The Showstopper Read online

  When Sandra came back out into the hallway, still wiping her hands on her jeans because there hadn’t been any paper towels, she heard Treasure cackle in the green room and noted that she would make a fantastic Wicked Witch of the West if she could find a production of The Wizard of Oz. Though she probably wouldn’t take a role that didn’t allow her to be beautiful. As it was, she was already insisting that Ma Walton get to wear bright red nail polish and her hair down.

  “You’re just a kid!” Treasure said. “You’re not a real actress, and you never will be! You’re not pretty enough!”

  Sandra’s blood boiled, and she flew toward the green room, almost smashing into Gloria, who beat her there. Sandra stopped in the doorway and surveyed the scene. Treasure was standing over poor little, adorable Corina, who was cowering beneath her pointed finger. What a load of bull! Corina was gorgeous. She had the perfect features for the stage: heart-shaped face; long, dirty-blond wavy hair; rosy cheeks; and pink lips. Sandra had no doubt that Corina would be beautiful for the rest of her life.

  For a second, she feared that Gloria, in a full on mother’s rage, was going to strike Treasure. She was shaking mad, and Sandra wondered if she should intervene just to protect Treasure. She didn’t want to protect Treasure. She had come here to protect Corina, but she didn’t want Gloria to go to jail for assault.

  She took a tentative step forward, just in case.

  “Don’t you ever speak to my daughter like that.” Gloria’s words came out strong and staccato. Sandra made a mental note to never mess with Gloria or her children. Not that she ever would mess with anybody, but just in case.

  Treasure leaned toward Gloria. “You’re not scaring me, Mama Bear. I’m just trying to give your precious baby a dose of reality. You tell her she’s a star, tell her she’s going to be a big star, but she’s not. No one from around here becomes a star of anything. You’re just setting her up for heartbreak.” Treasure brushed past her and started to storm out of the room, but Gloria grabbed her by the arm.

  Treasure, her face aghast at the nerve of someone actually touching her, whirled back toward Gloria.

  “I’m serious,” Gloria said, her voice low, her jaw tight. “You stay away from my daughter, or I will end you.”

  Treasure hesitated, as if she couldn’t think how to respond to that. But then she tipped her head back and laughed at the high ceiling.

  Sandra cringed. Of all the things Treasure could have done or said in that moment, Sandra thought that laugh was probably the most obnoxious and infuriating.

  Treasure ripped her arm out of Gloria’s grip and left the room still laughing. Sandra hurried to get out of her way.

  Corina promptly burst into tears, and Gloria took her into her arms, making Sandra suddenly the interloper in the room. She sneaked out, and followed Treasure up the stairs, keeping her distance. Had Otis really upset Treasure that much, that she had to go and take it out on a kid? Or was Treasure just that much of a jerk? And if she was that mean, why did people keep casting her? Did she really sell enough tickets to warrant that? She wasn’t that beautiful. Along with the disgust Otis had mentioned, Sandra found herself feeling something else for Treasure: pity.

  Chapter 4

  Sandra was more than relieved to return to her comfy chair and pick up her knitting. She sank back into the cushion and tried not to think about the weather waiting outside. She tried to enjoy watching her son on stage.

  They were working on the scene were all the Walton—er, make that Spencer—children were outside having a snowball fight. Even though there were only three of the seven Spencer children present, Frank decided to tweak some blocking. Sandra wasn’t looking forward to the chaos that would ensue when the other Spencer children came back to find people standing in their spots. But nor was she about to interfere with Frank’s perfectionism. And so, the three kids present ran around the stage screaming and pelting one another with invisible snowballs. It was actually quite amusing, but it was also loud, and the other adults made a big show of being annoyed with the volume and headed downstairs.

  Sandra doubted that she would miss them. She was used to loud noises and enjoyed the scene as it evolved in front of her—so much so that she was sad when Frank threw his hands up in the air and said, “Let’s move on.” He looked around the room and appeared annoyed to see that none of his actors were there. “Corban, let’s work on your scene with Grandpa. Would you mind going downstairs to find him?” Frank’s voice was spiked with irritation.

