The Showstopper Page 3

  Bob looked around, as if he expected to see another of his kind lurking about quietly. “Sort of. There’s an arts angel. I think this would fall under his purview, but I’m not sure.” He looked down at Treasure and shook his head.

  “Can you help?” Sandra was sure that he could. She didn’t even know why she’d asked.

  At first he didn’t answer, and she got a little worried he was going to ditch her. “I can try.” He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, what do you know so far?”

  “Not much. Treasure had no qualms about having enemies. Just tonight she had an argument with Otis, was horribly mean to Matthew, though he probably deserved it, and was a total bully to Corina. I know Corina didn’t throw her down the stairs, because she was upstairs when Treasure fell.” Right? Wasn’t she? Just when had Treasure fallen? “I think. Anyway, and Corina’s mum witnessed the bullying and was justifiably enraged.”

  “How enraged?”

  “She was pretty mad. She threatened her—”

  Peter appeared in the doorway. “Mom?” His face was pale as a sheet. “Who are you talking to?”

  “No one!” she snapped. “Go back to your seat!” She sounded far harsher than she’d wanted to, but she really didn’t want her son to think she was talking to herself. Looking injured, he turned and trudged away from her. She would have to apologize mightily for that one. She returned her attention to the angel.

  “You haven’t told him about me?”

  She shook her head. “I thought you didn’t want me to!”

  “I didn’t, but I still figured you told your family.”

  Should she tell him now that she’d told her husband? Nah, not necessary, especially since he hadn’t even considered believing her. “Well, you shouldn’t make assumptions.”

  Seeming pleased with her silence, Bob looked down at Treasure. “So, how do we know she didn’t just fall?”

  “Because ...” She pointed to the empty spot on the ledge. “Before she fell, there was a hammer lying right there.” Then she pointed to the ancient register along the wall by Treasure’s outstretched arm. “And now the hammer is down there.”

  “So you think someone hit her with a hammer?” Bob sounded overly alarmed. “Has anyone called the police?”

  “Yes, Billy called them ...” As she spoke the words, she wondered if they were true. How did she know he’d called them? Just because she liked him didn’t mean he wasn’t a murderer. Maybe he had only pretended to call the police and now he was going to pick them off one by one. A shiver passed down her spine as she shook her head. “I think they’ve been called, maybe we should double check that, and no, I don’t think anyone hit her with a hammer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t see any hammer imprints on her”—she knew such a mark could easily be on the back of her head, but she didn’t vocalize that—“and because I think she was using the hammer to defend herself.”

  Bob looked confused. “That didn’t go well.”

  “No. But look.” She pointed toward the shiny red smear on the wall. “I think this came from her fingernail. I think she was trying to grab for the banister, to stop herself from falling, but there’s no way her finger could have gotten in there to leave that smudge if she were holding a hammer.”

  Bob still looked confused. Maybe he wasn’t going to be much help after all.

  She took a deep breath and pretended she was explaining something to her seven-year-old. “So she must have picked up the hammer afterward. I think she almost fell once, grabbed the handrail to stop herself, broke her nail, and then grabbed the hammer to defend herself, and then fell for real.” Suddenly, she was overcome with doubt. Who was she to be so confident in throwing out theories like that? “I think. Maybe.”

  Bob either didn’t notice her wave of doubt or ignored it. He was staring at the register. “Is there anything on the hammer?”

  “Uh ... I didn’t check. I thought it best not to touch anything.”

  Bob vanished from his spot. If she’d gotten used to this trick back in September, she had forgotten. It startled her now and left her feeling uneasy. He reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her. “I don’t see anything on the hammer.”

  Sandra was surprised that he could see something that was tucked up against a wall under a register. She was not surprised that there was nothing on the hammer.

  Bob glanced down at Treasure. “She doesn’t have anything in her pockets either.”

  “I didn’t realize you had X-ray vision.”

  “I don’t always. It’s hard to explain.”

  Sandra felt she was missing something. But what? She crept down the stairs, trying to be hyperaware of her surroundings, trying to see everything with fresh eyes. There was something else—she just knew it. She stepped over poor Treasure’s leg and then knelt beside her left hand, the one that hadn’t held the hammer. But hadn’t she seen her holding something in that hand? Something shiny—

  “Her phone!” Sandra cried, too loudly, popping up like a fully cranked jack-in-the-box. She looked at Bob. “Where’s her phone?”

  Bob didn’t answer.

  “Are you sure her pockets are empty?”

  He nodded.

  “Then her phone is missing. I’ve never seen her without it, even though we have no signal here. She carries it around with her like it’s attached to her skin. She even has it on stage. Drives the director nuts—

  “Mom?” The timid voice came from the top of the stairs.

  Sandra looked up.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  Chapter 7

  Bummer. Scaring her son was the last thing Sandra wanted to do. “Honey? Can you come down here, please? I’ll explain. Go use the front stairs.”

  Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

  “You’re right. Hang on.” She grudgingly stepped back over Treasure’s leg, again tempted to move it to a less unseemly position, and then scooted up the stairs to her son. “Let’s go together.” She resisted the urge to take his hand into her own, but then, as if he’d read her mind, he slid his fingers into her palm, and she squeezed them as they headed up the sloped center aisle of the auditorium. It appeared no one else had moved. Everyone stared as they passed.

