Текст книги "Foul Play"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

TWENTY

“These look terrific, Daisy,” Joanne Claussen said, wide-eyed. “I mean, honestly. This is far better than what I’d imagined.”

It was the next morning and I’d made plans to get over to the theater and meet with Joanne to show her what I’d come up with for the program designs. It was a Saturday so school wasn’t in session, but there were high school kids milling around near the gymnasiums and concession stand. I’d slipped into the theater and found Joanne backstage, sitting in a rickety wooden chair, her laptop set on a coffee table. They were props from an old show, items that for some reason hadn’t made it back into the storage closet.

“Really?” I asked, pleased she was so enthusiastic. I’d given her the flash drive with both designs and she was staring at her screen in awe. “I wasn’t entirely sure about what I was doing.”

“Oh my goodness, yes,” Joanne answered, nodding her head up and down. Her brown curls bounced like springs. “Like night and day from what I was able to dream up.” She looked over the laptop screen at me. “So does this mean you’ll do them?”

“Tell me which one you like best and, sure,” I told her. “I’ll do it.”

She took a deep breath, clearly relieved. “This is great. Okay. If I have to choose one, I like the second design the best. I like the colors and the way you’ve laid everything out. But if you prefer the other, I’m okay with that, too. They both look terrific.”

She’d picked the one I’d already decided I liked best. “I like that one better, too. Okay. We’ll run with that.”

She spun the laptop around so we could both see the screen. We spent a few minutes going over some of the details and she told me she’d get me the name of the printer so I could make contact with them and make arrangements for the printing. I made notes in my phone so I wouldn’t forget anything.

“I really appreciate this, Daisy,” she finally said. “You’re really saving me here. I’ll let Eleanor know we’ve got it all under control.” Something flashed in her eyes. “Well, at least this part under control.”

Before I could say anything, the side door to the theater slammed and Madison marched across the backstage area. She stalked toward us, a scowl on her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said to Joanne, completely ignoring me.

Joanne looked up from the computer. “What is it, Madison?”

Madison folded her arms across her chest. “I was supposed to have a custom wig. That thing you bought me looks like it came from the thrift store!”

“I bought it online from a wigmaker,” Joanne told her.

Her voice was calm but her hands were tightly fisted and I knew she was struggling to maintain her composure. I didn’t blame her.

Madison snorted. “Then return it and find another one. Because I am not wearing that piece of crap onstage.”

“It cost two hundred dollars,” Joanne told her.

Madison’s hands moved to her hips and she stared Joanne down. “I don’t care how much it costs. Fix it. Or I’m telling Mother.” With that, she turned on her heels and flounced out of the room.

“Let me guess. Madison is another one of your problems?” I asked. She looked more than a little stressed and I felt bad for her. Anyone who had to work closely with either Bandersand woman deserved a bit of sympathy.

“I can handle her,” she said with a weak smile.

“Anything I can help with?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I think we’ve got the volunteering projects under control now. It’s just…” She looked around the empty backstage area. A few people were milling around on the stage, but they didn’t seem to concern her. “It’s the money thing.”

“The money thing?”

“Remember how I mentioned Eleanor was concerned about the revenue the other day?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think it’s a bit more dire than I realized.” She swallowed and shifted in her chair. “The activities director here at the high school called me at home last night. We pay to use the facilities.” She paused and then lowered her voice when she spoke. “Apparently, the check I wrote her bounced.”

I stared at her. “You mean from the theater group’s account?”

She nodded. “Yes. And, well, it’s not the first one.”

A knot formed in my stomach. “It’s not?”

“No,” she said. Her eyes were bright with worry. “I had to pay the man who films and cuts DVDs of the performances. I had to give him a deposit. He called me two days ago and told me there was a problem. And we had to purchase the wood for the set backdrops. The lumberyard called me last week.” She sighed. “When the lumberyard called, I assumed it was just a mix up, and Eleanor told me she just hadn’t made last week’s deposit. So I wasn’t worried. But now?” She shook her head again. “I think there’s something else going on.”

