Ms. Bunting abruptly changed the subject. "I think these colors will go well together. Do you agree?" She was holding up three skeins — two light and one medium colors.
Jane leaped in and asked, "What would it look like if you used the darkest instead of the medium?"
This was enough to cut off any more personal
questions from Elizabeth. Jane thought it was about time Elizabeth's snoopiness was squelched.
The conversations shifted back to color and pattern choices, with Martha as busy as a hen advising various students. It drifted off into recipes for a bit, then to having pillows made of their work when it was done or having them mounted in acid-free paper and double glass, front and back.
An hour later, packing-up commenced. Ms. Bunting was spending the afternoon with her grandchildren to give them their toys. Elizabeth asked Jane, Shelley, and Ms. Bunting where they had found the wonderful jewelry bags in which they kept their floss, scissors, and needles. Shelley explained about the department store and that they were meant for jewelry.
Jane and Shelley were going home, Shelley intending to get ahead of Jane in the needlepoint ranks.
Jane planned to work on her second book. Elizabeth, not surprisingly, was headed to a Junior League planning committee.
Tazz was on her way to her warehouse to find the right size costumes.
Sam had to pick up his truck from the garage where he had left it to have the tires rotated while he was in class. He asked Martha if she had a paper bag without the needlepoint shop logo he could put his things in. He didn't want the mechanics to see what he had along.
When Jane returned home, she decided she had to monitor her time. She'd have to put in two hours on her book for each hour of working on her needlepoint. Over a ham sandwich and Fritos, she made notes of what Letitia would be doing next. Then she'd do at least half a chapter and still have time to do a bit of needlepoint before dressing to go out with Mel at five to his favorite steakhouse restaurant. Detective Mel VanDyne and Jane had been friends and lovers for a long time.
But shortly after noon, Mel called. "I'm going to have to stand you up. I've got a murder victim at a theater."
Jane asked warily, "What theater?"
"Why does it matter?"
"It just does."
"It's that one that belongs to the college drama department."
"Who's dead?"
"Jane, I don't even know that yet. I'm still five blocks away. You might want to let Shelley know. Isn't that the building her husband donated to the college?"
When he hung up, she immediately rang Shelley. "You're going to have to cancel the caterers this minute. I just heard from Mel that someone's been murdered at the theater."
"Who?"
"Even Mel doesn't know yet."
"I'm hanging up and calling the caterer right now. Thanks for letting me know."
Jane's afternoon was shot. She couldn't keep her mind on her book or her needlepoint and sat down to watch the Home and Garden channel to clear her head of this news. She couldn't, however, help speculating about the identity of the victim. Her best guess was Professor Imry. He'd made enemies of almost everyone involved.
He'd mildly insulted Shelley, and he'd irritated both John and Gloria Bunting with his silly insistence on calling actors by their script names at all times. He'd come out on the wrong side of a tiff with Denny Roth about grammar. But who would kill him for getting his grammar wrong? That wasn't even close to being a motive for something so horrible.
And what if it wasn't Imry? Who else could it be? And how was Mel certain it was murder when he hadn't even reached the scene yet? Maybe someone had just had a terrible accident. A fall. A stroke. A heart attack.
She turned the television off, suddenly horrified that it might be Gloria Bunting who was the victim. It would break Jane's heart if it was. She would also be sad if it was Tazz.
The phone rang again. This time it was Shelley. "I caught the caterers before they'd started the preparations, so all I've lost is my deposit. This is clearly going to close the theater for at least a day,maybe longer. Do you think I should warn the next one in line?"
"I would if I were you."
"Have you heard back from Mel? Who was murdered? Was it really murder or was it an accident?"
"I don't know anything else. But I've also wondered as well."
"Couldn't you call Mel on his cell phone and ask?"
"That would be worth more than my life is. He'd be furious. Call your other caterer, then let's rent a movie and order a take-out dinner for the two of us and our kids."
"Sounds like a good plan. But we'll have to make sure to catch the local newscasts. Maybe some reporter knows more than we do."
Mel had the whole staff working. The scene-of-thecrime people had quartered the dressing room where the body was found. The doctor had been there to pronounce formally that the victim was dead of causes unknown, but presumably from a blow to the back of his skull. The photos had all been taken and the body moved to the police morgue.
Professor Imry had turned up at two in the afternoon and had been having mild hysterics and demanding to see the officer in charge the whole time.
With everything being competently done on the ground floor, or at least in progress, Mel finally took the time for a preliminary interview with the director. He met with him in the lobby.
"Mr. Imry—" he began.
"Professor Imry, if you don't mind. You wouldn't let me call you Mister, would you?"
Mel's first thought was that Imry was right. His second was that his own title was harder to come by and far grittier than Imry's, but he didn't let his annoyance show.
"Professor Imry, how many people have keys to the theater?"
"Why do you ask? Nearly everyone, obviously. Actors are artists and sometimes want to work alone on the stage trying out movements, or how many strides it takes to move where they need to be."
Mel wanted to smack some sense into this man. This was a serious security violation. The college that owned the theater would be horrified if they knew.
"So all the actors had keys? Who else?"
"The janitor. I don't think the costumer needed a key. Let's see, who else? The lighting director had a key — he was going to work with his two students in a dark setting one evening. The electrician — he had to make sure that all the connections were functioning properly. The woman from the art department had one.""The art department?" Mel asked.
"For the use of the students who were going to build and paint scenery backdrops. Nobody in their street clothes wants to run into wet paint, you see?"
"So nearly everyone and his mother could have come in here at any time?"
"I wouldn't have put it quite that way," Imry said, clearly offended.
"Did you take into consideration the matter of safety? Did you get approval from the college to give out all these duplicate keys?"
"I didn't think it was necessary. Who could have imagined this sort of thing was going to happen?"
Mel asked for a list of people who had keys, and their telephone numbers and addresses. "I'll have one of my officers call everyone in to get their fingerprints. That can be done in the lobby." He also asked if Imry knew the victim's next of kin. It was vital to reach them.
"I don't have that information, but the registrar of the college will. I think the telephone number is in my office. I'll get it."
"No, you won't. Tell me where your office is and I'll find it. You're not to go anywhere but the lobby for now."
Mel then asked, "Where were you last night after the rehearsal?"
"I went home to do some work on my next script," Imry answered warily.