Dannel stared blankly at his over-excited boyfriend. He held a hand up, waiting for Osian to stop verbally vomiting all over him. “We’ve clearly been attached at the hip for way too long. You’re starting to ramble like I do.”
“Electrocuted,” Osian practically shouted the word. “Did you miss that point?”
“Inside voice.” Dannel couldn’t help chuckling at the sudden swap. “Have we switched bodies? Maybe try speaking slowly so I can understand what you said?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious.”
“Electrocuted,” Osian reiterated.
“Except he wasn’t. And neither were you.” Dannel continued perusing the contents of the fridge, trying to find something appealing to snack on. “Think Haider’s caught up to him? The actor? What was his name?”
“Edwin something or other. I don’t remember his surname. Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” Osian squeezed in next to him and reached in to grab a container of leftover pasta. “Want to split this with me? Too late for lunch and too early for dinner?”
“All right.”
“We should stake out the theatre.” Osian pointed to the laptop on the counter. “From home. We can have snacks, coffee, and cake. Stay up late, watching the most boring show in London.”
“For what?”
“Ghosts? Murderers? Naughty people snogging in hallways?”
Dannel figured spying from home was safer than camping out at the Evelyn Lavelle. “Do you think Edwin could be Birdie’s killer?”
“Maybe.”
Neither of them knew the answer for sure. Edwin didn’t seem to have a real motive. Then again, why had he faked being shocked by faulty wiring?
“Why don’t we pepper Ian with questions about his theatre company? Everyone from the principles to the ensemble to the orchestra to the tea lady.” Dannel grabbed the laptop and carried it over to the sofa. “He can tell us who Edwin would share his secrets with. Can you see him keeping this a secret?”
“Murder or a prank?”
“Prank.” Dannel thought Edwin might be responsible for the fake ghost. He didn’t see a reason for the actor to have killed Birdie. “We might actually solve Ian’s paranormal mystery.”
Osian hopped over the back of the couch and flopped onto a cushion beside Dannel. “We’ll make a list of questions. Ask everyone the same ones. See what we find out. Who knows? We could solve the murder as well.”
“Text Ian. He can bully everyone into showing up early for rehearsals.” Dannel hoped they’d be more open to chatting with them than they’d been with the police. “What about Niall? Still think he might’ve done it. Got questions for him.”
“And Archie.”
“And Archie,” Dannel agreed.
They watched the live feed from the security cameras on their laptop in silence. Osian periodically texted with Ian about their plan for the morning while Dannel focused on coming up with a list of questions. He hoped it would help organise their thoughts.
We should jot down the times the ghost appeared, then attempt to corroborate where each member of the company was.
What else?
Probably best to avoid any questions that are too obvious. They’re not going to come right out and say, oh, it was me, are they? Not likely.
“Ian’s hired a new costume designer.” Osian tossed his phone onto the coffee table. He bent forward to see the list of questions. “We should ask how they got on with Birdie and if they had any issues with Ian. And see if they have any thoughts on who’s behind the ghost and the murder.”
“Why with Ian?” Dannel found it hard to imagine anyone disliking their elderly neighbour. “Everyone adores him.”
“True. Doesn’t it seem like someone genuinely wants to ruin his play?” Osian twisted around to rest his head in Dannel’s lap with his feet propped up on the arm of the sofa. “The only other option is someone’s trying to turn the company into a spectacle to entice people to show up.”
“Or they’re simply a complete and utter prat.”
“I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive. A wanker trying to ruin Ian’s play or an attention-seeking prat who wants to draw in a larger audience.” Osian tilted his head to watch the laptop. “Not sure which is worse.”
“What about the new costume designer?” Dannel dropped his fingers down to scratch Osian’s head gently. “Maybe they wanted Birdie’s job?”
“Doubtful.” Osian stretched contentedly, shifting on the sofa to get more comfortable. “Ian claims he stole them from another production.”
“Stole’s probably an exaggeration.”
“It is Ian.” Osian grinned up at Dannel. “Ian eats drama with his tea.”
“Sounds crunchy.” Dannel returned his gaze to the cameras. “If he hired them over from another project, they wouldn’t need to kill Birdie for the job. They already had one.”
“They might’ve.”
“Occam’s Razor.”
“What?”
