Another One Bites the Crust Read online

  Was it my imagination or did she seem slightly agitated? She brushed past Puck’s Pub and had her attention focused on the flower shop.

  “Oh, hello,” she said without enthusiasm when she saw me. She was quite attractive with silver haircut in an angular bob that framed her face. Feather earrings hung from her lobes.

  “Are you in the market for flowers?” I asked, nodding toward the shop.

  She tapped a yellow legal notepad. “I’m here on official business for OSF.”

  “Really?”

  “Tonight is opening night. We always honor our leads and the director with bouquets. It’s tradition.” Deep lines on the corners of her mouth and eyes gave away her age as she pursed her lips. “I’ve been tasked with hand-delivering the bouquets.”

  “Of course.” I wondered how to broach the subject of Antony, and quickly decided to be direct. “Is the show going on, as they say? I heard that Antony is missing.”

  Judy massaged the bridge of her nose. “He is. I can’t believe it. I saw him last night. When I heard that he was missing I couldn’t believe it. He would never miss a show. Something terrible must have happened to him.”

  “When did you see him last?” I wondered if her story would match up with Brock’s.

  “Last night. After the party. You were there when he and Lance had that little tiff, weren’t you?”

  Two barefoot guys with guitars flashed a peace sign as they walked by. A cloud of patchouli made me cough. “I was there,” I said to Judy.

  She was unfazed by the scent. “Antony is a consummate professional. He must have had too much to drink. I told him that he had to show Lance more respect. Even if Lance was being unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable how?”

  Judy stared at her well-worn Birkenstocks. In Ashland when it came to fashion there were no rules, more like a few distinct camps. Judy, along with many longtime residents, embraced a laid-back style tending toward peasant skirts, Birkenstocks, clogs, and cable-knit sweaters. Tourists who came to town predominantly for the theater dressed in more sophisticated outfits with coordinated accessories, silk scarves, and pearl earrings. Ashland’s college students and actors knew no limits. Not a day went by when I didn’t bump into someone wearing a pirate costume or a hand-stitched skirt made from recycled plastic bottles. I loved the fact that our community embraced such a free-spirited attitude and that the distinct groups mingled together despite outward appearances.

  I got the sense that someone was watching me. The weighty stare of someone’s gaze made the tiny blond hairs on my arm stand at attention. Looking up, my eyes met Richard Lord’s. He motioned with his index finger for me to come join him on the porch of the Merry Windsor. What did he want? I couldn’t imagine anything good. Probably to berate me about our renovation plans or try to force-feed me a taste of his gastronomic menu. No, thanks.

  “Hey, can we go sit for a minute?” I asked Judy, pointing to a bench on the far side of the plaza behind the information kiosk and out of Richard’s line of sight. “Lance and I have been friends for a while and I want to get your take on how you think he’s doing.”

  “You want to talk about Lance?” Judy looked from her legal pad to the flower shop. “I only have a couple of minutes. The bouquets need to be backstage and ready for tonight’s performance.”

  “No problem.” I ignored Richard Lord’s glare and hurried to the bench. We sat down, but Judy didn’t speak. She clicked chunky turquoise bracelets on her wrist and stared at a preschooler trying to drink from the Lithia fountains. He let out a screech when his mom held him close to the sulfur bubbler. “Gross!”

  “Is something bothering you?” I asked Judy.

  She sighed and she scooted closer to me. “You and Lance are good friends?”

  “Yes, we’re friends.”

  “Then you must have noticed that he’s not himself. Has he mentioned anything to you about OSF and what’s going on with the company?”

  I wasn’t sure how much I should reveal to Judy. “He’s seemed pretty preoccupied.”

  Judy linked her fingers together then she cracked her knuckles. Her body language reminded me of the fidgety kid near the fountain. “I’ve been holding on to some information about him and it’s making me crazy. I feel like I can trust you. Lance needs an ally right now.”

  My pulse quickened. “Of course. Whatever you tell me will be in confidence.”

  She exhaled and lowered her voice. “The board has been talking about letting him go.”

  “What?” The news wasn’t unexpected, and yet I guess a part of me had thought Lance was being overly dramatic about his status with the theater.

  “It’s not everyone. The board is split in half. There’s been one vocal member who has decided that it’s time for a change. They claim that it’s in the best interest of OSF’s future to bring in new blood. Apparently, this sort of thing happens all the time. Lance has been artistic director for over a decade, and there are people who think his time is up.”

  “But Lance is a fixture here. He is OSF.”

  Judy nodded. She had stopped fidgeting and her eyes were sharper. “I know. There are a number of people who agree with that point of view. Firing Lance would cause an uproar in the company.”

  A man in a black suit and a woman in a black cocktail dress strolled past us. They each wore VIP tickets around their necks. I figured they were probably heading to the preshow cocktail reception that Lance hosted every year for top donors. Was Lance in any shape to host the party? And if not who would step in and fill his role?

  “Do you really think they’ll fire him?” I asked Judy once the couple was out of earshot.

