Just in Time. Suzanne Trauth
looked surprised. “Well, knowing Ruby, she stuck the sheets somewhere and forgot about them.”
Gillian set his soup in front of him. “Enjoy,” she said.
He leaned over the bowl and inhaled. “Mmm. This is special.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tonight,” I said.
“You’ll be at the tech rehearsal?”
“I need to scope out the picnic area. We’re doing pre-show concessions,” I said and handed Alex salt and pepper shakers.
“Let’s cross our fingers it doesn’t rain,” Alex said and dipped his spoon into the white beans.
“Right.” I smiled and moved off to ring up an order.
* * * *
I collapsed into my back booth with a tuna salad. I hadn’t been off my feet for four hours. Good for the Windjammer bank balance, bad for my arches. I kicked off my sandals, massaged my instep, and rested my head against the seat back. What I wouldn’t give for an hour to myself. I was eager to peek at Ruby’s scrapbook. What had she saved over the years? My mother kept mementoes of me and my brother Andy: baby shoes, locks of hair, pictures, report cards, newspaper clippings from my seventh grade spelling bee and Andy’s soccer tournaments. On rainy days, Mom and I would pull the box off the shelf in her bedroom closet, and pore over its contents. I loved reliving my young past.
“We need to talk.”
My head jerked upward. Bill’s mesmerizing eyes fixed on me intently. “What did I do?” I asked, like a kid caught with one hand in the cookie jar.
He slid onto the bench next to me, placing his cap on the table and leaving the spikes of his brush cut poking up in different directions.
Wow! Bill was getting a little intimate for the Windjammer and Etonville. Did he have something on his mind?
“Sorry to crowd you.”
Guess not.
“I need to keep this quiet,” he said.
My heart thumped. Did whatever “this” was have anything to do with Edna’s referring to a 10-29F earlier?
“I had Timothy take another look at Ruby’s exhaust system and he didn’t find anything unusual.” Bill looked agitated.
“That makes sense two ways,” I said. “First of all, it sounds like it’s easy enough for carbon monoxide to leak into the car and second, I like Timothy a lot, but mechanically speaking he’s never been the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Now if—”
“Dodie!” Bill rasped.
“What?”
“I wasn’t completely satisfied so I had the state police give the engine a second look...go over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“And?”
Bill peeked over his shoulder, taking in the near-empty dining room. “This is why I need your discretion. The state guys found a hairline crack between the manifold and the tail pipe connection. It wasn’t caused by a bad repair job or rusting.”
My stomach churned. “What are you saying?”
“Someone with a detailed knowledge of car mechanics cut a thin gap in the pipe so that fumes could leak out.”
“Ruby was…?” The words stuck in my throat.
“Murdered,” he said grimly.
Who? Why?
Bill watched the questions march across my face. “I know.”
“Who would want to kill a senior citizen who didn’t even live in Etonville? Her apartment was downright Spartan—hardly a trace of her personal life,” I said.
“How do you know what her apartment looks like?” he asked. His eyebrows knitted together in a quizzical frown.
I related Lola’s and my trip to Creston this morning.
“Her place is part of the criminal investigation now,” Bill said. “You need to stay clear of it.”
“We never found what we were looking for but I did—”
Bill’s cell rang, and he held up a hand. “Yes?” He listened, his head dipping. “Okay. Keep me posted.” He clicked off. “I have to go.”
“Would you like some takeout?”
He shook his head. “What I would like, the reason I came here…” He hesitated. “I’d like your help with something. Strictly on the QT,” he advised.
Yes! Bill was finally appreciating my investigative instincts.
“Because there’s really no one else I can ask.”
Right.
“Ruby was new to Etonville. She was in town because of the show. It wasn’t a random act of violence. Someone planned this and knew what they were doing,” he said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“People connected to Bye, Bye, Birdie are now persons of interest. I’d like someone to keep track of them while the show is in production. Let me know if you see anyone acting squirrelly.”
I was growing accustomed to the community theater life. Many folks from both Etonville and Creston acted squirrelly.
“After the news about her murder breaks, in the next twenty-four hours, someone might give something away, make a mistake,” Bill said.
“Okay. I’ll be around most nights with the pre-show concessions. But when Bye, Bye, Birdie closes and the Creston gang goes home, the opportunity for group surveillance will be over,” I said.
“I know. More reason to stay on top of them now.” Bill squeezed out of the booth, grabbed his cap. “I’ll check in with you later. Keep Ruby’s murder quiet for now—even from Lola. By the way, there were no papers with musical notes on them in Ruby’s car. Sorry.” He left.
My tuna salad had wilted along with my fervor for the food contest. Poor Ruby. She was a tad grouchy and could throw an insult around with the best of them, but murder? Who would want to do away with the crusty old gal who sneaked out for a smoke and a slug between wisecracks? My mind whirled, bouncing from one thought to another. I felt flattered that Bill had asked me to keep an eye on the cast and crew, but at this point in the production process there was usually so much chaos that it would be impossible to keep track of everyone. Besides, it was hard to believe that someone working on Bye, Bye, Birdie had it in for Ruby. For once it had appeared that the opening of an ELT show would run smoothly. That horse was out of the barn. Etonville would be beside itself when news of the murder broke…
I lugged myself out of my seat to face Henry’s paranoia about curried squash and eggs with raita salad.
* * * *
I held my breath during the dinner rush, as patrons sampled the contest winner supplied by the minister from the Episcopal Church. How adventurous were the town’s appetites this evening? Henry and I had already sampled the entrée and it was scrumptious. It was also pretty. Curry paste topped the crispy rings of squash that outlined the baked eggs. The tomato/cucumber/shallot salad was a perfect compliment. I circulated around the dining room, calculating when I’d need to leave the restaurant to get to the park.
“Dodie, this is unusual,” said a customer, spearing a chunk of squash.
Uh-oh.
“But absolutely yummy.”
“Thanks,” I said, my spirits lifting.
From a table off to my left, someone gave me the ok sign, and I could see a handful of customers at a booth smiling affirmatively. This contest had been another of my “big ideas” according to Henry, and if it bombed, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.