Standing O: Madison Cruz Mystery, #5

By Lucy Carol

All the world's a stage, but someone plans to knock 'em dead.

If Madison can save the show, it will save the theater. But creeping through a darkened backstage, a subtle killer has different plans. Madison needs to figure out what's happening. Because this isn't the death scene she had in mind.

A humorous mystery, laced with romantic comedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fevered Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9780996799416

Book preview

A humorous mystery laced with romantic comedy.

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Chapter One

It was supposed to be an easy gig, a simple singing telegram delivered. Laughs and applause, champagne glasses clinking, and a nice tip. But things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to.

Madison had never heard of an enraged recipient murdering a singing telegram, but she supposed there was a first time for everything. To be on the safe side, it seemed wise to remain inside the coat closet for now, and wait for help to arrive. She hung on to the closet doorknob with both hands as the crazed woman on the other side of the door tried to haul it open.

Surely the party guests from the patio heard all the yelling. With any luck, they were heading into the house to intervene.

Please, lady! Madison pleaded through the door, I’m just the messenger!

A muffled voice came back, full of anger and volume. You’re one of his bimbos!

What? No! I’m just the singing telegram he hired.

It was dark and cramped inside the closet, but she didn’t dare let go of the doorknob to search for a light switch.

The angry woman rattled the doorknob, pulling on it. Come out of there and face me!

Madison held on. I’ve never even met the jerk! And I hate bimbos, she added in a panic. Death to all bimbos!

The woman huffed, Well, that’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.

Does this mean you’ll put the knife down?

Madison heard someone’s footsteps rushing across the hardwood floors of this beautiful home. Actually, she’d never had the chance to tell the owner how lovely the interior design was. But now might not be a good time to bring it up. After all, when someone wants to kill you, telling them their taste in furnishings is exquisite might make them think you were trying to change the subject.

She heard a woman’s squeaky voice. Kate? Is there a woman in that closet?

New footsteps, heavier, meant someone else had arrived on the scene.

A man’s voice. What’s going on in here?

The squeaky voice sounded incredulous. I heard a woman yelling in that closet.

Furious pounding on the door caused Madison to flinch. The doorknob rattled with renewed vigor.

Madison yelled through the door, I need help. Please! This is all a big misunderstanding.

The man’s calm voice entreated, Kate? Don’t do something you’ll regret. You need to calm down, sis.

The squeaky voice chimed in. Whatever she’s done, sweetie, it’s not worth it.

More footsteps rushing on the hardwood floors. Murmurs from bystanders.

The man tried again. Kate, has the irony escaped you that you donated fifty grand to a battered women’s shelter?

What of it? came the angry reply.

Are you now trying to send them a battered woman?

Kate yelled, Why is everyone acting like I’m the bad guy? Did you hear what she sang to me?

No, said the man. But it can’t be worth pulling a knife.

What… Kate’s voice trailed off. Oh. Geez. A metallic clank from the floor suggested that Kate had dropped the knife. Sorry.

The pressure on the doorknob stopped. Madison heard footsteps on the wood floor, leading away from the closet.

Madison heard Kate say, resigned, Get the bimbo out of the closet. I promise I won’t hurt her.

Madison cautiously opened the closet door, her big green eyes peering around the edge. Finger-combing her dark silky hair out of her face, she delicately stepped out from the closet. Across the room Kate, late forties, wearing wavy light brown hair, slumped onto a sumptuous velvet chair.

Kate rolled her eyes. Sorry about the knife. I forgot I was still holding it when I ran at you. She stared into her lap. I was cutting the cake when… She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

Madison felt relief, but her heart was heavy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand what was really going on here.

Kate huffed. Tell everyone what you sang.

But…

Tell them!

A small crowd of middle-aged and older people stood around the living room holding glasses of wine, bottles of beer, and plates of appetizers. All eyes shifted to Madison. It was an uncomfortable spotlight.

Her shoulders sank. It was an old boy-band song, called ‘Bye Bye Bye.’

The small brown-haired woman standing nearby asked, You sang a breakup song to Kate? She had the squeaky voice Madison had heard from inside the closet. At her own engagement party?

I didn’t know. Madison insisted. "The client, I mean, I guess he was her fiancé…said it was a divorce celebration party!"

The room went quiet. The eating stopped. The drinks in their hands were slowly lowered a few inches.

Now we know why Trent is so late tonight, said Squeaky Voice. He’s not coming.

A large well-dressed man sounded angry now. I tried to tell you, sis! He has a reputation for using women.

I’m so sorry, said Madison. I’d never participate in a cruel prank. I didn’t know.

Dazed, Kate rose from her chair, then crossed the room to a purse on the floor by the couch. She picked it up, dug through it, and found what she sought. She nodded, pressing her lips together. She tossed the whole purse onto the couch, where its contents slopped out as it fell over. My credit cards. They’re all gone. She hunched, ever so slightly, as if standing straight were a tax she couldn’t quite pay. Raising her head, she swiveled her gaze to Madison. I’m sorry about the knife. But I want you out of here. It’s hard to look at you.

