Another One Bites the Crust Page 7

  “Nonsense.” Lance pointed to the supplies. “You can send someone up for this stuff in the morning. You have to bring your costumes back anyway, and studies say that a nightcap before bed is just the thing to help you nod off into la-la land.”

  “What studies say that?” I asked.

  “Studies. Professional studies.” Lance winked.

  I turned to Bethany. “Why don’t you take off; I’ve got it from here.”

  “Are you sure?” she said with a wide grin. “I mean I’m happy to help and I can stay as long as you need me, but some of my friends are heading to the Black Dog and I thought it might be fun to show up in this.” She did another twirl. I wondered if her “friends” included Andy.

  Lance clapped. “Oh, dearest angel, you must take that for a spin. You’ll be the belle of the ball. Off with you.” He shooed Bethany away.

  “So how did you feel about the party?” I asked as I wiped down the table with a damp rag. “It seemed like everyone had a fantastic time.”

  “Do you think so?” He darted his head from side to side. “It was marvelous, wasn’t it? I can’t wait to hear what the board has to say in the morning.”

  “What’s happening in the morning?”

  “I’ve called a special emergency session to discuss that egomaniac.” He nodded toward the bar where Antony and Tracy were talking with a tall thin young actor wearing a toga that looked almost identical to Antony’s. The only difference was that Antony was dark with olive skin and black hair. The other actor—or member of the company—was as pale as me with light, almost white hair.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea, given…” I trailed off and reached for a grape marzipan in the container in front of me.

  “Of course it’s a good idea. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m done with his little escapades and his ridiculous need for attention. I want his head on a platter. He’s done. Finished. Finito.” Lance glared at Antony. “In fact, I’ve already groomed his replacement.” He gave a nod to the young actor in the toga. “My new Antony is dutifully waiting in the wings.”

  Finishing the creamy almond marzipan, I swallowed and stared at the bar. “Who? That blond guy?”

  Lance scoffed. “Brock? No, not him. He’s Antony’s roommate. He’s a stagehand and an extra.” He gave me a devilish look and pointed to a tall actor who stood at the edge of the crowd. That is my new Antony. Isn’t he dreamy?” He reached for a marzipan shaped like a lemon.

  I followed suit and ate another grape. “Sure.”

  “The best thing is that big-headed, pompous, self-proclaimed actor has no idea it’s coming, and he’s the one who recommended I audition the understudy who is about to replace him. Karma.” Lance’s eyes twinkled with mean-spirited delight. “It’s going to be quite the shock. Perhaps you should time your costume return so you can watch him go down in flames.”

  “No, thanks.” I shook my head.

  Antony noticed us watching him. He knocked back his pint of mead and slammed the sturdy mug on the table. With a dramatic sweep of his cape he turned and stormed toward us.

  Uh-oh. I wished I could disappear under the table.

  “Nice party.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “The board and volunteers absolutely loved it.” He pointed to a group of older women nearby. One of them caught his eye and he blew her a kiss. She giggled like a schoolgirl and whispered something to the group.

  Lance rolled his eyes. “You’ve had to sink so low that you’re flirting with grandmothers.”

  Antony shot him a dark look. “I don’t see them clamoring for your attention.”

  Digging his nails into an apple-shaped marzipan, Lance narrowed his lips. “You need to leave. Now.”

  “Who’s going to make me?” Antony puffed out his chest.

  To my horror, Lance squeezed the marzipan in one hand and then stepped forward and took a swing. Antony ducked, but the punch landed on his shoulder. Antony recoiled. Brock, the stagehand, sprinted across the room and leaped between them.

  I wanted to pinch myself. Was this really happening? The Lance that I knew was dramatic, but a fighter? No.

  Lance rubbed his hands together and bounced from one foot to the other, like a boxer warming up before a match.

  Antony fumed. His face turned blotchy with red and white spots. He recovered from the initial blow and tossed off his cape. “You want to go? Let’s go,” he said to Lance.

