13 - Knock'em Dead by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

Author:Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain [Fletcher, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 0451194772
Publisher: Signet
Published: 1996-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

“A robbery victim?”

“Appears that way.”

“I hate to say it,” Manley said, “but I’m glad it was just a robbery. I’ve reached an age where I read the obits every day. When I see someone my age has died, I always hope it was from some motorcycle accident, or a fall from a mountain. I don’t want to know about death by natural causes.”

“What did you know about Vic?” Hayes asked the two men.

“Nice chap,” Walpole said. “Quiet. Pleasant.”

“He gave me the creeps,” Manley said.

His comment surprised Hayes and me. “Why do you say that?” Hayes asked.

“He had a funny look about him. You know, he had that one eye that didn’t open all the way.”

Hayes ignored the statement and asked, “Either of you know why he left the stage door?”

They shook their heads.

“He ever do it before?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Walpole. “I don’t keep track of the stage door. I have a play to whip into shape. Speaking of that, Lieutenant, I’ve called a rehearsal for noon. Any chance you and your people will be finished up and gone by then? Your presence is unnerving to the cast and crew.” He looked at me and said, “I had to beg Hanna to stay with the show. She’s convinced that if she comes to this theater, she’ll end up like Schrumm. Dave Potts has expressed similar fears.”

“I’d think having the police here would help allay those concerns,” I offered.

“No offense, Lieutenant,” Manley said, “but I’d like to see you gone, too. I have rewrites to do. I can’t concentrate with a bunch of cops around.”

Hayes, ever calm, said, “I’m as anxious to be out of here, Mr. Manley, as you are to have me gone. We’re moving as fast as we can, believe me.”

“It can’t be fast enough,” Manley said, walking away.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Walpole said. “He’s a writer, and we all know what they’re like.” He smiled. “With Mrs. Fletcher an obvious exception.”

“No need to exclude me, Cy,” I said, smiling sweetly.

“I have work to do,” Walpole said, and left.

“Everyone’s a little high-strung,” I said as the homicide detective and I sat next to each other.

“Mind going over how you discovered Mr. Schrumm’s body again?” he asked.

“Not at all, although I don’t think I forgot anything the first time around.”

I went step-by-step, from the moment I left the stage in search of Linda Amsted until pulling out the costume rack and finding Harry Schrumm.

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Well, no, there is one other thing I neglected to mention.”

“Oh?”

“I saw the ghost of Marcus Drummond.”

“Did you now?”

“Of course, it really wasn’t a ghost. It must have been something the light created—you know, an interplay of light and shadow.”

“But it looked like Marcus Drummond?”

“Yes, but only because I must have been subconsciously thinking of him at that moment. The old purple elephant syndrome at work.”

“I’m not familiar with that.”

I explained.

“Interesting,” he said. “Any chance what you thought was a ghost was actually a person—maybe the person who’d just killed Harry Schrumm?”

“I don’t think so.

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