  “No need! I’m here.” Otis materialized near the entrance to the theater.

  “Great. Let’s go.” Frank turned to face the stage as Otis speed-walked to the front of the auditorium and climbed up onto the stage. He sat down in his rocking chair and looked at Frank expectantly. “Go ahead,” Frank said.

  Otis turned toward Corban and took his hands. Corban looked afraid of him but stood firm. Otis delivered his lines in the most ungrandpalike voice that Sandra had ever heard. Otis’s wife had told her that they had children, but she wondered now if they had grandchildren. She doubted it.

  Peter sat down in the front row and leaned back in his chair to watch. Sandra quickly lost interest in the scene that did not involve her son and returned to her knitting. But a few minutes later, when she looked up, she saw that cute little Corina had sat down beside Peter and they were head to head, whispering. Part of Sandra was overjoyed at this sight. How adorable! Peter likes a girl! But another part of Sandra was terrified. Peter likes a girl? When did that happen? How did that happen? And from the looks of things, she liked him back. She rubbed his arm before getting up and prancing toward the back stairs, leaving Sandra unsure what to think. So, she sat there staring at the back of her son’s head, her needles frozen mid-stitch.

  She was so intent on staring at her son that Frank startled her when he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “I need to use the facilities. Could you supervise for a minute?”

  Her? Supervise a play? Was he mad?

  “They won’t even know I’m gone.” Without waiting for an answer, he patted her on the shoulder and vanished into the shadows behind her.

  She turned her attention to the stage and wished she could give a few directing points. She would tell Otis to marathon a couple seasons of The Waltons. Also, if you’re going to play a loving grandpa, you need to pretend that you like your grandson. Poor Corban.

  A blood-curdling scream came from the back stairwell. Everyone froze, but Sandra knew it was Corina, and took off running even as her skin broke out in gooseflesh. A lot faster than she used to be only six months ago, she reached the top of the stairs in seconds and found poor Corina staring down at Treasure, who was sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs, one leg cocked off at an unhuman angle. Her eyes were closed, and she was far too still. Sandra grabbed Corina and brought her head to her chest, but it was too late to protect her from the sight. She rubbed the back of her head. “Don’t look, honey.”

  Otis, Corban, and Peter tried to press into the small space to see what was going on, but the small landing could barely accommodate the two people it currently held.

  Another, smaller scream sounded from the bottom of the stairs, and the scuffling of many footsteps followed. Gloria came into view with her hand on her cheek. “Is she ... Oh no, is she ...”

  “Should we call an ambulance?” someone said.

  I don’t think that would do much good at this point. “Gloria!” Sandra called down softly.

  Gloria looked up, saw her daughter, jumped again, and started to step over Treasure.

  “Wait!” Sandra cried. Other faces appeared then and peered up at her expectantly. How did she get to be in charge? “Go around! Use the other stairs. If she’s ...” She didn’t want to finish that sentence and just pointed toward the other end of the building, relieved when Gloria turned to obey. If she’s dead, we should be respectful and not step over her body.

  “It’s Treasure,” she said to the people behind her. “It looks like she
fell down the stairs.” She looked at her son and then down at Corina, who was trembling in her arms. “Go with Peter, honey. I need to go help Treasure.” Now there was something she didn’t think she’d ever say. She handed off the shaken child to her son, who was probably a bit shaken himself, and then carefully started down the rickety stairs.

  She wanted to believe that Treasure could be helped, but it didn’t look that way. The closer she got to her, the more tragic the scene appeared. She had hit the cement floor with her head, which had blood pooled beneath it. Both her legs still rested on the stairs, and Sandra had this urge to straighten them out on the floor for her. She knew she shouldn’t touch her, but the poor woman just looked so uncomfortable. She didn’t touch her legs, though; instead, she took great care to walk around her, not over her, and then squatted down to feel her neck for a pulse, and she heard someone gasp. What did they want her to do? As she’d anticipated, there was no pulse. “Someone needs to call the police,” she said softly.

