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Lazar Books
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Paladin Timeless Books
ISBN-10: 1606190555
Type: Fiction
Pages: 306
Copyright: August 1, 2005
ISBN-13: 9781606190555
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
When Gus LeGarde agrees to play piano for the local high school drama club’s production of “Spirit Me Away,” a sixties-style musical he wrote in college, he doesn’t expect to face a barrage of dangerous pranks played on his fiancée, Camille and the cast and crew of the drama club. Who’s sabotaging the show? And what do they have against Camille?
Is it sex-crazed Armand, the Latino teen infatuated with her? Something happened last year that Camille won’t talk about, and it has to do with Armand. Gus wants to know what happened, but she’s not talking.
Could it be Superintendent Marshall, whose past holds horrific secrets related to one of the worst crimes of the 20th century? And why did someone break into Camille’s home, taking her intimate undergarments and stealing her little mini-dachshund, Boris?
Gus must unravel the mystery before the backstage saboteur stakes his final, deadly claim.
Twelve
Superintendent Lou Marshall sat at the head of the table and twirled a yellow pencil between his stout fingers. His bristly white hair, shorn in the style of a 1950’s crew cut, transported me back to the fifth grade. My pals and I had carried little black combs, leftover from picture day, in the back pockets of our chinos. We’d wetted the combs under the washroom faucets, and had spiked the front of our hair straight up. Marshall, in his mid-fifties, looked as if he’d been combing his hair in the same style ever since. His bulk filled the wooden armchair as he slouched against the table with an expression of strained tolerance.
Mrs. Bigelow sat directly across from Camille. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Lisa, according to her mother, had been too distressed to attend classes and was still resting in the nurse’s office. Marshall harrumphed loudly and resumed his conversation, having stopped to allow Mrs. Bigelow to noisily blow her nose. She’d been ranting and raving since we’d arrived fifteen minutes earlier.
“As I was saying, Mrs. Bigelow, Miss Coté volunteers for this activity. It’s not a paid position. She retains complete control of the production and reports to no one in this capacity. It is through her dedication that our school has been honored with the Rochester Broadway Theater League’s “Stars of Tomorrow” awards. You may know that we've won “Best Musical” in our class now for four out of the last five years. We have absolute faith in her ability to choose the appropriate cast members and don’t intend to interfere with her selections.”
Agnes looked at us sullenly. Her black hair escaped from a stringy ponytail. She pulled her baggy gray sweater tightly around her chest, sniffed loudly, and looked down at her hands. She spoke in an unsteady voice.
“My daughter practiced these pieces for six months! I paid over four hundred dollars for singing and dance lessons. Molly told Lisa that she picked up the music one week before the auditions! One week! In my opinion, Lisa outperformed Molly in every facet of the performance. There was no question in my mind that she’d get the part of Celeste. I was flabbergasted when she called me this morning. Just flabbergasted!”
Camille spoke gently to the troubled woman.
“Agnes. Please. Lisa did a fine job, but Molly is really better suited for the part. Lisa will have a ball as Ricki. It’s a wonderful role.”
Agnes raised her head and shot a steely glance at Camille.
“I know favoritism when I see it, Miss Coté. I know it well. And this fiasco smacks of it!”
She paused momentarily, smoothing her sweater as she looked haughtily around the table. After a brief pause, Agnes continued with her nose tilted in the air.
“I’d like a second opinion. My daughter is so distraught. This will destroy her. It will simply destroy her!”
The superintendent shifted uncomfortably in his chair and met my gaze. He played with a loose button on the slightly yellowed cuff of his white shirt, and then directed his response to Agnes.
“Mrs. Bigelow, this isn’t a medical issue. Second opinions are not an option. But perhaps Professor LeGarde would offer us the benefit of his observations? After all, he is a music professor. You must have heard his radio show, Mrs. Bigelow? It’s on WRLN Sunday mornings at eight.”
Agnes’s head snapped up and she stared at me with widened eyes.
“Professor LeGarde?”
She looked worried, and then snorted, “I thought you were just the piano player.”
