“She had pre-performance jitters. Her husband says it happens every time, the night before opening.” Simmonds shook her head. “I can’t understand why people are so passionate about doing something they apparently hate so much it makes them physically ill.”

  “You know my dad wasn’t home last night?”

  “I do. I can’t help but think that was more than a coincidence. Who knew he’d be away?”

  “It was no secret. He might have told friends, or the staff at town hall. He mentioned it Wednesday at the dress rehearsal.”

  “He didn’t tell me that. Who heard him?”

  “Everyone. Not only the usual suspects, meaning the cast and crew, but a handful of people were watching. Randy Baumgartner and John Benedict from Muddle Harbor among them. Bruce Renshaw also.”

  “Why do you specially mention them?”

  “No reason.” My phone tinged to tell me I had a text and I glanced at it.

  Alan: Mattie and I are pulling into the alley now. Can you unlock the door?

  Me: Be right there

  “It’s Alan, bringing Mattie,” I said to Simmonds. “He needs me to let them in.”

  She stood up. “I’m finished for now. You’ll call me if you think of anything?”

  “You know I will.”

  She gave me a half-smile. “Not always. Oh, what’s the dress code for tonight?”

  “You mean at the play? Pretty fancy, according to Mom. Special guests have been invited and the town’s putting on an after-party. Are you coming?”

  “I am. I called the mayor on my way here and told her to get me a ticket.” Simmonds grinned. “She said none are available, the performance is completely sold out, and the party is by invitation only. I told her in that case, I’d take her seat for the show, and I am inviting myself to the party. I suspect she’ll manage to find an extra ticket somewhere.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’d spent a lot of time thinking about what to wear to the gala performance. What passes for the glitterati of Rudolph and environs were going to be in attendance along with several special guests. Chief among the glitterati was my own mother. You can be sure she’d have something mighty snazzy to put on when she took off her costume, and she’d have more than a few words to say if she didn’t think I was suitably presentable.

  When I lived in Manhattan and truly did move among the most influential people in the American design world, I had some suitable outfits. I’d been nothing but a lowly paid worker, but when I went to parties and events for the magazine, I needed to look as though I belonged. I gave those clothes to charity shops when I left that life behind me. Not a lot of opportunity in Rudolph to dress as though I was going to a megastar’s Christmas party or to the opening of an art gallery show.

  I’d finally decided to make a statement by being low key and understated, and bought a floor-length navy-blue skirt and matching jacket to wear over a white satin shirt. I’d accent the outfit with the ruby earrings I’d inherited from my late grandmother, and shoes with heels so high I never wore them because they pinched.

  Alan arrived at my house not long after six, looking so handsome in a gray suit with thin blue threads and a blue tie that was a perfect match to his eyes that I almost suggested we not worry about making the first act.

  But we’d arranged to go with Vicky and Mark Grosse, so that would never do.

  “You look,” Alan said, “absolutely fantastic.” He gave me an exaggerated wink. “Do you think anyone would notice if we arrive late?”

  “Great minds think alike,” I said. “In answer to your question, you can be sure my mother would.”

  Vicky texted me to say they were on their way. I told Mattie to guard the apartment and we left.

  Alan and I rounded the corner of the house in time to see Mrs. D’Angelo and her date descending the stairs from the porch. Her hair was sprayed into a stiff helmet, and imitation diamonds glittered from her ears and around her neck. A peek of pink satin showed from underneath the hem of her tattered winter coat. Her date was none other than George Mann, farmer and the show’s lead set constructor. His thin hair was slicked down with a copious quantity of oil, and even across the yard I could detect the faint scent of the mothballs that had been protecting his suit since he wore it last.

  We exchanged greetings. “I’ve a couple bottles of my good wine in the truck.” George gave Alan an exaggerated wink. “Spread the word to those who want a real drink after the play, none of that fancy ten-dollar-a-bottle stuff Sue-Anne’s bringing in.”

  “I don’t think serving out of the back of your truck is legal, George,” Alan said.

