Never Thwart a Thespian: Volume 8 (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series) by Edie Claire Read Free Book Online

never came home. When the minister or whoever came in the next morning, they found him right up there” — he gestured to the empty chancel area — “laid out on top of the altar. Dead.”
    Leigh looked at the empty space near where her mother stood. The same space she’d been standing in two days ago when the hair on the back of her neck had lifted.
    The same hairs crept up again.
    “Stabbed through the heart,” Chaz finished darkly.
    “Oh, poppycock!” Frances protested hotly. “The poor man died from a blow to the head!”
    Chaz’s expression turned sulky again. “Well, yeah, maybe.” He turned to Leigh and winked. “But stabbing makes a better story, don’t you think?”
    “Don’t you think,” Frances said scathingly, “that you young men — whom my sister is paying by the hour — ought to get back to work?!”
    Chaz jumped to attention and started tugging on another loose corner of carpet. Gerardo followed suit. Frances uttered a loud harrumph and turned back to the choir railing.
    Leigh stood still a moment, digesting the unpleasant information. Bess knew all about the building’s history, clearly. She just hadn’t seen fit to tell Leigh about it. And why not?
    She turned away from the workers and headed for the door her aunt and the Pack had gone through earlier. It opened to an alcove with both a narrow staircase and a wheelchair ramp leading down to the basement. The concrete ramp was clearly an afterthought, having been built outside originally and then enclosed later with inexpensive aluminum walls and storm windows. As Leigh headed down the twists and turns of the seemingly endless incline, she noticed that the sky had turned gray, and scattered raindrops thumped noisily above her head as she descended.
    Blasted creepy building, she muttered to herself, having no trouble imagining Bess’s theater group flooding the basement to put on Phantom of the Opera. Add a couple candles and a rowboat, and the atmosphere would be perfect.
    She emerged into the basement to see Bess perched imperiously on a three-legged stool, rendering judgment on the fate of various objects that the Pack filed forward to present. “This birdcage is a gem, Allison!” she cooed. “It wouldn’t hold a bird, of course, but it would look lovely on a Victorian set. Put it in the ‘priority props’ pile. Oh heavens, Matt dear, throw those stinky things away.” She raised her voice to announcement level. “All ballet shoes go in the trash pile! Unless they don’t smell in the slightest.”
    “There’s nothing here that doesn’t smell in the slightest!” Lenna called back with a giggle, wrinkling her perfect little nose.
    “Some smells are more acceptable than others,” Bess said lightly, taking a closer look at the bizarre globe-shaped mass of paper mache that Ethan held out to her at arm’s length. It was covered with red and white globs of crepe paper and had a black circle painted on one side. “Good Lord, child,” she said disparagingly, “what on earth was this supposed to be, do you think?”
    Ethan shrugged. “Giant eyeball?”
    Bess’s own nose wrinkled. “Trash pile.”
    “Check,” the boy said cheerfully, moving off.
    Leigh sidled in as soon as the children were out of earshot. “Aunt Bess,” she whispered, “you did not tell me there was actually a murder in this building!”
    “Didn’t I?” Bess said innocently. “I presumed you already knew. It’s hardly a secret, after all. It’s been common knowledge since the sixties. What of it?”
    “What of it?” Leigh repeated incredulously.
    Bess’s level gaze didn’t falter. “Yes, what of it?”
    Leigh’s face reddened.
    “How about this, Aunt Bess?” Lenna asked, bounding up with an enormous purple crushed-velvet robe trimmed with brown fur. It was big enough for a very large man. Or a small whale.
    “Narwhal ceremonial gear,” Bess pronounced. “Put it in ‘costumes.’ You never know — maybe Herod could wear it in