  “Now where are you going?” Jan screeched, and Sandra flinched at the pitch of that caterwaul.

  She didn’t answer the overbearing stage manager, and pulled Peter along a little faster behind her. But just before she started down the stairs, she had a second thought, and pulled Peter into the ticket office, where the phone was. She tried to be silent as she pulled the door shut behind her, but it clicked loudly into place. Fearing they’d soon be interrupted, she hurried to dial 911.

  “Who are you calling?” Peter whispered.

  “Cops.” She wished she had her purse with her so she could locate Detective Chip Buker’s direct number.

  “Billy already called them.”

  “Shh—”

  The ringing stopped. “911. Do you require police, fire, or ambulance?”

  She hesitated, wondering just how ridiculous she was being, and then identified herself, gave her location, and asked if police were en route.

  “Ma’am, this line is for emergencies—”

  “I know, and this is an emergency. Are the police on their way?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they are. Please be patient—”

  “Thank you,” Sandra said, without letting her finish. She hung up the phone. Good. Billy was a good guy. Her judge of character wasn’t great, but at least it wasn’t abysmal. She took Peter’s hand again and together they sneaked out of the room and down the stairs into the basement. Nearly every room in the building was on this bottom level, as most of the first floor was taken up by the auditorium itself.

  As Peter descended behind her, he whispered, “What is going on, Mom?”

  She got to the basement and looked
around for Bob. She didn’t see him. She turned toward her son and took him by the shoulders. “Honey, I need you to trust me right now.”

  He nodded.

  She wasn’t convinced. “I mean really trust me, even if part of you doesn’t want to. I need you to trust me.”

  He nodded with more vigor. “Yes, Mum, of course I trust you!” His face looked too pale in the dim light.

  “Okay, good. As you may have guessed, Treasure was definitely murdered. There is evidence. So I think you should stay with me until the police get here. I’m sorry that I left you. But I had a good reason.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been keeping a secret from you. The truth is ...” She took a gulp of air. “The truth is that I’ve been talking to an angel. An honest to God, supernatural angel. He helped me get out of that little scrape with you-know-who back in September, and I’ve asked him to come here now to—”

  Peter interrupted her with a bold laugh that sounded eerily like his father. It was a good thing she loved his father.

  “I know. I had a hard time believing it too, when Bob first appeared to me.”

  Peter laughed even harder. A tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye. He gasped for air. “The angel’s name is Bob?”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, and, honey, we’re in a tight spot right now, so I need you to focus. We can laugh and talk about this later. But for now, know that if I’m talking to someone, it’s him. I don’t know if he’ll allow you to see him.”

  Peter stopped laughing. “He’s invisible?”

  Why was this such a surprise? “Yes. Usually. He lets me see him, and Sammy can see him.” Just saying her baby’s name made her miss him, but she was grateful he was home safe with Dad. They were both blissfully unaware that she’d somehow gotten tangled up in another murder scene.

  “Come on, he’s probably still with Treasure.” She took Peter’s hand and led him across the large basement until she saw Bob standing right where she’d left him, scowling at her. “Bob, you know my son Peter. I’ve told him everything.”

  Bob nodded as if he’d expected that. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “I had to. I didn’t want my son thinking I was nuts.”

  Bob stared at Peter for several seconds and then looked at Sandra. “I’m here as a favor to you, remember?”

  She didn’t see how this connected to her telling Peter the truth. “I know, and I’m grateful.”

  Bob ran a hand through his short curly hair and looked at Peter again. “Okay, but, Peter, please don’t tell anyone else about me. I’m not supposed to be flitting around the county appearing to people.”

  Sandra looked at Peter to see if he’d heard Bob’s voice, and his eyes were wide as saucers. She took his hand. “Are you okay, honey?”

  He nodded once, slowly. “I see him.”

  Good. So that was out of the way. “I’m glad. Thank you, Bob, for letting him see you. That makes my life much easier. But, Peter, you really can’t tell anyone about him, okay? It’s serious.”

  Peter nodded, his brow knitted. “Is your name really Bob?”

  Sandra gasped, a little embarrassed at his impertinence. She tried to remind herself that she was asking him to process a lot right now. Someone he knew had probably been murdered; there was probably a murderer in their midst; and he’d just met a supernatural being. A supernatural being whose name just happened to be Bob.

  To her relief, Bob chuckled. “Sort of. My name is Binadab. It means, ‘My father is generous.’ But for the last few centuries, it’s just been simpler to call myself Bob.”

  This information threw Sandra for a loop. Was he suggesting people nowadays were too stupid to pronounce his name? Should she be offended? Could she pronounce his name? She tried. And failed. “Is that Hebrew?”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry about the pronunciation. It’s kind of you to try, but I meant it when I said Bob was easier. For everyone. And I really don’t mind Bob. It seems to suit me.”

  It did suit him. This was true. But his Hebrew name seemed to suit him too.