  She crossed her legs, causing her ankle bracelets to jingle. “Oh, I don’t know. The entire board is in disarray. Lance hasn’t been able to silence his doubters, but he does have a contingent of support both with the board and, of course, with our volunteer group and the company.”

  “Not everyone in the company,” I said, without thinking.

  Judy uncrossed her legs and clasped her hands together again. “What do you mean? The company adores Lance.”

  “We were just talking about one particular member who certainly isn’t a fan of Lance’s.”

  She tapped the tips of her fingers together as her foot bounced on the cement. “You mean Antony?”

  Why the sudden shift? At A Rose by Any Other Name Judy had been the one who brought up Lance and Antony’s argument last night, now she was acting as if she was completely unaware of the tension between them.

  “Yes. Could he be planting a seed of doubt about Lance with some of the board members?”

  “Oh no.” Judy sucked in a huge breath through her nose. “My goodness. I never considered that. Would Antony do such a thing?” She didn’t appear to be talking to me any longer. “I never should have agreed to lie for him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Judy’s words threw me off. What did she mean, lie for him? I waited for her to elaborate, but she threw her head into her hands and rocked back and forth on the bench.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, placing my hand on her back.

  She sat up but kept half of her face covered. “I don’t know. I think I’m mixed up in the middle of this battle between Lance and Antony and I never meant to be.”

  I thought she might say more but instead she shook her head and sighed.

  “Can you fill me in? Maybe I can help?”

  A look of relief crossed her face. She dropped her hands and nodded. “Maybe you can.” Her fingers drummed on her wavy ankle-length skirt. “Antony asked me to keep a secret for him. At the time, I didn’t think much about it, and to be honest I was flattered by his attention. I guess I got swept up in being friends with one of OSF’s rising stars. I’ve been a volunteer for five years now. When I moved to Ashland from Northern California after I retired from teaching, I wanted a way to meet new people and be able to see shows on a retired teacher’s salary, and one of my neighbors told me about the many op
tions for volunteering.”

  She shifted on the bench. “The show goes on because of us. Did you know there are over seven hundred volunteers throughout the season?”

  I did. The sheer scale of performances at OSF required more manpower than paid staff could manage. Volunteers served as ticket takers and ushers, provided assistance for hearing-impaired patrons, staffed information and welcome booths, helped in the costume department, and did a variety of other tasks from handing out chocolates to even taking a four-legged cast member, Sparky the dog, for bathroom breaks at intermission. Around town the volunteers are called penguins due to the fact that they dress in matching white shirts and black pants and skirts. In return for their service OSF offers volunteers free tickets, puts on special performances, and throws an annual “Labor of Love” party to celebrate and honor their contributions.

  “I read an article a while back that said volunteers put in over thirty thousand hours last season,” I said to Judy.

  She nodded. “My favorite thing to do has been to hand out the blankets for the outdoor show in the summer. It’s such fun and the energy at the Elizabethan stage is so wonderful. Me and a group of my friends volunteer every night. Last summer I saw every show at least twenty times. You know, there’s something slightly different about each performance, too. That’s the beauty of live theater.”

  I agreed with her, but wanted to nudge her back onto the topic of Antony’s secret.

  “Sometimes it’s a prop that fails or a brief look exchanged between the actors that can change the performance. That’s the thrill—the exhilaration—of theater.” Her voice became animated as she spoke. There was no doubt that she loved the theater.

  “That’s when it happened,” she continued. “It was the end of the season. Late September and I was working the blanket booth. It’s very popular that time of year. You know how chilly fall evenings can be?”

  I nodded.

  “One of our regular volunteers was ill so a college student from SOU filled in and the booth was a disaster at the end of the performance. I sent the student home and stayed to clean up. I swear I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I was simply doing my job. I didn’t even realize how late it was because I was busy folding and stacking blankets and sorting through the money in the cash register.”

  As Judy stretched out the story with extra details about the bright blue pillows and blankets that the local Soroptimist’s club loaned to patrons and the process of washing and drying them and where the funds raised from the booth went, I found myself ready to beg her to get to the point.

  “How does this tie in with Antony?” I finally asked, trying to get her back on topic.

  “Oh, right. Well, I was on the floor in the blanket booth sorting through the pile to be washed when I heard two men talking right next to the booth.”

  My foot started to quake with anticipation. I pressed my hand in my thigh.

  “I recognized Antony’s voice right away, but I couldn’t recognize the other voice. It was a man though, I’m sure of that.” She twiddled her fingers. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was about to stand up and announce myself but then they started yelling at each other. I didn’t know what to do. If I told them that I was there they would think I was spying on them, so I stayed low and listened. The man kept mentioning John Duncan.”

  “John?” I puzzled out loud.

  “Yes, John Duncan. That made Antony furious. He told the man never to mention that name again.”

  I interrupted. “Or else what?”

  Judy shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t expand, but he made it extremely clear that he didn’t want anything to do with John Duncan. The other man kept telling him that John was the least of his worries. He was going to reveal many more ugly secrets.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t believe it. Antony was OSF’s star. How could he have any ugly secrets?”

