Chapter 5

I hadn’t fainted, and I’d been able to remove my hand from the hammer without help from either Jake or Shannon. That meant I was learning something or that the imprint, though horrendous, had been too short to hold me in a repeating loop. I suspected the latter, but for whatever reason, I was grateful Shannon wouldn’t find me mopping the floor with my face—again.

Now to find something to wipe my cheek before Shannon and the crew showed up looking for me.

I was too late. Already I could hear Walsh coming in the back door, complaining about the brick holding open the door, how it was impossible to stop the show, and his concern about inconveniencing his customers.

I stood and grabbed the nearest thing I could find for my cheek—a winter scarf that was so full of dust, I’d have to wash my wound thoroughly later to be sure it didn’t become infected.

“Autumn?” Shannon peered through the dimness. “That you?” He came toward me, sturdily built and compact, each movement unwasted and undeniably graceful.

“Hi, Detective Martin.” Better to keep it formal in front of Walsh and the police officers.

“I thought I told you to stay with the body.” He took several steps closer.

I shrugged. “Jake’s got it. No one will touch anything.”

“I can personally vouch for all my actors,” Walsh said. “None of the people in my company has anything to do with this dreadful act. We vet our actors very carefully.”

Which likely meant he hired any halfway decent actor willing to accept substandard pay, but Shannon would discover the truth about the company’s financials without my interference.

“I’m sure you do,” Shannon said dryly, his eyes not leaving mine. “What happened to your face?”

“I, uh, was looking around in here and had a little run-in with a guy in a black mask,” I told him. “I chased him outside, but he took off in a car just before you arrived.”

Shannon’s expression darkened. “You get the license plate or a make?”

“Too far away. Too dark.”

Everyone was interested now, especially Walsh, who looked ready to accuse me of lying.

“I did, however, find something of interest,” I added. Something I didn’t want to talk about in front of Walsh. “If I could talk to you privately.”

Shannon finally took his gaze off me and waved the others to go on without him. “You know the drill. I’ll be along in a minute.” He smiled at Walsh. “If you’d be so kind as to show them the way.”

Walsh’s jaw jutted from his round face, but he didn’t object. I wondered if he was as compelled by Shannon’s eyes as everyone else always seemed to be. Okay, maybe not everyone. Maybe just me.

“Let’s have it,” Shannon said when they were gone. “What happened?”

I told him everything, from the moment I arrived at the theater to reading the imprint on the hammer.

“Don’t you have your gun?”

“What? I am not shooting anyone.” The weight of the small pistol weighed more heavily than ever in my coat pocket.

“He tried to hit you with a hammer.”

“Rather ineptly.”

His hand went to my chin, turning my face so he could examine it. “This isn’t nothing.”

His touch burned my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing. “That was me falling.”

His hand dropped. “Okay, so where’s this hammer?”

I pointed to where I had kicked it earlier, nearly under the table. “You won’t find any of my attacker’s prints, though. He was wearing gloves, those socklike ones.”

“You sure it was a he?”

“Actually, no. He wasn’t really big, so I suppose it could have been a she. At any rate, I didn’t receive any other imprints when I touched the hammer. Just one of someone attacking a woman with long brown hair.”

“Our vic?”

“I’m not sure. She does have long hair, though, and it’s the right color. Like Tawnia’s, only longer. It could be anyone. I couldn’t identify the person wielding the hammer, either. All he concentrated on as he struck was the hair.”

“He or she.”

“Right. As for the murder vic tonight, I didn’t see any blood.”

“You might not if she was killed somewhere else and then shoved into that closet. In fact, that’s likely. Who attacks someone in a closet? The murderer might have thought to hide the body until there was time to dispose of it without being caught.”

Body. How sad to be reduced to such a word. Not woman or man. No names, just “body” or “vic” or “it.”

“We’ll know more once we have the cause and time of death.” Shannon took a glove from his pocket. He and his coworkers seemed to carry gloves the way most people carried chewing gum. The glove was followed by a plastic bag to hold the hammer. He marked on the outside with pen. It said a lot about his increasing trust in me that he didn’t spend fifteen minutes trying to talk me out of what I’d seen, and that warmed my heart much the way his hand had warmed my chin. Time was when he’d have threatened to lock me up for trying to sway the investigation with my ulterior motives, whatever they might be.

“Where’s Tracy?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen his partner.

“It’s her day off. Mine, too, before you ask.”

