#4 Enter Stage Right: Murder!

“And this … this is how you repay me! I’d kill you before I let you leave.” The bald man brought his hand back to strike the cowering young woman clinging to his shirt.

“No! Patrick, no! I would never. I love you.” The woman began to weep. 

Rage twisted the man’s face before he shoved the woman to the ground. 

I heard the audience gasp, and bit back a groan. I guess I wasn’t quiet enough, because Malachi turned towards me, the stage lights reflecting off his coke bottle glasses. 

“You good?”

“Better than this play, I’ll tell you that.”

I sunk further into my seat and started flicking through the playbill even though I couldn’t see much without the house lights on. It was the opening night of Midnight Kisses. Opening nights are usually meant to be good, but I guess no one in the production got the memo. I glanced at Malachi who looked about as uninterested as I felt. Midnight Kisses was a new play by this local writer and director, Abel Castillo. Apparently, it was supposed to be all the rage. The only reason me and Malachi even got tickets was because his cousin Jamal designed the costumes. 

The bald man barked out some words I couldn’t make out, only for a dreamy sigh to burst out of the audience. A gaggle of giggles followed. I was sitting close enough to the stage to see that the man was holding back a grin, enjoying the effect he was having. Chip Arendale. That’s his name. According to Jamal, Chip was a big Broadway actor before he started putting on “private performances” with a producer’s wife. Now he was keeping his skills sharp in the Bay, until he could figure out how to beg his way back into the big leagues.

Chip surged forward and kissed the woman. Honestly, it felt like a bit much considering the play had started maybe 30 minutes ago. No build up. I scowled to myself. I’d been reading too much Ben Brantley. Chip was overacting, but the woman, Penny, was nice. Acted like a real human being at least. She tucked a braid behind her ear and tilted her head up till she and Chip were eye to eye. She brushed his face with the back of her hand.

“I love you, but I love myself too. To choose you over my family? Over my whole world, no. Please don’t make me.”

Chip furrowed his brow and opened his mouth. And closed it. Then opened it again. Then closed it. His hand tugged at his shirt collar. He took two steps back and looked offstage. He turned back to Penny who looked confused. He started to wheeze and then he tumbled to the ground. Malachi sat up and I did too. 

A man in all black ran onstage, yelling into his headset for a doctor.

Malachi stood up and screamed, “Doctor! Is anyone a doctor here?”

I leaned forward, eyes never leaving the wheezing man on the floor. No matter how many times I saw death, I never got used to it. The crowd got louder and louder, but the sound on the stage stopped. The man in all black looked helplessly towards the sky. A minute later the lights rose on the audience, the curtains dropped, and a man was dead. 

***

“I just, uh, this can’t be happening.” The man in black, who introduced himself as Steven the stage manager, shoved his hands in his pockets and tried his best not to look at Chip’s body which was still lying center stage. Malachi stalked around the stage in full detective mode—all he was missing was a little deerstalker hat and a pipe. Once it was clear Chip was dead, Malachi called for backup and ordered everyone into the lobby. The only people left in the house were me, Malachi, and Steven.

I squatted down to get a better look at the body. He looked scared, like he’d known what was happening. I suppressed a shudder and scanned him. He’d fallen strange, sort of like a rag doll, hand still clawing at his neck. I saw little red patches of skin poking out just above the shirt collar. I leaned over to get a better look but got distracted when I saw his puffed purple tongue pressed against the top of his mouth. Like a magnet I was drawn back to his eyes, empty and wide open. Jesus, what a bad way to go.

“Did he have any medical conditions?” Malachi bent down next to me, and used his pen to gently prod the body’s hands.

“Uh, no. Not anything this serious.”

“What’s that mean?” My eyes didn’t leave the body. “Weak heart? Migraines?”

“He, uh, he complained a lot. Like about little stuff. Oh, Stevie, the lights hurt my eyes. Oh, Steven, the smell is too strong in here. I just assumed he had migraines, but migraines don’t do this do they?”

“No, they don’t,” said Malachi. “Was he acting normal before the show?”

“Yeah, I guess. He and Penny—she was the, uh, woman, his costar—were hanging out. He got his tea. He was running lines. He really didn’t like talking to people before the show. The only person he lets talk to him is Penny.”

“Where’s Penny?”

“Dressing room. I honestly should be down there comforting her. She’s gonna take this pretty hard.”

“They were close?” Malachi asked.

“Penny gets close to everyone. She’s just one of those people.”