  “Arrest me then,” he replied as he led Mrs. D’Angelo to the rust- and mud-covered vehicle parked behind Alan. She took a strong grip on her coat and dress, and George shoved her up into the cab with a grunt.

  Alan wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I laughed. “It’s been a while,” Alan said, “since you could purchase a Sue-Anne-approved bottle of wine for ten dollars.”

  At that moment Mark’s car pulled up and we set off for the theater.

  * * *

  The parking lot of the Rudolph Community Center was packed. I smiled to myself as I watched the streams of people entering and leaving the building. In true small-town fashion, theatergoers dressed in their elaborate finery mingled with parents taking kids to ball or gymnastics practice, people with yoga mats tucked under their arms, and others lugging laden sports bags.

  We turned right after passing through the doors and headed toward the auditorium, surrounded by the excited buzz of conversation. As we divested ourselves of our coats at racks provided for that purpose, I said to Vicky, “Nice outfit, must be new.”

  “Like it?”

  “I sure do.”

  She wore a sleek black pantsuit—slim-fitting, ankle-length trousers, cashmere jacket with shiny satin lapels, stiffly ironed red shirt, red ballet flats. It suited her perfectly, with her height and slender frame and dramatic hairstyle. She’d even dyed the single long lock of hair red to match her blouse. Mark, dressed in an immaculate gray suit, smiled fondly at her. “Never one to blend in with the crowd, our Vicky.”

  The doors of the auditorium hadn’t opened yet, and the crowd was building in the hallway outside. The line in front of the cash bar was long.

  “Can I get you something?” Alan asked me.

  “No thanks. I’ll save it for the party later.”

  “Wouldn’t mind a beer myself,” Mark said. “I wonder how long before they open the doors? Stuff any more people in here and the fire department will have something to say about it. Vicky, want anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  The men headed for the back of the line. “I see Aunt Gertrude,” Vicky said to me. “I haven’t spoken to her for far too long. Catch you later.”

  I studied the crowd. Many faces I recognized, a lot I didn’t. Diane Simmonds was by herself, watching everyone. Her red curls were arranged into a softer style than normal and more makeup applied than I’d ever seen her wear. She’d dressed for the occasion in a multicolored dress with a wide flaring skirt and put small diamond earrings in her ears. But the purse thrown over her shoulder was big and clunky and no doubt contained a lot more than tissues, a lipstick, and a few spare dollars. That, along with the expression on her face and the way her eyes never stopped moving, marked her out as what she was: a cop, working. The chief of police had come, resplendent in his dress uniform, and at the moment he was chatting to the fire chief, also in uniform. Mrs. D’Angelo spotted the police chief and headed straight for him. His eyes widened in terror the moment he saw her, but he didn’t react quickly enough, and she reached him before he could flee.

  I saw my dad across the crowded room and made my way toward him. He also wore a nice, although slightly out-of-date, suit and a tie, which made him look like Santa Claus dressed up for a fancy night out. “How’s Mom?” I asked.

  “She slept most of the day, which did her good. She says she’s recovered from the incident, and I hope that’s true. Fortunately, tonight’s performance gave her something else to think about. As for the performance …” His voice dropped. “I think she’s extremely nervous. She hasn’t sung in front of a paying audience for a long time, and never before to her hometown crowd other than a few Christmas carols or accompanied by her students.”

  “That’s probably good. It never serves to get too sure of yourself.”

  He ruffled my hair. “How did you become so wise, honeybunch?”

  I smiled at him. “I had a good teacher.”

  “Evening all. It’s looking to be a big night.” Russ Durham joined us, followed by Kyle Lambert, big black Nikon around his neck next to a homemade card hanging from a lanyard, announcing that he was “PRESS.”

  “I trust you know not to take pictures while the performance is in progress,” Dad said sternly.

  “Yeah. Right. Got it. Russ told me like about a hundred times.” Kyle lifted his camera. Dad put an arm around me and we smiled as Kyle took the shot.

  “Catherine and Bruce are arriving now,” Russ said. “Why don’t you get a couple of pictures of them. She looks amazing.”