  “There’s no signal here!” Otis exclaimed, as if she were stupid.

  She wanted to tell him to stop being so rude and obnoxious, but she didn’t have the energy. “Billy,” she said without looking up. She hadn’t even seen him, but she assumed he was there. Everyone was there. “Could you please use the theater’s phone to call the police?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She heard his footsteps on the cement as he walked away.

  Starting to stand up, she noticed a hammer under a register, about a foot away from Treasure’s partially open hand. What on earth? She looked up the stairs to see Frank staring down at her, apparently paralyzed by what he was seeing. She started up the stairs to check the landing, to see if it was the same hammer that she’d seen there in the pile of tools. As she approached, Frank said, “It was an accident, right?”

  Chapter 5

  What an interesting thing to say, Sandra thought. She had assumed it was an accident. Hadn’t everyone? She’d only had second thoughts when she saw the hammer, and no one else—that she knew of, anyway—had seen the hammer. She climbed the last few steps and looked down at the pile of tools. Sure enough: no hammer.

  She looked up at Frank. “I don’t know if it was an accident. How many times has Treasure been up and down these stairs? This is like a second home to her. Maybe someone pushed her.” Frank gasped, and Sandra felt guilty for being so dramatic. But then she looked down at Treasure’s lifeless body and didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “Maybe it was an accident, but I doubt it.”

  Frank abruptly grabbed her arm. “Not a word!”

  “What?” She yanked her arm out of his grasp.

  “Don’t say a word about your suspicions. I don’t want everyone panicking, and I don’t want rumors starting about this theater.”

  She nodded. “Deal.” She would stay as quiet as possible, but not because she was worried about the theater’s reputation. If there was a murderer sneaking about, she didn’t want to tip her hand. Sandra’s eyes surveyed the rest of the landing, looking for other clues. She leaned toward the decrepit handrail for a closer look.

  “Stop that,” Frank hissed.

  A chill went down Sandra’s spine. Frank had been in the bathroom when Treasure had fallen, right? So he couldn’t have been here, right? So why was he so adamant that she be willfully ignorant about the situation they were in?

  He answered the question she hadn’t asked aloud: “If you look suspicious, others will catch the suspicion.”

  “Then go distract them,” she said quickly. “I’ll just be a minute.” She wasn’t giving up that spot. There could be clues that someone could easily remove if given a chance.

  “Fine.” He took a big breath. “Everyone,” he called out with a clear, strong voice, “return to the auditorium, please! Use the front stairs.”

  Frank disappeared, and Sandra resumed her study of the small area. It didn’t take long for her to see a narrow, bright red mark on the dingy white wall inside of the handrail. Her stomach turned. That sure looked like Mrs. Walton’s shade. She slipped back down the stairs and bent to look at Treasure’s right hand, taking care not to touch it. Sure enough, a nail was broken. For the first time, fear made an appearance in Sandra’s mind, and she didn’t like it. She was going to need some help. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently prayed, “Please, God, send Bob quick.” Her eyes popped open as she said amen, and she took another look. Treasure must have grabbed the hammer, right? How else could it have gotten down the stairs and under the register? She could’ve knocked it off the ledge, but it wasn’t likely. The bag of nails was closer to the edge, as was the electric drill, and those things remained unmoved, despite the drill’s cord dangling down and begging to be yanked. So, she’d grabbed the hammer, but why? Who breaks their nail on a wall and then reaches for a hammer before plunging backward to her death?

  Someone who was pushed—that’s who.

  Sandra needed Bob. Right now.

  While she waited, without confidence that he would ever show up, she continued to examine the landing and the stairs, but didn’t see anything else interesting.

  “Sandra!”

  She recognized that voice. Jan, the stage manager. The woman was a shrew, an utter control freak, and Sandra was finding it difficult to love her.

