing a “murderer” name tag.
“When will they get here?” Peter asked softly.
“Any minute,” Jan said, and Sandra laughed out loud.
Worried that her laugh had been a smidgen ill-timed, she hastened to add, “It’ll be at least a half-hour.”
“More than that,” Billy said. “It’s changed to freezing rain out there.”