  And she did. Diamonds were in her ears and around her neck and wrist. Her dress was a crimson taffeta, the sleeveless top low cut and tight fitting, the skirt flaring out and sweeping the floor behind her as she strolled through the crowded space, exchanging greetings, hugs, and air kisses as she passed. Bruce, dressed in a suit that showed signs of too much wear, followed in her wake, appearing content to take a back seat on her occasion.

  Russ pointed across the room. “All the town dignitaries have come, present company included. That’s the senator over there. Big guy with silver hair and pink tie talking to Sue-Anne. Sue-Anne’s seen Kyle and the camera. She’s telling her husband to get Kyle over there and fast. There he goes, as commanded. If Sue-Anne’s smile gets any broader she’s going to crack her face.”

  “Don’t be mean,” Dad said. “Sue-Anne’s a good mayor, and we’re lucky to have her. Let her enjoy her moment in the sun.”

  “Speaking of moments in the sun,” I said. “Here comes Randy Baumgartner. That must be his wife with him. Too bad about that outfit. He’s trying to muscle Sue-Anne aside and get next to the senator for the photo. Sue-Anne’s having none of it. She’s holding her ground, but look, Mrs. Baumgartner’s distracting her with a compliment on her dress. Randy slips in and shakes the senator’s hand. Kyle takes the shot. A win for Randy!”

  “This is more exciting than the play,” Russ said. “And we have front row seats.”

  “Do you know which one’s the big Broadway hot shot I’ve been hearing so much about?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I do. I met him earlier. He was talking to Desmond a couple of minutes ago. Desmond seems to have disappeared. Some crisis backstage maybe. He’s the short, round, bald guy. Looks like a movie version of a mobster. I estimate that suit cost about three thousand bucks, maybe more, and his watch is right up there too.”

  “Where’s the party going to be held?” I asked. “Not here, surely. It wouldn’t be nice for those not invited to have to pass through on their way out.”

  “We’re using the main gym,” Dad said. “The center’s closing early tonight so the caterers can set up. Sue-Anne isn’t at all happy about having her centerpiece gala party in a smelly old gym, immediately following the over-fifty men’s basketball game, but the banquet hall was already booked for a wedding reception. She wanted to have it at the Yuletide Inn, but Ralph put a stop to that idea on the grounds of the expense.”

  “If the after-party gets boring and you’re looking for extralegal excitement,” I said, “George has a truck full of his homemade wine.”

  Dad and Russ laughed.

  “Now there’s someone I didn’t expect to see,” Dad said as none other than Margie Thatcher stepped hesitantly into the hallway, her eyes as round and frightened as a deer who’d accidently wandered into a hunting lodge. Her hair was formed into a mass of tight curls, and her dress was a rather gaudy pink with lime green trim, and it looked to be about thirty years out of date. She clutched her purse to her chest. “I’m glad she came,” Dad said. “I’ll catch you later, honeybunch. Russ.”

  Dad headed in Margie’s direction as the doors to the auditorium swung open and the ushers took their places.

  “Let the show begin,” Russ said. “Where are you sitting, Merry?”

  I checked my ticket. “Row B.”

  “Lucky you. I’m in what passes for the nosebleed seats in an auditorium this size. I didn’t realize I’d need my opera glasses.”

  I joined the surging crowd as we made our way to our seats and settled in. Alan soon joined me, and Dad took the chair on the other side of me. The auditorium buzzed with excitement as the audience filed in. The stage curtains were open showing a London street scene. Painted storefronts, roofs lined with chimney pots. Fluffy white stuff representing snow piled in corners and tucked against window frames. A six-foot-tall, potted Douglas fir draped with decorations stood at both edges of the stage. The Scrooge and Marley sign, tilting at about a forty-five-degree angle, hung prominently above the center of the stage.

  Alan leaned across me to speak to Dad. “Nice job on the set.”

  “Mostly George. Be sure and mention it to him.”