Madison tried to find words. I’m so sorry.

You said that. Tears flooded Kate’s eyes. Please, just go.

Madison nodded. She couldn’t think of anything to alleviate this woman’s pain, except to leave. She returned to the closet where she’d dropped the gig sheet her agent, Phil, had sent her. It listed Kate’s address, with divorce celebration instructions printed on it. She picked it up from the floor, not wanting Kate to find it later like an emotional land mine.

Squeaky Voice said, I didn’t know Trent was capable of this.

Kate returned to her chair, numbly staring into the distance. You think you know someone.

Madison skipped her normal ritual of leaving a business card, skipped the good-bye, and threaded her way through the crowd of guests. They shifted away, pulling their drinks or plates away from her as she passed.

Once she was through the front door, she closed it softly behind her.

Hurrying down the landscaped walkway, she passed the lovely archway of neatly trimmed ivy, to her car at the curb. She was eager to get in, and disappear.

She felt like a dog with a sign of shame around her neck.

The traffic signal turned angry red. She waited, but the seconds felt like hours. She grabbed an empty fast food bag from the passenger seat, wadded it into a hard little ball, and threw it at her windshield. It bounced to the floor, landing on the gig sheet from Kate’s house.

Being assigned to a divorce party now and then was not unusual. The party hosts were usually someone relieved to finally escape a bad relationship. Madison showed up at these celebrations dressed in pretty partywear, smiling gaily, and she would sing the requested song, which was often a witty selection. The attendees laughed, joked, and cheered for the newly single person.

At least, that’s how it usually went.

The traffic signal turned green. Madison released a pent-up breath, punching the accelerator. The cheapest grocery store in town was just ahead. She’d planned to pick up a few groceries on the way home, but now she had no tip money. She’d have to carefully stretch what little money she had, and only buy a few things. Singing telegram delivery was supposed to be a side hustle, not her main source of income. She decided to stop doing small jobs, and hold out for the big ones. If she was going to work a miserable job, a bigger paycheck might as well come with it.

Just as she pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store, her cell phone came alive, playing There’s No Business Like Show Business. Her agent, Phil, was calling. She shut off the car, then grabbed her phone.

Phil! Just the person I want to talk to. Please tell me this is an audition call.

Sorry doll, no auditions yet, said Phil, his Boston street accent sounding suspiciously upbeat. But I got a few things to pay a few bucks.

She rubbed her hand down her face. What is it?

First, I want you to be open-minded.

Oh, no, she moaned. Whenever you start with being open-minded—

I can give you a gig handing out perfume samples.

A gig? You’re going to justify that by calling it a gig?

Did I not just ask you to be open-minded?

"You’re a talent agent. What kind of talent does it take to hand out perfume samples?"

You stand there looking pretty, and you smile when you don’t feel like it. That takes talent.

She blinked. Did I just fall from your top call list? Did you sign new actors that you’re giving all the good stuff?

Minty, you’re one of the best talents I got in the stable. But times are hard and we gotta make some dough any way we can. Work with me. Perfume samples.

His nicknames for her, Chocolate Mint, or Minty, referred to her light green eyes surrounded with black lashes. It was usually a sign of affection, but on occasion, he used it to butter her up.

She looked out her driver side window, the phone to her ear. The Seattle weather at this time of year was always tedious. The same grey clouds in the same grey sky. Spring was close enough to be a tease, but not close enough to breathe life, or bring hope. I’m going to pass.

You sure?

I’d rather go down in a spectacular crash, than quietly go dim.

Phil went quiet for a moment. She could hear him pushing papers around on his desk while he sighed. What happened?

What do you mean, what happened? Does something have to happen for me to gather up a little dignity and say no to a stupid gig?

Actually? Yeah.

She rolled her eyes. She hated that he was right.

"You’re a fighter and you don’t give up easy. So what happened? Was it the gig? How’d your gig go today?

She closed her eyes and sighed. Total debacle. You sent me to deliver a prank. A mean one.

That don’t make sense. How could it be a prank gig?

Because it wasn’t a divorce celebration after all. My song was some guy’s way of breaking up with his fiancée. Her name’s Kate. It was their engagement party, no less.

Huh! That’s a new one.

Her agitation made it impossible to stay in the car any longer. She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, locking it. Did the client let on that it was a prank? As she spoke, she walked to the grocery store entrance, feeling a few raindrops on her cheeks.

I don’t remember. It was booked over a month ago. Hold on while I check.

Unbelievable, she muttered. If the client booked it that long ago, then he had known for a month that he was going to break up with his fiancée at their engagement party. He’d let Kate plan the party, invite the guests… and somehow he’d never let slip what he was really thinking.

