Foul Play (A Moose River Mystery Book 4) Page 5

  “From ticket sales?”

  “From anywhere,” she answered. “I’m not sure the reason, but she’s been very insistent about driving up revenue.”

  That was interesting. I wondered if the theater company was hurting, or if this production was more expensive, or if there were other reasons. But Eleanor also just struck me as the kind of woman who was a little greedy and who would love to brag to others about how all of her shows had sold out.

  “Well, alright, then I guess we better figure out what we want to do,” I said. “What can I do?”

  “Do you have any design experience?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’ve done, like, Christmas cards,” I said. Her face fell and I quickly added, “And I’ve helped my kids with a few things, and put some stuff together for classes I’ve taught. And we have Photoshop on our computer. I’m not sure if that counts as experience.”

  “You’re ahead of me,” she said. “Would you be willing to take a crack at designing the program?”

  “Uh, sure, I guess. No promises as to what it will look like.” I made a mental note to ask Will what kind of experience he had in designing graphics on the computer. He still needed more punishment for hacking into Emily’s stuff.

  “I assure you it will be better than anything I can come up with,” she said. She pulled out a thin folder from beneath the brochures and slid it across the table to me. “This is everything that has to be included in the program. Names, our advertisers, everything that Eleanor would like included. Let me go over everything with you so you know what’s what.”

  We spent the next half hour going through the paperwork in the folder. Eleanor had given her meticulous instructions as to what she wanted in the program, and I wondered why she hadn’t just told her what she wanted for the design, too. But the information that she had was similar to what I’d seen in the other programs and it all made sense to me.

  Joanne closed the folder. “Would you be able to have a rough draft done in the next day or two?”

  I nodded, trying to look confident. “I think so. I’ll get on the computer this afternoon and see what I can come up with.”

  “That’d be great,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “The sooner we can get it done, the sooner we can get it to the printer. And if I’m able to secure any other advertisers today, I’ll call you and let you know.”

  “You’re still looking for advertisers?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yep. I’ve got a few more calls to make today. Revenue, revenue, revenue.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “If she’s that worried about money, I can’t imagine the stress she’s under with the Snow White situation.”

  Joanne grimaced, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure she is. You did hear that Madison is the new Snow White, right? Eleanor’s daughter?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “No, I hadn’t heard that. At least not officially.”

  She nodded. “Yes, she’s going to play Snow White, what with Amanda Pendleton being gone and all. Which is probably a good thing, since Madison has so much experience playing lead roles. She’ll learn her lines in no time at all.”

  She also had experience being a jerky kid, I wanted to point out, remembering my run-in with her on costume pickup night. But I kept my mouth shut.

  “And it appears some ears may have been burning,” she said, lowering her voice. “Because my boss just walked in.”

  “Your boss?” I asked, trying to collect my thoughts.

  I turned around.

  Eleanor Bandersand, with her pants pulled nearly to her neck, was striding toward us.

  TEN

  “Good morning, ladies,” Eleanor said, sitting down before we’d even had time to invite her to do so. “How are we this fine morning?”

  “Good, good,” Joanne said. She picked up her phone from the tabletop. “But I was just on my way out. I have another appointment that I can’t be late for. Daisy, here, however, has graciously offered to take a shot at designing our programs.”

  Eleanor eyed me with suspicion. Her eyelashes were nearly as long as my fingers. “Is that right?”

  I smiled at her. “That’s right.”

  Joanne stood and gathered up her things. “Yes, that’s right. And I hate to leave so quickly, but I really do need to get going. Daisy, please call me if you need anything. I’ll be in touch soon.” She forced a smile. “Eleanor, nice to see you, as always.”

  “I’m sure,” Eleanor said, stretching out in her chair. The wooden legs creaked in protest. “Toodleloo.”

  Joanne waved and set a land speed record getting out of the coffee shop.

  I hadn’t planned on sitting down with Eleanor and I was fairly certain that Joanne hadn’t planned on it, either. Eleanor, however, seemed to think that she’d made our day by gracing us with her presence.

  “So. Daisy,” she said, still eyeing me with curiosity. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks. “Do you think you can do our program justice?”

  “Justice?” I tried hard not to stare at her and her horrible fake eyelashes. “I’m not really sure what that means.”

  “Hmm,” she said, squinting at me. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her lashes unstuck. “I’m not sure that bodes well, then. You do understand how important the programs are, correct? Other than the stage production, they are the showcase piece of our event.”

  “Of course,” I lied. Of course I didn’t know that. I thought the kids were the showcase piece, since it was a kid’s community theater group. But clearly I was wrong.

  “So then you do understand that these must be just perfect, correct?” She waited expectantly for my answer.

  “I’ll do my best,” I told her.

  “Yes, I’m sure you will,” she said. “And I guess we’ll just hope that’s good enough, now won’t we?”

