“I WAS WAITING TO SEE who would come back for it,” Dillon said, stepping forward. “Thought it might be you. You see, when a person loses an earring, usually they’re still wearing the other one.”
“Wh-what?” Isobel stammered, her heart pounding.
“When I asked earlier why you came out here, you said it was to find a lost earring. But you weren’t wearing earrings. You were looking for this, weren’t you?”
He held up a plastic evidence bag, and Isobel saw the charred image of Arden’s face, just as Sunil had described.
“So it was still here,” she murmured.
Dillon put a hand on her arm. “Suppose we go down to the station, and you tell me why you were burning a photo of the actress you were understudying?”
Isobel flinched, but Dillon’s grip held firm.
“I wasn’t burning it. Chris was.”
“Chris?”
“Chris Marshall, who plays Sousa. Sunil saw him.” She hollered over her shoulder, “Sunil! They found the photo!”
There was no response. Dillon gave a nod, and Pemberthy appeared from behind him. She walked back out to the alley entrance and looked up and down the street.
“There’s no one else, sir.”
“What? Delphi and Sunil were here a minute ago! You’ve got to find them.” Isobel clutched Dillon’s other arm, suddenly terrified. “Something’s happened to them.”
“Are you sure they were with you?”
Isobel gaped at him. “Of course I’m sure!”
“They seem to have left you in the lurch,” Dillon remarked.
Isobel’s eyes blazed. “Okay, you’re right. We came back tonight to look for the photo. Sunil told us about it after the show, and I insisted we come out here to look for it, and that’s when we found Thomas.”
Dillon eyed her. “If that’s the case, why didn’t Sunil come to us about the photo as soon as Arden’s murder came to light?”
“I think he forgot about it until now.”
Dillon gestured theatrically around the alley, empty but for the three of them.
“I would, but he doesn’t seem to be here. Let’s go.” He led Isobel toward the alley entrance.
She stumbled along next to him, continuing her story. “We didn’t want to tell you about Chris without having possession of the photo. He dropped it when Sunil surprised him in the act of burning it right before the show opening night. Chris pretended he’d come out here to say the rosary, but Sunil stayed outside after he left and found it. He was going to take the photo then and there, but he didn’t want Chris to figure out he had it. And like I said, he only told me about it tonight. That’s why we came out after the show came down, and that’s why we came back now. Without the photo in hand it would have been Chris’s word against Sunil’s. I promise, if you test that photo, you’ll find Sunil’s and Chris’s prints on it, but not mine.”
Dillon shook his head in wonder. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“You’re wasting your time with me. You should be questioning Chris.”
“Hey! Let go of her!”
Isobel flushed with relief at the sound of Sunil’s voice. He and Delphi sprinted toward Dillon’s car.
“Where were you guys?” Isobel yelled.
“We walked around the block to keep warm,” Delphi said, panting as they drew near. “We told you. Didn’t you hear us?”
“No, I didn’t. Sunil, tell Detective Dillon what you saw opening night,” Isobel demanded. She tapped her foot impatiently as Sunil repeated, pretty much verbatim, what she had already told Dillon. When he finished, she turned to the detective. “Do you think you could let go of me now?”
Dillon obliged, and Isobel made a show of rubbing her arm, although he hadn’t really hurt her.
“Tell me about Chris and Arden. What kind of relationship did they have?” Dillon asked Sunil.
“We were all annoyed by her diva act, but it seemed to get to Chris more than the rest of us. It got to the point where he’d pretty much stopped talking to her,” Sunil said. “Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”
Isobel took up the question. “He seemed shaken up when he found out Arden was dead, which is a point in his favor, I suppose.”
“And Arden was sitting on his knee—the way you do now in that song, the one with the inane lyrics—when she collapsed?” Dillon asked.
“They all have inane lyrics,” Isobel said. “But yes, that’s the one. Now that you’ve seen me do it, you can imagine it. One minute she was sitting there, and the next minute she was on the floor. But my idea about the bustle might be wrong. Chris could have injected her with something.”
“The fact that the costume designer is dead makes me think you might be right, but we won’t know for sure until the tests come back.”
“That doesn’t necessarily rule Chris out. He could have been the one who tampered with the bustle. Why don’t you ask him why he was burning a photo of Arden an hour before he killed her?”
“Talk about leading the witness.” Dillon opened the car door. “Get in. All of you.”
Isobel crossed her arms. “Before you rush us to the station, my point—and I actually had one—is that now you have the photo. We came back here to find it to bring to you. So you got here first, whatever. The end result is the same.”
“What are you talking about?” Dillon asked. “I’m giving you a ride home. It’s freezing.”
Chagrined, Isobel got into the car, and Delphi and Sunil piled in silently after her.
“Where do you all live?” Dillon asked.
“Four blocks down and one over.”
“Theater put you up?”
“In a condo.”
Dillon caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Who lives there?”
“The three of us, Hugh, and Talia. Chris, Marissa, and Ezra live in another one. Arden lived there too. It’s two blocks away from ours.”
“That’s it, up ahead on the right,” Sunil said.
Dillon pulled over and turned around to face the back seat.
“See what else you can find out about Chris and Arden. What kind of history they had that would lead him to burn that photo.”
“I thought you were going to question him,” Isobel said, surprised.
“I am,” Dillon said. “See what you can get from the others. You know, you’re not doing too badly so far.”
FELICITY BREATHED A SIGH of relief when the detective’s car pulled away. She’d heard voices but couldn’t identify them, and she didn’t dare peek out the window to see who had shown up. She’d known there would be a continued police presence at the back of the theater, but she hadn’t expected a mob. When the last security guards left the building for the night, she had shut the lights off. It didn’t matter; she knew exactly where to find what she needed. Things were getting out of hand, she thought, as she stuffed the file into her oversized bag. If any of this got traced back to her, it would be all too easy for the police to draw the wrong conclusion. At this point, there was nothing to do but make sure there was no trail, paper or electronic. She glanced at her computer screen, which she had dimmed to a faint glow. One minute left. She examined her manicure and contemplated her endgame, but no clear path emerged. There were too many unknowns.
The computer chimed, and she nodded, satisfied, at her empty trash icon. Then Felicity switched her computer off and slipped out of her office, quietly closing the door behind her.