Kate should be told about this.

She pulled at a grocery cart with her free hand, setting her purse inside, then entered the store.

Phil came back to the phone. Little bastard never said a thing. I remember him now. His voice sounded like a fellow Bostonian, I’m ashamed to say. Told some lame joke about women who are inscrutable, but un-screwable.

Madison shook her head as she pushed her cart down the bread aisle. That poor woman just got the cruelest breakup. She was humiliated in front of all her friends. After a longing look at the raisin bread, she made herself put cheap sale bread in the cart, instead.

This is terrible, said Phil. The nerve of that guy! I can’t let him get away with this. Prank gigs cost more.

What?

He owes me more money. I’m gonna add extra charges to his card.

Annoyed at Phil, she tossed items into her cart without checking prices. Is that all you can think about? Some things are more important than money, you know.

It’s my job to think about it. Because what’s been running through your mind this whole conversation?

You mean besides your single-minded, money-grubbing, hardened heart?

Yeah. Besides that.

Well… Madison blinked. I keep seeing Kate, and the way her eyes teared up just before I left.

Exactly. You’re always thinking about other people and not your own bottom line. Don’t you got bills to pay?

Agitated, she rushed her cart down another aisle. Well, sure. But what about Kate?

I can help in my own tiny way. There’s a special upcharge when people try to pull a fast one. It’s the punishment fee. It spikes the rate even higher than if they’d just admitted it was going to be a prank gig in the first place. It’s all in the contract.

Huh. I forgot about that.

Plus, if the prank is especially cruel, there’s the S.O.B. fee.

Is that new? You’ve never applied an S.O.B. fee to any of my gigs before.

That’s because you’ve never consented to the really mean, we’re talking law-suit, types of pranks. There are fees you don’t usually see because you do the sweet stuff. You should see the fees rack up when Jen does a strip gig.

Strip gigs rack up fees?

They do when I’m the one booking ’em. There’s the scumbag fee, the goose-bump fee, the zipped-lip fee, the sunburn fee—

You’re talking about a world I do not understand. Nor, do I want to.

So, trust me. I got fees to make this guy feel pain.

Once they hung up, she concentrated on the groceries in her cart. What was she thinking? She needed to put some things back. She plucked the Styrofoam cups of ramen noodles from her cart. She was tired of eating so much ramen. It was cheap, sure, but shouldn’t she find something else to add to her diet? How about a can of tuna? That would be better, wouldn’t it? And a jar of pickles would make the tuna better. She peered at the price tag on the shelf for the pickles. Deflating, she put the pickles back just as her cell phone went off again.

Checking her phone’s screen, she didn’t know the number. She braced herself to tell another telemarketer no thank you. Hello?

Madison, you sound so grown up.

She blinked. She knew that voice. That voice belonged to someone very influential in Madison’s life. It was her old drama teacher from high school. Mr. Cooperson?

Yes! You remembered.

Oh my gosh, Mr. Cooperson! How are you?

I’m doing great, thank you. And you? I’ve heard your acting has really taken off since you graduated.

Embarrassed, Madison shot a glance at the scanty provisions in her cart. Uh, yeah. It’s…hot and cold, you know. Always looking for more work. She pulled a can of soup out of her cart, searching the shelf for a place she could put it back.

Excellent. That’s why I called. I just lost my leading lady. I’m hoping you can step in.

She giggled. Mr. Cooperson, I’m twenty-four years old, now. I can’t—

Sorry, I should explain. I don’t teach anymore. I finally bought my own theatre. I want to hire you.

You did? She found the spot the soup belonged in. You do? The soup slipped right into its niche, and she turned back to her cart. Wait a minute. Did she hear him right? I’m not sure I’m following.

I’m the new owner of the Sloane Theatre. Well…not so new anymore. I’ve been trying to make a go of it for six months now. Been a bit rocky.…

In the back of her mind lived a notion that the old Sloane Theatre wasn’t open anymore. She must have been wrong. Well, congratulations! Wow…

I heard Phil still represents you. I have his number, but I wanted to ask you first.

What’s the show?

"I have a cast rehearsing to perform The Sound of Music. I’ve never forgotten how amazing you were when we did that same show in your senior year. Would you be interested in stepping in to take the role of Maria, again?"

I’d love to.

There’s a catch. We have less than two weeks left before we open. I’ll need you in rehearsal as soon as possible.

I still remember those songs. I’m sure I can catch up with the rest of the cast.

I won’t sugarcoat it. I’m in a tough spot here. We’ve lost some funding and as a result we lost some key people. It might be a struggle to get to the finish line. But you’re all such a talented bunch, I believe we can pull it off. He sighed. We’d better. Or my dream goes up in smoke.

Chapter Two

Madison rinsed red paint out of a paint roller in Grandpa’s sink, set it aside to dry, then moved out