  Brock, who reminded me of a toothpick, stood between them and held out one arm in either direction. “Bad idea, bro,” he said to Antony.

  “Bro?” Antony spat. “I am not your bro, man. Do you want to go there? Should we spill our dirty little secrets right here?”

  I watched as Brock’s feeble arm muscles twitched. For a second I thought he might join ranks with Lance and take a swing at Antony himself, but instead he tugged Lance’s arm. “You got a minute?”

  Lance twitched. His hand was on his dagger. I figured it was a prop, but then again, I couldn’t be sure of anything with Lance right now.

  “I need to talk to you about something important,” Brock almost begged.

  Lance flinched, then appeared to realize what Brock was saying. His shoulders swelled. “Of course. I’m always happy to lend a listening ear.”

  “Seriously!” Antony threw his hands in the air. “We’re not done, old man,” he said to Lance with a threatening thrust of his chest before storming over to the group of older women he’d been flirting with.

  “Well, shall we?” Lance addressed Brock while absently running a finger under his eye. I knew the “old man” comment had to sting. Lance had never revealed his age. I suspected he was in his mid-forties, but he prided himself on his ageless appearance and wrinkle-free skin.

  Antony played up his charm by saying something to the group of women that made them all titter. He gave one of them his arm and escorted her out of the tent with a final look of triumph at Lance. Brock whispered something in Lance’s ear that made him tip his head back and laugh. I appreciated the fact that he had distracted Lance, but had a feeling it wasn’t entirely selfless. He had seized an opportunity to get face time with OSF’s most highly esteemed director.

  I took that as my cue to sneak out. What I had said to Lance was true. I had an early day ahead of me and the last thing I wanted was a nightcap. Instead, I wanted a steaming cup of tea and my warm and cozy bed. The event had been a success and I had done my part for my friend. I hoped that he would call it a night, too. But as I heaved plastic tubs onto the rolling cart I heard him inviting anyone who listened to come have a drink. Good luck, I whispered, and made my exit.

  Chapter Eight

  I fell asleep before I finished my tea, so when I heard the sound of pounding and someone calling my name I figured I must be dreaming. The pounding intensified as I flipped onto my back and stared up at a dark ceiling.

  “Juliet! Open up!” someone hollered.

  Was I dreaming?

  A series of rapid bangs, like someone was trying to break down my front door, made me shake my head and sit up.

  “Juliet! Let me in.”

  I blinked twice and jumped out of bed. What time was it? I fumbled in the dark, instinctively reaching for my slippers before realizing that I was still wearing my party dress. When I reached for the light switch and flipped it on I was plunged into a temporary blindness. Bright spots clouded my vision as I ran my hand along the wall and headed to the front room. The clock in the living room read two o’clock. Who was at my door?

  “Juliet!” the voice called. There was a sense of panic in the man’s tone. I recognized the voice, but my head was still groggy from being woken from a deep sleep.

  I walked to the front door and peered out the peephole. Lance was standing on the other side. “Lance, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night,” I said, opening the door.

  He burst inside. His hands were shaking and covered in what looked like blood. That couldn’t be blood, could it? I must be dreaming.

 
He paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again. “Jules, this is bad. It’s so bad.”

  “What? What’s going on, Lance?” He never called me Jules. That shook me from my sleepy haze and made me pay attention. His hands were covered in something dark and red and he still wore his costume. There was something bulky behind his cape, and his words came out in such rapid succession that I could barely make sense of what he was saying.

  “Antony. Dead. I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did. Why did I do it, Jules? Why?” His ashen face and trembling hands gave me pause.

  “Lance, you have to slow down. What about Antony? He’s dead?”

  “My God, yes! He’s dead, Jules. Dead. Stabbed with a bloody dagger.” He held up his red hands that shook violently and stared at them.

  His entire body went into shock. He dropped to his knees.

  I ran over to help him up. “Come on, let’s get you on the couch.” I lifted him up and slowly positioned him on the couch. Then I covered his quaking legs with a blanket and sat down next to him. “Lance, you’re not making sense. Can you take a deep breath and then tell me what’s going on?”