  She didn’t wait for me to respond.

  “I think that the man was trying to get something out of Antony. Antony told him that he was going to have control of the board soon and that if the man played his cards right good things would come to him.”

  What did that mean? I tried to stay in the moment with Judy, but questions formed at a rapid pace in my brain. Who was John Duncan, and what was his connection with Antony? Could Antony have actually managed to turn the board against Lance? And if so, how? He was an up-and-coming actor in the company, but I couldn’t imagine why the board would take his input into consideration. And who was the mystery man Judy had overheard? Was there a chance that John Duncan was Antony’s real name? I thought about that for a minute. It could be a possibility, but Judy made it sound as if Antony and the other man were talking about a third person. If Antony’s real name was John why wouldn’t the man have addressed him as such?

  “The man took off, and I thought the coast was clear,” Judy continued, staring at her feet. “I waited for a few minutes but when I stood up Antony was leaning against the side of the blanket booth. He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I apologized and explained that I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. He believed me, and he asked that we keep what I had heard between us. I told him that was fine. I didn’t want to get in the middle of it.”

  “You never said anything? Not even to Lance?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No and now I feel terrible. Antony didn’t owe me anything but after I heard him that night he started paying extra attention to me. I should have realized that he was trying to keep me silent, but I was flattered by the attention.” She paused and studied me for a moment. “You’re a gorgeous young woman. You wouldn’t understand, but when you get to be my age men don’t notice you anymore. They don’t flirt. It’s like being invisible. Antony invited me to cast parties and gave me a tour of his dressing room. He treated me like a friend. I liked not being invisible. But then the rumors started about dissension on the board. Lance has always been good to me and our volunteer group. I felt guilty. I should have told him. I should have mentioned what I heard Antony say about gaining power with the board, but I didn’t. I kept quiet and now everything is ruined.”

  I empathized with her. She wasn’t alone in her adoration for the actors in the company. There were a number of theater groupies who frequented Torte during the season in hopes of catching a glimpse or snapping a selfie with one of the actors. For Ashland residents the OSF cast and crew were friends and neighbors, but for tourists they were like royalty.

  “Did Antony ever mention anything more about John Duncan?”

  “No. I never brought it up. It didn’t seem right, especially because Antony had gone out of his way to do so many special things for me.”

  “I understand.”

  “You don’t think I’m a terrible person?” Judy said, wringing her hands again.

  “No. I get it.” I patted her shoulder. “I just wish I knew who Antony had been arguing with. You know the company better than me. There’s no one by the name of John Duncan at OSF, is there?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Maybe there was before I started volunteering?”

  That was a possibility. I couldn’t wait to find Lance and ask him if he knew John Duncan or if the name had any significance. “You said that you saw Antony after the party night?”

  Judy ran her thumb on the edge of the yellow notepad. “I did. You’re going to think I’m terrible, though.”

  “I won’t. I promise, and this might be important to the case.”

  “He offered to give me box seats, backstage passes, and put me on the guest list for the cast party for tonight. After he and Lance had their fight he told me to meet him in his dressing room. I did and he gave me the tickets and passes.”

  “Have you talked to the police yet?” The plaza and sidewalk along Main Street had begun to fill with people. A group of penguins waved to Judy and then disappeared inside the Green Goblin. They were probably getting a quick bite before reporting for duty.

  She lowered her voice. “No, why?”

/>   “You might have been the last person to see him alive.”

  Judy’s face went white. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know, but regardless the police are searching for him right now. If you were the last person to see him last night they need to know that.”

  “But I wasn’t. He gave me the tickets and we talked for a few minutes. He even invited me to join him and some of the other members of the cast for a drink. They were going to go out after the party, but we got interrupted.”

  “By who?”

  “Vera, the costume designer. She stormed into Antony’s dressing room and said that they needed to talk—alone. She made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome, so I left. I waited around outside the Bowman Theater for a while. I thought maybe he would come out and we would still go get a drink, but he never came out.”

  “How long did you wait?”

  “I don’t know, maybe twenty or thirty minutes? It was cold and late so I decided to go home, especially because he had gotten me on the list for the party tonight.”

  I couldn’t believe that Judy had been so forthcoming. Thomas needed to be filled in and I wanted to talk to Lance.

  Judy tapped the crumpled list. “I should go. I need to get these bouquets for the show.”

  “You’re going to tell the police about last night and John Duncan, though, right?”

  She nodded and stood. “I will. I’ll do that as soon as I pick up the flower arrangements. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. It’s been bothering me for a while and I feel lighter.”

  I smiled. I wished I felt lighter. Judy’s news made me more confused, but also more convinced that Lance wasn’t having a breakdown or midlife crisis. Antony had been trying to influence and turn the board against Lance. I wasn’t sure why, but I was going to do everything in my power to figure it out. I was also curious about Vera. Why had she barged into Antony’s dressing room last night, and did that mean that she had been the last person to see him alive?