I scratched my nose and looked up at Steven. His soft features looked malformed, mangled by worry. He looked over his shoulder as if expecting Penny to be lurking behind the curtains. The mutterings from his headset blurted out something unintelligible. He slipped the headphones on and politely stepped away, obviously trying very hard not to look at the body.

Malachi leaned over, voice low, carefully watching Steven out of the corner of his eye.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Healthy people with the occasional migraine don’t just drop dead. And the moments right before he died. The stuttering, the gasping, grabbing his throat? I’m thinking this might be a murder.”

“Yeah, I think so too. Probably poison. Arsenic works pretty fast. Maybe cyanide?”

“I wonder.”

We fell quiet as Steven walked back over. He offered a weak smile, and for a second my heart twinged. 

“Looks like the producer and director would like to talk to you two.”

“Perfect. I’d like to talk to them,” Malachi said. “Let me get one of the boys in here to cover up the body and then you can take us to them, alright?” Malchi tapped my arm and then he was hustling offstage towards the lobby to get one of the rookie officers. I stood onstage for a moment with Steven, hoping the silence would make him uncomfortable before I chimed in.

“So, what was he like? Chip?”

“He was an actor,” he said with a shrug.

“I have no clue what that means.”

“Just means he was … a … an actor. It means sometimes he would be careless about his mic pack and he’d get precious over his makeup, but every day he’d show up and say the words and do the blocking and people bought tickets for him. So ….”

“Did you like him?”

“Sure, I guess. It’s not my job to like anyone.”

“You didn’t like Penny either?”

He blushed and opened his mouth but thought better of it. He scratched his blood-warm ears and shoved his hands back in his pockets.

“We’ve known each other for a while. This is, like, our fourth show together. She’s like my best friend.”

“Neat.” 

Malachi jogged back into the theater with a floppy-haired officer behind him. He slowed as he approached Steven and me.

“Alright, take us to your leader.”

***

Malachi knocked twice before receiving a faint “come in.” He propped the door open for me as we glided into the too-small room. A couch was pressed against a linoleum wall decorated with posters from shows gone by. On the couch, a bearded man in a tweed coat was lounging. He hardly looked up as we entered the room. On the other side of the room was an old desk littered with papers. Sitting behind it was a woman with a bob and a hunch popping more pills than a trust fund baby with self-esteem issues. 

“Antacids, officer,” the woman said as she shoved another handful of pills down her throat, no chaser. “We’re ruined, you know?”

“You must be Jocelyn. The producer.” Malachi held out his hand for a shake.

“Guilty.” She gripped his hand and shook it twice before dropping it to massage her temples.

“I don’t know, Jo, this could be exactly what the production needed. I can step in and—”

“Abel.” Jocelyn snapped.

“You act too? Writer. Director. Actor. What can’t you do?” I asked.

He lazily smiled and bounced his foot to a beat no one else could hear. He scanned me up and down. 

“Are you a fan?”

“Well, the first play of yours I saw, a man died so …”

“Oh God!” Jocelyn swallowed another antacid. Really, you have to wonder how effective they are if a person needs so many.

“You know this really should be illegal, detective,” she said. “When we hired Chip he said he was perfectly healthy. Now he’s dropping dead on opening night. We could sue.”

Abel propped himself up. “I’m telling you, Jo, this could be good. It solves that little p-r-o-b-l-e-m we were talking about earlier.”

“What problem?” Malachi hopped in without missing a beat.

“Oh. He’s being dramatic. Just a little contract hiccup.”

“Hiccup? Don’t be so modest. Chip wanted to destroy us, just a little bit.”

“He did not. He just had some terms which made potential transfers…difficult.” 

I stepped forward, and plopped on the couch next to Abel, forcing him to move a little to the side. 

“Transfers? Where?”

“Ars Nova. Steppenwolf. Woolly Mammoth. We had a few options on the plate. We just needed this run to go smoothly, build a buzz, and have strong ticket sales. It would have been a big break.”

“But he would have had to go with the show wherever it went?” Malachi said.

“Ding ding ding, the beefcake in the jeans wins it all. What does he get, Vanna?” 

Now that I was sitting closer I could smell the faint whiff of alcohol on Abel, which was honestly a relief. I couldn’t imagine anyone having this personality while sober.

“I guess that’d be hard considering he was blackballed for sleeping with that producer’s wife.” Jocelyn and Abel grew serious. I didn’t think I’d overplayed my hand, but maybe I had. God forbid, I try to cut to the heart of a thing without hearing a bunch of people weep and whine about a failed career while one floor away a man is in the early stages of rotting. 

