Chance of a Ghost by E. J. Copperman

Author:E. J. Copperman [Copperman, E. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Women Sleuths, Ghost
ISBN: 9781101619162
Google: nRUSvXZP9dUC
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2013-02-04T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty

Sunday

The box office at the Count Basie Theatre didn’t open until noon on Sunday, so there were stops that Morgan suggested I make before I went to talk to Penny. First on the list was the Chronicle office, where Phyllis had texted to say she had some intelligence to convey. Even Phyllis texts these days.

“That must have been some musical,” she chuckled. “Seven people got arrested, and two of them spent the night behind bars.”

I almost spit out some of the Dunkin’ Donuts coffee I’d bought for us both on the way over, to fend off her homemade brew. “A night in jail? Over a bunch of sixty-year-olds taking their clothes off for thirty seconds at the end of act one?” I’d done some research into Hair since I’d spoken to her last.

Phyllis nodded with a raised eyebrow while she sipped from her coffee. Black, of course. “I know it looks extreme, and it was, for the charges. Most of them paid a fine and left. But two”—she referred to notes written on the back of a W. B. Mason receipt—“a Frances Walters and a Jerome Rasmussen, were held overnight. I guess they were more naked than everybody else or something.”

“Were the charges different for those two?” The two New Old Thespians I already had questions about? Interesting coincidence. Or a disturbing one.

Phyllis followed the chain of her notes from the office supply receipt to a brown paper bag with a grease stain on the bottom. “Nope. Lewdness, public indecency, disorderly conduct. No resisting arrest, nothing interesting out of context.”

I chewed on the bagel I’d gotten with the coffee. Dunkin’ Donuts does many things well, but bagels do not happen to fall into that category. This was a kaiser roll with a hole in the middle. “So why did those two have to stay in a cell overnight when the others didn’t?” I wondered aloud.

“That’s something to ask Officer…Robert P. Warrell,” Phyllis answered, checking a second copy of an advertising invoice.

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