I knew that meant he’d come in because I was involved, not because he was the most successful detective on the force, though that could very well have been the case. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

He smiled and suddenly the space between us was too small. I swallowed hard and looked away. Jake is here, I reminded myself. He’s my boyfriend. Except that he wasn’t, not really, not anymore, though he wanted to be and I wanted him to be. Maybe.

“Anything else you want to see here?” Shannon asked, his voice thick with amusement—or perhaps something more.

There were many items I should probably touch, but I was feeling reluctant. “Not unless I have to. The imprints here are strange. It’s hard to tell which are real and which took place on the stage.”

“What about the hammer?”

“That was real.” But I was already beginning to doubt myself. If I touched it again maybe I could verify . . . No. I knew what I’d seen. That was real rage, and the woman had been seriously hurt. There’d been no fake blow.

Without further discussion, I led Shannon to the women’s dressing room, where his men had already finished with pictures and were well into dusting for prints in the closet and on the garbage can. The incredibly young coroner was kneeling over the body. Shannon didn’t feel a need to push himself into the activity around the corpse but waited for the initial conclusions. Meanwhile, his sharp eyes took in the few actresses still present—a blonde I’d overlooked before and Erica, who looked out-of-time with her long black wig twisting around her face in gentle ringlets.

Jake was standing back from the others, his hands in his coat pocket. He stared at my face, taking two steps toward me. “What happened?”

“A guy knocked me over in the prop room. I scraped myself on the floor. Don’t worry. I’m okay.” I’d explain more later, but that would have to hold him for now.

His jaw worked, but he nodded without further comment. Then his eyes met Shannon’s, and his head dipped. “Shannon.”

“Jake. Thanks for guarding the body.”

“No problem, but next time I’ll go with Autumn.”

“Next time?” Shannon arched a brow. “Let’s hope there’s no next time. Not for this.” He chuckled, and Jake grinned.

It still unsettled me to see them act so civilly when once they’d been at each other’s throats. Fact was that with my indecision, they both had more reason now to dislike each other, but apparently saving one another’s lives this past summer had created a permanent bond between them. It made things horribly awkward for me.

“You will try to be discreet with this investigation, won’t you?” Walsh came to stand before Shannon, twisting his hands. “I don’t want my customers disturbed. In fact, I’d rather they didn’t find out.”

Shannon shrugged. “Depending on time of death, we may have to detain them all.”

“Not necessary. Some of my ladies were in here at least an hour before any of our guests arrived, so it must have happened before. Our guests have nothing to do with this. This murder had to have been accomplished this afternoon when we left rehearsal for an early dinner.” His nostrils flared in distress. “If this gets out, it’s going to ruin us. Simply ruin us!”

I stifled an urge to roll my eyes. “Think of it this way,” I said. “You’ll probably be more packed than ever once people hear a real live murder happened here. Do you have any murder mysteries in your repertoire? Maybe you could start a murder dinner theater.”

Walsh glared at me. “Are you still here?”

“Where else would I be? I’m a witness now. Besides, I still don’t have any clue where Rosemary might be.”

“Believe me—I want you to find her. With Cheyenne gone, I don’t have anyone else to play Juliet.”

“Look,” Shannon asked, “did any of your actors not show up tonight—or leave early? Someone was prowling around a short time ago in your prop room.”

“Everyone showed up on time—except for Cheyenne.” Walsh’s brow furrowed. “And everyone is still here and accounted for. I gave one of your officers a full list, including my director and the janitor.”

“So you said Cheyenne was here for your afternoon rehearsal. Did she leave with everyone else?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see when everyone left. I told them they could go and then went to my office to get my keys. But I already told this to your officers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my duties. Can’t have any actors missing their cues. Erica, come with me. You’re on soon.”

Erica reluctantly followed him, her eyes lingering on Shannon. “I gave a statement to one of your detectives, but I’ll be back, if you want to talk to me yourself.” Gone was the woman with the attitude I’d met before. This woman was from another time—warm, compliant, soft. Must be the costume, I decided.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

Erica frowned and left the room, the ma’am title apparently not falling well on her shoulders. I stifled a laugh, though she was a beautiful woman, with or without the wig, and if she decided to pursue Shannon, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. He might even appreciate the attention in light of all the trouble I gave him.

After a moment’s hesitation, the unnamed blonde actress also hurried from the room.

The coroner arose from the body, shaking his shaggy dark head. “I believe the cause of death is poisoning. There’s no other apparent trauma, and with her skin still so pink and that bitter almond smell, it’s almost a given for cyanide.”

“I didn’t notice any smell,” I said.

The coroner pushed up his glasses and gave me a flat stare. “The ability to smell cyanide is genetic. I am particularly sensitive, and I know what to look for.”