  Chapter 8

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Bob said. “I even went upstairs and looked in what I assume was Treasure’s purse. But I didn’t find any phone.”

  How mysterious. Sandra thought for a second. “Can you use your X-ray vision to look in other people’s pockets, see if the phone’s there?”

  He shook his head rapidly. “No way.”

  She gave him a second to expound. He didn’t. “Does that mean you’re not allowed to or you are unable to?”

  He gave her a frazzled look, as if he was tired of dealing with mere humans. “I don’t know if I am able to, but I won’t.”

  An angel who cared about civil liberties. How kind. “I guess I could go frisk them all?”

  This made Peter look nervous. “No, Mom, don’t.”

  But Bob appeared to be thinking that option over. “Nah, I doubt the murderer still has it in his pocket. I bet he hid it somewhere. Or threw it out a window. That’s what I’d do.”

  “What makes you so sure the murderer is a he? Gloria was really mad at Treasure. She had good reason to be furious—”

  “Mom, Mrs. Trembley would never hurt someone.”

  Just because you like her daughter doesn’t make the woman innocent. “I think you’re right, but I would have said that of everyone here.”

  Peter shook his head. “I definitely think Jan could kill someone. She is mean.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, so she turned to Bob. “If we can’t go search people, then what’s our next step?”

  He rubbed his chin, making Sandra wonder if angels had to shave. And even if they did, did this one have to? He had such a baby face. “I wish I knew.”

  The lights flickered and then went out, plunging them into a complete darkness that was eerily silent.

  “Got a flashlight?” Bob asked.

  “No, and my phone’s in the car.” She never brought it into the theater. Why would she, when they were in a complete dead zone? She vowed to never leave it in the car again. “Can’t you just make some supernatural light? Turn on your halo or something?”

  “I could,” Bob said, his voice tinged with irritation, “but we don’t know who is where, and we don’t want someone seeing an ethereal glow, now do we?”

  “We know where everyone is. They’re all sitting upstairs,” Sandra said.

  “Not anymore. Several people are moving about. Some are heading down the front stairs already.”

  Sandra strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything. “I can’t hear anything,” she whispered.

  “You don’t have angel ears.”

  Peter snickered beside her.

  “Okay, I don’t want to stand here in the dark beside a dead body. Can we go upstairs? I’m already cold.”

  “The temperature hasn’t changed yet,” Bob whispered. “That’s in your head.”

  It was Sandra’s turn to be annoyed with Bob, but she didn’t want to argue with him. “I’m going upstairs.” She felt around for Peter’s hand, grabbed it, and started pulling him back the way they’d come. Now she could hear rustling. Footsteps, several of them, and a cabinet door banged shut. There was a crash, and someone—Otis, she thought—said a naughty word. So much for keeping all the suspects safely contained. She stopped walking and put a hand out in front of her to feel for the stairwell.

  “We’re not there yet, Mom.” Peter pulled her ahead with alarming speed.

  She saw a flash of light in the kitchen area. Someone had brought their phone in. Or maybe they were using Treasure’s phone. “Wait.” She started to pull Peter toward the kitchen.

  “No, Mom! I want to go upstairs.” He was scared. She couldn’t stand the sound of that, so she let him start pulling again. Soon, he said, “Here, I found the railing.”

  She reached out and groped in the darkness until she too found the banister. The feel of it beneath her hand made her think of Treasure’s panicked a
ttempt to grab her handrail, and Sandra shuddered in the darkness. Peter had already started up the stairs. She stuck her foot out and hit the bottom step with her toe. Then, with painful slowness, she started her ascent. She heard someone coming down toward them and clutched Peter’s hand even tighter, pulling him toward their right. The mystery person passed without word or incident. Sandra really didn’t like not being able to tell who it was. She wanted to keep a bead on each and every person in the theater.

  As they arrived on the first floor, small lights flitting around in the auditorium cast a pale light into the foyer. Sandra would take it. She could see the floor in front of her, at least. Peter picked up speed as he pulled her toward the light, which turned out to be three cell phones. She squinted, trying to make out who she was looking at. Ethel gave her a little wave, and she pulled Peter that way. She sat down beside her and let out a long breath.

  “Take a load off.” Ethel giggled, again surprising Sandra with her good mood.

  “Where is everybody going?” Sandra looked around, trying to figure out who was missing, and wondering where Bob had gone.

  “Went to look for candles. Some people didn’t have their phones.”

  A thought occurred to Sandra, and she wanted to kick herself for not thinking about it before. “Ethel, do you want to sneak out?”

  Ethel laughed. “Aren’t we supposed to stick around until the police get here?”

  Sandra leaned closer to her. “Yes, but I know you’re not the murderer, and I know Peter isn’t. I don’t see the harm in you two trying to make a break—”

  “I wouldn’t try it,” Billy said from behind her, and she jumped. Hadn’t she been whispering? She turned to look at him. “I just went outside to see about the power,” he explained, “and it is glare ice out there.”

  “See about the power?” Sandra repeated. “Didn’t the storm knock it out?”

  “It seems so, yes, but I wasn’t so sure at first.”