“What Frost meant to say was—”

“Frost?” Abel’s voice was a little distant. “Not Carolyn Frost? Yes, I thought you looked familiar. I saw that write-up of you in Creative Loafing. The podcast detective taking The Bay by storm.” His face darkened. “Awfully convenient you’d be here today of all days.”

“Wait,” Jocelyn said, “this was an accident, wasn’t it? That’s why I asked you up here in the first place, to let me know when you were going to take him away—”

“It might be an accident, but it might not,” Malachi said.

“Oh.” Jocelyn reached for the antacids again but stilled her hands before she could open the bottle. “Do we need a lawyer, detectives?”

“Probably, yeah.” I shrugged. “Of course, I don’t think you’d really kill him. Murder’s bad for business, contract problems notwithstanding. But then again, all publicity is good publicity, right?”

“No,” Abel answered.

I smiled. “Right answer.”

“Did you two like Mr. Arendale?” asked Malachi.

“Like him?” Jocelyn started. “Of course not—”

“Jo—”

“Abel, please, I have nothing to hide. Chip Arendale was a pain in my side. He was one of the most demanding actors I have ever worked with. Some of the demands were fine. No latex condoms in the whole building? Sure thing. He needs a throat coat tea before and after every performance? Why not? But some of them … hire a private driver for Mr. Arendale. Mr. Arendale has to have special expensive snacks in his dressing room—the largest dressing room, mind you. If women didn’t throw themselves at the ticket booth just to glimpse his face I would have breached contract and sent him home months ago.”

“Condoms?” Malachi said. “What kind of theater is this?”

“For the mics, Jeans.” Abel sighed as if this was the single stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Condoms on the mic packs keep the mics dry from actor sweat. Chippy had a latex allergy, ergo they had to be latex free and he wouldn’t let anyone forget it.”

“Just another extra cost, but I did it. And then he had the audacity to die. Ridiculous.”

“And how about you, Mr. Castillo?” I turned to Abel. “Were you as big a fan of the leading man as your producer?”

“Oh, yeah. Me and Chip were bosom buddies.”

“But you wanted to replace him in the show?”

“That’s show business, right?”

“Right,” I said. And then,  “If you don’t mind, what exactly were you two doing before the show started?”

“Praying,” Jocleyn said. “I went backstage, gave everyone congratulations, then I went to my seat and tried to feel normal.”

Abel said, “I was with the press team. Then the lobby. Then backstage. Gave my ‘break-a-legs’ then I went to my seat, and that’s that.”

Malachi nodded and moved towards the door. I stood up and followed.

“Well, thank you both for your time. We’re going to keep going around, asking some questions just to get a handle on the situation. If we need anything else, I’ll be sure to come to you.”

We left the room and walked down the narrow stairs to the main floor. I wasn’t quite sure what to think yet. There was somehow too much information floating around, and yet not enough. Swollen tongues and tough contracts and high demands and big breaks and a very hard-to-work-with actor. It felt like the answer was right in my face, and I only needed to sit down and think about it for a minute before it would click together. 

“Hey, Malachi, what are you thinking?”

“Tea.”

“Tea?”

“Yeah. That was one of his demands. Tea before and after every performance. Maybe that’s how the poison was introduced. It wouldn't be hard, I don’t think.”

“Could be, but who could have brought … what did you say it was? Arsenic?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I have someone I want to talk to. This Penny chick. I mean, she was onstage when the guy croaked. I think she might be able to piece this all together.”

“Stay outta my head, Frost. I was thinking the same thing.”

We smiled at each other and for a minute I totally forgot we were investigating a grisly murder that at least 150 people saw live and would carry with them forever. Such is the power of friendship.

In no time, we found ourselves in the hall containing all the dressing rooms. One of the cream doors was open, the tungsten bulbs casting out an amber glow that sickeningly merged with the glacial blue fluorescents burning in the hall. Malachi gently knocked on the door, and Penny, a woman with the skin routine of the gods, turned to face us. Chalky black streaks stained her bronze cheeks, and the whites of her eyes showed veins the color of wine. She wasn’t even pretending she hadn’t been desperately crying a few minutes ago, which, oddly enough, made me feel like I was doing something kinda wrong being in her room.

“Um, were you looking for someone?” she asked.

“We were looking for you. I’m Detective Malachi, but you can just call me Malcahi, alright?” He used his softest voice reserved for children and scared animals. He slowly inched forward and offered her a smile.