Three bounced checks wasn’t the result of a late deposit. It certainly sounded like there was a problem to me. I wondered how bad it actually was.

“How did you pay for the wig?” I asked. “Did that check bounce, too?”

“I have the theater credit card so I used that,” she said. “But I have no idea how we’re going to pay that bill when it comes. Especially if there’s no money in the account.”

“Oh gosh,” I said. “That’s not good at all. And that might explain what you told me the other day… about the tickets and trying to drum up business.”

She nodded slowly. “I know. Anytime I ask Eleanor, though, she tells me it’s just miscommunication, or that it must be a mistake. But I’m not dumb.” Her mouth fixed into a tight, tense line. “And it’s making me rethink a few things.”

“Rethink?”

She looked toward the stage again, her hands fidgeting on the table. Then she ran a hand through her hair and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment.

“Um, no one really knows this right now, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it between us,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “But when Eleanor brought me on for this play, she told me it could become permanent. It’s a volunteer position now, but it was a job in the past.”

I remembered hearing that at the coffee shop. I nodded.

“As in, paying,” she said. “And… well, we could use the money.”

I nodded, my sympathy kicking into overdrive. “I understand.”

“That’s why I’ve paid so much attention to everything Eleanor has asked of me,” she said. She looked toward the stage. “And I’ve done everything I can think of to try and drum up publicity for this play.” Her eyes glazed over a bit. “Everything.” She stared at the stage for a few moments before shaking herself from whatever she was thinking about. “And now I’m thinking I’ve done all of this for no reason and that I should just finish up and start looking for another job. One that might, in fact, be real.”

I nodded again. “Right. I can’t fault you with that. Have you asked Eleanor about any of this? Just to get a better sense of the finances?”

“I’ve tried, but she just gives me the runaround,” she said, frowning. “Which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. And yet she prances around here acting like there are no issues.” She leaned into the table. “You realize that if we can’t pay for the facility rental, she’ll have to cancel the play?”

I sighed. “Of course.”

“I mean, I know this is a high school and not a private entity, but they aren’t going to just let us keep coming here if we can’t pay them.”

What she was telling me made me both sad and angry. Sad because I was already thinking about how disappointed the girls would be if they had to cancel the play. They’d both been so excited about trying out and once they were cast as dwarfs, their enthusiasm had increased ten-fold. Well, once Grace had gotten over her disappointment at not being cast as Snow White. And I was angry, because it seemed irresponsible for Eleanor to be running around, acting like there wasn’t a problem and having Joanne act as the go-between. I hadn’t liked her from the first time I met her and it had only gone downhill since.

“I’m sorry, Joanne,” I said. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, there really isn’t. I think I just needed to vent. I’m sorry to dump all that on you.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said, smiling at her. “Venting is good.”

“Anyway,” Joanne said, shaking her head like she was trying to clear the cobwebs again. “I’ve bent your ear for long enough. I can’t thank you enough for taking over the programs. Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” I told her. “I’m happy to help.”

She glanced at her watch. “Okay, they should be about done. Could I ask you for one more favor?”

“Absolutely.”

“I need to close up the stage area and the theater,” she said. “A few of the kids came in today for an extra practice and to work on the sets. Could you check the classrooms we use on your way out? Just make sure everything is out and make sure they are locked?”

“For sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”

Joanne gathered up her things and handed me back my flash drive.

“Thanks again, Daisy,” she said, standing. “I truly appreciate your help. And your ear.”

“Anytime,” I said, shoving the flash drive in my bag. “Happy to do what I can.”

She touched my elbow. “Cross your fingers. Maybe we can get this pulled off yet.”

TWENTY ONE

I found a bag.

I’d closed up two of the three classrooms. I pushed chairs back under tables, picked up a couple pieces of trash and shut off the lights. Which was sort of like picking up after my own kids.

