“THANKS FOR GETTING back to me, Detective. Finally.” Isobel muttered this last bit after she hung up. She set her phone down on the dressing room table.
“What did he say?” Delphi asked.
“He reiterated that they have no physical evidence linking Chris to the murders.”
“What about the blood on his shirt?”
Isobel examined herself in the mirror and swept more blush onto her cheekbones. “Traces at best. You know wardrobe has to wash shirts after every show.”
“They can’t bring him in for more questioning?” Delphi persisted.
“Not without evidence.”
“I don’t think he’s sick. I think he’s gone.” When Isobel didn’t respond, Delphi asked, “Don’t you?”
“I’m not convinced.”
“But you think Talia’s telling the truth?”
Isobel turned her head to one side, squinted, and then examined the other side. “I think she’s telling the truth about what she saw, but she didn’t witness the actual murder. Don’t you think it’s possible Chris went out there and simply discovered the body?”
“Why would he have gone out there?”
“Same reason we did. To retrieve the photo.”
“During the show, though?”
Isobel stood and removed her act one costume from the rack. “I didn’t think so at first, but on the other hand, when better? He’s offstage at the top of act two when the ensemble is on. He knelt down to see if Thomas was alive and got blood on his shirt. If you bashed someone on the head, you’d be spattered with blood. It wouldn’t be a splotch on your shirttail.”
“That’s a good point.” Delphi positioned her bonnet atop her pile of curls and skewered it with a lethal-looking hatpin. “If it wasn’t Chris, then who was it?”
“Talia will defend him until the cows come home, and I’m sure Heather will too, but my money’s on Geoff. He wanted to shut down the show, and as Talia pointed out, Arden’s death didn’t do the trick. It didn’t even make a difference when foul play was discovered. It took a cache of rotting shrimp to get Felicity to cancel, and that was only for one night.”
“How would he have known about the loose wire on the bustle? Nobody saw him around during tech.”
“He heard about it from Talia or Heather. Or Oliver. He asks, ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Oh, Arden is a total diva, she was bitching about sitting on a wire,’ and the light bulb goes off.’” Isobel smoothed her bodice. “I’m going to go warm up.”
“You’re not nervous about tonight?”
Isobel laughed. “I think yesterday put the fear of God into Sunil. Haven’t you noticed him cramming Sousa every spare moment he has? Besides, I’m betting he always knew a lot more of it than he was letting on.”
“I didn’t mean Sunil. Aren’t you afraid Geoff will try something else?”
Isobel paused with her hand on the doorknob. “He doesn’t need to right now. The shrimp did its thing, and with Chris out, that’s more trouble afoot. Events have overtaken him, so I think he’ll lie low. At this point, he knows the show is in trouble. In fact,” she added cheerily, “I’d say tonight is probably the one night we can count on a smooth sail.”
Isobel let the door close gently on Delphi’s worried features, and as she hurried down the hall and into the stairwell, she tried to convince herself that she meant what she’d said. Logically, it made sense, but privately she shared Delphi’s sense of unease. What Talia was missing, and Heather probably was too, was the fact that Geoff had set them up brilliantly. Their pranks were easily traceable to them, and they could swear up and down that Geoff was behind them, but with the astonishing lack of physical evidence, it would be hard to prove that one or both of them hadn’t killed Arden and Thomas. Who knew what Geoff had up his sleeve that would implicate both Heather and Talia? Possibly some DNA evidence he could plant somewhere.
Isobel opened the door onto the third floor and found the rehearsal studio empty, as it always was this time of night. She shut the door behind her and flicked on the light. Humming softly, she made her way to the piano and gave herself a starting pitch for her scales. As she warmed up, she continued to ponder the situation. There really was no reason for Geoff to cause mischief tonight. Word had gotten around yesterday that Sunil wasn’t ready, and as far as anyone knew, he might not be any more ready now. The police investigation clearly wasn’t progressing. Isobel wondered if they had any suspects at all. Maybe instead of suggesting they bring Chris back, she should have urged Dillon to bring Geoff in.
She was an idiot. That was far and away the most sensible thing to do. If nothing else, it would ensure they would all stay safe tonight with Geoff off the premises. She mentally smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner and reached instinctively for her phone, but she’d left it in her dressing room. The clock over the door said seven forty-five. She still had time to call if she was willing to abandon her warm-up.
“Mi-mi-mi-miiiii—okay, that’s good.”
She lowered the lid over the keys, which she always did even though nobody else ever bothered, and shut off the light behind her. As she turned toward the stairwell, she realized voices were coming from one of the other, smaller studios. The studios were pretty soundproof, but whoever was in there hadn’t closed the door all the way. As she drew closer, she realized it was Ezra and Jethro.
“I know why you’re still here,” Jethro said. “You’re not going to leave until you’ve finished what you came to do.”
“I’m here because there are more revisions to be made on this deeply flawed piece of material,” Ezra responded. There was an iron edge in his voice that Isobel had never heard before.
“You can’t fool me. I know what you’re really trying to do.”
“Then you know I don’t intend to stop now,” Ezra countered.
Isobel heard furious footsteps pounding toward the door, and she looked around for someplace to hide. She darted into the costume shop and stood behind the door, panting. Ezra. Her initial impulse to question him stemmed from her desire to dismiss him as a suspect, but she’d been distracted by her conversation with Marissa. Now she was glad she had avoided a run-in with him. It seemed he would stop at nothing to make sure the show died a quiet death in Albany, no matter who else had to die with it. A noise in the costume shop made her jump, bringing her back to reality, and she realized it was seven fifty. She lurched into the hallway—and ran smack into Jethro.
“Isobel! What are you doing up here?”
“I, uh…I’m warming up.”
His eyes narrowed. “In the costume shop?”
“Oh! No, I needed a safety pin.”
“Did you find one?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’d better get downstairs. It’s almost places.”
Jethro gave a curious glance behind Isobel and then closed the door to the costume shop. She followed him to the stairwell, and they proceeded down in silence.
At the theater level, Jethro rested his hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, it was always you. Arden was never anything but a publicity draw. That’s why I kept harping on your Emma. I wanted the rest of the creative team to see that your natural qualities were better used elsewhere.” He smiled goonily at her through his flop of ginger hair and opened the stage door for her.
“Um, thanks. I think,” she said.
Kelly flew at her. “Where have you been? I called places, and nobody knew where you were.”
“Sorry, I went upstairs to warm up. I was watching the time.”
Kelly turned to Jethro. “And you’re not supposed to be backstage after half hour.”
“Yes, you’ve all made that clear.” Jethro winked at Isobel and retreated.
“Come on,” Kelly said, hustling Isobel into the wings. “There’s enough weirdness tonight without you disappearing on me.”
There was no time for Isobel to ask what Kelly meant, but in principle, she agreed.