IF ISOBEL AND DELPHI found the delayed curtain an additional source of agitation, Sunil was relieved, because it gave him more time to think. Loyalty demanded he tell them what he’d witnessed the night before, but he didn’t want Isobel to go off half-cocked. Although she had gotten through opening night like a pro, finding out what Chris had been up to right before curtain couldn’t fail to unnerve her, especially now that she was playing opposite him. It had unnerved Sunil when their discussion about Arden, the pranks, and the stage manager’s book had cast a new light on what he’d seen.
Opening night, after Kelly had called five, he had gone outside despite the cold to clear his head and say the little prayer he always said before a first performance. Chris was standing behind a dumpster, and at first Sunil hadn’t noticed him. But as Sunil paced back and forth, he caught sight of a tiny flame and called out, startling Chris, who jumped into view.
“Sorry, I thought something was on fire,” Sunil apologized.
“My lighter.” Chris fumbled in the dark. “I was saying the rosary. Always do before opening night. Just wanted to see what I was doing.”
“That’s why I came outside. To say a prayer.”
“Is there a Hindu god of actors?”
“I’m Jewish. And while you’d think there would be, there isn’t.”
Chris walked over to him. “Are you adopted?”
“No, I’m an Indian Jew.”
“Is there such a thing?” Chris gave an exaggerated Borscht Belt shrug. “Who knew?”
“Most people don’t. Some say we’re the lost tribe.”
“You must—”
“Eat well, yeah. We do.”
They stood in silence a moment. Then Chris said, “We should probably go in. It’ll be places soon.”
“I’ll come in a sec. I need another moment.”
It was Chris’s hesitation following through on his move to go inside that made Sunil suspicious. That and the fact that Chris had held up the lighter, but not a rosary. He walked over to where Chris had been standing. An LED on the side of the building cast a shaded glow on the far side of the dumpster. Chris wouldn’t have needed a lighter to see. What was he doing, and why did he react so guiltily?
Look at me. I’m turning into Isobel, Sunil thought.
He squatted on the ground. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but figured he’d know when he found it. It didn’t take long. A charred piece of paper was nestled by the corner of the dumpster. When he picked it up, he saw it was a string of nearly identical photographs, the kind from a five-dollar photo booth. Chris hadn’t succeeded in burning it all the way, and enough of the woman’s face remained in the top photo that Sunil recognized it immediately as Arden’s.
His first instinct was to pocket the damaged photo, but he thought better of it and replaced it on the ground. No doubt Chris would come back to finish the job, and if the photo was gone, Chris would know Sunil had taken it. At that point, Arden was still alive, and Sunil had put it out of his mind in order to concentrate on the show. Even now with Arden dead, the fact that Chris burned a photo of her didn’t make him guilty of—well, anything, except littering. But Sunil had forgotten about the note in Isobel’s script, and suddenly it was impossible to deny that Chris’s behavior seemed distinctly ominous.
By the time Kelly called places at twenty after the hour, Sunil still hadn’t decided whether it was wise to tell Isobel what her costar had been up to opening night. Delphi’s hand slid into his as they waited in the wings for their first entrance. He squeezed it affectionately.
“You okay?” he asked.
“More or less. I’m glad it’s you out there with me.”
“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get too used to it. And after this, I swear I’m never doing a musical again. They’re terrible for your health.”
THOUGH SHE WOULD NEVER have admitted it to her friends, Isobel was slightly disappointed that nothing else went amiss after Kelly got hold of Dan’s prompt book. In fact, all things considered, the second performance went quite well. Isobel fumbled a lyric in the first-act finale, and Delphi almost missed her entrance as the hotel maid in act two, but overall it was a success and they acquitted themselves admirably in their new roles. For the first time since the ten-out-of-twelve, Isobel relaxed. Any initial misgivings about taking her Equity card vanished somewhere during the second-act love duet with Chris, when she finally internalized that the role of Jennie was now hers.
“Full company in the house, please,” Kelly announced over the monitor. “As soon as you can, please change and come down. Thank you.”
Talia paused with a makeup wipe in her hand. “Do you think it’s the producers wanting to talk to us?”
“They didn’t show,” Isobel said.
Talia’s face fell. “Were they ever coming?”
“Apparently they were and they canceled. It’s probably just notes.”
Delphi appeared in the doorway. “Are you heading down?”
“Yeah, give me a sec.”
Isobel threw on her sweater and gathered her bags. She didn’t really think it was notes. The urgency in Kelly’s voice hinted at something more serious, and she had a pretty good idea what it was. Delphi’s expression indicated that she had drawn the same conclusion. Either Talia didn’t have a suspicious mind or she was playing dumb. Given what Isobel and Sunil had overheard in Price Chopper, she was inclined toward the latter.
They were among the last downstairs. Felicity stood in the aisle in front of the stage, talking to an unfamiliar man, while a sedately dressed woman lurked a few feet away.
Isobel nudged Delphi. “Detectives.”
“Amazingly, I got that far myself,” Delphi retorted.
Ezra, Jethro, Kelly, and Heather were down front, while the rest of the company, including Thomas and Dan, the tech director, were scattered throughout the auditorium. Talia followed a few moments later and joined Marissa, who had taken over several seats with her belongings. Chris was by himself a few rows behind. The orchestra sat off to one side, looking put out. Oliver was there, but Geoff was nowhere in sight.
Sunil made room for Isobel and Delphi as Felicity brought them all to attention.
“I wish a meeting of this kind weren’t necessary, but unfortunately, recent events make it unavoidable.” Her usually authoritative voice held a note of unsteadiness. “I’m not in a position to say more, so I’ll turn it over to Detective Dillon.”
Detective Dillon stepped forward. He had black hair, graying at the temples, hooded eyes, and a wide, friendly face. But the words he spoke were anything but warm.
“I regret to inform you that your colleague, Arden Claire Horowitz, did not die of natural causes. Preliminary toxicology reports indicate that she died of acute nicotine poisoning.”
There was a collective gasp. As the memory of Felicity’s words on the phone, “I don’t think Arden smoked,” ran through Isobel’s mind, she scanned the theater to see who either looked unfazed or was overreacting. But it was a group of actors. They all looked like they were overreacting, even if they were pretending to be unfazed.
“We will need to interview all of you. I know it’s late, and we won’t be able to get to everyone tonight. Please check in with my colleague, Sergeant Pemberthy. She has a list of everyone involved in the production, and she will let you know if we’ll be speaking with you tonight or first thing tomorrow.” Dillon glanced at a piece of paper. “Where is Isobel Spice?”
“Here.” Isobel’s voice came out in a squeak.
Detective Dillon met her eye across the auditorium. “We’ll start with you.”