For a minute I was jealous that I didn’t have the same reserve of easy-going charm that Malcahi seemed to have in these situations. I nervously followed him, only making eye contact through the room’s numerous mirrors. 

“I’m Carolyn.”

“You’re here for Chip?”

“Not originally,” Malachi said. “We were really enjoying the show before, weren’t we, Frost?”

I grunted, then nodded when that didn’t feel like enough. Malachi slowly sat down next to her, and I hung behind him like a ghost.

“You two were really good together onstage. I was looking at the playbill before the show started—this was your second show together, wasn’t it?” Malachi asked.

“Yeah,” she sniffed. “He’s the one who got me the audition. He said he wouldn’t do it without me.” She smiled, and it turned wobbly as she started to cry again. 

Malachi raised an eyebrow at me, and I reached over to offer her the tissue box on the counter. She thanked me and blew her nose.

“I heard he was a pretty tough guy to work with,” I mumbled.

“No. I mean, he could be, but he was a real actor. He taught me so much. He was brilliant.” She looked up at me like she was pleading for me to believe her, and when she said it I did.

“Hey,” Malachi asked, his voice even softer than before, “could you tell me what you were doing before the show? Were you two with each other?”

“Well, sort of. We had … things weren’t like they used to be before. So, tonight, I tried to give him his space, but he came up to me, and he, um—he said a lot of things, and we went back to his dressing room to talk. I was already dressed, but he had to work on his makeup. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect. And then Stevie called him up—apparently there was some problem with his mic—and then I was sort of there for a while, and he didn’t come right back down, so I waited and waited then I went back to my dressing room. He never came back in to find me.” She looked down at her hands.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Malachi tried to catch her eye.  After a moment she nodded. 

“Were you and Mr. Arendale in an intimate relationship?” 

She waited a moment and then nodded again. “It wasn’t, we were in love, he loved me. We just had to keep it a secret. He said no one would ever believe I was a good actress if they knew we were together. He was looking after me.”

Malachi patted her hand, and she tried her best to smile.

“And were things going good between the two of you? Why weren’t things like they used to be before?”

She tucked a loose braid behind her ear and started wringing her hands together. “You have to understand, he was a heartthrob. I was lucky, really, he even liked me. He told me that when he lived in New York, he had a new date every week. It wasn’t fair for him to go from that to seeing only one person. He only did it a couple of times, but I still … I just couldn’t handle it. I didn’t want to see him after that. Oh, it was just awful. I thought I would die.”

“Yeah, heartbreak sucks.” It was lame, but it was all I could think to say.

“This is gonna sound like a silly question, but it’s pretty important. Did you see him drink any tea today?” Malachi asked.

“Tea? He was always drinking tea. He wanted to keep the instrument warm, he said.” She laughed to herself.

“Okay, and did it look normal? You didn’t see anyone slip anything in it or anything?”

“No. He always makes it himself. He says it’s terrible when other people do it. Well, except me. He let me do it a few times when he was busy.”

“But you didn’t make it tonight?”

“I …” she got very quiet. “Why are you asking me all these questions? It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Malachi’s just thorough.” I leaped in before he could answer. “Just one more quick question. Did you know that Chip had it locked in that the show couldn’t transfer to other theaters without him?”

“Of course.”

“And you were okay with that? I mean, it probably wouldn’t get any further with him attached to it, considering what happened to him in New York.”

“Have you ever been in love, Miss?”

“No.”

“Oh … well, I loved him, which means I wouldn’t want to be anywhere he wasn’t. I would have done anything for him.”

“That …” I trailed off. It was like someone had poured antifreeze down my throat, or at least it’s what I imagined it would be like as that has never happened to me. Point is, a deep cold feeling started blooming in the middle of my chest and a sense of satisfaction and dread clawed its way up my throat. I turned to Malachi who could clearly see the change that had come over me.

“What’s wrong, Frost?”

“I know what happened.”

“Really, I don’t see why the rest of the crew could leave but we couldn’t,” Jocelyn muttered as she, Abel, Steve, and Penny walked onstage. 

Chip had been moved earlier, but the weight of his death still hung on the air as did the stench of death. Abel, never one to stand, flung himself on one of the couches onstage. He seemed less sober than before which could have been either a very good or very bad thing. Steven leaned against the couch, hip cocked out to the side. Penny stood ramrod straight in the middle of the stage as though she was about to start some Shakespearean monologue at any moment. 