  He threw his head back and wailed. “What’s going on? A tragedy of epic proportions, Jules. Epic. Antony is dead.”

  My mind flashed to the worst-case scenario. Had Lance killed Antony? No way. My friend wasn’t a killer, but then again had he just confessed? Why were his hands bloody and why was he freaking out? I took a deep breath, partly for Lance and partly for me.

  “How do you know that Antony is dead?” I asked.

  Lance reached behind his back and pulled out a bloody dagger. “Because of this.”

  I took another deep breath and thought carefully about my words before I spoke. “Lance, you didn’t stab him, did you?”

  He threw his hands in the air and shot up from the couch. I saw a glimpse of my friend return as he waved the dagger in the air. “Of course I didn’t kill him. Please. He wasn’t worth a second of my time.”

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me what happened, then.” I smoothed my party dress, remembering the feeling of floating down the staircase into Lance’s soiree.

  “I don’t know what happened!” Lance’s composure quickly faded. “We had that nasty tiff at the party. You saw that. And then I left. We went and had a lovely nightcap at Puck’s Pub. Don’t give me that look, I only had one drink.”

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  Lance paced in front of the couch with the dagger still in his hand. “That’s it. Then I went back to the theater to grab a few things and make sure that cleanup had gone according to plan. I walked down the Shakespeare stairs to Lithia Park and stumbled over something.”

  “Antony?” I interjected.

  Lance threw his hand over his mouth and gagged. “Yes. He was sprawled on the ground with this sticking out of his stomach.” He held up the dagger. “Jules, what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to call the police.” I stood up and walked toward the bookcase where I had left my phone.

  “No!” Lance screamed and chased after me. He stopped short of grabbing me, staring at my silky pink dress and then at his hands. “You can’t call the police. Look at me. They’re going to think I did it. Look at my hands. Look at this dagger.” His feral eyes darted around the room. “Wait, there’s more. I found this, too.” He yanked a DVD case out of his pocket.

  “What is it?”

  He held it like it was a bomb about to explode. “I don’t know. It was by the body. An empty DVD case-that must mean something—a clue perhaps? You’re good at investigating. Can’t we just figure this out ourselves?”

  “Lance, stop. You have to calm down. We don’t have a choice. I’m calling Thomas.”

  “Not Thomas,” Lance pleaded. “At least call the Professor if you have to call anyone.”

  “Fine, I’ll call the Professor, then.” I reached for my phone and punched in his number.

  “Are you sure you have to call? Can’t we just do something with the body? This looks bad for me, Jules, really bad.”

  The phone began to ring. “Not as bad as not calling them, Lance.” I pointed to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down?” I waited for the Professor to answer. When his voice mail came over the line I left him a message explaining that it was an emergency and to call me back immediately, and then without waiting for Lance’s approval or input I dialed Thomas’s number.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Kind of late for a pastry run, isn’t it, Jules?”

  “Thomas, can you come over right now?”

  “Sure. What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”

  I lowered my voice slightly. “It’s Lance. He’s found a body.”

  “What? Did you call 911?”

  “No, I called you.”

  “Hang up and call them. I’m on my way.”

  The line went dead. I dialed emergency services and explained the situation while Lance rocked back and forth on the couch. The dispatcher assured me that she would send a team to Lithia Park. She instructed me to stay with Lance until Thomas or the Professor arrived. As it turned out, we didn’t have to wait long. That was one of the perks of life in a small town. Thomas only lived about five minutes from my apartment. When I greeted him at the door I could tell that I had woken him. Instead of his blue police uniform and shiny badge, he wore a pair of warm-up pants and a zip-up athletic jacket. I wondered if he’d been running again. When we dated in high school Thomas had played football and used to run a minimum of six miles every day to stay in shape. He had maintained his muscular physique postcollege, but it had been years since I’d seen him in his workout gear.