I walked into the last classroom and did the same things: shoved three chairs back under the desks they belonged to, dropped two soda cans in the recycle bin and was getting ready to kill the lights and go home when I noticed a purple backpack in the far corner. It was expensive looking, with wide black straps and sparkles in the fabric.

I went over to the corner and looked at it. There was no name written on it. For all I knew, it might have been left there by a student the day before. I wasn’t sure.

I picked up the bag. It didn’t feel like it was full of books. More like clothes. Which meant it was more than likely the property of someone in the play.

I unzipped the first small pocket and found a tube of lipstick, some gum and a couple of pens. I zipped that pocket back up and then unzipped the other small pocket. I pulled out a piece of paper that had been balled up like it was supposed to be thrown away. I set the bag on the nearest desktop and unfolded the wadded up paper.

It was a letter.

Addressed to Madison Bandersand.

It read:

Ms. Bandersand,

Thank you for your interest in the University of Minnesota’s theater program. Each year, our program receives hundreds of applications for a limited number of spots. While your application was impressive, we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission at this time. We wish you good luck in your future academic and dramatic endeavors.

It was signed by someone with a fancy sounding title.

I read the letter again to make sure I understood it.

And then I recalled her telling her friend Holly that she’d already gotten in.

I sighed. I thought about my interaction with Madison and what I’d just witnessed between her and Joanne. She hadn’t proven herself to be a terribly likable kid, but it had to be hard to get that letter, especially when everyone was assuming you’d get in. I remembered Eleanor telling Joanne and myself that they were still waiting to hear about admission. Now I knew why she hadn’t heard anything.

Because Madison had gotten to the mailbox first.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind me.

I turned around.

A very angry Madison Bandersand was standing in the doorway.

TWENTY TWO

Madison marched over to me and ripped the letter from my hand, her eyes blazing. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Madison, I was just—”

“Were you going through my bag?” she asked, grabbing the backpack. “That’s mine! You have no right to go through my things!”

“I wasn’t going through your things—”

“First you were eavesdropping on me and now you’re going through my things?” she asked, her brown eyes wide. “What is the matter with you?”

I took a deep breath. “Hey. Madison?”

“What?!”

“Shut your big mouth for a minute and listen to me.”

She jerked back, almost as if I’d struck her, but she finally closed her mouth.

I took another breath. “I came in here to close up the room. I pushed in the chairs and picked up the trash, like I did in the other two rooms. I saw the bag sitting over there in the corner. I picked it up. There was no name on it. All I was looking for was something with someone’s name on it so I’d know who it belonged to. That’s it.” I took another breath, exhaled. “And as I told you the other day, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was picking up costumes. The door was open. I wasn’t hiding. So don’t accuse me of things that aren’t true.”

Her mouth twisted back and forth in an angry little knot. Her eyes darted around the room. She squeezed the bag to her chest, the letter still in her left hand.

“Did you read the letter?” she finally asked.

I hesitated. “I did. I wasn’t sure what it was when I unrolled it. I thought it might be a piece of homework or something. Something with a name on it.” It was the truth.

“It’s not what you think,” she said, lifting her chin up.

“Madison, it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Well, it’s not what you think,” she repeated. She stared down her nose at me, a move that very much reminded me of her mother. “It’s not a rejection letter. They made a mistake. I’ve… I’ve already talked to them. It was a mistake. They’ll be sending me the right one any day now. The acceptance letter, I mean.”

“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, widening her eyes again.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I can tell you don’t,” she said. Her tone was accusing. “By the way you’re standing there.”

“Madison, I don’t—”

She collapsed into the desk, her body jelly-like as it molded into the chair. She dropped the bag to the floor and balled up the letter again. She threw it across the room and dropped her blond head on to the desk

And then she started to cry.

I gave her a minute to sob and heave and water the desktop with her tears. I didn’t know her well enough to put my arm around her and comfort her, and I was also a little afraid that she might punch me in the mouth if I tried to touch her.

Finally, she looked up. Her mascara was running, long lines from her eyes to her cheeks. She looked like a cheetah.