  Sue-Anne bustled her guests in and invited them to take their places in the front row. Unfortunately, the senator sat in front of me. I’d have to crane my neck to see around him. His wife was next to him and the Broadway producer on his other side. Sue-Anne sat beside the senator’s wife, and Catherine and Bruce Renshaw were farther down the row. The police and fire chiefs, and the women with them, were also in the front row. Randy Baumgartner and his party, I assumed, had been banished to the cheap seats. The seat next to the producer remained empty until everyone else was settled, and then Desmond Kerslake scurried in and sat down, muttering apologies.

  The lights dimmed, the audience hushed, the music swelled. Men, women, and children dressed in an assortment of nineteenth-century garb spilled onto the stage, laughing and chatting, exchanging the compliments of the season. And the play began.

  It wasn’t Broadway, but no one in the audience expected it to be, and the actors did a fine job. Jackie hammed it up in the chorus, but at least she didn’t shove anyone aside to get to the front. Ian might have overplayed the nastiness when Scrooge declared that the “surplus population” needed to be reduced, but he didn’t overplay it too badly. The first scene ended, the lights were lowered, and George, in his mothballed suit, and the teenage kids hired to be stagehands rushed on stage to rearrange the set to create Ebenezer’s cold, dark, miserly lodgings. One of the kids performed a deep bow before leaving, and the audience laughed. Sue-Anne peeked at the senator’s wife, and seeing that she was chuckling, she laughed also.

  Ian McIntosh hunched over a fire made of red paper propped against birch logs and pretended to eat his gruel. Dave clanked his paper-mache chains, and warned Scrooge against continuing down the dangerous path he was on. The wig and beard helped him look a lot more like the timeworn ghost he was supposed to be than when I’d seen him at dress rehearsal. He was, I thought, quite good, better than I’d expected. When he finished his song, he received a round of polite clapping. He then ominously declared that the first visitor would arrive at the stroke of one and disappeared into the darkness of the wings.

  The first visitor was, as expected, my mother , as the Ghost of Christmas Past. When she stepped on stage, her flowing white gown shimmering around her, summoning Ebenezer to his reckoning, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. She might have tried not to react, but she couldn’t help the small smile that crept across her painted face. I glanced at my dad. He was almost glowing with adoration.

  Alan took my hand and squeezed it, but I scarcely noticed. Seeing Mom in that costume pulled me sharply out of the play. The person who’d invaded her house Thursday night had put on a bedsheet and painted their face white. That couldn’t be a coincidence. It had to be either a deliberate attempt to mock her costume or been inspired by it. Meaning, whoever had been in my parents’ house last night had to know what Mom would be wearing tonight. For the play’s publicity shots, she wore the dress concealed under the ghost costume, to be revealed when she’d step out of the shadows to play Belle.

  The intruder had to either be a member of the cast and crew, or to have been at a dress rehearsal. It was possible Irene told someone the details of her design, but following the death of Paula I considered it unlikely to the point of impossible that the killer was not, in some way, associated with the play.

  While my mother led Ian across the rooftops of London, I thought. I’d seriously considered that Paula might have been killed in mistake for Catherine. I could now dismiss that idea once and for all. The intrusion at my parents’ house and the scare inflicted on my mother were clearly intended for my mother and no one else.

  Why kill Paula but merely frighten Mom? If the intent of Paula’s killing, as I’d also speculated, had been to disrupt the performance so much it was canceled, no one could assume a mere fright in the night would cause a hardened professional like Aline Steiner to totally withdraw her involvement. Only my mother’s death or injury would accomplish that.

  Therefore, putting a stop to the production had not been the intent of last night’s intrusion. The killing of Paula Monahan and the attack on Mom had to be personal. Which meant I could remove Randy Baumgartner and John Benedict and any other Muddites from my mental list of suspects. Maybe I wouldn’t remove them entirely, not until I knew more about the motive, but I’d demote them to the bottom.

  As much as I didn’t want to think about what might have happened to my mother when an intruder broke into the house, I forced myself to. Why had that person not finished the attack? Why give her a fright and then flee? Nothing had been stolen; Mom was unharmed, although slightly shaken up. Was Simmonds right in thinking the intruder feared Mom was going for a weapon? I didn’t see it. Who would break into a house and deliberately wake a sleeping person without considering how they might react?