  “Hey Jules, I came as quick as I could.” He was breathless, as if he had run all the way to my apartment.

  I stood to the side to make way for him to enter. “It’s been five minutes. I think that’s pretty quick.”

  “You look really nice.” His blue eyes stared at my hair and then worked their way down to my dress. “Like a princess.”

  “Thanks.” I willed my cheeks not to blush. Thomas had somewhat recently professed his feelings for me, but I didn’t reciprocate them. I cared about him, and loved him as a friend, but my heart still longed for Carlos. Until I set him free I couldn’t think about another man.

  Thomas’s body language stiffened when he spotted Lance. “I should arrest you right now, if that’s a weapon you’re holding, but the Professor gave me strict orders to wait to do anything other than interrogate you until he arrives.”

  He gave me a concerned look and then nodded toward the kitchen. I took that as my cue to make myself scarce. However, in my tiny apartment it was impossible not to overhear their conversation. I filled a teakettle and set it on the stove as Thomas began interrogating Lance. It felt weird to stand around in the kitchen pretending that I couldn’t hear every word they were saying, so I decided to do the only thing that I knew—bake.

  My home kitchen was well supplied with baking essentials, but I wasn’t sure how long Thomas would stay and whether any of Ashland’s other men and women in blue would show up, so I opted to make shortbread. It was a simple cookie recipe that could be baked in a pan or cut into fancy shapes. Shortbread doesn’t require eggs and can be enhanced with a variety of flavors. I’m a purist when it comes to the crispy, buttery treat. I like to bake mine with a hint of vanilla, a touch of salt, and finish it with chunky crystalized sugar.

  While Thomas asked Lance to start from the beginning I creamed butter, sugar, and vanilla into a mixing bowl. I heard Lance repeat exactly what I had heard. He left the party and went for a celebratory drink at Puck’s Pub. After Brock swooped in, Antony left the party with Judy Faulkner, a longtime OSF volunteer. That must have been the woman that I’d seen him schmoozing with, I thought as I turned the mixer to low.

  “That’s the last time I saw him alive, I swear,” Lance said to Thomas as the kettle let out a shrill whistle. I removed it from the stove and poked my head into the living room.
“Would either of you like some tea?”

  “Yes, please, that would be divine,” Lance said, but Thomas shook his head.

  “Sorry. I can’t let you touch anything.” He nodded to Lance’s hands. “We’re going to have to swab you. As soon as the Professor gets here I’m sure he’s going to want me to take you in.”

  Lance quivered. “You make me sound like a common criminal.”

  At that moment another knock sounded on the door.

  “That’s probably the Professor,” Thomas said, getting up and walking toward the door. “Do you mind, Jules?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Sure enough, the Professor stood on my front landing holding a Moleskine notepad and a pencil. “Good evening. Or is it morning?” He acknowledged Thomas and gave me a wave.

  “Tea?” I asked.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. Duty calls.” The subtle lines on the corners of his lips creased. He sat next to Lance and nodded for Thomas to take notes.

  I returned to my shortbread, adding in flour and a healthy shake of salt. Then I greased a nine-by-eleven-inch pan and pressed the mixture into a thin layer. I slid it into the oven and poured myself a cup of honey-almond tea.

  The Professor’s line of questioning was centered around the dagger. “Help me understand what compelled you to remove the weapon.”

  Lance flustered a bit. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what came over me.”

  “Did you attempt to resuscitate or administer CPR?”

  “No.” Lance sounded defensive. “I knew he was dead. It wasn’t going to help.”

  “How did you know?” the Professor pressed.

  “He was dead. It was obvious. The dagger was jabbed into his stomach and there was so much blood. So much blood.”

  I couldn’t see them, but I figured Lance was probably staring at his bloody hands.

  “I found the DVD case first. I picked it up without thinking about it. I figured I would turn it in to lost and found tomorrow. You wouldn’t believe what patrons leave at the theater. But then I realized it had something on it—blood.” Lance’s voice quivered.