“Please don’t tell my mother,” she said, then dissolved into another fit of tears.

I waited her out again.

She looked up again and now the mascara was smeared all around her face, a cross between a football player and a raccoon. She wiped at her face, but all that did was spread it around more.

“You can’t tell her,” she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

“I’m appealing the decision,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it will get reversed. I’m sure they’ll let me in. I think they must have gotten me mixed up with someone else.”

“It’s none of my business,” I repeated.

“How much do you want?” she said. Her eyes were still wet with tears but her voice was firm. “I just got my allowance. Or we can go to the bank.”

I frowned. “Madison, I don’t want any money.”

“But please! You can’t say anything! To anyone!”

It was clear that she’d inherited her mother’s flair for the dramatic, as well. I was sort of surprised that she hadn’t gotten into acting school. “I won’t,” I said, my tone just as firm as hers. “I told you. It’s none of my business.”

She sniffed several times, then rooted around in the backpack before pulling out a tissue. She covered her nose and then made a sound like a goose honking. She wadded the tissue up and dropped it into her backpack.

“I’ll get it straightened out,” she muttered. “I will.”

“You haven’t told anyone?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Why not?”

Her shoulders sagged and she looked at me the way Emily did sometimes, like I didn’t have a single clue as to how the world worked. “Why not?” she repeated. “Have you met my mother? Everyone expects me to get into a drama program, but her especially. If I tell her I got rejected, she’ll go major freako on me. She’ll totally spaz on me and it’ll be all my fault.”

“Do you know that for sure?” I asked. “She might surprise you. Maybe she’ll understand. Maybe she could help you appeal the decision.”

“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “She’d probably kick me out of the house. Or make me join the Marines. Or something else just as insane.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “She can’t know. You can’t tell her anything. I’m begging you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me saying anything,” I told her. “But I wish you’d reconsider talking to someone about it. You know, rather than keeping it a big secret.”

She squinted at me. “You really haven’t met my mother, have you?”

“I just mean that keeping a secret is a really hard thing to do. Especially something like this.”

She eyed me cautiously. “Are you just angling for more money?”

I shook my head, exasperated. “No, Madison, I’m not. Forget I said anything. Good luck with your appeal. I hope it works out for you.” I motioned at the wall. “Turn out the lights on your way out, okay? And lock the door.”

I repositioned my bag on my shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait,” she said, when I had my hand on the knob. “Wait.”

I stopped, took another deep breath and turned around. “What?”

“You really don’t want anything?” she asked. “And you really won’t say anything?”

“I don’t want anything. I won’t say anything.” I forced a smile in her direction. “And don’t forget your bag when you leave.”

TWENTY THREE

“How was play practice?” Jake asked.

“Insane, like always.”

“Good to know some things never change.”

We were getting into bed. Actually, I was getting into bed. He was already nestled between the sheets, having coming up twenty minutes earlier to read while I got Sophie settled into bed. He’d offered to do it, but I’d waved him off, needing the time with one of our own kids to remind myself that not every interaction with a younger generation had to border on the insane. I spent fifteen minutes with her, asking her about the overnight and laughing with her, hoping that neither she nor any of the others would ever keep the kind of secrets from me that Madison was keeping from her mom. I reminded myself that they probably would and that I’d need to remember to forgive them when they did. After I said goodnight to her, I headed to our room, where Jake asked me how the theater was.

I snuggled under the sheets, the room colder than normal. The low was close to freezing and the sound of the heat being forced through the vents was almost a constant now… and would be for the next six months, knowing what fall and winter and spring were like in Minnesota.

I relayed my encounter with Madison Bandersand.

Jake set his book on the nightstand when I was done and let out a long whistle. “Wowzers.”

“Right? Poor girl was a mess.”

“I don’t blame her. Her mother’s seven kinds of nuts.”

“I know. But still. That’s a massive secret to keep to yourself.”

He nodded in agreement. “It is. But it’s her choice... and not your business.”