“The simplest explanation quite often tends to be correct,” Dannel paraphrased. “You don’t off someone to get their job when you’ve already got one. Ian’s not paying more than one of the larger production companies in the city. He’s barely cobbled together his play as it is.”
“Did you see?” Osian rolled onto his side to get a closer view of the laptop. He pointed to the top right square, one from the camera angled down the stairs leading to the basement. “A black shadow.”
“Ossie.”
“I saw something.”
They watched in tense silence. Nothing. Dannel opened his mouth to speak then immediately stopped when a dark image flitted down the stairs. A second later, the camera flickered before freezing.
“How….” Osian didn’t seem to know what question he wanted to ask.
“Technology isn’t foolproof.” Dannel knew enough to know any security system had the potential to fail or be hacked. “All the cameras froze. Maintenance?”
“Worst. Timing. Ever.”
“We’ve seen enough true crime shows to know security cameras aren’t a guarantee for any investigation.” Dannel watched Osian get up and straighten his clothes. “Ossie.”
“Aren’t you a little curious?”
Well, yes.
“That’s beside the point.”
Osian grinned suddenly at him. “We can pick up a double pepperoni and spicy honey and a ’nduja one from Pizza Pilgrims. Maybe get two Nutella rings as well. Plus a couple cold beers.”
The ’nduja pizza was one of Dannel’s favourites. Spicy sausage on an oven-fired pie. He’d smash a whole one on his own, plus dessert. They both enjoyed the ring of dough filled with chocolate spread and salted ricotta.
“Right. So, ghosts, then stuff ourselves with pizza. Sounds like a great way to end the day.” Dannel shot off the couch. He caught his trainers when Osian tossed them to him one at a time. “Should we text Chris?”
“After. We don’t know anything yet.”
This is a terrible idea.
Absolutely stupid.
“He’ll figure it out.” Dannel had no doubts Chris kept an eye on the cameras whenever possible. “Why don’t we walk to the theatre? Ian might still be there. It’s only mid-afternoon. We can meet the new costume designer at the very least.”
Safety in numbers.
They grabbed coffees and made their way to the theatre. Rain had cooled the temperature off slightly. It made a pleasant walk; Dannel could almost pretend they were on a date except for the growing sense of impending doom in the pit of his stomach.
“Ossie.” Dannel grabbed Osian’s arm, stopping him before he crossed the street. “Haider.”
The entire theatre company stood outside the Evelyn Lavelle. Several marked police cars were parked outside, along with a vehicle Dannel recognised as Haider’s. Something had obviously happened.
“Well, that’s not good,” Osian uttered the understatement of the century when they spotted a crime scene investigators van pull up. “You don’t think someone else has been murdered?”
I think we should’ve stayed home eating leftover pasta.
I also think we’re not getting our pizza anytime soon.
“Given the ambulance is pulling away without taking anyone away, I do.” Dannel nodded toward the vehicle driving off into traffic. “What the hell is happening at the Evelyn Lavelle?”
“Murder.”
“Prat.” Dannel flicked him on the arm. “The good news is we can’t possibly be responsible for whatever’s happened.”
The bad news is something’s obviously gone wrong.
Again.
They jogged across the street, dodging a slowly moving lorry who’d obviously been watching the excitement at the theatre. They snuck by Haider, who was in deep conversation with Detective Inspector Powell. Dannel was surprised the police didn’t notice them blending in with the rest of the company.
“Hello, you two,” Hope whispered. “Ian’s inside.”
“Inside?” Dannel’s heart froze in his chest. He tried not to immediately assume the worst. “Why?”
“We’re not sure.” Hope was in a huddle with several other members of the ensemble, their arms wrapped around one another for comfort. “The power seemed to flicker briefly. We heard a scream. Next thing we knew, the coppers were rushing us all out here. Said not to leave. Colin heard them talking about another body being found.”
“Ian?” Osian asked the question Dannel couldn’t quite manage to voice.
Colin lifted his head off Hope’s shoulder. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I heard Ian’s voice, so he’s fine unless they managed to perform a séance and he spoke from the afterlife.”
Osian leaned closer to Dannel when he grabbed his hand. “Haider’s not calling any spirits back from the dead.”
