Cherringham--Playing Dead Page 7

  And the one question that he kept coming back to…

  Why?

  12. The Butler Speaks

  Ben Ferris merely mumbled when he answered his phone, as if immobilised by this unexpected call.

  Sarah’s mother had all the numbers of the cast in case of an emergency, so it had been easy for Sarah to reach him.

  But talking? That was another story…

  She had explained what she wanted to talk to him about — and Ferris said that he was “too busy”.

  Too busy stocking shelves at the local Costco? she almost said.

  But instead she explained that she and Jack had been talking to everyone.

  “And wouldn’t it look odd if he, Ben Ferris, wouldn’t talk?”

  When Ferris finally agreed to meet at lunchtime, Sarah thought it would be where he lived — his address … a tiny flat in the village, above the bookshop.

  But he quickly said “No.”

  Then: “And not at that coffee house,” he said. “Bunch of busybodies work there.”

  She thought of the bookshop below his flat that Sarah hadn’t been to in months … with a new owner and new name, “The Book Cottage.”

  When she mentioned that possibility, he hesitated.

  “Ben — it will just be for a quick chat,” she added.

  Then, not hiding his reluctance, he said, “Okay. In ten minutes.”

  Now, the call ended and taking a breath, Sarah put her computer to sleep and turned to Grace.

  “Going to The Book Cottage,” Sarah said. “Shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Grace nodded, carrying on with her work, as Sarah got up from her desk, and headed for the shop.

  *

  A bell over the door jingled as she entered.

  The small shop — specialising in quality used books as well as the newest releases — looked empty.

  But then the owner, new to Cherringham, a small, rotund woman — Rosie McHugh — came out of a little room at the back, a smile on her face.

  “Hello,” the shopkeeper said. “Can I help you?”

  “Could be — I hear the new Archer is a great read, hmm? And—”

  “All sold out of that one, I’m afraid,” Rosie said. But then she came out from behind the counter. “Michael Connelly has a new one, getting great reviews.”

  The woman pointed to a neat line of the Connelly novel on the top shelf of new releases.

  “Thanks. Might be just the ticket.” Sarah took a look around at the otherwise empty store. “I’m also,” Sarah said as she slid the novel out, “meeting Ben Ferris here. In minutes, really. You know him?”

  A nod, and then, finally a smile. “Do indeed. The upstairs tenant! Haunts this place. Limited funds but always checking out what’s new.”

  “Quite the reader, then?”

  “Oh, more than that. Quite the writer. Always checking out the books about writing, plays, novels. Last week he picked up The Selected Letters of Elia Kazan. You know, Mr. Ferris once wrote professionally…”

  No … I did not know that, Sarah thought.

  Just thought he was quiet Ben Ferris, working his hourly wage job, struggling to get by.

  But a writer?

  “No, I didn’t, I—”

  And at that moment the bell over the door trilled again, and Ben Ferris walked in, face set, a nod to Rosie McHugh, and just a stolid look for Sarah.

  Sarah smiled and went over to him.

  *

  Ben wasn’t terribly good at eye contact.

  He led the way back to where there were shelves devoted to books on writing and writers’ biographies. As Sarah asked him questions, her voice low, Ben would slide out one book … then another.

  “Ben, I wanted to know your thoughts about what’s been happening in the theatre.”

  He paged though the book in his hands, bent over, and then slid it back in, pulling out another.

  “You mean the arguments and stuff?”

  “Well, yes.” Sarah paused. “That and the accidents.

  “Guess … accidents happen.”

  “You mean you think there will be more?” she asked.

  He looked up at her.

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “You think someone could be doing them on purpose? That they aren’t accidents?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  Like pulling teeth here, Sarah thought.

  She moved on.

  “And that fight between Jez and Ambrose.”

  “Idiots,” Ben said.

  “For fighting?”

  Another look up. Ben Ferris weighing every word.

  Then the tiniest of smiles. “Sure.”

  And Sarah wasn’t sure at all.

  Ben had been a fixture in the local productions for years. She wondered what he thought of an outsider coming in, so now she asked him.

  Ben slid out another book.

  Sarah could see the title. The Trip to Echo Spring.

  After a long pause, Ferris said: “Guess the Board thought old Ambrose wasn’t quite up to it.”

  “And you?”

  Ferris shrugged. “Always seemed to do just fine before. Maybe they wanted…” seeming reluctant, Ferris slid the book back in. Buying new hardbacks on what passed for a Costco salary couldn’t be indulged too often, Sarah imagined.

  “Look,” Ben made a point of looking down at his wristwatch. “I’m due back at work in twenty. So, gotta dash.”

  Sarah nodded, thinking that this just may have been one of the most useless “interrogations” in her short career as a sleuth.

  Ben Ferris started walking to the front and out the door.

  When Sarah stopped, amazingly … remembering a line from an old American detective show.

  The detective’s gimmick…

  “Oh Ben — just one more thing.”

  The guy stopped and turned, halfway to the front desk.

  Nearly free of Sarah’s questions.

  “Hmm?”