“I have to wonder if she even wants to play Snow White,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Like, maybe she just had to because her mother expected her to.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe she really did want the role and she was glad when Amanda disappeared,” I said.

He yawned. “Maybe.”

“And then I started thinking about all the people that might be responsible for Amanda’s disappearance.” I was thinking out loud now. Knowing Jake, he’d be snoring in thirty seconds.

“Of course you did.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“Of course you did,” he repeated. He rubbed his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything different. So, come on. Lay it on me. Let me hear your suspect list.”

“You’re mocking me.” I studied him. “And you’re also falling asleep.”

“I’m actually not. On either count. I’m offering you an attentive ear.”

I frowned. “It feels like you’re mocking me.”

He found my hand beneath the sheets and folded his fingers into mine. “I’m not mocking you. I know how your mind works. Tell me what you’re thinking. Get it off your chest.” He leaned closer. “I’m listening.”

I scanned his face for any sign of mockery. I didn’t see any.

I looked a little harder.

Nothing.

So I assumed he was being sincere.

And I was ready to unload my thoughts.

“Okay,” I said, putting my free hand behind my head and staring up at the ceiling. “So I’m listening to Madison today. She’s totally hysterical, right? Clearly upset she didn’t get into school and clearly upset at the idea of telling her mother. What’s the one thing that might take her mother’s attention off of her college admission?”

“Pants that don’t reach her boobs?” Jake suggested.

I bit back a smile. “Close, but no. Her daughter starring in her latest production.” I paused, letting it sink in. “That would absolutely occupy Eleanor in a number of ways. Plus, it would be a boon for Madison.”

“How so?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but let’s say she’s serious about appealing her rejection from the school,” I explained. “She could go to them and say ‘Hey, look. I’m starring in another production right now.’ It’s another thing for her to add on to her resume. Maybe she would look like a better candidate.”

Jake thought about that for a moment, then made a face. “Maybe, but it’s not like she hasn’t been in plays before, right? Isn’t she normally the star of all of her mother’s plays? A leading role isn’t a new thing for her.”

“But in her head, if she’s this desperate to get into a drama program, maybe she thinks it might be something that could turn the decision in her favor,” I said to him. I shifted my gaze from the ceiling to look at him. “And maybe that would make her desperate enough to do something about it. Like make sure Amanda disappears.”

“I think that’s a reach,” he answered. “You’re making the assumption that a desperate teenager would kidnap – or do something even worse – to a rival simply to improve her lot in life. Does the Bandersand kid really seem like that kind of psycho?”

I thought about my interactions with Madison, in addition to the things I’d heard about her. “She’s a brat,” I finally said, “but I’m not sure I could call her a psycho at this point.”

“So then your leap is pretty big. And where on the planet would one teenager hide another teenager, especially when the assumed kidnapper lives with the director of the play?” He eyed me. “Sorry. Planet is too big. Where in Moose River would a teenager hide another teenager?”

“Our coal chute…”

He chuckled. “That was a dead body, not a live, breathing person. And we’ve sealed up the access point.”

“Bet there are other houses with easily accessible coal chutes.”

“Bet there aren’t.” He squeezed my hand. “Regardless of where someone might want to hide a person they’ve kidnapped, I’m just saying – I don’t think it’s that easy. Especially for a teenage girl no bigger than Emily.”

He had a good point. I wasn’t sure how reasonable it was to think that Madison Bandersand would somehow be able to kidnap Amanda Pendleton and then hide her without her mother’s knowledge. That would take a lot of planning. And probably some help.

“Who else might benefit?” Jake asked. “From a missing Amanda?”

I ran through my list of suspects. “The next person that comes to mind is Eleanor,” I said.

“Her mother?” His tone was one of disbelief.

“Yeah, just listen,” I said quickly. “I’ve got two scenarios.” I paused. “Maybe three.”

“Uh, okay.”

I rolled onto my side. “One. Maybe she knows Madison had a decent chance at getting into drama school. Maybe she knows she’s on the bubble – you know, on the line for being accepted or rejected.”