  “Sandra! Come out here!” she called again.

  Giving one last glance around, and hoping Bob was on his way, Sandra stepped back out into the main room to find everyone seated and silent. Corina still cried. Billy looked to be on the verge. She’d known he was a big softie. Peter looked scared, and Sandra quickly went to him, sat down beside him, and put her arm around his shoulders, relieved that he let her.

  “We’ve decided we all need to stay together until the police get here,” Jan announced.

  Sandra wondered who “we” was. Frank didn’t look to be in agreement. In fact, he looked like he was in a colonoscopy waiting room.

  “I’ve gone around the entire perimeter of the building,” Billy said softly. “And there are no tire tracks or footprints. So that means one of us is a murderer.”

  That explained Frank’s expression. So much for pretending there’d been an accident.

  Jan held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Those stairs are treacherous. I am certain that she simply fell.” She glared over her glasses at Billy. “But neither you nor Sandra are police officers, so stop pretending you are.” She moved her glare to Sandra. “We will wait here for the police, who will, no doubt, declare that this was an unfortunate accident.”

  For a moment, everyone was silent, looking around the room to see if anyone was wearing a “murderer” name tag.

  “When will they get here?” Peter asked softly.

  “Any minute,” Jan said, and Sandra laughed out loud.

  Worried that her laugh had been a smidgen ill-timed, she hastened to add, “It’ll be at least a half-hour.”

  “More than that,” Billy said. “It’s changed to freezing rain out there.”

  Chapter 6

  Gloria had said, “I will end you” to Treasure just before she died. Sandra had thought she meant that she’d end her career. But had she meant something else? Something more sinister? Surely she hadn’t meant that she would literally end Treasure for good? Sandra sneaked a peek at the theater mom who had one arm around each of her children. Tears streamed down her face. Surely a person that sad hadn’t murdered someone? Or maybe those were tears of guilt.

  Gloria caught Sandra staring at her, and before Sandra could yank her gaze away, Gloria offered her a wan smile. Sandra tried to return the smile, but she feared it looked more like a grimace. As she turned her face front, she caught sight of Bob standing in the corner of the room, near the top of the stairs. Her spirit leapt at the sight of him. Thank the heavens, he was here. She didn’t even know why she was so comforted by his presence, but she was. Maybe that’s just what happened to people when angels appeared.

  He motioned her over. She started to stand up, but then
froze. They’d told her to stay here, right? So she wasn’t allowed to move? Bob looked confused. She shook her head slightly, unsure how to wordlessly communicate her indecision. But then she decided that she didn’t care what they’d told her. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to Peter, and then she stood up, trying to look bold and confident.

  No one said anything until she took a step toward Bob. Then Jan came to life. “Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was a thousand fingernails on a thousand chalkboards.

  Sandra turned her head without turning her body away from her destination. “I’m going to go see if I can figure out what happened.”

  “No, you’re not!” Jan stood up and squared her shoulders. She was ready for a fight. Was this woman going to wrestle her back into her chair?

  Sandra almost giggled at the thought. “Yes, I am.” She used her even, toneless voice, the same one she used on overly emotional soccer coaches. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bob smirk.

  “We agreed to all stay here and wait for the police!” Jan sounded desperate.

  “I didn’t agree to anything.” She headed for the stairs again.

  “It’s not safe!” Jan’s voice had turned into a roar.

  Trying to remain calm, cool, and collected, Sandra turned toward her. “I’ll be fine. I’m the only one leaving the room. I’ll only be in danger if one of you follows me.”

  Apparently, that left them all speechless, because no one else said a word. She walked past Bob without acknowledging her invisible friend, and then he followed her through the doorway and onto the landing of the stairs. He gasped when he saw Treasure. “Oh, wow.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Where was the theater angel?” She was kidding, playing off the fact that Bob was the local middle school sports angel, so shouldn’t there be a community theater angel? But the look on Bob’s face suggested that her quip was closer to truth than she realized. “What? Is there really a theater angel?”