  She was arrogant. She was haughty. She literally looked down her long pointed nose at everyone she spoke to. So I had to remind myself that two of my girls were in her play and that it would not be good form to dump my coffee all over her pulled-up pants and fake eyelashes.

  “My understanding is that you’re really looking to bring in some money with this production,” I said. “So I’ll do what I can to—”

  She smacked her hands down on the table and leaned forward. “Ms. Savage.” She sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “These productions are not about money. They are about the art of the theater.”

  “Uh, so, then it doesn’t matter if we sell tickets or not?” I asked innocently. “I mean, since this is about the art, not the money…”

  “Of course it matters,” she snapped. She took another deep breath. “Without money, we cannot serve the wonderful people of Moose River and the surrounding communities. Of course we must have money – it is a necessary evil, if you will. But the money is secondary to the beauty of the stage.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, this production has probably gotten a lot of attention.”

  She settled back in her seat, her arms folded over her enormous pant-covered bosom, and arched a satisfied eyebrow at me. “Well, my dear, anytime my name is attached to a production, I think it’s safe to say that it will garner attention. I’m quite well known around here, and even down in the Twin Cities for what I’ve accomplished. I don’t want to diminish the work of our young actors, but it’s quite possible that many of our attendees will be attending because I’m the director.” Her big red lips parted into a smile. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a director with a larger following here in Minnesota. Perhaps even the Midwest.”

  I smothered a horrified giggle at her inflated sense of self-worth. The Twin Cities had one of the largest, most prestigious theater districts in the Midwest. I was fairly certain our tiny town’s local community theater – performing in the rented theater at our high school – was not on anyone’s radar outside of the city limits.

  “Right,” I said again, not bothering to hide the doubt laced in my voice. “But I guess I was referring to the d
rama that has surrounded the play. You know, with Amanda going missing and all.”

  Her smile dimmed. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose that probably has drawn the interest of a few folks.” Eleanor drummed her fingers on the table. Her nails were as red as her lips. “But what is the saying? All publicity is good publicity?”

  “I suppose,” I said, thinking that there wasn't anything good about a missing teenage girl. “Have you heard anything from the girl's family?”

  She made a face at me, a cross between a frown and a haughty look of disdain. “Ms. Savage, it's not my nature to intrude on the business of others.”

  “I'd think you might be able to offer some help, though,” I said. “Insight as to what her mood was like before she went missing… things like that.”

  “Her mood was fine,” she said curtly. “I don't believe I have anything else to offer her family, thus I've chosen to mind my own business.” Her eyes narrowed and once again, her lashes clumped together. “Which I think might be a wise decision for everyone to live by.”

  It felt like a pointed remark, aimed directly at me. I wasn't sure how aware she was of me and the things I'd been involved with in Moose River. However, if I had to wager a guess, I would think she was familiar with some of the stories, as my name had been in the local paper and I knew people had been talking about the computer theft and, earlier on, the discovery of Olaf Stunderson in my coal chute. I was comfortable with my involvement with those other things – well, as comfortable as I could be being tied to a murder investigation and grand larceny – but I didn't like her taking a jab at me. Mostly because I didn't like her.

  “I hear your daughter is taking over the role of Snow White,” I said, picking up my coffee. It was still hot and I took a sip. “She must be thrilled to be in the lead role. Again.”

  Something flickered through her eyes. “Again? She was never cast as Snow White previous to this… incident.”

  “No, I meant again in that she is always the star of your shows.” I smiled at her over my mug. “At least that's what I've been told.”

  “Madison is a wonderful actress,” she said primly. “Any notion of nepotism is purely sour grapes.”

  “I'm sure,” I asked. “I mean, nepotism at this level of theater would just be… stupid.” She visibly bristled and I continued. “How were the auditions?”

  “Auditions?”

  “For Snow White? You told us the other day that there would be auditions to recast the role?” I smiled innocently. “I just assumed that you'd already completed the auditions since Madison is now set to replace Amanda.”

  For the first time since she walked in, Eleanor Bandersand seemed less than sure of herself. She uncrossed her arms and adjusted herself in the chair, like she'd just realized that it was the most uncomfortable seating arrangement in the world. She looked across the table, searching for a cup of coffee or a blueberry muffin or anything to busy herself with instead of answering my questions.

  “Auditions?” I repeated again, prompting her.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, after looking at our options, we decided that Madison was best suited to play the role, given the circumstances we are now working under.”

  Translation: there were no try-outs and she'd handed it to her daughter.

  “Madison has consistently demonstrated the ability to learn large roles and perform them well,” she continued. “She will help make the production a success and it will be one more reason that the drama schools will be requesting her presence in the fall.”

  I remembered hearing Madison run her mouth when I was picking up the costumes for the girls. “Has she decided where she'll be attending?”

  “Not as of yet, no,” Eleanor said. “She's still waiting to receive all of her acceptance letters.”

  “Oh. She hasn't heard yet from the schools?”