“If you want to sneak inside, we can cause a diversion.” Hope pointed to where the coroners could be seen dealing with a body bag on a stretcher. “Ian would appreciate the support. Or smelling salts.”
“Smelling salts aren’t pleasant.” Dannel didn’t think the high-strung Ian needed to be hyped up by a sniff of ammonia inhalant. “What sort of distraction?”
“An impromptu rehearsal on the street?”
“Juggling.” Colin pulled several balls out of his pockets. “Takes a lot of work to pretend to be dreadful at it.”
“Takes a lot of effort to pretend to be dreadful at just about anything when you’re brilliant.” Hope winked at Dannel before pushing him and Osian in the direction of the door. “Go on. Solve our mystery for us.”
“I’m beginning to think instead of a cosplay business and a podcast, we should’ve become private investigators, since everyone already assumes we are.” Osian tried to walk normally while also hiding behind the cast. “We look ridiculous.”
“Pretty sure actual private investigators sneak quietly.” Dannel was trying and failing not to laugh. “You’re drawing more attention trying to squash yourself into a short person.”
“No sense of adventure.”
In the chaos of the entire ensemble demonstrating their party tricks to the confused detectives, Osian and Dannel slipped into the building. He almost felt sorry for Haider. No one excelled at creating distractions more than bored theatre performers.
Skirting the crime scene technicians chatting in the corner of the lobby, Osian followed Dannel through the doors into the passageway down to Ian’s sanctuary. He was draped across the chaise lounge. One of the actors stood beside him, using a program to fan his face.
“Oh, darlings,” Ian greeted them with a tired wave. “Have you heard our terrible news?”
Osian sat on the edge of the desk, leaving the chair for Dannel. “We saw the police. Did they find something?”
“Someone.” Ian sat up slowly. He seemed to have aged ten years since Dannel had last seen him. His hand gripped on to his fellow actor. “Howard Osman. One of our assistant designers. A young, talented costumer. I found him at the bottom of the stairs leading to the storage room.”
Bugger.
We’re going to need a completely different set of questions.
“Have the police said anything?” Osian pulled out his phone and began to make notes. Dannel could see he was jotting down additional questions at the end of the list they’d made earlier. Great minds. “About Howard?”
“Nothing. They ordered everyone outside. Left me here.” Ian clutched his hands together. “What if they believe I murdered the poor darling?”
“You?” Dannel couldn’t think of anyone less likely to commit murder than Ian. “I’m sure they’re only interested in making sure they get a clear witness statement from you.”
“Mr Barrett? We’re ready—” Haider stopped mid-sentence, glancing around the room with an air of resigned annoyance. “Could you two stay out of my case for five seconds?”
“The argument could be made that we were out of your case all day.” Osian ignored Dannel’s persistent poking to his side. “We didn’t know anything had happened.”
Haider brought a hand up to rub his forehead.
“Listen—”
“No.” Haider cut Osian off while continuing to massage his forehead with his eyes closed. “I’m going to need Mr Barrett to come down to speak with us about what he saw. And I’m going to need you to not get involved.”
“Polite way of saying sod off, you nosy bastards.” Osian grinned while reaching into his pocket for his phone. Dannel leaned forward to see him sending a quick text to Chris about the cameras and a second to their friendly solicitor, Wayne. “I wonder if we’ll get a commission from Wayne for all the work we’ve sent his way.”
“Maybe he’ll send us a fruit basket.” Dannel wondered if Haider was going to lose his temper. “Isn’t that what fancy law offices do?”
“If you’re finished?” Haider had obviously decided to pretend they weren’t there. He motioned for Ian to follow. “Your friend can come with you.”
Osian stood up.
“Not you. The silent, helpful one with the fan.” Haider stepped out of the room, waiting for Ian to join him. His attention returned to Dannel and Osian. “Please go home.”
They watched the three leave. Dannel stared at the closed door. Osian was busy on his phone, responding to text messages.
“Are we going home?” Dannel asked.
“Not bloody likely. Chris is on his way. He wants to inspect the cameras. Why don’t I chat with the company? They’re probably all milling around outside the theatre.” Osian rested his head against Dannel’s arm briefly. “See if you can find anything in Ian’s room or in Birdie’s old one. We’ll wait for reinforcements before tackling the storage room again.”
Well, we’re knee-deep in the mystery.
What’s a little more investigating going to do?