“Autumn, this is Paul Carter. Paul, I think you’ve heard of Autumn Rain.”

Paul nodded. “Nice to finally meet you,” he said without real feeling, though his gaze was intent.

I could think of a whole lot of things I’d rather be doing. “You, too,” I said, though I was feeling a bit dissected with the way he was staring at me. Probably the scientific part of him wondering what made me tick.

“So no wound on the back of her head?” Shannon said.

Paul’s gaze shifted back to Shannon. “Not a thing. She’s been dead at least three hours, which puts the time of death around five. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

“When you’re ready, move her out.” Shannon turned to his other men. “None of the theater personnel can leave until you get a full statement and contact info from everyone. I want prints, alibis, and whatever else you think is necessary.”

“So the patrons can leave?”

“Yes, but we’ll need to make sure they’re really patrons. Inform the suits outside to keep an eye out for anyone who looks suspicious.” Shannon looked at me. “You’re sure none of the patrons were here when you arrived?”

“There were no cars out front at all. Only those in the back.” I frowned. “But that means the guy in black, the one in the prop room, was likely not responsible for the murder. His car wasn’t down the street when we arrived.”

“Maybe he came back, thinking to move the body while everyone was busy with the play.”

“But if he killed her when no one was here, he should have taken care of it then when no one was around. It doesn’t make sense to return or to hang around until the body is discovered.” My mind was racing. “Maybe he’s not connected to the murder at all. Maybe he has something to do with Rosemary’s disappearance instead.”

“Could be.” Shannon looked skeptical.

“I don’t see how he could be involved with Rosemary,” Jake said. “She was barely here a day.”

“Are you actually agreeing with each other?” Oops. I’d said that aloud.

“I believe the poison was administered somewhere besides this room,” Paul said as though there had been no interruption in his report. “We didn’t find anything related in the closet or garbage bin. But given the signs, death was quick, so the poisoning likely took place in this theater.”

I sighed. “Cyanide basically doesn’t allow the body to use oxygen, right?” You learn the oddest things as the child of hippie parents who owned an herb shop. “Are you saying she smothered to death while her killer watched? And then he moved her here?”

“Her heart probably gave out before she suffocated.” Paul gave me an apologetic smile, which made me like him a tiny bit more. I guess you had to develop a cold outer shell when you worked that kind of job. I knew Shannon had. “She probably went into a coma and then was moved here so time could finish the job.”

“We need to tear this place apart looking for any signs of poison,” Shannon said. “We’ll also have to check the homes of the entire acting company. Look for any possible cyanide connection.”

Poison. What a terrible way to go. “Wait,” I said, remembering something from earlier. “Could the cyanide have been administered in a glass of lemonade?”

Shannon, Paul, and Jake’s eyes were all on me now. Paul nodded. “The addition of the acid in the juice would help it work even faster.”

“There was a glass,” I said, “in the prop room that had an imprint. I saw freshly poured lemonade and someone stirring in a white powder. I thought it came from a play.” I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the imprint, but I remembered the fear beating in the actor’s heart and impending triumph as he or she mixed the liquid. Of course, the imprint had ceased after being set down, so I hadn’t witnessed the result, and since a similar imprint had repeated several times afterward, as though it had taken place during a rehearsal, I’d assumed it was fake, though the more recent imprint had felt real. Perhaps the murderer had simply acted out his plan several times before finally committing the deed. Then again, it could be completely unrelated.

“Show me,” Shannon said.

We hurried down the hall, accompanied by Jake, but when we reached the prop room and the table where I’d seen the glass, it wasn’t there.

“I remember the glass,” Jake said. “Autumn looked, well, involved in reading it.” Which meant I’d freaked him out, something I’d done a lot of this past year.

“The guy in black,” I said. “He must have taken it.”

“Could be.” Shannon looked thoughtful. “Or someone else already here could have taken it when you found the body. That means it may still be here. I’ll get everyone looking.”

“What about Rosemary?” I asked.

“She doesn’t yet seem to be connected to the murder.”

“She received a threatening note, and there was something else weird in one of her imprints.” I explained about the hairbrush and how the scene had shut off so abruptly.

Shannon studied me in silence for a minute. “What does Rosemary look like?”

“Narrow face, wide forehead. Green eyes. Long brown hair.” I felt the color drain from my face, though neither of the men could possibly see my reaction in the dim light. I took a deep breath before adding, “Her hair was long enough that she could have been the woman I saw hit with the hammer.”

If so, given how hard she’d been hit in that imprint, we might not be looking for Rosemary but her body.