  Her brows knitted together. “We haven't yet reached the window where the schools send out their acceptance letters. I'm sure she'll have multiple options, though.”

  I thought that was interesting. Either Madison had lied to her friend or she hadn't yet told her mother that she'd been accepted. But I seriously doubted that anyone touched the mail before Eleanor got her hands on it.

  Interesting.

  “Well, I'm certain you must have a lot to do now,” Eleanor said, standing. “So I will let you get to it.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I guess I do.”

  “As I said before,” she said, pushing her chair in. “I hope you're up to the task.”

  I stood and collected the brochures Joanne left for me. “I hope your family is, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed, confused and wary. “My family?”

  “Both you and your daughter,” I said. “Your daughter with the new role you gave her and your task of directing a brand new actress in the lead role. I'd imagine you have a lot to do, too.” I smiled at her. “Would be a shame if this show wasn't up to your...usual standards.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “Don't you worry about us. We'll be fine. You just focus on the programs.”

  I held them up and slung my purse over my arm. “I'll do that, Eleanor. Toodleloo.”

  ELEVEN

  Are you home right now?

  I'd left Eleanor at Cream and Sugar and, after stopping home for an hour to check on the kids and feed them lunch, I finished my running around for the day, hitting the post office, the bank and the gas station. I was just about to pull away from the pump when I got Emily's text.

  I called her back. When she answered, I said, “No, I am not currently home. What do you need?”

  “How long are you not going to be home for?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

  “I don't know. Why? And why are you talking like a spy?”

  “Can you not be home for awhile?” she asked. “For, like, maybe the next hour or so?”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Can you?”

  “Emily. What is going on?”

  She sighed so hard into the phone, I nearly felt her breath on my cheek. “I have a friend who’s stuck here at school. I was going to bring them home for a little bit until their mom can come and pick them up.”

  “Well, that's fine,” I said, confused. “What does any of that have to do with me being home?”

  “I just...I just...I don't know,” she answered, flustered. “I guess I was just checking. So you'll be gone for a little while longer?”

  I smelled a rat. “Who is your friend, Em?”

  “Just a friend.”

  “The name of the friend, please.”

  She sighed again. “It's Andy Hartnell.”

  “So you want to bring a boy home while I'm not there?”

  “Oh my God. It's not like that, Mom,” she said. “And besides, the other kids are there, aren't they?”

  I knew Emily was a private kid; I knew she kept things to herself; she was always very careful about what she shared and how she shared it. And I’d always thought Emily was savvy. But this conversation was forcing me to rethink that entire idea. Because she was trying to game me in a couple of different ways and she was doing an utterly poor job of it. If she knew the other kids were home, then she'd already talked to one of them – probably Will – and realized that I wasn't there. So then she'd called me and was attempting to keep me out of the house, most likely because she was afraid I'd embarrass her. And all of this involved her maybe-boyfriend.

  I admired her nerve, but frowned at her poor execution. “Okay, sure,” I told her. “Go ahead and bring him home. His parents will pick him up?”

  “Really?” she said, surprised. “You don't mind? And you won't be home?”

  “I don't mind,” I said. “You're right. The other kids will be home.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  The line buzzed for a moment. “Okay. Alright. So he's going to take the bus home with me in a minute and then his mom will pick him up by 4:30. You can come home after that.”

&nb
sp; “That sounds fine.”

  “Thanks, Mom! You're the best!”

  She hung up and I dropped the phone in my purse and smiled.

  Foolish, foolish girl.

  I pulled out of the gas station and pointed the minivan in the direction of my home.

  We'd see if she still thought I was the best when I was home to greet her and her new friend.

  TWELVE

  I watched the bus pull up at the corner.

  I’d made it home in about four minutes, which I knew would give me just enough time to get settled before the bus got them to our street. I put the stamps away and peeked in on the girls before I returned to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water and waited.

  Several minutes later, I was rewarded as the yellow bus pulled to a halt across the street.

  I smiled again. I knew she was going to freak out, but I also knew her freak out would be decidedly less than what it would be later on, when Andy was gone and she went full-on crazy with me. She’d dial it down while he was there because she wouldn’t want to embarrass herself. We could deal with the crazy later on.

  The bus pulled away and they both stood there, laughing about something.

  And I realized that I recognized Andy.

  A month or so earlier, I’d been involved in a fundraiser at Prism, Em’s charter high school. The fundraiser was a talent show that I’d planned to help the school deal with the theft of its computers. While we were backstage at the show, I’d seen Emily talking to a boy I didn’t recognize.

  That same boy was now walking across the street with her.

  Emily was running a hand through her hair and laughing, a sure sign that she was nervous, when she finally realized my car was in the driveway. She stopped in the middle of the street and I could tell by their expressions that he was asking her what she was doing.

  I knew what she was doing.

  She was realizing that it had been a mistake to underestimate me.

  She finally started walking again, her feet dragging across the pavement like a convicted felon might to their jail cell.