“And how would she know all this? Does she have a crystal ball?”

“Shut up,” I said. “She would know because she knows people at the school. Connections and stuff. And maybe Eleanor thinks that another starring role might push her kid onto the right side of the admission line – maybe someone at the school even told her that. So she realizes she’s made a mistake casting Amanda and decides she has to get her daughter into the starring role.”

Jake’s face scrunched up, like he’d bit into something sour. “I guess that’s possible, but it doesn’t feel realistic to me.”

“Fine,” I said. “Scenario number two. I’ve heard repeatedly now that the theater company is in real financial trouble. Checks are bouncing. Things aren’t good. What better way to drum up publicity than to have your lead actress disappear before the performance? I mean, come on. Everyone in Moose River knows about it. More attention means more curiosity which means more tickets sold. Which might mean money problems solved.”

His face looked less sour as he considered that. “Maybe. Still feels like a reach, but I’d buy that more than I’d buy the whole getting her daughter into drama school possibility.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let me offer you scenario number three.”

He grinned. “You’re so sexy when you get rolling like this.”

“I know,” I said, smiling back at him. “Scenario number three. Madison and Eleanor are in on it together. They both had something to gain and they went ahead and kidnapped Amanda. That would eliminate your concern about how they’d hide her. If they were both in on it, it would be way more doable.”

Jake considered this. “Sometimes, you really scare me,” he said. “The way you convince yourself that all this crazy stuff makes sense.”

I thumped him in the middle of his chest. “Come on! That’s absolutely a reasonable hypothesis.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting the most reasonable hypothesis of all.”

“Which is what?”

“Which is that nothing sinister happened to Amanda,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Nothing that would show up on CSI: Moose River. Nothing evil.”

“We barely have a police department, much less a crime scene unit,” I pointed out. “Fine, smarty-pants. So where is she, then?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But you told me she has a history with this. And she just broke up with her boyfriend. A boyfriend who is now sniffing around our daughter.” His expression darkened at the mention of Andy. “And she’s starring in a play. She had a lot going on. Isn’t it possible that she just took off and is holed up somewhere, wanting a little peace and quiet?”

“Of course it’s possible,” I said. “But why would she just take off?”

“Uh, because she’s a teenager and teenagers rarely use their brains to think. Because teenagers are emotional and irrational. We have two of them. I’m kind of an expert.”

I rolled away from him and exhaled. I hated it when he was right. But he was. His scenario was far simpler and far more likely than anything I’d come up with. Maybe he needed to get his investigator’s license. He could moonlight as a PI.

“Look, I’m not telling you you’re wrong,” he said, rolling into me and wrapping me up in his arms. “I’m just saying that sometimes the simplest answer is the right answer. It isn’t always like it is on television or the movies.”

“I don’t know. Look at everything that’s happened in the past two years.”

I could tell by the look on his face that I had him there. Not many people could say they’d found a dead body in their coal chute, another body in the woods, and a cache of stolen computers.

“Okay, but that’s spread out over a couple of years,” Jake said. “Look at all the days and weeks that have gone by where nothing has happened. Moose River’s weekly crime report usually consists of jaywalking, people running the stop sign by our house, and loitering outside the Laundromat.”

He was right. “I know.” I sighed. “And thank you.”

“For pointing out you’re wrong? That’s a first.”

“No.” I snuggled into him and pressed my cheek against his chest. His skin was warm and soft and I breathed in the scent of him. “For indulging me. For knowing I needed to get it all out of my head. For not making fun of me.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered into my ear.

“I think you think you’re gonna get lucky now,” I said, trying to fight off the smile that was forcing its way onto my lips. “Because you were all Mr. Sensitive and Mr. Good Listener. At least for most of the conversation.”

“I think I’m offended,” he said. “Um, but am I?”

I chuckled and got my arms around him, pressing a kiss on his jawline. “Turn off the light and I’ll think about it.”