  “I hear you were a writer. That you wrote professionally.”

  For the first time she saw a spark of reaction in his eyes.

  She half expected him to shake his head and walk away.

  Instead he slowly walked back to her.

  Almost theatrical in the way he took each measured step.

  His eyes never leaving hers.

  “Who told you that … Rosie?”

  A nod from Sarah.

  “Can’t tell anyone anything these days, right?” Ferris said, a thin smile on his lips.

  “So it’s true?”

  The smallest nod. “Yes, I was a professional writer. With all the wonderful moments that profession brings, all the joy, all the—”

  He stopped.

  “Can I ask what it was you wrote … who did you write for?”

  The thin smile faded. “It was years ago. I wrote for myself. Like every talented writer, every real writer who isn’t a hack.”

  “What though?”

  “Stuff. It was another life, Sarah Edwards, another world.”

  He clearly wasn’t going to tell her anything more about that “other life”. But there was obviously more to Ben Ferris than she had assumed when setting up this meeting.

  And while he might not want to talk about that other life, Sarah knew that — these days — one’s past never vanished.

  If nothing else than for her own interest, she wanted to find out just what Ferris had written.

  “See you at dress,” he said, the thin smile returning.

  Sarah stood there for a moment and let Ben Ferris walk out.

  And when Rosie McHugh, who had diplomatically busied herself in a back area, still probably within earshot, returned, Sarah said, “You know, I think I’ll get the Connelly. Could use a good read.”

  “Absolutely,” Rosie said.

  Now paying for the book, she wondered how Jack would get on when he met Laura at the estate agents that afternoon…

  13. Liaisons Dangereuses


  Jack arrived at the theatre dead on four p.m. and thought at first that he’d got the call time wrong: although the doors were open and the house lights on, the place seemed empty.

  But as he walked down the central aisle towards the stage he could hear voices from out back.

  Raised voices. People quarrelling.

  He stepped up on to the stage and nearly bumped into Todd who was standing in the wings eating a burger.

  “All right, Jack?” he said, his mouth full. “Fancy a chip?”

  “Not hungry Todd — but appreciate the offer.”

  “Not going to get much chance to eat tonight.”

  “I’ll figure something,” said Jack, nodding to the corridor. “What’s up?”

  “Laura and Jez,” said Todd. “None of my business.”

  Jack nodded. “Right. Well, nothing to stop me from grabbing a coffee…”

  And he set off through the wings and down the corridor towards the kitchen.

  So this was where Laura was. He’d phoned the estate agents earlier and been told she was off sick.

  Doesn’t sound sick now, he thought as he approached the kitchen door, the raised voices at full throttle.

  “You selfish bastard—”

  “Sweetheart, I just say it how it is—”

  “Get out of here—”

  “One day you’ll look back on this and realise how right I was—”

  Jack heard the smash of a plate or cup — hard to know which — and stepped back just as the door opened and Jez Kramer hurried through and past him towards the stage.

  “‘Beginners’ call in an hour Laura, don’t forget,” the director hurled over his shoulder.

  “Bastard!”

  Jack waited a few seconds then tapped on the kitchen door.

  “Hi Laura,” he said gently. “Jack here. Safe for me to come in?”

  There was no answer so Jack entered, ready to dodge more crockery if it flew his way. But as he entered the little kitchen he could see Laura sitting at the table blowing her nose on a paper handkerchief.

  “Mind if I grab a coffee?”

  “No. G-go ahead.”

  “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  He filled the kettle, waited for it to boil then made the drinks and handed one to Laura.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “One of those days.”

  “So I gather,” said Jack. “I called you at your office today, but they said you were home sick.”

  “Yeah. Truth is I had a bit of personal stuff to sort.”

  “Our beloved director, huh?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I didn’t realise you and Jez were…”

  “We’re not. I mean, we were. But now we’re not.”

  “Right.”

  Jack waited for her to say more, but she clearly wasn’t going to.

  “So Laura — the reason I wanted to talk to you was — Andy Parkes.”

  “From one bastard to another, huh? What do you want to talk about him for?”

  “I gather your office was helping him with his development plans for the theatre?”

  “What is this, Jack? What are you talking about? That stuff’s confidential — how do you know about that?”

  “Whoa, it’s all right. I’m just trying to make some connections here. All the accidents we’ve been having. Things aren’t looking good for the debut of the theatre. And some people are wondering if Parkes might be involved.”

  “And if he was — you think I’d know? And not say anything? Give me some credit.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  “If you must know — my company did some valuations of this building for him. But I wasn’t involved.”

  He stood back as Laura suddenly got up. “I’ve got to get into costume.”

  She brushed past him toward the door.

  O-kay, I handled that well, thought Jack. But then to his surprise, she stopped at the door and turned.

  “Do you know what really pisses me off about him?”

  “Parkes?”

  “No, Kramer. The fact that he thinks I’m so bothered by him that I’d break into his house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone turned his cottage over this afternoon,” she said. “Smashed everything up.”

  “And he accused you?”