Abel spoke next. “So, dear detectives, are we going to learn something here today or are you simply committed to wasting our time?”

“I know who killed Chip Arrendale,” I said.

That got everyone’s attention. Abel’s smirk vanished. Steven’s eyes grew wide. Jocelyn strangled her cry of alarm. Only Penny stayed still. Her eyes darted between Malachi and me, a sick look painted all across her face.

“It was pretty clever too, all things considered. Simple. I’ve solved a lot of these things and that’s the trick. KISS, right? Keep It Simple, Stupid. Most people aren’t as clever as they think. Jocelyn?”

Jocelyn gripped her heart and turned to wordlessly face me.

“This was supposed to be your big break. You had a star, a little dull but bright enough. A brilliant new ingénue in her first big role. You’d slum it down here for a couple of months and then you’d go to a bigger city and then a bigger city and, who knows, maybe you’d go straight to the top. But Chip was your salvation and your damnation, right? He was the only reason anyone bought tickets and the one big reason no one who wanted to keep up good relations with big producers would touch this play. Breaching contracts is expensive, but murder is cheap.”

“That’s not—” She started to protest, but I had already moved on.

“Abel.”

Even though he struggled to focus on me, I felt the fire burn me from behind his eyes. I started pacing.

“Abel, you and Jocelyn had similar problems. You wrote and directed the play. The lead was a consummate actor, but you wanted to star in it. He had an ironclad contract, which stopped your stage dreams. It’s cruel, but hey, it’s show business.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but people have killed for less. Penny.”

Penny held herself tighter but didn’t move, still standing as ramrod straight as the mast of a sunken boat.

“Penny, you loved him, and he did not give you the same consideration you gave him.”

“That’s not true.”

“He asked you to keep your relationship secret. He was cheating on you. It’s true. He was the reason this show, your big break, couldn’t move on and get you a bigger break, but you didn’t care because you loved him. The lines between love, jealousy, and possession run so thin. And you have to watch out for those last two—they can turn ugly. What did you feel when you found out he was cheating on you after everything you sacrificed for him?”

“I was heartbroken.”

“Just heartbroken? You weren’t angry? Full of rage? You didn’t want to kill him?”

“No!”

“How about you, Steven? Did you want to kill him?”

I whipped around to Steven who looked like a deer in headlights. He laughed and slipped on a warm and incredulous smile.

“Why would I want to kill him?”

“Because you love her.”

His smile faded and his jaw tightened.

“Stevie?” Penny’s voice was the only noise. Everything else had fallen unnaturally quiet.

“You should’ve told her, Steven.” Malachi said.

“That’s not …” Steven trailed off as he looked at Penny, who seemed more heartbroken than she had all night.

“I’m going to tell everyone what happened, and you correct me if I’m wrong, alright, Steven?” I said. “So, you and Penny have known each other for a while. For four shows, you said. And somewhere along the way you realized that you were in love with her. And maybe you were going to tell her eventually, I don’t really know, but it didn’t matter because she ended up meeting disgraced but talented and handsome actor, Chip Arendale. Well, you couldn’t compete with him, so you became her best friend. And maybe it worked out for a while, but then Chip had to go and break her heart. And it was a bad heartbreak too. Penny said she just could have died. Someone you love being in that kind of pain because someone you’re already jealous of hurt them? Oh, I think you really wanted to kill him. So, what did you do?"

"You’re the stage manager, of course. You control everything. It’d be easy to slip something into his tea or loosen a light or pull a trap door, I don’t know. Point is, you have options but, like I said, you weren’t trying to be clever, you were trying to be effective. Simple. He has a latex allergy. Apparently the latex allergy was pretty bad and he made sure everyone knew it and, in fact, requested that no latex condoms be allowed in the building, which is why all the condoms for those mic packs you guys use have to be latex free. Do you know the symptoms of an allergy attack? Itchy body. Red patches. Sometimes it can trigger swelling and asthma—all things that happened to Chip before he died. And Penny said you called him up to adjust something with his mic right before he went onstage? What was wrong with the mic, Steven?”

“It was … it’s … it’s like, there was a …” He stumbled over himself.

“Stevie, did you really do it?” Penny asked.

Steven took a step towards Penny, and she took a step back.

“You deserved better, Penny. I could have taken care of you—”

“You killed a man,” Penny said.

“He hurt you. Penny, I love you. He hurt you.” 

Malachi walked over and began to read Steven his rights. 

I looked at Penny and was struck with the thought that she had unknowingly become the lead in a drama that no one wanted to see.