File M For Murder

“Now I remember. I don’t know who he is either.” My mind shifted back to the subject of discussion before the stranger appeared. “Now, about Lawton. Why are you going to bat for him? Surely your life would be simpler if Johnston did manage to get him fired.”

“Probably.” Laura flashed a quick grin. “He got me this job, though, and I owe him something for that. Besides, I love his work. Whatever else he is, he’s an amazing writer.” She paused. “When he actually finishes a play, that is.”

“Is the writing not going well?” The question sounded fatuous to me, given what had ensued on stage earlier, but Laura forestalled me when I tried to explain what I meant.

“I don’t think it is. I haven’t been around Connor while he’s actually writing a play before.” Laura massaged her temples and stared down at Diesel, who sat looking up at her. She smiled at him as she continued. “He keeps bringing in revisions. Maybe he’s always worked this way, but the plot seems to be turning into a mystery of some kind. He’s never written a mystery before. Plus he’s introduced a new set of characters, so I’m not really sure where he’s going with it.”

The chatter of returning students interrupted us before I could probe further. I looked out over the auditorium and spotted Connor Lawton ambling along behind the students.

Laura sighed and set her shoulders. She had seen him, too. As she moved away I heard her say in an undertone, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.”

TEN

“Come on, boy. We’ll be in the way here.” I patted Diesel’s head and led him across the stage past the proscenium arch to the stairs. As I settled into an end seat a few rows back, with Diesel getting comfortable in the aisle beside me, I tried to identify the source of Laura’s quotation. I’d heard or read it before, and after a minute or so, I had it. “Henry V. Shakespeare, of course,” I muttered. Diesel meowed in response, as if he were acknowledging I was right.

Meanwhile the cast had reassembled center stage. With the area bare of any props, even chairs, the space the cast occupied appeared almost desertlike. I couldn’t imagine watching a play without some kind of set. This would be an interesting experience.

Connor Lawton stood downstage. From my vantage point his face was a placid mask, his stance relaxed. I hoped he could maintain this mood.

I heard voices behind me, and I turned to see Sarabeth Conley and Ralph Johnston taking seats halfway down the aisle on the other side of the auditorium.

Laura clapped her hands for silence, and I turned back to watch. When the last snatch of conversation died away, she said, “We’re going to try this again. Remember what we discussed in class about sight-reading. We haven’t had much time to work on that, but do your best.” She turned to Lawton. “Where would you like to start?”

“Beginning of the third scene.” Lawton crossed his arms across his chest. Pages rustled as the actors found their places. “We’ll start with Ferris.”

Dead silence followed. One of the students, an attractive brunette, nudged the tall, pudgy young man standing beside her. “That’s you, Toby,” she hissed.

“Um, right, old man Ferris, that’s me.” Toby was clearly rattled, and he stared like a mesmerized goldfish at Lawton.

“Take deep breaths, Toby,” Laura said in a firm, but kind, tone. “Center yourself, then start.”

I saw Lawton shake his head, but he didn’t speak. Toby nodded and I could see the change in his face and body language as he followed Laura’s instructions.

When he began to speak, I blinked in surprise. Out of his mouth came the quavery voice of an ill, elderly man.

“I tell you, Henrietta, I’m not shelling out any more of my hard-earned savings on that no-good daughter of yours.”

The pretty young woman next to Toby responded, her voice sounding surprisingly mature. “She’s your daughter too, Herb. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Toby snorted. “Don’t see why as I should own up to begetting that shiftless piece of jailbait.” He paused to gasp for breath.

“See what happens when you get your dander up?” “Henrietta” shook her head dolefully. “Gives you spasms, and what’s the use of that?”

Toby gulped air again before he spoke. “That girl’s enough to give a healthy man spasms, much less me. I tell you I’m not giving her—or you—any more money.”

Another young woman, a chubby blonde, entered the conversation. “But Papa, we can’t put her in jail. All you have to do is pay back what she stole. Surely you don’t want to see your child behind bars?” She emitted a muffled sob. “You can’t do that to my baby sister.”

“Quit your caterwauling, Lisbeth.” Toby spoke sharply. “You’re so goldarned concerned about Sadie, you pay back the money.”

“Lisbeth” sobbed again. “I don’t have it. The rent’s way overdue, and it looks like Johnny might get laid off. Papa, please.”

“Reckon you’ll be begging for money next, because that no-good bastard you married can’t keep a job.” Toby coughed so hard his face turned red.