  “As if I care enough about him to do that. I mean — truth is — he’s just some old has-been, isn’t he?”

  Jack watched as she shook her head in disgust and walked away.

  Suddenly there was a lot to think about. Laura and Kramer? How had he and Sarah missed that? And a break-in. What the hell was going on?

  14. An Unexpected Shock

  Sarah hadn’t felt like this since she was at school. Excited, nervous, thrilled — but also part of a team.

  She looked around the Ladies’ Dressing Room and knew now why her mother would never give up her amateur dramatics or the choir.

  It was just such fun.

  Seated in front of a line of mirrors and light bulbs down one whole side of the room were the other female members of the cast, laughing, giggling, helping each other with hair and make-up: Ellie, Helen, her mum, Laura.

  Someone had brought their iPhone and had plugged it into a big speaker — their party playlist was blasting out.

  All around her, other female friends and relatives of the cast were bustling around, sorting costumes, caught up with the rhythms of the room and the music.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and had to laugh again.

  Whoever had ordered the maid’s costume had clearly selected it from the sixties comedy film section: far from the demure Edwardian outfit she’d expected, it was low-cut, black with white lace trimmings and with a short skirt.

  “Hey Sarah — better not wander round the village wearing that,” said Ellie, “or you’ll get yourself arrested.”

  “Hmm, maybe she wants to be,” said Laura, teasing. “The strong arm of the law eh, Sarah?”

  “Just you and Alan Rivers up at the police station — now there’s a thought,” said Ellie, laughing. “Him in his police uniform, you in your little maid’s outfit—”

  “Ladies please, no more!” said Helen in her most outraged Lady Blake voice.

  “That’s a life sentence in itself,” said Sarah, joining in the laughter. “Now, where’s my feather duster?”

  The room collapsed into giggles and then all the lights went out and the room was thrown into total darkness.

  “Whoa!”

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t panic—”

  “Hang on, I’ve got my phone,”

  As Sarah turned on her own phone light, other people flicked on phones and torches too.

  “What’s going on?” said Laura.

  “Power cut, I guess,” said Sarah.

  “There should be some emergency lanterns in the cupboard there,” said Helen.

  Sarah watched as the lanterns were pulled out and switched on. Suddenly the raucous atmosphere had gone.

  “Let me have one of those,” said Sarah grabbing a lantern. “You lot stay here, and I’ll go see what’s up.”

  *

  Sarah stepped out through the dressing room door: a dim orange light from the street lamps outside the theatre spilled into the corridor giving it an ominous glow.

  She could hear voices from the stage, so headed down the corridor, holding the lantern high. She carefully climbed the little steps and walked through the darkness into the wings.

  Through the drapes, Sarah spotted a small group of people on the stage, some of them holding torches and emergency lights.

  They were crowded around a figure lying on the ground.

  Another accident? Who was it?

  Let it not be Jack, she thought with an unexpected feeling of dread as she hurried forward…

  Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Whoa, Sarah,” came a voice. “It’s all right.”

  She spun rou
nd — Jack stood there with a torch in one hand.

  “Jack,” she said. “Thank goodness. What’s happened? Who is it?”

  He gently pushed her lantern to one side. “It’s okay. It’s Todd — electric shock — knocked him across the stage, but he’s going to be fine.”

  “I thought it might have been you.”

  “Could easily have been.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “He was testing the Christmas lights — you know the scene where Lieutenant Collins—”

  “Jez Kramer,”

  “Yep, Jez Kramer — the scene where he turns on all the lights to surprise everybody at the party — anyway, Todd just flicked the switch and it blew in his hands.”

  “You think someone sabotaged it?”

  “Normally I’d say let’s wait for forensics. But here? After all the other accidents? I’d say it’s a dead certainty.”

  “The perfect trap,” said Sarah. “And whoever did it could be anywhere right now.”

  “Exactly,” said Jack.

  The lights suddenly came on again throughout the theatre and Sarah could hear muted cheers from the dressing rooms.

  She switched off the lantern and put it down.

  She could see Todd now being helped to his feet by, on one side, Phil Nailor, the replacement bobby, and on the other, Ben Ferris in his butler’s costume.

  The electrician stood to his full height, brushed himself down and gave a cheery ‘thumbs-up’ to her and Jack where they stood in the wings. She saw Ambrose give him a good pat on the back then lead him away backstage.

  Ben and Phil stood examining the string of party lights which had all blown, but Kramer wasn’t having any slouching around it seemed: he moved centre stage, clapped his hands and shouted “Excitement’s over. Back to work everybody, beginners’ call in twenty! No excuses now!”

  “The show must go on,” said Sarah. She looked at Jack who was peering at her, his face confused. “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s some outfit.”

  “You think I’ll get away with it?”

  “I think you’ll get an encore all on your own.”

  “Not exactly Downton’s dress code.”

  “Well yes, but the play ain’t exactly Shakespeare either, let’s be honest.”

  Sarah saw Kramer approaching.

  “Come on now, Jack, Sarah, we need to clear the stage please,” he said as he passed them.