She delivered the words “piano player” as if they were an insult. Apparently she hadn’t paid attention when Maddy answered the phone earlier. I rolled my eyes at Marshall and decided to speak up.
“Mrs. Bigelow. I volunteered to play the piano for auditions. I wrote the musical, albeit many years ago, and have a thorough understanding of the roles. I will continue to provide the service for free during the rehearsals, until the orchestra comes on board. In addition to being “the piano player” and the composer, I’ve taught for nearly twenty-five years at the University and am currently the chairman of the Music Department. I believe I’m qualified to offer you a second opinion.”
I pushed my chair back from the table and took a deep breath. Agnes seemed to calm down as she nodded in my direction. I spoke up in my lecture-hall voice, overdoing it a little. I was rapidly losing patience.
“First of all, the choice of cast always has been and always will be the unique decision of the director. Whom the director chooses is her option. The decisions are final and are not questioned by the participants. The cast must trust in the instincts of the director or seek acting opportunities elsewhere.”
Agnes opened her mouth to interrupt, but I barreled on with my pedantic speech.
“I agree wholeheartedly with Miss Coté’s decision. Her instincts are superb. Lisa is a talented young woman, but her vocal range precludes her from the high B flat that will be required in many of the solos. She’s much better suited in the comedic role of Ricki. Actually,” I added, with a touch of churlishness, “I personally would have cast her in the hippy chorus and would have chosen the Williams girl for the part of Ricki.”
The color drained from Agnes' face. Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled. She resembled an emaciated Doberman as she expelled a long, sour breath. Without warning, she erupted from her seat and seethed across the table.
“Well, sure you’d side with her! You two are screwing each other, aren’t you?” she hurled the words across the table, knocked her chair to the floor, and bolted from the room, sobbing loudly.
I looked at Camille. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she reacted to the accusation. She looked at me, and then at Marshall. Marshall spoke first, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“I am so sorry, Miss Coté, Professor LeGarde. I truly apologize for this, for this, uh— unusual situation.”
In addition to the fury, I felt a powerful urge to defend my fiancée's honor. Aside from a few tentative romantic interludes, Camille and I had maintained a rather Victorian relationship. We’d agreed to wait until we were married to consummate our union. Camille’s soul was still tender due to the physical abuse from her ex-husband. In spite of my love for Camille, and the surges of desire that rose when I was in her company, I often felt clumsy and strangely guilty when in her arms.
Elsbeth was to have been my lifetime soul mate, and although it had been five years since her murder, it felt as if she had fallen from the Letchworth Gorge cliffs yesterday. Waiting until Camille and I worked through our personal issues had been the right choice for us.
I stopped the jumble of thoughts that Agnes’ sordid comments had triggered, and turned to Marshall.
“Mr. Marshall, I just want you to know that—"
He dismissed my attempt with a brief hand wave.
“She had no right to speak to you that way. Please don't give it a moment's thought.”
Jonesy was just outside the door, pushing a wet mop in large “S” patterns across the linoleum. He raised his head from his work, looked dully at each of us, nodded in recognition, and then turned his attention back to the floor.
Marshall touched Camille’s sleeve with an expression that bordered on affection.
“Miss Coté?”
Camille turned toward him, her face flushed.
“Yes, Mr. Marshall?” she said as she cast her eyes down.
“I hope you won’t let this affect your decision to continue with the show? We need you. We need your talent. The work you do with these children is exemplary. It’s one of the best and healthiest outlets they have. Don’t let the words of a—” he hesitated and lowered his voice, “a lunatic— stop you. Please?” The strained expression melted from her face.
“Thank you, Mr. Marshall. I won’t. I don’t plan to give up on them. They’re a great bunch of kids.”
Marshall beamed at both of us, shaking our hands.
“Well then, we’ll be just fine now, won’t we?”
Excerpt
Elsbeth was to have been my lifetime soul mate, and although it had been five years since her murder, it felt as if she had fallen from the Letchworth Gorge cliffs yesterday.
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