fifteen

Rex rang the producer as he sauntered down the nearly deserted Sunday street to the car. Leaning against it, he gazed across the pavement at a closed lighting shop displaying Tiffany lamps and chandeliers in the windowfront while he waited for Ron Wade to answer.

“Thank you for taking my call,” Rex said when he finally did.

“I got your message. I can’t talk long. My wife and I are going out.”

“Just a few quick questions. And thank you for asking Inspector Fiske if I might participate in the case from the side-lines, so to speak.”

“It was Penny’s idea, really. What can I help you with?”

“I’m mainly concerned at this point with everyone’s movements at the time of the shooting and shortly prior. The inspector gave me a brief overview, but I’d like to fill in the details.”

He heard Ron sigh abruptly at the other end of the connection. “Well, as soon as the scrim came down for the attic scene, I left my prompting post behind the Chinese screen and went backstage, closely followed by the five sleuths. The other actors had already left the set.”

“Whom specifically did you see backstage?”

“As I told the inspector, it was all a bit of a blur. I had a blinding headache coming on, and all I could think about was getting to my car for my pills. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes for a short while.”

“Is there anyone who might have seen you leaving the building?” Rex asked.

“There was a young woman in a stripy pullover by the water fountain in the lobby. She was busy on her phone and I don’t know if she noticed me. I learnt afterwards she was a reporter. At the time, I remember thinking her bright jumper was hurting my eyes and wondering why she wasn’t in the hall watching the play. The ticket attendant was loitering outside by the bushes having a smoke. He may have said something to me. He was still there when I returned from my car at five minutes to eight. I expect he was able to vouch for me to the police. By the time I got backstage, Cassie’s body had been found. Everyone was talking at once. I couldn’t think straight. I had to sit down in a quiet corner and wait for the medication to finish taking effect.”

“Just one more thing, Mr. Wade. Who operated the curtains at the end of the first act?”

“Bill Welsh.”

“He said he forgot.”

Ron Wade roundly insulted the unreliable stagehand. “Must have been Tony then. He’s supposed to direct things onstage.”

“It seems it was not him either.”

“Well, you got me. But someone did, right? Or we’d all know what bloody happened onstage.”

“Exactly so.” Rex thanked the producer again.

He stood hesitating by the car. He did not feel ready to go back to Barley Close. Julie would still be there, and for some reason he felt one too many in her presence. Better to leave the two women to enjoy each other’s company a while longer, he decided, and for him to make the most of his free time.

The vision of a glass tankard of Guinness floated into his consciousness, as it often did at such moments, and he thought of the Bells, where the stagehands had gone on Friday night. Googling on his phone, he found there was only one pub by that name in Derby, and it was not too far out of his way.

When he got there, however, neither Bill nor Ben were at the bar, which was mostly attended by locals addressing each other with booze-fuelled familiarity, among them a handful of gussied-up women with loud jewellery, shimmery lipstick, and teased-out hair, laughing raucously.

“What you having, cock?” asked the barman.

Appropriating a table by the window, Rex drank his solitary pint in the cheerless surroundings and thought the case through.

Upon returning to Barley Close an hour later, he saw that Julie’s battered red Triumph Spitfire was still parked at the kerb. He briefly wondered how she intended to move all her stuff over in the tiny two-seater, unless she planned to do so in instalments. He found her and his wife finishing a cup of tea in the kitchen, having changed out of their swimwear and back into their summer dresses.

“I’ll leave you two love birds to it,” Julie announced, rising from the table. “See you Tuesday, if my mum doesn’t boot me out before then.”

“Not going well at your mother’s?” Rex enquired.

“Hardly. It’s not easy, living back at home at my age.”

“I still live at home,” Rex said with a smile.

“That’s different. You have a big house and a live-in housekeeper. I’m expected to ‘pull my weight,’” Julie mimicked. “Not that Dad pulls his. And then I have to listen to Mum giving me advice, like I was still fifteen years old. I even have a curfew, for Gawd’s sake.”

Helen laughed. “Don’t exaggerate, Julie. Your mother just worries about you. Fifty or fifteen, you’re still her only daughter.”

“Well, I can’t wait to be independent again. I’ll love living here. And don’t worry, Hells, I’ll take the best care of your little house.”

“I know you will.”

The women kissed on the cheek and Julie gave Rex a quick hug. Helen saw her to the front door, and when she returned to the kitchen, Rex took her in his arms. “I finally have you all to myself,” he murmured into her abundant blonde hair.

“You smell of the pub,” she said. “Beer, a hint of cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume.

“Guilty as charged,” he confessed. “But just to the first.”